The Veg Bandit

Leh has been my homebase now for around 2 weeks; I reckon it’s time to move on. The scenery of this area is like a fucking fairy tale or somethin’. After Allan went back for Australia, I right away joined in on Chey’s group, which I was never really keen on to be honest but I’m glad that I did. The group was incredibly diverse, and everybody played an important role. After a while it began to be a bit of a challenge to hold things together. Liam has a gung-ho attitude about keeping the group entertained and keeping up with it is all about banter and boosing, which I’m not against but  material started to become scarce after a 5 day bike trip. I was very impressed with Yael, an Israeli girl I talked with for only a brief moment atop the Stupa. Just before our departure to Nubra Valley, she casually invited herself for the ride. Old Consuelo is used to hauling a couple passengers, so she had no problem keeping up with Liam’s Lobsang, the bike that climbs mountains and saves lives. Even with all this stimulation in the past couple of weeks, I feel like I’ve been holding back a bit too much. Mein ego is getting in the way of my normal humanly function. I have been slacking on my self-improvement time and socially overloading.

Ali, Turtuk's mob boss posing as a weaver.

The garden I view from my peripherals is full of pinks and whites and yellows and violets, among carrots, eggplant-shaped radishes, cauliflower, and cabbage. One must be vigilant with shutting the gates to the guest house yard, not for the safety of the vetements hanging on the line, whereas in Turtuk nothing could be left unwatched as the children had sticky fingers, nor for the safety of the bikes parked in the driveway, but the ninja cows silently slipping through the gates to enjoy a fantastic garden salad. The highly worshipped beings have no authority over mum and old mum when the tell-tale sound of torn vegetation floats through the air. They’re armed with their “hiyahiya’s!” and canes, usually requiring a bit of assistance after having a few chuckles over the seriousness of the situation. I will miss the character that brings travelers back to this fairy tale. People do not try and rip you off, nobody hassles you to buy their shit, and the honking is at a minimum. The sound of Enfields become music to the ears and it becomes second nature to get along with the scorching hot sun and the freezing cold shade. Might I add it is now off season, maybe it’s chaos in the busy months?

A pretty high road pass with the left-leggers.

So I bought a 2009 Royal Enfield near Karol Bagh in Delhi. There is a street with all sorts of motorbikes lined up and ready to test drive. 3 of my most memorable shopping days. Fact.

First day on the Enfield: It took a couple hours to get outside of Delhi. We had planned it perfectly to leave just as rush hour hit, so we road until Panipat. We found a reasonable room which also doubled as a mosquito factory, where we spent most of the night either throwing Allan's shorts at the bastards, or practicing the important skill of towel whipping. I would like to tell you that when we woke their wasn't a single new mozzy bite, I really would. Unfortunately in the morning when I went to get the bike at the 24 hour secured parking lot, I found the bike moved from where I had left it and a few indications of maltreatment. The day had begun on a seemingly bad start, but I didn't feel too bad once I found out it was only 50 rupees to weld the luggage rack back on. I felt much more comfortable with Allan and all the gear the second day of riding to Chandigarh, especially with only a fraction of the traffic experienced the previous day. Chandigarh is the capital of Haryana and Punjab, wealthy, following a grid system (this is new to me), green, and arguably quite clean. Clean for the India I have seen thus far.

Our first tour stop was the Rock Gardens built by some guy with a lot of spare time and a very lonely wife. Being the only ones with white skin seemed to draw a lot of attention. First someone comes to ask for a photo, and once the first person has done it everyone else feels quite comfortable asking. I began to keep track by taking photos of those taking photos of us, and have counted 13 in a span of 1 hour. I had to explain all this for you to understand this photo. It was after a rush of about 8 people asking for family photos. 

I made a deal with his mother, and will visit the child every other weekend.

Like clockwork

Oh Delhi. Here I sit on the floor of a very skinny hallway and not a fan in sight. I wait in this tiny crag because of certain wants not being met. The whole thing is a lot more complicated than I could have imagined. It’s an antique clock I bought on impulse in a shop down south, and I’m not certain as to how hard I should turn the crank or what I can do to make it work without explosion. So what do I do? Out of curiosity one must play with the clock a little bit, test its limits and see what bends which way. It chimes an off key chord, something sounds like it snapped. Well, shit.

Once again I haven’t slept for quite some time; it’s 9 in the morning. Allan and I just got back from a quick stroll after seeing Danielle and Jessica off. It’s really a sad day for me. A couple days earlier Hamid left our presence as well, we may meet up again in a couple of weeks. I have been removed from a comfortable situation and must learn to rid these feelings, one area of life I hope to mature during my trip. I feel like a part of me is missing now, and have begun to plan (which I haven’t done for 3 weeks) what I can do to stay busy. A couple museums, gym, cinema, swimming pool, and long walks will be the first on the list. Most things happen or begin for me whilst walking, so I’m going to do what works. Buying the Enfield (oh and I might buy a motorbike) will open up a lot of opportunities, along the lines of more challenges and more freedom (is more freedom possible?). Is this what I really want to do now, all of these things? Right now I’d rather  my friends came back together, but I must not forget one of the most important lessons vipassanna taught me, anicca: everything is impermanent.

The boys.

I’m now aware of the qualities I find attractive in a woman. In fact, many of the things I thought were important really are the exact opposite. Mannerisms I don’t understand rather than ones I feel comfortable with make me much more curious, much more willing to try if they are practiced genuinely and with good will. A woman lacking confidence is only a girl; when her actions are synonymous with her thoughts and her speech: total sploosh.

No more henna, I promise. Maybe.

Super Flexible

Without truth, what do you really have? Well obviously, a lie. The truth always slips out one way or another. Whether it be through an elaborate ploy to outwit an experienced “fibber” or if the body responds appropriately. Such fine design surely deserves some sort of respect, no? Respect perhaps from the student, who really doesn’t know the effect of learning the trade, or respect from another who has reached a managerial stage with a secondary route. Morally speaking, one could argue quite easily that if the questions were not asked directly, why answer the indirect? Pushing the thoughts of others away from a certain question requires a special trait that allows for the debatable idea of moral flexibility. Taking all this into consideration, one comes up with the point of what is and what isn’t fair. One may feel extreme discomfort if most any creature is poorly treated. PETA plays on these emotions of people well, they realize what power they can have on their donors. Is this fair to play on the hearts of those who clearly miss the point? To be too afraid to speak the truth, because of a cognitive dissonance, or an ulterior motive? I'm beginning to ask such questions, unbiased visions on one’s thoughts and views, friends and family, and many experiences from past, present, and future. What can I do to learn more? Maybe I need to step it up.

Practicing gang signs

To form our new gang, we needed to create an initiation. Of course. We all had henna tattooed on our faces, walked around Varanasi, went to museums, and practiced our "crazy" faces. We didn't have to try hard.

Patience and persistence. Someone will give you a hotel room.

It’s hard to trust my memories without having a photo, a drawing, or some writing. I really struggle keeping up with photos, and I only say this because I compare too often to how many photos many of my fellow travellers are taking. I like to stay in the moment, and when I look through that screen on my compact digital camera, it takes me away from what is happening around me. Drawing is an admirable skill, but my lack of interest doesn't allow for the practice to draw honestly or even reasonably well through my eyes. I like to write. I'm going to become a better writer, by taking your positive and negative critique and considering everyone’s point of view and with practice I will soon become completely ego free and unbiased. Actually, fuck that. There’s no such thing as a non-biased point of view, but if I need to I could convince you so.

This is my henna. No it's not stupid and effeminate, it's cool.

India challenges me mentally every single moment I'm on this different planet. I love it, I really do. Even when I hate it, I love it. This thought process seems like one of a mad man, and I can’t disagree that it very well may be. Let me try to explain: a mixed curry of evil westerners with a bit of Indian masala are served as a new dish at the Allahabad, a vastly overrated, overpriced restaurant on 123 Fake Street. Most of the regulars who order this dish send it away after catching the scent as it’s placed on the table. Some of them take a cautious bite, skeptical of it’s contents and smash their plates on the floor as if it were a Greek feeding. “Opa!” they shout with shit-eating grins and authority in their voices. The new meals are beginning to look as though they’ll be a wash, the management rushes to the kitchen to stop the rest of the new mixed curry orders when he passes a customer on his way to the washing basins with a masala-stained face, congratulating him on what he considers to be a very fine meal. The meals are decided here and now to be kept, with a few changes to be better suited for the locals. 4 of my friends and I are the "new dish", the regulars are the hotel owners who turned us down for many times "no reason", or "we are not a hotel even though it says we are". A couple hours through our adventure, we found a room! Never have I experienced such an event.