If you sit down and think about yourself. Of the places that you have been to in the past and thoughts you were having while you were there. What thoughts come into your mind?
When you come back from a trip, a couple of days pass in a blur, and you adjust to the way of life back home. But after that in a moment when you are all by yourself and you let your mind wander you will find yourself thinking about the place you just came back from. More accurately you find yourself thinking about yourself while you were in the place from where you just came back from.
Sometimes it’s not even the prime moments that come into the picture, it’s some mundane events that happened and while they were happening you did not even register them as your memories. Like maybe traveling by train, or walking down an alley with a heavy bag.
These thoughts, unlike the more prime ones, are unadulterated. They are not tarnished by, say photographs and fake smiles. Those thoughts are real and the feeling that they give you, allows you to live that moment again.
That’s the magic of traveling. You live the same moments over and over and get the same feeling served to you like a different cocktail every time. A cocktail of what you are feeling now and what you were feeling then.
And the high is amazing. Makes you wonder every time – what would you have been if you hadn’t been you? Where would you have been if you hadn’t been here?
The human mind is amazing in the way it can switch contexts. While lying there on the balcony watching the rain fall from the night sky Luke’s mind had no recollection of anything else that was going on in his life apart from the moment that he was in. Apart from the feeling of bliss while the cold humid air touched his skin, his mind felt nothing. It was dark, but somehow there was enough light for his darkness-adjusted eyes to decern the beautiful facade that the night rain was painting in front of him on the canvas of green nature.
Victoria, lying on his side was looking outside with glassy eyes lost in thoughts. They were both lying on a rug on the balcony of their Airbnb which was a house in the middle of a large coffee estate with very tall trees and lots of vegetation around it. It was almost the middle of the night but neither of them showed any hint of sleep. The rain was now coming to a stop leaving behind that post-rain coldness in the air. The smell of wet vegetation filled the air and along with the sound of the cicadas, it felt like they were somewhere very far away from the real world.
“Would you like to take a walk”, whispered Luke into Victoria’s ears. A set of mischievous beautiful eyes responded with a smile. Quickly they sat up, went inside the room, found their jackets and mobile phones, and were ready to embark upon the night adventure within no time. The balcony which was on the first floor, was on the side attached to a steel staircase that spiraled down to the lawn below. Carefully descending the stairs trying to avoid slipping on the wet metal, Victoria and Luke came down to the lawn and walked to the gate of the boundary around the property.
Outside the gate was a narrow mud lane which was part of a labyrinth of mud roads that crisscrossed through acres of multiple coffee estates in Coorg. These coffee estates did not only house a multitude of coffee plants but also a very large number of tall trees which served as a support for vines of pepper and some other spices. There was no light apart from the million stars in the sky, which was now very clear. The moon was also out and the path was illuminated with white moonlight.
Walking through the mud roads trying to avoid the puddles filled with rain water, Luke and Victoria found themselves lost in the maze of trees. Alit with the magnificence of the night sky the trees seemed to be alive with a desire to tell stories of all they had seen. They whispered these stories into the winds which the two souls heard as the sound of the breeze.
They kept walking with a destination in mind. After passing a large valley with pastures and a path that was overshadowed by a canopy of trees, they reached the end of the mud road. In front of them was a path which was full of green grass, droplets of rainwater on them glittering in the light. As they walked through the grass lane the lane got narrower and more densely overgrowth. At the end of the which, they came to a clearing.
The clearing was the bank of a tributary of the river Cauvery. The river flowed very slowly and it looked like glass reflecting all the light of the night. There was no one there. Just them, the greenery, and the sound of the cicadas. It was surreal. Luke put his arm around Victoria and she rested her head on his side. They stood there watching the river.
When Victoria opened her eyes in the morning she found herself on the rug with Luke snoring softly on her side, his arm around her.
Inspired by Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
I am known to be a little bit proud, or so the other shearwaters who nest in the seaside hills of Arambol say. I don’t think I am proud – I am just better than the others. They are a bunch of slouches. The land gets hotter a lot faster than the sea and to catch the early thermals you have got to get out of your nest early. I might not be the largest shearwaters here, but I am darn good at spiraling upwards as the hot air rises which gives me the advantage of spotting the abundance of fish near the shorelines. This is not a hidden secret. Evey shearwater young or old knows this. I myself have been doing this for the last 20 years, and more often than not I am the first one out of my nest in the morning. Today was no different.
As I flapped my wings, lost in my thoughts of the glory that awaits me when I retired at the early age of 40 (I had it all planned out), I felt the air brushing my belly get warmer. I was on the lookout for a lone cumulus cloud in the sky as usual, it’s an identifier of a powerful thermal column. There was a little turbulence in the air and I let the wind direct my flight path. The sun was out from behind the hills and the glint of the sunlight had already started to reflect in the seawater. The sea waves came unusually close to the hills today. The elders said it was something to do with the size of the moon in the sky but I never heeded anything they said – after all who cared how far the sea was when you are cruising at a height of 100ft.
I continued to circle the hills, watching the other birds dozing on their nests perched above the tall trees. It was my favorite time of the day. Perfect light, perfect temperature, and a feeling of thumping heart excited in anticipation of what the day had in store. Even after 20 years this feeling always brought a sense of exhilaration in me.
It wasn’t long before I found what I was looking for. A faraway lone flickering cloud. I adjusted my tail and headed in the thermal’s direction. Like clockwork, I felt the air around me get thinner, and soon after I felt a vortex of warm air rising around me. As soon as I was in the center I opened up my wingspan and started to zoom upwards spiring through the column as the hot air gave me the lift. It was a powerful lifting force and with no effort of mine in time I was lifted to a height of around 80ft.
Thermals usually dissipated at around this height. But not this one. I was now at 100ft and there was no sign of any reduction in the wind speed. I tried to flap my wings to escape but the force was just too powerful. I was getting dangerous by the second. Shearwaters, even at their best days don’t fly over 100ft, but by now I was overshooting 140. I flapped my wings hard and then harder but the spiral of the winds kept throwing me back to the center. By around 180 ft I felt exhausted and suddenly everything went dark.
When I came back to my senses, I was hurtling downwards. The Thermal had finally dissipated after lifting me to around 200ft and I had started tumbling downwards, the rush of the air while in a downward movement, as a blessing in disguise brought me back to the living world. I was able to stabilize myself a few feet above water but was utterly exhausted and my right wing seemed to be cramped. All around me was deep blue sea and nothing else.
How you feel always goes hand in hand with the vibes around you and the feeling inside. But sometimes when the energy around you becomes so powerful that it overshadows all that is inside – it can completely take over how you feel. But where does this energy come from? Is it something that’s inside you that only gets to the surface when you sense something from the outside by one or more of your five sense organs, or do we perceive more, more than these five gateways? Is there something in us that can sense a feeling radiating out of the world around us and the people in it?
What was it about Thailand that makes it so unreally beautiful? What is it that fills the place with this profound power of taking over you from the inside and filling you with this feeling of magic? With all the world around us where we see tall buildings and imposing structures, we sometimes forget who we are. We forget that we are travelers in time who have appeared out of nowhere in this beautiful piece of rock floating in the space of nothingness, we forget that however smart we become we are still very small and powerless against the powers of the world. We cant build, design, or develop anything that can come remotely close to what nature has to offer in its most naked form.
This is what Thailand shows you. The incredible is left far behind as you move from one place to another, hop from one Island to another. The forests, the beaches, the food the people, and among all – the vibe, the energy- it’s something you have to be here to feel.
I don’t believe that you go anywhere when you die. I think it’s just a switch off – like you feel when you fall into a dreamless sleep, but if I were wrong – I so wish I was – I’m sure, paradise – if I get to see it would be something like here but even if I am wrong – I am glad I already had a slice.
The guide was walking with a green umbrella to be visible to the group if they get lost while on the tour. “And this is one of the oldest shops in Gothic Quarters, that serves Churros with hot chocolate.”, he said, “You know, Spaniards, as they would drink coffee in the US and tea in the UK, drink hot chocolates in the evening with their Churros.” It was a rustic little place down one of the several medieval alleys which jutted out of the main Rambla street. There were far fewer tourists in these alleys and far more beautiful cafes and bars.
I had scrolled through the Airbnb experiences menu around me, after finishing my work hours at my hostel in Barcelona, and booked this walking tour with a guide called Aiden. Since I had been working on Indian time so my day started early at 7:30 Am and ended a little before 3 Pm.
My day – just like the last couple of days – started with me waking to the phone alarm, getting ready in 30 mins, and heading downstairs to the co-living/working space. Coming downstairs I ordered myself a coffee and a croissant, set my laptop on the corner table, and got started with the day’s work. I was always the first person to be down to the common area who got greeted ‘Buenos Dias’ by the Spanish guy at the reception.
I sat there for the next few hours working on the same desk as the day progressed and people started to come downstairs. People from all nationalities, solo travelers, and small groups of friends stayed in the hostel. Downstairs where everyone hung around, cooking food in the kitchen on the side and eating, reading books, working on their laptops like me, and some scribbling on their notebooks, was a cultural amalgamation on its own.
People came and people went until it was three on the small clock at the top corner of my screen. I closed the meeting, packed my stuff, and went to my bunk upstairs. In no time I got myself ready, packed my small backpack with the essentials, and was out in the streets walking to a small eatery on the side. The Pakistani owner of the deli, prepped a Doner Kabab for me while I sat on the table at the side of the road with a street umbrella above me. It was still not too crowded. People here in summer – and a lot of tourists – flocked to the beaches during the day and bustled through the streets at the night. The daylight extends till around 10 PM and until then people fill the streets with good vibes and good drinks with the likes of Sangria and Vermut. Cervesa (beer) and Wine flowed non-stop.
The next few hours went by pretty fast and I found myself with a small group of torsists – a woman from manhattan with her two kids, an Indian guy living in Berlin, another couple from the US but living in Berlin, and one Filipino from Manila who just flew in from Madrid. The Guide Aiden himself was a Dubliner who spoke English with an accent and was an extremely good raconteur.
He expertly navigated us through the alleys of the Gothic quarters stopping at times to tell an anecdote of some event that happened in the history of the place. A cathedral had a few stones on the wall with Jewish inscribing.
“During the black plague”, he started, “Less Jewish people died, than the Spanish. This was mostly because the Jewish had a better system of hygiene. But the Spanish people, being Spanish people, took to the thought that the whole thing was a plan by the Jewish to kill them.” pausing for a second to let the effect sink in, he continued, “In the frenzy, they put two and two together and made 7. They marched to the doors of the Jewish quarters and demanded the Jewish to convert to Christianity or die. Most of them chose to convert, some did not, and were killed.” The Spanish then demolished the synagogue and took the stones, which were later utilized at some places to build new cathedrals”
The history of this place, like all history of humankind, is filled with red. We all looked at that stone with the scripture – which a moment before, was just another stone – for a few extra seconds after hearing that story.
We heard some more stories. About love and wars. Plagues and romance. There were people playing instruments, singing opera, down the alleys. People dancing together below the nordic representation of Picasso’s art.
The football was bobbing on a receding sea wave as I slowly walked towards it. Ali had struck it pretty hard and I had to run to fetch it as it was on my side of the ball-pass game we were playing. It was almost evening and even with the sea breeze, I was almost completely drenched in sweat. Picking up the ball I turned around and saw Ali looking at me mentioning me to throw the ball. Thinking for about a second, I pulled back and threw the ball to him and turned back toward the sea, facing the setting sun.
There was some Russian music playing in a shack a little far away and all I could hear were a few beats from the music and the lapping sound of the water in front of me. Taking a deep breath I dove inside the water. It suddenly went mute and the bubbles of water around slowly died. The water was blue and for a moment I felt like I was in a different world.
Half an hour later I was walking towards my shack again soaked in the seawater. Rummaging through the rucksack kept on the table where I was sitting, I quickly fetched my towel out and dried myself. Ali was already there and I motioned him to bring me a cup of coffee. He went inside to order it in the kitchen and I turned back towards the sea. A few people were walking on the beach, and others just standing looking at the water like me.
I was lost in some thoughts when from the corner of my eyes I see Ali walking toward my table with a cup of coffee. Thank you, I said and took the cup from his hands. Sitting down on the empty chair beside I took a sip and it tasted like heaven.
For a while I sat there, drinking my coffee and looking at the beach and the people there. It felt strange to think about what they might be thinking. Probably all of them just like me were in trance laid by the sea.
After finishing my coffee I quickly settle my bill and walked outside the shack from the door behind. A small alley led to a dirt road, on the side of which I had parked my scooter along with some others. Putting on the helmet hung on the side of the handle I started the bike and slowly rolled into the dirt road towards the town.
It wasn’t a long drive and soon I found myself in a tourist spot with lots of shops filled with people. I parked near a lively pub and went inside. There were some people singing karaoke songs. Surprisingly, they were pretty good. I sat down at a small table on the side and ordered myself some local food. I loved the way Thai people cooked their food. They were flavored in a very different way compared to what I am used to eating back in India.
The food arrived in a few minutes and I finished it off quickly for I had to get back to my tent where I was staying for the night. The road was pretty bad and I did not want to risk the drive in dark.
By the time the sun finally set and it was dark all around, I was almost at the end of the dirt road near my tent. I parked my scooter and locked it. After getting some things out from the storage and switching on my headlamp I started walking toward the tent.
Reaching my tent I unzipped the gate open and kept the stuff I was carrying inside. I turned towards the pile of wood I had collected in the morning and after some fiddling and failing, I was able to light a small fire. With the light of the fire, I did not need the headlamp so I switched it off and went and fetched the kettle from the side of the tent and poured some water into it to heat. I was pretty full with all the food I had at the Thai restaurant so I wasn’t in the mood to eat anything. I added some instant coffee powder, some creamer, and sugar to the hot water and mixed them together to make the perfect tent-coffee.
I lay on the side of the fire for a couple of hours reading a book with the finished cup of coffee right beside me. When I checked the dial of my watch it was almost 11:30 PM – pretty late in these settings. I got up and picked up the blanket I had around me, went inside my tent, and slept.
There were droplets of mist on my glasses and the cold mountain wind – infused with the freshness of the vegetation all around – ran past me filling me with a newfound realization of being alive. The fear and the thrill of being somewhere very new, very unreal throbbed through my heart and I sped along the curvy roads towards the waterfall.
The mist slowly converted to slight rain and in no time it was pouring. I parked my scooter and ran to take cover towards the small shade near the designated view-point.
Now – sitting at this moment – reading this text in front of me I am seeing myself – a girl full of life standing underneath that shade. She can hear the sound of the thundering rain all around imbued with the loud orchestra of the waterfall. Everything is so green. The leaves, the grass. The air is so fresh and the sound was like the perfect background score for the movie of unreal beauty running in front of her eyes.
The Maitreya Buddha statue stood tall overlooking the whole of Nubra Valley while two motorcycles slowly descended the winding roads surrounding it. With her lips parted by the sheer awe of the vista Priyanka, sitting on the pillion seat of Shekhar’s bike, had her head on a swivel. In front of her, beyond the steep drop adjacent to the hill they were driving down from, was the fading white walls of the Diskit monastery. The morning sun was still close to the horizon and the air carried with itself a slight chill. Shekhar had his feet constantly resting on the brake pedal to slow down the bike as it rolled down the steep road, while his eyes tried to fill in as much as they could, of the panorama around him. The only sounds around were the rattling of the engine and the mechanical groaning of the brakes.
As they crossed the marker on the road which signified the entrance to the monastery area the road merged to a slightly wider road which would later connect to the road to Turtuk, their destination for the day. Bringing the bike to a halt, Shekar turned off the engine, and took off his helmet. Priyanka got off the bike and took off her helmet too. “I don’t think I have ever seen a view like this”, said Shekhar trying to break the silence. Priyanka just nodded as if she was slowly coming out a spell. The other bike carrying a couple of their friends was nowhere to be seen as they had speed of as soon as they hit flatter roads.
Shekhar took off his riding glasses and for the first time since a while saw Priyanka in the morning light. Her deep black eyes were glittering with wonder and her skin glowed. The golden streak in her black hair somehow resembled the golden streak of sunlight escaping from between the clouds. Wearing the silver bomber jacket, the green trousers and round black sunglasses she looked like a proper traveller.
Smiling to himself, he said “Looks like it’s just gonna be us and the roads”, “Im glad”, said she smiling. “Lets get going”, he said leaning forward for a quick kiss.
After a a few hours the couple of was seen parked near a small waterfall. Priyanka was filling a water bottle and Shekhar sat on the bike looking at her (like always). “Do you have internet on your phone”, Shekhar asked, a little loud over the sound of the waterfall. “let me check”, said Pri walking back to the bike. She tightened the cap of the water-bottle and stuck it on the side of her backpack and then took out her cellphone.
“Nope, no internet, not even any cellular network”, she replied. “Same here”, said he. “I hope we don’t take any wrong turn, or we might end up in trouble”. “I wish we do, I wish we could get lost in these roads forever”, said Pri, Jubilant. Starting the bike, off they went again on the road, singing laughing and getting lost in the best of nature around them. In a while they crossed a left turn and continued down the road with the Shyok river on one side. The left turn they missed had a small milestone on the side, which they did not see. It pointed an arrow towards the left, below the left was a destination. Turtuk.
We, humans, have existed on the face of our pretty little earth for quite sometime now. Walking through the corridors of the numerous palaces across this princely state of Rajasthan and looking at the chiseled sandstone handiwork of the walls, windows, ceilings, and almost every fathomable place, this becomes quite apparent.
More than those kings and the princes I wonder what went through the minds of those lowly workers spending years cutting faces in stone. Making wonders using bare hands and petty tools.
As the days flew by while kingdoms across this state saw the rising and falling of rulers, kings and emperors, these workers spent their days cutting away and building these grandiose structures which has withstood the forces of nature most importantly mankind itself, across civilizations.
Did they ever realise that someday eons later, some very different people walking through these hallways would look, touch and feel those carvings on that rock that they were leaving behind. Probably not.
Even though this trip did not leave a mark on my passport but it definitely left a mark on me and like every time I visit a new place, gave me a slightly broader perspective of life and the world that I live in.
Udaipur
Udaipur, a city almost entirely thriving around its magnificent lakes, turned out to be something completely different from what I had imagined it to be. With the growing population of young travellers – even at times like these – the city threw me off with its youthful vibe. A strange juxtaposition of the old and the new.
Udaipur hostel
The beautiful city palace stood as it was in structure while the heavily armored dress of Maharana Pratap had transformed into the track suit and hoodie of the present prince and the living quarters of the other ministers gave way to five star hotels. In fact, calling the Taj lake palace (which used to be the summer house of the kings) – just a five star hotel – seems like an understatement for the view of this floating palace with the setting sun in the background is awe inspiring.
Taj Lake Palace in sunsetSunset view of Taj Palace
Everything about this old city screams of the golden times it has seen and a beautiful story ties like a thread all its structures. To sum it all together all I can say is that Udaipur is a fable, a story of some glorious times said through its palaces, parks, lakes, and ghats. The kind of story that leaves you wishing that you were one of its characters.
A city bustling with the cacophony of Indian markets, Jodhpur, was the next stop. Built around the imposing structure of the Mehrangarah fort, Jodhpur is full of life. The huge imposing walls of the fort seems to be the epicentre – the heart – of the city with small sky blue houses rippling downwards from the top of the hill upon which the fort is perched.
Mehrangarh Fort side view
Downwards as the city sprawls, the blue transforms into a multitude of colors – colors of the numerous shops housing textiles, wood figurines, and street food. My whole day was spent walking across these lanes tasting food and widow-shopping. The locals have done their homework in capitalizing on the heritage and a huge number of quaint and rustic cafes are scattered across the market allowing you to sit down and let the Rajshahi of Rajesthan seep through your skin.
I also encountered the Toorji ka Jhalra,
Toorji ka Jhalra
a one-of-a-kind stepwell sitting peacefully(surprisingly under-crowded) amidst the teeming population on all its sides. Sitting there on its steps I was lost in my imagination of a time when people used to assemble here, laugh, bathe, and talk about their lives. I wonder what did they talk about? At the exact same spot where I was sitting someone must have sat and bared his heart to his childhood pal about the little romantic escapade, he had had the last night in the Mehrangarh fort. If only stones had memories – or maybe they do.
Jaipur
After taking a quick blessing in Ajmer Sharif Dargah I finally stepped down at the capital of this glorious state – Jaipur and the first thing that blew my mind was our hotel.
Our Hotel
The rooms – Khwabgah and Jaisalmer – were both designed by someone with taste and it took us a while to admire the effort the designer had put to the smaller details that made the rooms look in true sense – regal.
Walking down the bazaar the next day I found myself in a similar setting as of the cities I had left behind. Though similar in many ways like the markets of Jodhpur, Jaipur had even wider opulence with colorful Kites and even a wider variety of street food.
Between this all old palaces I found a number of good cafes around the city giving perfect pitstops to travelers going from palaces to forts.
When I used to think about Rajasthan, all it came to my mind was desert and sand dunes – which surprisingly is just a little part of the state but even though in my itinerary I did not have the desert experience planned but I still got to hear multiple desert stories from the excellent raconteurs of guides we met along. One of these story which I found particularly interesting was how Lal Mas – a mouth watering delicacy made with mutton an spices is prepared.
When people used to travel across the desert they travelled in small groups. The group leading the journey would mix mutton and various spices in a container, bury the container in the sand and mark the location with a flag. In summers the temperature of the sand increased up-to 70 degrees and the mutton cooked below the ground for many days before the next group found the flag and excavated out the cooked meal.
Jaipur, as I realized over the next couple of days of my stay there, was aptly called the capital as it had the largest palaces and other palatial structures across whole of Rajasthan. It was, and is, like a heart that pumped royal blood throughout the state.
There are so many structures – like Jantar Mantar (Astronomical Observatory) , Hawa Mahal, Amer Palace – which blew my mind but this blog would become a little too big if I talk about all of them.
In conclusion, visiting Rajasthan is like listening to a story first hand, of the glory this country of ours has seen. You can read all about it, but being there, under the high ceilings of the palaces decorated by paintings made of gold dust, you feel like you are a part of it and a little bit of that kingly blood runs through the veins of each and every Indian.
View from Amer Palace
Structures to measure the elevation and position of the sun by the shadow falling on the engraved scales in Jantar Mantar
feeling Canvas 