palace lights

So many visits and I've yet to get a non-blurry picture of the palace. The lights are lit every Saturday and Sunday from 7-8pm and it's very much a carnival atmosphere. Balloon and food vendors, tourists and families share the promenade in front of the palace. Kids show off to proud parents by engaging us in the usual conversations "Hello. What is your name? What is your country? Goodbye", some parents usher their kids forward to shake hands, young men ask to take pictures with us (no) as do young kids (yes) and the best is the little girls dressed in their shiniest, most frilly dresses. The last picture was a trade, she took one of me, I took one of her.

this is my cottage

Water ordered, rattan rugs to cover the floor, lungis thrown over tables to add colour, the light of those weird phallic candles, the scent of the incense brought with me from Toronto home because I can't get it here, and I have my India home. Someone tried to break into my room during my last visit so I spent my first night here awake in a cold sweat after sweeps, bumps, and bangs woke me up at 4am. What are the odds of an attempted break in two visits in a row? Tiny, and I was mostly sure the noises were nowhere near my apartment but still....only mostly sure, not totally. Turns out it was the wife of the family downstairs preparing breakfast.

Registered with Bharath for hatha in the afternoon and home practice for astanga in the morning until I decide which teacher I want to study with, or, better put, which teacher will accept me without the new "Yoga Visa" (the one the Indian Consulate in Toronto insists doesn't exist). If no one will accept my illegal practice, morning yoga on my roof is just fine; looking up at the way the rising sun catches the underside of the palm trees during every inversion is a dream. Four hours of yoga plus walking everywhere in between has kicked my ass for sure. I spent most of this Saturday off curled up reading in one location or another.

Slowly over my first week here I've made the rounds, saying hello. Warm, long hugs from Tina and Anu two women who run cafes and, more importantly, act as stand in mothers to all of us. Familiar faces and long, catch up conversations with yogi-friends from around the world. Rickshaw drivers I used on my last visit stop to say hello and share the gossip of the town, they know everything these men. I had a chance to thank Appu for dragging my sick self to the hospital and staying for hours while they assessed me, something I never got a chance to do before I left last visit, and I saw Raju who was the cook at the cafe I served at last visit. He has married since I was last here and expects a child in 1.5 months, if ever a person could burst with pride it was him as he shared his news.

The American chain sub shop has closed down, Loyal World is as confusing as ever, new bakeries have sprung up, Bharath has changed locations as has Tina, Gokulam is virtually empty of Westerners and those of us who are here are keeping it low key. The main road to Mysore is ripped up for construction forcing all traffic to smaller roads, I saw two traffic accidents today, that's more than any previous visits combined. I've heard that the lovely Grace from my last visit is also in town so I put word to the rickshaw crowd to let her know I was here too. If anyone can get the word out and help us connect, it's them.

We didn't grow up with a cottage or anything like it so I've never had the experience of leaving somewhere for extended periods but returning over the years to reacquaint myself with people and witness changes. After this week of doing the same here I've decided that Mysore is my cottage. Best. Cottage. Ever.

things to do while waiting for your ride to arrive

Tell the dozens of rickshaw drivers who careen to a stop in front of you that no, no you don't need a ride; put your glasses on to block out friendly but curious stares; pretend you're checking your phone for messages to do the same; then for the ultimate time-filler, pull out your camera to take random pictures of the street


and of the schoolboys who stopped to ask you for the elusive "one country coin madam?"

but whatever you do, do not give your camera to those schoolboys our you'll end up with dozens of pictures like this:




I know. School on a Saturday, totally wouldn't fly at home.

speak good English?

I wonder if that's the same as speaking English well?

settled

The new Bangalore airport isn't exactly new anymore but it's new to me, my previous visits all arrived at the old airport. Chirping birds can still be heard wondering how the hell they got trapped in this big glass building and the same confusing conversations are held at customs (this time he kept insisting I "come back two months time" and I kept insisting I wasn't returning so soon. Finally figured out that he was referring to the new immigration rules saying I couldn't return for at least two months after this visit) but those are just about the only things that are the same.

The old airport was brown and dusty, the baggage claim one small, poorly lit room with equipment that looked as if there must be someone behind the scenes riding a bike to turn the baggage belt and the air was stifling thanks to fans that never worked. The new airport is multi-storied, glassy, shiny and bright with posh washrooms and a Booster Juice outside. Exiting the building was like stepping out to the paved walkways and manicured gardens of any other airport. I missed the old one. Those first few moments outside were always my favourite part of travelling here. Nothing yells "YOU'RE HERE" like the absolute chaos that smacked you in the face when exiting the old airport: the jumble of touts screaming for your attention, the drivers waving white signs bearing travellers last names, the smell of pollution mixed with dust mixed with exhaust, the cacophony of horns and motors, the vendors waving chai and chat in your face and the cars, buses, taxis, and rickshaws all trying to pass through the same tiny exit at once. I loved those first few moments. Loved them.

My driver was all kinds of good-energy loveliness. My affection for him was sealed when he stopped, unasked, on the way to the car to buy me a chai. Sweet, heavenly, sugar laden chai; hello India, I'm here. I spent the long drive to Mysore sticking my head out the window like an eager dog to see the sights and smell the air, taking blurry pictures of the road, and talking to my driver who I later learned had virtually no English. This explains why he was so agreeable.

I arrived, got settled in the guesthouse and met the new owner, walked into town to buy some fruit, organized my phone, registered for classes with Bharath and practiced. It's interesting to be here. Gokulam is so much my second home that I slip right back into life as if I never left at all; at the same point in time, it's very different. The town is empty of foreigners, cafes are closed, the guesthouse where I spent so much time with my girls has new owners, new buildings have gone up and others have come down. It's a visceral reminder that I can't step in the same river twice, everything is the same but nothing is. I'm happy.

Blurry roadside pictures:

airports

Six hours in Heathrow sleeping and taking pictures of ceilings passed the time amazingly quickly; before I knew it it was time to board the plane for Bangalore where I curled up into a little ball and slept the flight away. All and all the most sleep I've had in weeks, maybe months.

As the flight began its descent I started to get a bit anxious, ok, a lot anxious; if I were five I'd have my thumb in my mouth and a death-grip on my blanky. Then I remembered that I started off my last trip feeling exactly the same scared, somewhat lonely, way and those were the most magical two months I think I've ever had. So I sucked it up, rolled eyes with my seatmate (a guy from Portugal living and working in Bangalore) at the craziness of the disembarking process and by the time our luggage arrived I had plans to join the Bangalore ex-pat community for a party and an invite for a place to stay in a few weeks time.

Let the fun begin.

who's a tough guy?

woofstock

Doggy clothes, doggy candies, doggy playpens, doggy carriages, doggy babycarriers, dogs with dyed hair, dogs in booties, dogs in fountains, dogs with more bling than I'll ever have...an entire downtown street closed off for the annual Woofstock festival. Funniest day ever.

There was a whole lot of crazy present but the best part was the fountains full of dogs. Impossible not to smile just by watching them. Real life is so much better than TV.







I love the way it looks like the Bulldog is mad at the water...

ottawa

happiness

I've been taking some pictures for the studio. Yoga + photos, two of my most favourite things at the same time. It's been insanely fun.

Bad Ass Yoga Studio

The final frontier in all things yoga & trendy: the rock 'n' roll, kiss my assana studio. A haven for the pierced and tattooed. All are welcome - sort of...

robots are vegetarians?

Met a friend for coffee on Saturday. He got there first and claimed a table on the patio before meeting me inside to order. I thought he was joking when he described our table as "the one with the robot and camera on top". I should have known better, there was indeed a robot and camera waiting for me:



It was a bit of a stunned looking creature...



We tried to make him feel more comfortable by offering to share our meals but it turns out robots don't like chicken. Live and learn.

holiday weekend

backyard yoga

Pictures by my sister, distraction by my nephew ;)

visiting the boys