Eight basic premises of Yoga to cultivate in and out of the classroom

07 Monday May 2012

Posted by Amanda in Inspiration, Lifestyle, Meditation, Yoga

Tags

health, inspiration, Life, lifestyle, Meditation, philosophy, Yoga

I love Yoga. Through Yoga I’ve developed a greater awareness of how my body feels, and what my body needs to be able to run efficiently. Like a mechanic, Yoga maintains my vehicle, and pinpoints current problems that need attention, as well as recognising aspects at risk of become problematic in the future.
Furthermore, Yoga has taught me some nifty things about life. It has helped me foster a greater awareness of how I choose to live, and teaches me basic ideas as to how to make life an even more enjoyable experience. Like a life coach, or a therapist, Yoga uplifts and maintains my inner state and pinpoints areas that could be adapted for the better.
Yoga has also taught me about aspects external to me. Through developing a better understanding and connection to self, I’ve developed a better connection to our natural environment, and understanding of the nature of human beings (Because really, we’re not much different. We’re all prone to the same behaviours, the same fears and desires.) In this understanding and respect for self, I’ve come to understand and respect what and who is around me to a better capacity.
And I’ve got so much further to go, too. My Yoga journey began seven years ago and will continue through to the end; learning and re-learning about Yoga, my body, my inner state and what is around me will never cease. My awareness, understanding and respect for self and others will only become stronger and more consistent.
I learn slowly, mindfully, passionately, curiously and patiently – at least, for some of the time. But as the journey progresses, I am getting better. I don’t know where or how far away my destination is, but it’s the enjoying and accepting of the journey that makes my experience awesome. My time on the Yoga mat has been one of the most influential teachers of this attitude.

Here in the west, a great deal of emphasis is placed on the physical components of Yoga – i.e., hatha yoga. That’s fine. I too started Yoga for it’s physical benefits, and in time, I began to notice and believe in the internal benefits that come from having this connection to your body.
In David Coulter’s best-selling book, Anatomy of Hatha Yoga, He lists eight basic premises of hatha yoga. Upon re-reading these last night, I noticed that to varying degrees, I was applying these premises to my life off the mat as well as on. In and out of the classroom, you can practice and reap from hatha yoga.

Here, I’ve compressed Coulter’s eight points, and have built from them in a way that demonstrates their application outside the classroom as well as in. With patience, enthusiasm and consistency, these eight points will become more habitual, and there will be improvements in both your living and in your Yoga practice that will astound you. Take it from me!

1. Focus your attention

In the classroom:

Lock your attention within your body. Hold your concentration on your breathing, the joints and muscles being (gently) stretched, the speed of your movement, and the relationship between your breath and stretching.

Practicing with attention within the body is advanced Yoga, whereas practicing with a scattered mind is the practice of a beginner.

Outside the classroom:

Lock your attention in on what you’re doing. Gather together those fragments of you that are elsewhere, caught up in events of yesterday or manifestations of tomorrow, and channel them into your now. That way, you will undertake your task with full attention, therefore maximizing your full potential. Doing something when you’re scattered, however, does not harness your full potential, and potentially leads to disappointment and regret.
Stop multi-tasking. Zone in. Be attentive. And reap.

So… it will get easier.

2. Be aware of breath

In the classroom:

Inhalations can carry you further into a posture, for example, the cobra, where the inhalation lifts you higher, and creates tension and stability in your torso.
Exhalations help you relax. Think of exhaling in a forward fold – the breath out allows your body to relax, and draws your chest further down toward your thighs, deepening your stretch.
Practice syncing your breath with your movement- it will improve your postures. Always listen out for the teacher’s prompts regarding breath.

Outside the classroom:

Connection to breath has made my life sooooo much better. It relaxes my body as well as my mind. It connects me to the moment, and it drives away anxiety. You only have a certain number of breaths in life before your body shuts down – learn to connect to breath, and slow it down. When driving your car, reading a book, or in conversation: breathe in deep, mindfully and slowly – I guarantee you’ll feel much healthier, happier and more grounded.

3. Build Foundations

In the classroom:

While many people come to Yoga to develop flexibility, Coulter makes a fair point in suggesting we concentrate on developing strength within not only the belly of our muscles, but our connective tissues, first. He puts it like this: the connective tissues are the steel reinforcing rods in concrete – they’re hidden, but intrinsic to the integrity of the whole. So concentrate on building strength in your joints – the tendons, ligaments and fascial sheathes that envelop your muscles. Strength, as a foundation, will improve your technique, and as your practice matures, you can adapt your focus to be on your flexibility more and more.

Outside the classroom:

While new friends are exciting, don’t neglect those who’ve been there the longest. These people are your foundation. It’s easy to complain about people in your life – you might feel they’re not being a good enough friend, mother, sister or partner – but before giving up and seeking greener pastures, rather than resenting them, give them the love, respect, joy and attention you both deserve. At the end of the day, we all seek acceptance. If you accept them, they’ll sense it and be grateful for it, and they’ll accept you right back.
Strengthen your foundations, and flourish.

That connection you have to old friends… priceless.

4. When moving in and out of postures

In the classroom:

If you jerk when moving from posture to posture, you can’t really enjoy the journey – and the journey is just as important than the destination. So move through postures slowly and consciously. How to do this? Be in the now, now, NOW. In being aligned with the now, you’re fully experiencing all that is in the now. Simple.

Outside the classroom:

Too often, we get caught up in minds. We hold on tightly to the past, whether memories, concepts about ourselves, of this world and of those around us: this only holds us back, it prevents us from learning and locks us in pain, resentment, guilt, fear, anger and so on. And then sometimes we get caught up in the future (guilty) – we either dream up a pleasant dream, or we dream up a nightmare. Either way, we’re putting energy into something that does not exist, that is so unlikely to turn out just like you have envisioned thousands of times in our minds. We set up all these expectations for ourselves, and on others, and if things don’t go out to plan, we get really disappointed. We waste all our time rehearsing for our next chapter, too often, our present moment is spent busily preparing, both in and out, for the next. Going into the future creates fear, anxiety and takes from the full experience of your now. Really, you only have this one moment. Embrace it.

Picture courtesy of here.

5. Cultivate regularity, enthusiasm and caution

In the classroom:

Try practice in the same time and place. This makes it easier to analyse day-to-day changes. Tip: by practicing in the morning, your stiffness can tell you where needs the most care and attention. Later in the day you begin to lose that sensitivity which can make you more prone to injury. However, if mornings or private practice isn’t your thing or isn’t possible, that doesn’t mean stop practicing. Do it when it suits your and your circumstances the most important thing is that you do it consistently, and mindfully.

Outside the classroom:

In all your endeavours, patience, enthusiasm and consistency is key. We like the quick fix, what requires less work and effort (this is reflected in the mass of products and services out there which market fast-quick-easy! And so on), and we’re also prone to losing enthusiasm and consistency when the results don’t surface as quick as we’d like. The best way to improve at anything you do is to be consistent, remain enthusiastic, and be patient! Stop fearing time, just enjoy what you’re doing, be grateful for the little shifts, and then big things are bound to unfold.

6. Honor the suggestion of pain

In the classroom:

Pain is a gift– it tells us if a problem has developed. If you don’t listen to messages of your body you will be a candidate for injury – pulled muscles, pinched nerves, ruptured intervertebral disks – yeuch. Pushing yourself into painful postures will not only court injury but create a state of fear and anxiety, and your nervous system will store these memories. Be mindful as you go into your postures, and go as far as you know is appropriate – you know, that point between true pain that causes injury and the pain that is just symbolising the development of strength and flexibility.

Outside the classroom:

how many times has something hurtful in life made you stronger? But then how many times has PUSHING yourself into something painful just hurt you all the more? Like in the yoga classroom, there’s a pain to respect and embrace, and a pain you should just outright avoid. Listening to your gut instinct and accepting that pain, like joy, is an inevitable factor of life, is the best way to avoid unnecessary pain and learn the most your can from what the pain you do experience.

Your Yoga posture shouldn’t make you feel like this.

7. Take personal responsibility

In the classroom:

This does not excuse the teacher of their duties, but when it comes down to it, you know your body better than they ever will, therefore, you have the final say on what you’re capable and not capable of doing in that time and moment. Don’t do anything that doesn’t sit right with you. Any good teacher will respect this.

Outside the classroom:

it’s nice to ask for advice, and get input from those around you to help along with your journey, but ultimately, the choice of how far you go and what you do and how you react, is yours. Ultimately, you’ve a choice of how to react to the cards you’ve been dealt. You can take from it and learn, or you can wallow in it, blame, and only hurt yourself and hold yourself back from living the wonderful life you deserve. Rather than thinking: they should have done it this way, rather: how could I have reacted better? Ultimately, its easier (and fairer) to control yourself than impose expectations on others. If someone hurts you with intent, it’s because in some way, they’re hurting themselves. So be compassionate. If someone hurts you accidentally, well then they didn’t mean it, so again, be compassionate. It’s how you respond that has the final say on the impact of that experience!

8. Cultivate Patience

In the classroom:

Move forward steadily, no matter how slow. Slow and steady really does win the race (or give you a better, and more enjoyable, outcome). Move slowly, breath slowly, come into more advanced postures slowly over time. That way, it’s much safer, enjoyable and long-lasting.

Out of the classroom:

To make every experience in life the most enjoyable, is to go at your pace. Trying to meet the pace of another will only cause you pain, resentment and dampen your spirits. We’ve all got different gifts, we all learn at different paces, accept and work with yours. Be patient with yourself, and be patient with those around you as they too, journey through their life and learn their lessons in their own time and capacity.

And finally:

“The most important issue in hatha yoga is not flexibility, or the ability to do difficult postures, but awareness of body and breath. From awareness comes control. From control comes grace and beauty”.

In life, it is not important to fit in the square, nor is it important to make an exceptional mark on this planet to be forever remembered by. What’s important is that you’re aware of what is going on in and around you. From this awareness will come control over thoughts, speech and actions, and from this control comes a grace and beauty reflected in all you think, do and say. Life will be infinitely better for both you and those around you.

Forms of Freedom

26 Thursday Apr 2012

Posted by Amanda in Book Review, Travel, Women's Issues

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Tags

Books, Culture, Religion, Review, Reviews, Travel, Women, writing

Book Review of

Abu Dhabi Days, Dubai Nights

By Jillian Schedneck

(Pan Macmillan Australia, 340 pp., RRP $32.99. Published March, 2012.)

***

She sinks a mound of glassy granules into her cappuccino, right leg crossed over left and jingling to the café’s complementary music. She listens attentively to her friend’s latest trials: a bullying schoolteacher, demanding child and impending divorce. She nods, laughs and sympathetically clucks her tongue on cue.

She is smiling, but you need to decipher the soft crinkles around her brown, expressive eyes to know. For the rest of her features, high cheekbones, full pout and a delicately curved neck – these are protected from the lusty eyes of passing men. This woman wears a burqa.

While in many ways we are wildly different, the above scenario highlights that in some senses, women of the East are quite similar to women of the West. “She desires love, happiness and reliable relationships. She thrives off deep friendships.” This alikeness between women, regardless of culture, is what Jillian Schedneck puts forward in her first book, Abu Dhabi Days, Dubai Nights.

Islam, Muslim, Jihad – the mention of these words can cast unease, suspicion and other shared negative evaluations of Islam within Westerners. Since one September morning eleven years ago when we watched two iconic towers crumble, these perceptions have intensified, blanketing our discussions and private appraisals of Islam with variations of fear.

We are, however, becoming increasingly willing to demystify Islam and its devotees. Are they really all West-hating terrorists who beat on their wives? Search Amazon’s online store and a catalog of books with titles containing ‘understand’, ‘find truth’ and most appropriately, ‘de-veil Islam’ can be found.

Reading Schedneck’s memoir I recall the following quote from Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol: ‘We fear what we do not understand’. It is a notion applicable to a typical Westerner’s association with Islam. A lack of understanding is root of the thorny vines that bind and gag Islam to our negative discernments. In this memoir Schedneck works to break these binds by clarifying the myths and truths of Western assumptions.

After graduating with a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, Schedneck spends two years teaching at universities in the United Arab Emirates (UAE). While initially moving to this foreign land ‘to be pushed and pulled’, as Schedneck describes in the book’s opening chapter, in time it is understanding not only herself but women as a collective, regardless of their culture, that becomes Schedneck’s focus. ‘My friend’s prejudices and media-inspired fear was the opposite of my exotic imaginings [of the UAE]. I wanted to find out what lay within that middle ground.’

Her new relationship with Andres, which ignites two weeks before she is due to depart from Boston, further fuels her desire to understand womanhood. The book tells of Andres following Schedneck to the UAE, where Schedneck is indeed pushed and pulled between new and old concepts of love, liberation and equality. The UAE serves as a testing platform for undertaking this journey.

From university classrooms to seven star hotels, abayas to bikinis and to dust to all that glitters, Jillian tastes both polarities of the UAE. These extremes have Schedneck ask questions that have been asked for decades: What is freedom? What is choice? What is a woman’s role in society? She begins to question her own choices in clothing, relationships and expressions of self, and her integration into a world far from her own helps form grounded answers.

As a reader, it is difficult to not ask a similar line of questioning. Who am I, and why? Do I have a choice in this matter or do my cultural norms dictate who I am? Is there a right and wrong way of being a woman in this world? Schedneck’s personal journey inspires readers to consider their own, contemplating ideas the reader might never have before considered.

‘Bedouins on camels, tents erected in the vast desert, palm fronds sagging with clusters of ripe dates, alongside gleaming residential towers, themed shopping malls and international conglomerates…’ Schedneck’s description of setting is rich. In describing the UAE she draws together its differences. ‘Timeless desert and futuristic cities’, ‘local people and foreign expatriates’- the UAE’s essence lies in its many contrasts. ‘I loved moving between the cheap, dusty van to sipping colourful drinks with glamourous people who had just flown in for the weekend’ she describes. Schedneck recreates the ambience of these memories beautifully. I am in the classroom, discussing Woolf’s Professions for Women with two-dozen veiled figures, and I am on the 99^th floor, overlooking the Gulf while eating olives and sipping martinis.

Clothing is a reoccurring theme, a symbolic means of demonstrating the disparities and parallels between East and West. ‘They wore sheilas for the same reason I didn’t; it’s their culture, not mine.’ And this is why in the West we wear shorts and singlets, Schedneck did not need to add.

While in the past fifty years there have been enormous movements in Western societies for men and women to be treated the same, it is different in the East. Aysha, a Muslim woman Schedneck befriends in the book, says of this, ‘We do not see the sexes as the same nor wish them to be – we [the sexes] are different in nature; we complement but neither is superior’. Schedneck’s description of her experience building a Western relationship in a primarily Eastern culture objectively considers the good and bad of how relationships are conducted in both societies.

Schedneck’s first book follows a number of other literary publications regarding Emirati women. Presently a PhD candidate focusing on gender studies, particularly, Emirati women’s creative expression and national identity, it is clear this is a topic Schedneck is both knowledgeable and passionate about. In her attempts to break the misperceptions of Islam, Schedneck emphasises what she had learned from her students: the burqa is not necessarily oppression in a cloth, and Islamic men aren’t all hot-tempered and domineering.

While technically a travel memoir, Abu Dhabi Days, Dubai Nights has a cultural and societal studies element, making it both an entertaining and informative read. Schedneck draws together the similarities and differences between East and West to explore the implications of the cultures we are born into.

The memoir highlights other definitions of choice and freedom, and other ways of being a woman that I might have never considered. It demonstrates the commonalities between all women: despair at pain and trauma, joy at peace and pleasure – underneath the layers (or lack-of) clothing, our needs and desires are alike.

On Women Doing Literary Things Blog, Schedneck says, ‘A woman’s freedom takes many forms’. Read this book to discover these forms and come to better understand your own.

I Quit Sugar – Fortnight 1 Debrief (food porn included)

23 Monday Apr 2012

Posted by Amanda in Food, I Quit Sugar, Lifestyle, OH-12 Bucket List

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

diet, food, health, lifestyle, recipes, self-development, sugar, wellness

So. Week 1 and 2 of I Quit Sugar (IQS). While I really did believe I’d be sick and miserable due to sugar withdrawals, I’m not. Actually, for the most part, I feel fine.

However, it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

But it wasn’t necessarily a rough ride, either.

While Sarah suggested to simply cut sugar back ‘a bit’, just monitor and substitute for now, she suggested, I was so excited to say goodbye to sugar that I cut back, A LOT. Every day, I’ve been having a small guava around 10am, and have allowed for sugars present in substituted packaged foods. For example, I’ve swapped All Bran for Weetbix and yoghurt with 11g of sugar per 100ml to yoghurt with only 4g of sugar in the same quantity.

A rule of thumb I’ve adopted from Sarah is to eat only foods with a sugar content of less than 4g every 100ml of food. So all fortnight I’ve been scrutinising food labels, tsking at the sugary goods and embracing the <4g wonders.

On days four and five I was seriously tired. Of course, it could have been a culmination of many factors (lots of work, that time of the month), but I sense the sugar withdrawal contributed. Out for drinks on the evening of the fifth day (one wine, it was, I swear!), I wanted nothing more than to be in bed by 11PM – I yearned to cuddle my pillow to sleep. On day six, my normal energy levels resumed, and on day 7… I fell a step back.

Just when I let my guard down…

At the supermarket, the Easter leftovers caught my eye. A whole wall of evil bunnies and demonic eggs enticed me. I wandered over and allowed myself a good five minutes (not exaggerating) to stare. Just, stare. And I did, for five minutes. I stared at this mural of chocolate, in which, if you had not realised by now, I love. And it was chocolate for half the usual (inflated) price. It was chocolate wrapped in bright, pretty colours adorned with images of cute rabbits in pastel ribbons bouncing across rolling meadows. I could not resist. I snatched a 165g bag of Lindt and hurried to the checkout before I could change my mind.

In the car, my fingers shook as I undressed an Easter egg. Into my mouth it went, where I waited for it to melt (and you know how good Lindt is at melting, right).

I wasn’t delighted. On the contrary, I was rather repulsed at its sweetness. And at myself.

I drove home, eyeing the bag I’d given into. My five minutes of weakness. Hate for the chocolate bag and the weakness it represented built up within me. I parked my car, and in a scenario similar to when I stomped on the pack of Cornettos, I threw the chocolates on the driveway and squished it down to a pancake.
And this time, I didn’t need a man, for I was wearing shoes.

Hindsight

While I could say, ‘it’s safe to say I’m back on track’, it’s not safe to say that at all. Who knows what other delights (and price cuts) will tempt me. But I’m cool with it. It’s a matter of two steps forward and one step back, after all.

Tomorrow I commence week three. Week three is business time. It means no more morning guavas, and an even more stringent attitude toward substituting packaged foods for packaged foods with less sugar (and hell, it will also involve cutting back on packaged foods in general).

I know a lot of you are on IQS journeys of your own. How’s it going? Feeling any changes? Experience any challenges? Any tips?

And Before I Go… Some IQS-Inspired FOod Porn

A few IQS inspired wonders I’ve been whipping up!

Breakfast: oats, quinoa flakes, coconut milk and pepitas dusted with cinnamon goodness.

Lunch: wholemeal pasta, kidney beans, mushrooms, walnuts, fresh basil and a truck-load of garlic.

Dinner: Paneer masala - paneer, garam masala and curry mix, natural yoghurt, beans, capsicum, ginger, garlic, coriander and as much chili as you can handle! (serve with brown rice)

Outlandish midnight, post-wine snack (or a snack at any time of day): so maybe you don't want to be cutting and slicing at 1am in the morning after a night out. Fair enough. But, if like me, this is down your alleyway ---- all you need is haloumi, a sandwich press and your vegetables of choice. Here I've got capsicum, beans, corn and eggplant. It took 10 minutes. So worth it.

I’m Quitting Sugar

12 Thursday Apr 2012

Posted by Amanda in I Quit Sugar, Lifestyle, OH-12 Bucket List, Women's Issues

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

diet, food, health, lifestyle, self-development, sugar, wellness

Okay, I’m serious here, peeps.

I’m quitting sugar.

For real.

So, before you judge, and accuse me of taking up and promoting another dietary fad, hear me out.

Why I am Quitting the Sweet Stuff

Let’s go back in time.

Once upon a time, there lived an 8 or 9 year-old girl named Amanda. One day, when Amanda comes home from school to ritualistically greets her blue-and-white budgie, Bluey (oh, the irony), she finds Bluey not on his favourite perch, not bullying his reflection in his bespeckled, jingling mirror, no, Little Amanda finds Bluey flat on his back, yellow claws frozen in mid-air, and eyes far, far emptier of intellectual activity than usual.

Bluey was dead.

- Visual representation of Little Amanda’s finding. RIP, Blue’.

Little Amanda broke down. She howled for what seemed like hours (but probably was no more than 30 minutes). A river of tears and gut-wrenching calls of why-why-WHY left Little Amanda’s parents dumbfounded. Little Amanda was sad. Oh, so sad.

Little Sad Amanda remembers the new jar of Nutella sitting in the pantry.

- There really IS a flower and vine on nutella jars.

Hmm.

Little Amanda tip-toes to the pantry and with a Nutella jar in one little hand and a teaspoon in the other, heads to her bedroom.

Lick, lick, melt. Gooey, yummy, sugary stuff sticks the roof of her mouth and top of her tongue together. Another teaspoon. And then one more. And maybe just one more.

Still teary, little Amanda wills herself another. And another. The tears dry up and she is feeling much, much better – so why not another to celebrate?

Little Amanda scrapes the bottom of the 250g jar. Smiling, she licks the last of the Nutella from the spoon, and then around the rim of the Nutella jar for good measure.

BOY, is she happy. Tears? What tears? Bluey? Pfft, Bluey.

I FEEL GOOD I FEEL GOOD I FEEL GOOD AND IT’S THANKS TO – NUTELLAAA!!!

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

See the picture I’ve painted? That flashback is part of My History. It was The Beginning of My Affliction.

My Affliction, being Emotional Eating.

(To be specific, the Emotional Eating of Sweet, Sugary, Preferably Chocolatey, Goods and Substances)

When something bad happens, sugar is comfort.

When something good happens, sugar is reward.

When something important needs being done, it’s motivation.

When boredom hits, Sweet Stuff equals entertainment.

Sweet Stuff has always since Bluey, filled the comfort/reward/motivation/entertainment hole.

Let’s Get Physical (Physical)

I wanna get physical

(Physical)

Before we continue, please go here for Olivia Newton John goodness.

Now we’ve got that important factor out of the way, let us continue.

Even when I’m emotionally stable, sugar always sweetens its way into the scene. Because it’s also become physical (physical). That 1030am and 4pm slump is reversed (and yet also caused) by sugar. (Yeah, and caffeine is also a player, but for now, sugar is my concern. Caffeine, I will kick yo ass another time.). And that’s just the beginning. I sense lots of other physical nasties will unfold if I Continue The Way I Am.

It’s weakness, yes.

It’s habit, yes.

And it’s also addiction.

My name is Amanda and I’m a sugar-holic.

I came across Sarah Wilson’s I Quit Sugar program (IQS) last year. It caught my interest, but for various reasons put it into the Later category. But over seafood and champagne last week, my friend Tara reminded me about it. We agreed we weren’t ready, but Later, yep, we’d both give it a go.

Come Easter weekend, and the chocolate presents begin. Cartons of it. A tribe of bunnies of it.

Evil tribe of bunnies.

- SO EVIL.

I start my binge Good Friday. Un-wrapping brightly-coloured foil and biting into sweet hollowness made studying entertaining. By Sunday afternoon I was feeling really sick, but I soldiered on because I just wanted the chocolate gone. Just gone. If it’s gone today, I can start afresh tomorrow. For real, this time. Because,

It Wasn’t The First Time.

(I’m sure there’s a song with this title but I’ll refrain from going down that path, again.)

A prepubescent Amanda whose Sunday Sessions consisted of devouring both a book and a pack of Tims Tams (entertainment). A teenager, working in lay-by with a bag of M&Ms under the counter (motivation). Since forever Bluey, when I’ve experienced an Extremely Shitty Day or am thinking in an Extremely Shitty Perspective (comfort). Post-high school, I even got my ex-boyfriend in on it. When we first started dating, he could eat no more than four squares of chocolate. By the time of our demise, well, he could clear just as much as me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to quit sugar. I distinctly remember one very unsuccessful attempt, a few years ago when I was living with my ex-boyfriend. We’d come home from grocery shopping and had bought a 4-pack of Cornettos. A 4-pack each. Something must have happened between the check-out and arriving home, because I was suddenly filled with Self-Loathing (you know how it is). Fueled by hot-tempered, self-loathing drive, I flung my box of Cornettos onto the linoleum floor and proceeded to stomp. On it. My ex watched in horror.

WHAT are you DOING?

(I must add I was bare-footed and so not very successful at stomping, so my ex, being the chivalrous man he was/is, ended up stomping for me).

My drive didn’t last very long. The following day we sat on the couch, laughing at last night’s antics while eating Cornettos from his Cornetto box.

Enough background. You’ve caught my drift. (Though I have many, many more stories like the ones mentioned above.). Quitting sugar will be challenging for me. You know, I can easily spend two hours a day bouncing around a gym (which is probably why I haven’t ballooned), more often than not I eat balanced and mindful meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I drink 2+ litres of water everyday without fail – but I haven’t been able to stop over-indulging on the Sweeter Things.

I believe it’s because sugar has always since Bluey been an integral part of my Emotional Kit-Bag. And over time, my physiological homeostasis.

But I’m over my sugar dependency.

I’m tired of energy slumps.

I’m sick of feeling guilty.

I’m ready to say goodbye to break-outs.

And I just don’t have the time to run around a gym for two hours a day like I used to. And it’s beginning to show.

This may change my life.

Or it may not.

Regardless, I’m giving it a shot. As Wilson puts it, this isn’t a life sentence, merely, it’s an experiment.

I’ll experiment for eight weeks and I’ll make another assessment then.

It’s not my plan to be a sugar-free advocate for the rest of my life, nor is this a plight purely for vanity’s sake. Of all things, I want to be able to control my physical and emotional wellbeing. Because, I once that’s down-pat, I think everything else will be much easier to manage.

Like with all addictions, you’ve got to get the culprit out of your system to rehabilitate.

I’m at the beginning of day three of about sixty. In week one, it’s suggested to merely begin to cut back on sugar, and observe how much of it you eat. Wilson’s research suggests we are designed to only consume up to 6 teaspoons a day. I know I’ve spent the majority of my life eating well over that intake. (Did you know 4g of sugar is equal to one teaspoon? I didn’t. Read the nutritional label of the next packaged thing you eat and Be Devastated).

So, I’ve cut back. I’ve been taking notes. And I’ve already begun implementing some of Wilson’s strategies, but I’ll go into that another time.

Today, I just wanted to share My Story. Maybe it will encourage you to think about your own Story, and motivate you to face up to something that needs changing in your life. And to do something about it.

If I am not too overwhelmed with sugar withdrawals next week, I’ll write a post on how Week 1 of IQS was for me.

Has anyone tried Wilson’s IQS Program, or something similar? How did you go?

48 Hours of Silence

08 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by Amanda in Kundalini, Lifestyle, Meditation, OH-12 Bucket List, Vipassana

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

health, Kundalini, Meditation, psychology, Vipassana, Yoga

A few weeks ago my friend Annie and I attended our first Vipassana retreat (Vipassana, put really, really simply, is silent self-observation).

Here’s a little about my experience.

The Sound of Silence (nothing like an over-used

phrase to set the scene)

LATE.

A stop at the supermarket for weekend necessities (i.e., chocolate) and then another stop at McDonalds (because we figured minus the teeny bit of chocolate we were sneaking in, we’d be real healthy over the weekend, so some French fries to balance out the goodness was called for) and we were looking at being an hour late. Then Annie remembers something I always neglect to factor in – Daylight Savings.

Dad-dum.

So we’d be two hours late. …No biggie!

Would people already be in silence when we arrive? My mind got busy conjugating an embarrassing scene, and I began to dread what lay before me. But we were expected, and so I drove on.

Arrival

A yellow mailbox signals that we’ve arrived at the Bush Ashram. I drive up the rocky incline, following the wooden Vipassana signs that direct us toward where we ought to go.

After we’ve parked my car among the others, we’re unsure of what to do. We search the property for signs of life, but everything is still, and besides the noise emanating from the wildlife, everything is quiet.

Of course.

Eventually we hear whispered voices and locate 20 or so people finishing up on introductions. We’re asked to share a bit about ourselves, and red-faced, do so. I become well aware that these people now knew something of me, while for the entirety of our time together I’d know nothing about them.

Anudasi whispers to us a Concise Edition of what we’ve missed. She is just as I imagined: an earth angel, sweetly serene in speech and movement. I wonder how she’d made her way from Germany to Australia’s hinterlands- was it planned by her, or planned by Life? While she speaks, I begin to feel bashful. French fries and a sundae are doing lumpy cartwheels in my churning belly, hardly appropriate when speaking to such a goddessly creature. I am conscious not to burp.

Silence

It fell over us like a light cotton blanket. The silence was Present, but was not stifling. Annie and I watch the others and copy in preparing for our first round of meditation, a Kundalini exercise.
Cushion, mat, personal space – check.

Kundalini

Music emits from a stereo: bells, drums, and fast-paced rattling. Everyone begins to shake. I close my eyes like everybody else, and I copy what I’d seen.

Hands shake, shoulders quake, knees tremble.

It feels forced, but I continue, groping to find a rhythm natural for me. I begin to find one but then the music changes – the new sound is liquid-like. I spy a glance around me and again copy – I sway, arms and hips like fluid, figure-eights. I like this, for me it feels much more natural. When the music stops, silence descends, and we all sit down. And then we lie down. While my mind was mostly active I do achieve brief moments of quiet.

Vipassana

For between 30 to 45 minutes, we’d take part in several of these sitting exercises a day. Some of us sit on chairs, others with backs against walls, and others Buddha-like, bum to floor, elevated with a cushion, legs cross and spines erect from tailbone to crown. I sit Buddha-like too: it looked legitimate and I wanted legitimacy. But I quickly found that the most legitimate way was also the most painful. It didn’t take long for my mind to stray from breath to the stabbing ache along my upper back.

Then to the ache in my lower back.

Then the lack of circulation in my feet.

Then the sound of someone’s snoring.

Then another’s churning belly.

And then my churning belly.

Argh.

Vipassana sessions were broken up with 15-minute tea breaks. Bowls of fresh mint and lemongrass sat ready on a kitchen bench, and we would gather ‘round, handing each other mugs and pouring each other tea with our eyes averted and voices out of action. Then, clutching our mugs, we’d settle in little corners and each return to our own private universe.

***

Sometimes Vipassana was tolerable. Eh, this isn’t that bad. The early morning Vipassana, taking place before the sun rose, was conducted in the soft light of scores of candles. Perfect. And after Kundalini, Vipassana was a little more tolerable too.

At any other time Vipasanna became incredibly challenging. My mind tended to float and land upon anything- anything at all, bar where it was meant to be.

On my breath.

Its feel.

Its rhythm.

The rise and fall of my belly.

Stay there, mind! I urged.

But, no.

Shit Gets Nasty

Thoughts of past and future.

Yesterday.

Wednesday.

Last year.

Next month.

Tomorrow.

Memories or fabrications, of people, reactions, events and activities, raced through my mind. Constantly. To be suddenly conscious of how much ‘garbage’, as one woman put it in our closing reflection, was going through my mind – irked me. I recognised how much brain power I was putting into lame things. Stupid things. Un-serving things. Stop it Amanda.

It was hard.

At one point I felt like I’d had enough. I could not calm the thoughts, I could not get the ‘white and fluffy clouds to float out of my blue-sky mind’ any more. I’d lost all control – inside was stormy, greeny-grey-yellowy clouds ready to unleash.

On the Sunday, the day we were due to go home, one 45 minute Vipassana went a little like this:

I was trialing a new thoughts-blocking technique: Focus in on the Sound of Fuck.

A force of fucks stormed against a force of thoughts. Fuck was to be the magic wand that waved away the storming Thought-Clouds. It was a violent battle, and an ineffective one too. While the thoughts were no longer my focus (fuck was), they still stewed, brooding, in the background.

For your information, fuck a thousand times over does not enlighten. It only causes even deeper agitation. Do not try it at home.

Through Vipassana I’ve realised how much inner dialogue is actually going on. I’m just as crazy as those people who walk ‘round muttering to themselves. And chances are, you are too. What a bitter-sweet realisation!

It wasn’t all sitting and dancing and quiet.

Cicadas, frogs, grasshoppers. Goannas, bats, birds and mice. Possums, wallabies, echidnas and other marsupial friends. They sung in shifts. Birds in the morning, and croaking, buzzing, hunting creatures in the night. Nature’s music filled the void.

There was a group bush walk, conducted in total silence of course, bar these Nature-Sounds. Then there was The Attack of the Leeches.

An old Vegemite jar filled with salt and a note saying ‘For leeches! Sprinkle on and leech will drop off!’ sat by the door. I sprinkled salt onto my fifth sucker, watched it writhe, freeze and then let go, reflecting that in any other situation I would be ew-ing and gross-ing while doing this. But I dealt with it alone, and quietly. And because my mind was calm, I was calm, and the leeches didn’t seem so revolting.

At night there was a silent campfire. No music, no talking. No laughing or any story-telling. No alcohol nor any marshmallows on sticks. But there were stars, and bush noises, and the fire-flames danced and crackled their beat.

We had a few sessions of free time everyday. We weren’t meant to read books but both Annie and I (and a few others) broke this rule. But sometimes I found even the book to be too noisy, for I’d become much more receptive to thoughts and sounds. I would leave Annie in our twin-bed bungalow and go for a walk through the long, damp grass and let what I saw tell me stories.

Aftermath

Some of what the others said summed my experience up nicely. After a final, energetic Kundalini, (think dance music with classical Indian instrument undertones), we sat together like on the day we all arrived and reflected upon our experiences. The girl who said ‘there’s just so much garbage in my head’ broke down sobbing and could say no more. One man said ‘the creativity of the mind really astounds me’. Another man reflected upon how difficult it was for him to shut the mind up for more than a few seconds. One woman refused to share, she said she wasn’t read to speak yet.
Hear Hear.

There were no epiphanies in those 48 hours, and I did not venture home in a state of bliss. I was however so much more aware of the ‘garbage’ that constantly streamed through my mind. Now, I am much better at catching myself in the act – red-handed – thinking of things far removed from where I ought to be (that being, Right Now).

If I didn’t have the knowledge that I was going home soon to hold onto, I sense my experience would have been much more traumatic. This is why I am all for participating in another retreat, but for ten days. Not for the trauma, no, but for the insight that always takes place post-breakdown. I imagine (there goes my mind, setting expectations!) that Vipassana can open a practitioner to astounding insights.

Over to You

Have you ever tried Vipassana? Would you ever try it? I would love to hear of your experiences or expectations. And feel free to ask me any questions!

This Kony Business.

10 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by Amanda in Inspiration, Kony 2012, Life Advice, Philanthropy

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Tags

2012, inspiration, Kony, media, Musings, opinion, social media

Am I too late? It’s been 5 whole days since Kony 2012 fever hit, after all. And already, the Kony updates in my Facebook and Twitter feeds are fast dwindling.

Talk about a short attention span, people.

Now, before the Kony hype completely subsides, I want to add my two cents to the pile too.

To begin, let us consider where Kony 2012 might be six months into the future.

Scenario A

We find Kony. Wooooooo.

Scenario B

We haven’t found Kony. Poo.

Outcomes

Scenario A and B seem polar opposite, but I can already see one common factor.

Win or lose, Kony 2012 fever will (and already has!) subside. Passengers riding the Kony wave will gradually (and naturally) lose interest, and except for the few devotees, most will eventually hop off the bangwagon. “Oh yeah, that Kony thing,” we will say. “Man, they’re taking forever with my flat white today.”

My Concern

You care. Really, you do. I sincerely believe this. You’ve shared the video, you’ve donated to the cause, you’ve set aside time in your schedhule to attend a demonstration - you really, really, care and totally want Kony to be caught (and whether these actions are helpful activism or fruitless ‘slacktivism’ is for another conversation). No one (except for the select, demonic few) wants these sort of atrocities to happen to anyone, not even to that witty guy who crafted the term ‘a man (to) hug n kiss’ (you bastard).

Now, my concern. My concern is that whether it be in one week or in six months time, you’ll not only forget about Kony, but forget about the rape, the torture, the murder and fruit bowl of other barbarities that are taking place every day. Whether it be in one week or in six months time, I am concerned that you’ll begin to lose sight of the compassionate, empathetic and driven side of you that has been shining thorugh so magnificiently this past week. I worry that the shallower aspect of each of us will sneak in through the back door and take reign of our thoughts, words, feelings and actions once more.

So…?

Maybe there’ll be another well-pieced viral video campaign. Maybe there’ll be another terrorist attack or war the media can freak us out about. I’m quite certain that once again, something outside of us will drive the majority to act, to care, until, yet again, we forget. “Ugh, they didn’t put my two sugars in.”

Imagine

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the passion and energy promopted by ‘Kony 2012 didn’t fade? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we didn’t need prompts from viral campaigns or scare tactics to propel us to and keep us in action? Wouldn’t it be grand if it all came from that source within, that source inside that is always there, but we tend to easily lose connection with?

Imagine if we always felt this empathy. Imagine if we always housed this interest in situations well outside our personal welfare. Imagine what action we’d be taking, the change we’d be creating, the world that would begin to unfold if we never forgot how much we care.

Imagine.

Don’t Forget to Care

If we capture Kony, let us not be content with only one win. If we don’t capture Kony, let us not be defeated with this one loss.

It doesn’t start nor does it end at Kony. Politics, global warming, domestic violence, animal cruelty, war, extinction, AIDs, use of resources, a true emancipation of women – pick a winner, there are hundreds of other causes worth caring for.

Does something call you? Does something scare you? Whether A, B or both, dive in, and choose to care about it with all your might. I know it’s not always easy, but it is certainly worthier of our energy than some of the other vain endeavours we like to partake in.

When Kony fever subsides, don’t disconnect. Let that passionate, empathetic and driven part of you (that is so so SO BEAUTIFUL, or HANDSOME!) shine through in your every thought, every word, every feeling and every action, every day.

It is this part of you that holds the key to creating a better version of this world.

The Story of How I Got My Tramp-Stamp

01 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by Amanda in About, Life Advice

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

decision making, Journey, Personal, tattoo, writing

This is the story of how I came to have a tramp-stamp. Didn’t know I have a tramp-stamp? You do now. Read on to find out how I put myself to shame.

One fine Thursday, younger and dumber at 17, a girlfriend and I thought it would be a fabulous idea to skip work experience and get underage tattoos.

Yeah, we were bad-ass.

We make this decision while chatting on MSN at around 1am of the very day it happened.

Yeah, making light of big decisions is also bad-ass.

I was SO EXCITED. I spent til about 3am doing research on Google. What do I want? A quote. Something meaningful. Something that says, ‘STUFF YOU, I’M AN ANGRY TEENAGER’, but then doesn’t.

I type in something along the line of ‘meaningful quotes’, because I’m brilliant like that. I come across a few, I jot them down, ooh and ahh for a few minutes and then make a choice I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

After a few hours sleep, my friend and I meet and catch a bus to one of Brisbane’s rougher suburbs: we heard along the grape vine that they do it underage there.

The rumours were true! They don’t ask questions about our age!

*Happy dance!*

Oh, we are so bad-ass! We smirk at one another in nervous glee, sipping on Coke, shirts slightly hiked up, sitting on high-stools… oh-my-god-I-am-so-nervous-we-are-so-bad!

I won’t go into detail, but it was excruciating stuff. It would have been nice to have mum there to hold my hand, but, she didn’t know about it.

And so, 12 hours after first deciding to get tattooed, our dreams have come true: we are tramp-stamped.

For a while I wouldn’t tell people of my tattoo’s meaning. I spent two hours looking for this quote on Google, guys. It’s sacred stuff okay.

Not telling people lost its fun and so I started telling. I guess it was all in seeking attention. And oh, my tattoo says ‘Alis Volat Propriis’, which is Latin for ‘she flies with her own wings’. <—– See, it says screw you but then doesn’t!

How I loved that tramp-stamp! (At that time, tramp-stamps were still pretty cool.) I’d spend hours and hours gazing fondly at it in the mirror, and I would lie on my bed in such a position that I could see my tattoo through a mirror’s surface.

Yes, I loved that tattoo dearly, until I made a couple of discoveries.

Discovery 1

It was spelled wrong.

Stupid Google!!! Stupid me!!! I should have double-checked! I was appalled at myself, and for the first time, I began seeing the recklessness of my decision.

I think there’s an extra ‘i’, or an ‘r’ should be an ‘i’; I can’t remember, I don’t quite care for my tattoo anymore and can’t be bothered researching into it again. Plus, this ‘typo’ no longer bothers me. I think it’s funny and I love to share this story- people get such a laugh out of it.

Discovery 2

I found out that ‘alis volat propriis’ is the state motto of Oregon.

Oregon??? Oh. My. God. … Oregon. sounds. LAME. Oregon is NEVER in magazines like NYC and LA and Florida are so must be a boring old lame place full of boring old lame twats. OMG-OMG-OMG! I have Oregon’s state motto on my back! I am now old lame and boring too! I want to dieeeeee.

In time, I came to learn that Oregon is an AWESOME place, so awesome that I want to live there one day, in their capital, Portland. It’s very pretty and sounds to me like it’s full of odd-balls, and I lurve odd-balls.

If Oregon used this in their marketing campaigns, I for one would find it REALLY appealing.

Regrets?

I’ve no regrets. Yes, my tramp-stamp was born from a rushed and dim-witted decision, but, its consequence is not harmful, rather, its consequence is funny. Which is why I don’t mind having it. Humour is good.

Plus, it’s through my tattoo that I discovered Oregon, a place I want to one day live. And, when I do move to Oregon, I can keep being bad-ass: I’ll flash my tattoo like a detective flashes his badge and get food discounts and entry to all the hot-spots! I’m just THAT bad.

Our tattoos! I've rubbed my friend's tattoo out to safeguard her identity- she's yet to know I've written this!

Week 7 Reflection: Conversations, Sex and Coming Home

29 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by Amanda in Life Advice, Sexuality, Travel, Weekly Reflection, Women's Issues

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

faith, happiness, Journal, Life, lifestyle, Musings, people, Personal, Reflection, sexuality, thoughts, Travel, womanhood, writing

It’s… reflection time!

The time and place where I review my week, sharing my musings, activities and (puke), emotions. You know, my feelings, and all the sappy, heart-felt stuff that come with it.
You are forewarned: I am HUGE on feelings. And on seeing the silver lining. You may gag.

Fear

“Honey, don’t expect to land when the plane does,” says Maya. “Some of you is back in India, some in China, you got some of you here and you’ve got some waiting for you at home. Go easy.” I love her soft, east coast American lilt; even after 44 years living in south-east Asia, Maya could not escape this connection to her past. She drops her hand from my chest – I’d pressed it there so she would feel my heart’s hasty rhythm.

I felt incredibly restless about going home. Why?

Because the last three months have been a big grand adventure and I fear home will be dull in comparison. Because parts of me have changed and I worry that I will no longer fit the spot I’ve left behind. Because I have a heap of unfinished business to face, boring unfinished business or worse, emotionally draining business. Because I see that home houses all the challenges I’ve been building myself up for, and now that it’s nearly time to wage war, I find I am doubting myself.

Because I am scared.

My anxiety wasn’t permanent. It was a state that came like waves, touch and go, touch and go. And so I still managed to have a marvelous time in Kuala Lumpur.

Conversations in KL

I didn’t visit any of KL’s landmarks or highly-esteemed places. The closest thing I had to a tour was a half hour taxi journey from the airport to my hostel. The taxi driver was incredibly knowledgeable (i.e., when he had no business he’d read the stack of Malaysia travel guides stuffed in his car door’s pocket) and he divulged all sorts of interesting facts about the bits of KL we zoomed pass. I appreciated what he shared with me but I appreciated the fact that he was Indian even more. It was comforting: I was still deeply madly sickly in love with India.

Instead I spend my 72 hours in town at my hostel. A FABULOUS decision. I take over the common room, watching National Geographic, catching up on emails, journal-ing, doodling, appreciating the air-conditioning that masked KL’s humidity, and enjoying unlimited coffee and toast (the coffee probably didn’t help with my anxiety).
It is here where I acquaint myself with a unique collection of characters.

Some favourites:

MAYA

There’s Maya, the woman I mentioned earlier. She’s originally from Hawaii, in her 60s and has been exploring the south-east of Asia since the honeymoon of her short-lived marriage. She’s a life long learner, dabbling in all sorts of things: acupuncture, colour therapy, life coaching – I fall in love with her lifestyle choice. She tells me stories about her crazy eight year relationship with an, ahem, Iraqi assassin (I know right), and it is a tumultuous relationship and so I don’t idolise her lifestyle so much anymore.
I love Maya’s colour (she is a RAINBOW, a bag of SKITTLES) and appreciate her eccentric pearls of wisdom, and oh, what a woman.

Sam

Then there’s Sam from Borneo. His long, black hair is tied into a ponytail, and he has tattoos peeking under a fitted black t-shirt on both his arms. He works at the hostel (between you and me, this may be one reason I hung around so much- he was DELICIOUS eye candy, way better than the Petronas Towers).

At 16, Sam’s well-meaning Muslim parents sent him to study in the UK. Instead of attending school, he used the money to backpack around Europe. For FOUR YEARS. Then he furthered his backpacking career by trekking through New Zealand and then Australia and now eight years later he still hasn’t returned to Borneo to say hi to mum and dad. He says his family know the truth and they’re waiting for him to come home so they can kill him. Or worse, he says they’ll make him get married. Sam shares all this with humour and I laugh with him, but I think deep he’s a little distressed by it all.

Matthew

And then there’s Matthew, a smooth-talking German lawyer. We spend an evening having fantastic conversation, which at 2am, after being told by hostel staff to hush, progressed to an invitation to his bedroom. Naively, I thought it was to simply continue our fabulous conversation, and so I go with him to his room and the door clicks shut and suddenly I think, ‘Oh’.

Ohhhhh.

Ohhhhh.

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

Experiences in India had driven me to question the role sex plays in my life. I was beginning to be concerned with the whole why of sex.

Mostly, we don’t do the deed to procreate. Mostly, we have sex for pleasure, whether it be the pleasure of being close to another, of releasing pent-up energy or maybe just for the end result.

And it’s not only sex we have for pleasure, it’s the chocolate bar we eat, the luxurious silk we wear, the coat of perfume we dab along our collarbones. These are all pleasures that come from our senses- it tastes good, it feels good, it smells good.

While I’m not sure of life’s purpose I am certain that pleasure, happiness, joy, whatever, I believe it is all part of the equation. But see, I had started to recognise that true, never-ending happiness cannot be derived from temporary things. All the chocolate or the sex in the world cannot really fulfill me.

I’m not advocating we block ourselves of our senses. At this stage, I am saying that it might be beneficial for us to consider how much we rely on temporary things to give us joy. And then, to recognise these joys aren’t long-lasting- they fade. And from there, deciding whether we’re content with deriving joy from the temporary, over and over for the rest of this life, or whether we’re craving something more and are ready to break this cycle.

In the immediate scheme, this partnership between the physical and our senses offer pleasure to some degree: sometimes it is mild, sometimes it is uproarious-intense-mind-body-spasming pleasure and Amanda, you are wrong, wrong, sex does make people happy, you might say.

But sometimes, there comes a point, maybe it be right after you unwind yourself from his arms, maybe it be the morning after, maybe next week or a few months time when a thousand other things have come and passed, that fleeting pleasure is long gone and, maybe you’ll relate to this, that pleasure is now replaced with a feeling of, my friend Annie described it perfectly the other night – hollowness. Emptiness. Nothingness. That chocolate bar/silk scarf/perfume/amazing sex did not fill this gaping hole inside. If anything, this gaping hole feels bigger because you tried to stuff it full, but failed.

And so how to find true happiness if not from these temporary and sensory delights? That I am exploring. I don’t have the answers, but there is one thing of which I am quite certain: happiness has more to do with being than finding. And in order to be happy requires being happy with yourself. And being happy with yourself requires honouring yourself: your body, ideals, values, even if they are half-formed (like mine now are about sex. Thanks India, for confusing both me and the men I meet). These ideas and values are yours, and respect for them must start from within.

Anyway, I felt that I’d probably feel hollow at some point if I were to sleep with Matthew. And while there was much, much, oh so much, temptation, because then and there I did not feel hollow, I felt electrified, I surpassed this temporary desire and instead honoured my feelings and beliefs and walked away.

Oh and what a fabulous story it is that I’ve walked away from! I exclaim to myself while I lie alone in my bed. Valentines Day eve, strangers from opposite sides of the world meet, share a unique connection and have a crazy beautiful intense one night together. Unforgettable.
But in walking away from one story I had walked right in to another: one where the leading character overcame her fleeting desires and instead found a much purer and long-lasting happiness through staying true to herself.

Touch Down

Mum and Dad meet me at the airport. Mum smiles but then does a complete 360 and begins to cry. Dad gives me a bear hug and as we part I see his eyes are red and shiny. He excuses himself and goes to the bathroom for a while.

The drive home was what I’d hoped for, mostly silent. I don’t have to give myself over to this place and these people just yet.

Seeing With New Eyes

Australia is better than I anticipated. Perfect weather, warm with touches of south-easterly winds. I spend most of my first day in my parent’s yard, getting re-acquainted with their cat (well my cat, but as my parents say, I pretty much abandoned him when I scooted out of home at 18), and then I make a new friend: next door’s hen, who everyday escapes from her confines and explores the world out yonder. I connect to this little hen and liken her to me; she’s inflicted with wanderlust.

I go for a drive. It’s Wednesday, 5PM. Home time. Roads seem empty, roads seem silent, roads have order! The highly populated roads of Asia were my norm and Brisbane roads were new. Hey, brand new perspective, I like you.

Material Stuff

You know the drill. Mountains of emails. Dozens of letters. Too many bills. Plus a room stacked high with my hastily packed belongings- I’d moved out of my share-house and left my poor parents with the stuff I didn’t give away on my frenzied clearing spree. I DON’T NEED STUFF, I AM MORE THAN STUFF was my mantra as I hurled things that will probably come in handy one day into a cardboard box.

It took me two whole days, but I got the remainder of my material stuff sorted nicely.

Non-Material Stuff

Maya was right, I still wasn’t all quite there. Go easy, she said, and that I did. I slowly re-introduced people back into my life, which was way easier than expected, everyone has been so gentle and kind to me. In my time alone I drank tea, lit incense and listened to CDs I’d brought home.
It’s a slow process, but I’m piecing together nicely, and, to my pleasant surprise, I’m happy to be home.

THE END

‘That’ll do, pig, that’ll do.’ -Farmer Hoggett, Babe. <;——- What I say to myself whenever I complete a project.

Beijing: Excerpts From My Journal and iPhone 4

25 Saturday Feb 2012

Posted by Amanda in Travel, Weekly Reflection

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Beijing, body image, Buddhism, China, chinese new year, iPhone 4, Journal, Journey, Life, McDonald's, personal development, Reflection, Spirituality, spring festival, technology, Tourism, Travel, winter, writing

It’s a two-in-one post, this one is. It serves as both my week six reflection and a miniature travel guide for Beijing, as I name drop a few places and things to do here and there.

I’ve extracted snippets from my journal (I admit, I’ve edited at points for flow – my real journal is an open field of trash and treasure) and my iPhone’s photo album to piece this together. Enjoy!

Ni hao Ma

My transfer flight was over three hours late, and so I arrived in Beijing later than expected. I was running late for our ‘welcome to Beijing’ dinner hosted by my friend’s parents (my friend also had two girls from Shanghai visiting), and there was no time for me to tidy myself up.

And so I feel like such a dirty backpacker in the pretty, chandelier-lit restaurant; everyone at the dinner table, and all the other dinner tables, look immaculate. Except me. I’m in my only remaining pair of shoes, scuffy sneakers that have trekked miles of Indian ground, a cheap and fuzzy forest green jumper with an elf-like hood (kinda like this) that I bought in Delhi out of desperation after I’d left my coat behind in a museum, and I’m wearing those jeans I no longer fitted: I can only just button them up, and I have grave concerns for my post-dinner self. Plus I can’t use chop sticks to save my life. I am feeling like the odd one out. No, I rephrase, I was the odd one out, but they were all very kind, hospitable and even called for a knife and fork, and so, I had a good time overall.

The Best Shower, Ever.

The first thing I do when I get to my friend’s apartment is have a long-awaited shower.

SQUEE! How I enjoy this shower. It’s a real shower, with like, water spurting from a shower head, with get this, water pressure. Oh my. Except for one night in New Delhi, I’d been having bucket showers for three months straight. A shower head was LUXURY. But it also felt wasteful. Three months of bucket showers showed me that we don’t really need much water to get clean.

Factory 798 and an unnecessary Hangover

It’s day two and I wake with a hang over. It’s not fair, I haven’t had a drop. All I’ve had is a lame 26-hour romance with one rickshaw, one bus, two trains and two airplanes. I feel cheated.

We set out for Dashenai in the Chaoyang District, also known as Factory 798. My friend drives: we are four girls cruising through Beijing city in a cherry red Audi.

Factory 798 is pretty funky: full of galleries, boutiques, bars and… COFFEE SHOPS. I’m still feeling rotten and my brain is going COFFEE-COFFEE-COFFEE-BOING-BOING-BOING. The girls aren’t as caffeine mad as me and aren’t set on coffee til after we’ve had a look around, and so as we tour the district I’ve one eye on the art and the other on the many cafes.

Winter, Nostalgia

Beijing is cold. When I step out of the apartment I get flashbacks to those McDonald’s freezer room tours, you know, the ones they’d take you into at childhood McDonald’s birthday parties. And then after the freezer room they’d take you to go gaze dumbly at a man hole in the ceiling, and they’d say, “That’s where Ronald McDonald lives. Why don’t we call for him and see if he comes down?” Ronald, RONALD, RONALLLLLDDD. “Oh, he must be out today. Come along now, maybe he’ll be home next time.” And so they’d leave you feeling sad and deflated, already longing for the next McDonald’s party, and your mother holds your hand as she leads you out to the car and you stare longingly at the rooftop and whisper, “Ronald, Ronald…”

Not really, I wasn’t that weird of a child. But moving along, yes, Beijing is cold, sometimes painfully so, but when the wind is low and the sun is shining it all becomes bearable, and somehow the mix of the chill and the sunlight would make me feel wide-eyed and zinging with life.

Body Image, Lame

I talk weight with my friend. She’s sad because she’s gained 4kgs. I sympathise and try cheer her up by telling her I’ve gained even more. She looks me up and down, doesn’t say a word, her eyes agree. She still despairs. I know she is despairing because she wants to find a man to wed and have beautiful babies with. She’s nearly thirty and she fears Father Time. I tell her that any good and interesting man wouldn’t care that you’ve gained 4kg because you’re eating food you’ve been deprived of for seven years (she’s been living in Australia). A good and interesting man would also eat the food and gain 4kgs alongside you. She sees my point, but still, she despairs. I wish she would see just how beautiful she is.

YongHe Gong and a Confucian Temple

Today we visited Yonghe Gong and the nearby Confucian Temple. Both places were interesting and aesthetically appealing but I liked the Confucian place a lot more. Soft traditional Chinese music plays, there are less people, less hustle, and Confucianism remains mysterious to me, I haven’t spent any time studying it.
There were two stairways to enter the temple, my friend tells me the right is for the military and such to enter, and left for scholars and writers… I march up the left, hoping to invoke the talent and the creativity of the scholars and writers who’d walked this path hundreds of years before me.

Yonghe Gong crowds.

The Ink Lake. "The Ink Lake was actually a well with little depth of water which was often sweet and refreshing. It was said that men of letters who drank a cup of the 'holy water' from the well would be able to produce excellent pieces of writing in great amount." - From the little sign by The Ink Lake.

Prayers at Yonghe Gong

VEGETABLES!!!!

We ate at a vegetarian restaurant for lunch today. Beijing food has been quite challenging for me. I’d enjoyed averting back to vegetarian ways in India and so a table overflowing with ox, chicken, duck, pig, sea life and frog EVERY NIGHT just didn’t appeal. So YES. A vegetarian lunch! Where I can eat every dish and ANY dish, WINNING!!!!

SPRING FESTIVAl

Spring Festival is fire work season. I am strolling down a street with Leon one evening and then BOOM.

BOOM – BOOM – BOOM – BOOM!!! – BOOM!!!! – POW!!!!

Up ahead, someone’s fireworks have majorly failed, and instead of lighting up the sky they’re bouncing off cars, walls and street posts. I squeal and shrink back, Leon laughs and keeps walking. I lag behind, thankful that public use of fireworks are illegal in Australia.

***

It’s the first full moon of the Chinese new year, Spring Festival is now wrapping up. The sky is sprinkled with white and red and green and gold and pink and orange and sometimes even purple and blue. We watch from the cozy apartment; there’s a small fire growing bigger and bigger down by the neighbouring building; no one but me is fazed.
While we watch we eat sweet rice flour dough ball things which are traditionally eaten at the close of Spring Festival (I asked for the name four times, kept forgetting, and felt it’d get annoying if I were to ask again and so now we’ll never know…), which taste like something I’ve had in the Philippines which we call palitaw.

The fire dies. No people came to stamp it out, no fire alarms rang and no firemen in big puffy suits came to the rescue, it just died at it’s own accord.

A Great… Misunderstanding, I suppose.

What a morning! I wake early – I’m going to the Great Wall!

…

I’m not going to the Great Wall. There’s been a miscommunication and I was put on a Chinese tour bus. No one speaks English, and the only Mandarin I know is hello, goodbye, yes and thank you.

I haul myself off the bus (I woke at 5.30AM for THIS?), hail a cab and say the first place that comes to mind – “Take me to Lake Houhai please!” I command. The taxi driver salutes, and off we go.

I Loved LAKE HOUHAI, REALLY, I DID

Houhai lake is HUGE, and I quickly realise I can easily spend the entire day there. And that’s what I do.

I take an enjoyable walk along the perimeter of the frozen lake. I do this all morning, there’s heaps going on to keep me entertained.

People watching is awesome here. Heaps of locals walk their dogs; small, fluffy pampered pooches, some with coats, hair bows, and is that nail polish? I spy a middle-aged guy wearing short shorts and a singlet as he jogged along with clear ease. (It’s -5! And yes, to me, an Australian, that’s cold!). Even crazier: a group of men in DTs (non-Australians, DTs are dick togs, which are these sexy thangs). They’ve somehow de-iced some of the lake and there’s a big group of them doing laps. Other people, sane people might I add, are warmly dressed and ice-skate. Others play chess, ping pong or work out at the outdoor gym. And there are others fishing: holes cut into the ice, two or three to a person, and a rod cast into each as they sit on their fold away chairs in the open, waiting patiently for a catch.

This is the best bit. I turn a blind corner and walk into the heart of an outdoor aerobic dance class. Pairs of middle aged women are wiggling away to this crazy disco music that doesn’t quite compliment the winter wonderland feel of the place. I watch for a while, they’re delighted to have an audience and I get the feeling that each wiggle and each twirl is done with a little bit more buoyancy than usual.
I find myself wanting to live here, at this winter wonderland lake that somehow maintains its serenity despite all the action. But then I remember I want to live in India, and I also want to live in Chiang Mai, and I also want to live in Portland of Oregon where I’ve never been but it’s one of those places that call me and Barcelona is another place I haven’t been but also calls… Boy, have I got some decisions to make.

The woman on the right was pulling some really... enthusiastic (?) moves.

Ahh, rickshaw/tuk-tuks. They look a little different country to country but the drivers, they're rather the same.

Guanghua Temple and Mission Possible!

I go to Guanghua Temple because I read somewhere that business people go here and pray for business success. I don’t have a business but figure that one day I probably will so I might as well pray in advance.
I don’t pray. It’s that whole being shy about praying in public thing again. And then there was a really cute temple cat and it distracted me – it was in dire need of some scratches and cuddles, and I was willing to provide.

I have a look around, not much is going on. I get to the exit and a man smiles hello – his head is shaved and he’s dressed in grey trousers and a grey shirt. I’ve noticed a few people dressed like this around, they look like monks but they’re not in robes? (I later find out they are temple volunteers). He has stopped me to give me peanuts. I’ve now got a mountain of peanuts in my two hands and I don’t know what to do with them- he gestures that I put them in my pockets and so I do and the rest of the day I walk around with peanuts in my pockets (they came in handy when I felt peckish). He then gives me a pink book on Buddhism. And then he invites me inside to chat. Chatting doesn’t go very far as he’s got limited English and as mentioned before, all I know is hello, thanks, yes and bye.

MY MISSION

Turns out, Bob (that’s his name) has an assignment for me. This is what I manage to gather: In 2000 he had an English teacher, Steven. Steven was from Brisbane. Steven is most likely a police officer now. Steven had very good Chinese. Steven was a nice boy and a good teacher.

Bob hands me a pile of photos of a young man, about my age, in wicked late 1990s dress. “Can you give these to Steven?”

“Sure thing! I’d be happy to help! Do you have his address?”

“No.”

“A phone number?”

“No.”

“Oh… Any way of contacting Steven?”

“No. Hehe.” He gives me a big goofy grin.

I’m highly amused. “I’ll try my best, Bob.”

I bid farewell. I don’t escape empty handed. As I leave he gives me a huge red shiny apple and a wooden beaded bracelet with Buddha imprints all over it. Too sweet.

The Best GIft, Ever

While at the temple, I meet Tony. Tony is Chinese, and helped with a lot of the translation between Bob and me. Anyway, turns out Tony had also been in India in January; he’d been in Bodh Gaya and Dharamsala to see His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

Tony is as sweet as pie. He explains to me the significance of the temple and tells me of all these other Buddhist places I should one day visit. We get along really well and he invites me to go temple-hopping (woo, PARTY!!!); he plans to see a few today. I decline; part of me would like to but there was still so much more of the lake to explore and I knew I wouldn’t have time to come back.

We’re saying goodbye and he gives me a photograph. It’s a picture of the Buddha. He says, “Gaze into this often. The more you look at it, the even more beautiful you will become.”

I turn to mush.

I begin regretting saying no to temple-hopping.

I recover and I thank him, he’s gone all shy now and I can’t help but laugh and in response he can’t help but redden. “Byyyyyyyye Tony!” I wave him off and do a little dance as I set out to walk the rest of the lake.

- Tony’s gift.

Romancing My Self

I dine alone for dinner in Lotus Blue. I choose it because I SWEAR my good friend Nikola told me she’d gone there on her visit to Beijing last year, but I come home and tell her about it and she’s completely clueless. “I didn’t go to Houhai Lake”, she tells me. But I thought you did..???

I feel like a drink and so order a glass of whiskey. I forget what I’d chosen, all I know was that it was expensive and something I’d never had before. I eat my dinner, drink my drink, and start thinking about myself. I said no to temple hopping to only end up drinking whiskey alone! Wow. Am I a bad person?
No, I conclude. You just felt like spending some quality time with yourself, a relaxed version of yourself that isn’t fretting about the who what when why and hows. Just chill out. And so I did. It was nice to spend alone time with a chilled out version of me.

An eventful taxi ride home

The taxi driver says something I don’t understand.

“Huh?”

He points to him – “China” he says, then he points to me, “???“.

“Oh! Australia!”

“Huh?”

“Os-tray-lee-ah.”

He shakes his head, he doesn’t understand.

I say, “Kangaroo?”

“Ah!” And then there’s vigorous nodding. Thank God for the trusty kangaroo, we’d be off the map otherwise.

I notice thick smoke emitting from the taxi’s air vents and from the hole where my seat-belt threads out of. I prod the taxi driver on his arm and point at the smoke. He panics, pulls over, and cuts a few drivers off as he does so. BEEP BEEEEEP. He checks his engine. Nothing. He fiddles a few dials on the dashboard, flicking everything and anything, he’s clueless. We do this a few times, drive, pull over, fiddle, drive, pull over, scratch head, fiddle. The car stopped smoking long ago, but he’s worried about his livelihood and he’s looking at the air vents for signs of smoke more than he’s looking at the road.

I should have been fearing for my life but I was too relaxed to care.

Not relative to the passage above, but it's got cars in it! This is in Xidan, a major shopping district. This is light traffic on a Saturday afternoon.

- And this is the foot traffic in Xidan.

The Great Wall was… GREAT!

Visited the Great Wall today. We arrived at about 9AM and were one of the first there. I took a heap of photos with not a single tourist in sight.
I had a nice time walking up the wall alone, and at the top I started talking to a Brazilian woman from my bus and we talked our way down to the bottom. We talk our way through lunch and talk our way on the bus back to Beijing and then talk our way through our goodbye.

We end up meeting again that night, we go to The Red Theatre to watch The Legend of Kung Fu. It was FANTASTIC, the dancers were so nimble and gracious and it made me want to run away and join a dance company.
Afterwards, we have dinner together and we talk our way through that as well.

Brazilian woman is awesome to converse with, we share a similar world view and similar beliefs. I tell her mine and she tells me hers, we spend all night exchanging our life stories and our desired stories for our futures.
This is one my my favourite things about traveling: somehow, people open up so much more when they’re on the road. We begin to share things that might have taken years to tell someone at home. But while traveling, we tend to lay all our cards out on the table. We show ourselves in our rawest form. What is it about traveling that tears down our walls and cracks open our hearts?

A SLICE OF INDIA

I met Song at Haridwar train station in India. She tells me she’s from Beijing and I tell her I’m on my way to visit Beijing. We both get really excited and arrange to meet up when she gets home.

It’s meet up day. She shows me around her work (she works in agriculture), it’s like a mini-university, with apartments and restaurants and a grocery store. She takes me out to a fancy-smancy restaurant for lunch, again I’m conscious of my sneakers, but I chastise myself for my silliness: ‘They’re just shoes, Amanda, they’re not you. If they judge you based on your shoes then they suck and you don’t need them’. I am enthusiastic about her mother’s art she is telling me of, and so after she takes me to visit her 80 something year old parents. They are way cute, her mother short and stout with eyes adorned with laughter lines, and her father, taller, thinner, with stark white nutty-professer hair standing on end (he’s just woken from a nap, it’s bed hair, I’m informed) and a gorgeous dimple in both his cheeks, just like his daughter. I am shown her mother’s art (wow!) and after we set Song’s camera on timer and take photos of us all together.

Song's way cute parents.

Song's mother's art.

The Forbidden City, The Temple of Heaven, The Summer Palace, I.E more of The Tourist Trail

Were all big, pretty and popular places of interest. These places have much coverage though, and so I won’t go on about them here too much. Let’s just say they were beautiful, even in the winter, and worth seeing for their historical significance.

What interests me most in travel stories are the little things: the taste and texture of the roasted seaweed, the overheard conversation on the subway, the smell of the city’s rain- is it any different to home? So that’s what I like to write about.
And so I mention these big places out of self-imposed obligation, and I hope that when you do visit these places those little magical things will naturally happen.

The Forbidden City

The Temple of Heaven

There were DOZENS of parties playing chess or cards in the park-lands of the Temple of Heaven. Another people-watching highlight!

Itty-Bitty Travel Guide: Varanasi

21 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by Amanda in India, Travel

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Backpacking, Holidays, India, Journey, Tourism, Travel, Varanasi

Oh, Varanasi. Those who’ve read my past entries would know I had a love/hate affair with the place (see here and here). Regardless of my personal experience: it’s an interesting city to visit, and to me encompassed the extreme highs and pitfalls of India. So if you’re in the area, I highly recommend that you visit. The city that claims to be the oldest living city in the world (with over 3,500 years of documented history), is quite an eye-opener.

The following entry contains some of the things you can do during your stay.

DO: Boat Tour

The best time to glide across the Ganga depends on what you’re looking for. Sunrise is great to well, watch the sun rise. During the day is a wonderful time to observe the hustle and bustle of the ghats, as well as to visit the other side of the river, a deserted stretch of rubbish-covered sand locals call the ‘beach’. Evening time is perfect to watch the artik ceremony (apparently, artik means ‘welcoming the deities’), taking place daily at approximately 6.30PM.

It’s best to approach boat touts in a group; you’ve more bargaining power that way. I went with four others, and we paid 50 rs. each (A$1) for a one hour ride. A Spanish woman who had no idea what the going rate was told me she paid 500 rs. for a solo tour! Yikes!

Embracing modern Japan!

SEE: Pooja Ceremony

As mentioned above, there’s a daily pooja/artik ceromony in the evening. It is said that Varanasi was founded by Lord Shiva, and it is to Lord Shiva that this ritual is dedicated to. You don’t have to sit on a boat to watch the ceremony, there is plenty of space on land at Dasaswamedh Ghat. Try arrive early (about half an hour) to reserve a front row seat.

SEE: Burning Huts

Manikarnika Ghat and Harish Chandra Ghat house Varanasi’s burning huts. According to Hindu belief, cremation here ensures liberisation from the cycle of births and rebirths.

Ceremonies take place 24/7, so come any time. It’s quite a magnificent sight, especially after sunset.

Some notes:

No, it doesn’t smell. Most families use a special type of wood that somehow stops the place from stenching. It’s only those who can’t afford it that don’t use this wood (and the more affluent the person, the more sandalwood is used in their cremation, which costs a thousand times more, literally).

Yes, you see bodies of the departed burning in plain sight. Don’t go if this is something that makes you feel queezy.

You can’t take photos. Unless you pay a sum. (I took my photo from a boat when I’d forgotten this rule, I swear!).

Watch out for ‘priests’ offering you a ‘better view’ of the huts or to show you a ‘hospital where people waiting to die stay’. I fell for the hospital trick, only to find no sick people as “they’re too contagious to see”. Instead I was asked for a 3500 rs. donation, apparently for ‘burning wood for the poor’.

It can get smokey, so bring something to cover your nose.

You won’t see any Indian women around. Apparently it’s for two reasons. The first is that back in the day women were burned along with their dead husbands (the British put an end to this, thankfully). And the second, I was told, is because women tend to cause too much of a scene- it’s not appropriate to grieve at the ceremony as it stops the soul from moving on.

I've used this photo before, I know. It's called: recycling.

DO: Kite Flying

If you’ve never flown a kite before (that would have been me!) this is the perfect place to learn. Kite flying is a popular past time, especially during the winter months, throughout all of India.

If you don’t know where to begin, there are plenty of locals who’ve been flying kites since they were wee lads hanging around the ghats- most would be more than happy to help you learn.

A kite costs from 1-5 rs., a reel 25-75 and wire varies in price from 10. Rs to 100 Rs. depending on the quality you’re after. Most corner stores sell these kite essentials.

EAT: Brown Bread Bakery

What doesn’t Brown Bread have? Organic food, a drool-worthy cheese menu, free wi-fi, daily specials for those on a budget, roof-top view and a daily evening sitar and tabla concert at 7.30PM. They are also philanthropists, running a women’s empowerment group and school for the disadvantaged.

Note that copyright isn’t heavily policed in India; just 10m down the road from the real Brown Bread Bakery is a Brown Bread copy cat. You might be able to guess the real from the fake – the fake restaurant usually has someone out front enticing customers in with ‘Come, we are Brown Bread Bakery…’

EAT: Lotus Lounge

Located at Mansrowar Ghat, the view from Lotus Lounge is quite stunning. I loved spending mornings sitting under the sun (It’s alfresco! Bonus!), reading books and sipping fresh orange and papaya juice while lazing on one of the green floor cushions. It’s a place that caters for travelers, so it’s quite unlikely that you’ll get sick eating here.

SEE: Golden Temple

The Golden Temple, or Kashi Vishwanath, is dedicated to none other than Lord Shiva, and is so important to Hinduism that Hindu’s from across India aspire to visit here at least once in their life. And so with this popularity comes heaps of foot traffic. And because of all the foot traffic, there are guards everywhere, and the streets are lined with stalls and calls of ‘look at my tea/incense/henna/ornaments/anklets/sandalwood/crystals/bags/pants miss, just look, no buy, looking is free’.

Security is tight here, no bags are allowed inside, and you can’t wear shoes. There is however a cloak room available at a cost that varies from person to person (I overheard the guy who charged us 100 rs. charge another only 50 rs. and then told another group it’s free but they have to buy offerings instead! Gah!).

EAT: Mona Lisa

Tucked away in Bengali Tola, it doesn’t look like much but if you go in the morning (at about 8) you will be served pastries and the like fresh from the oven out back. Think: cinnamon scrolls, chocolate croissants, banana cakes and apple and pecan crumbles… oh my.

The kindly owner will even take you out back to show you it’s all made fresh. And if it wasn’t baked that morning, he’ll tell you, just ask before you buy.

EAT: Blue Lassi – I.E. home of 5-star lassi

Lassi has never ever been this good. I sought out lassi to rival Blue Lassi’s in Jaipur, Agra, New Delhi and Rishikesh but no where made lassi like the boys at Blue.

There is a menu with a brilliant range of mix-ins; I tried apple, pomegranate, pear and guava, all DELICIOUS. I recall my company trying banana, coconut and CHOCOLATE, they seemed as pleased as me. Plus, there’s free wi-fi!

Blue Lassi is a five minute walk from Manikarnika Ghat (the main burning ghat). The place is blue, like, really blue, so it won’t be hard to miss!

Pomegranate Lassi, oh my.

Guava and pear lassi. Take me back, Lord.

Enjoying lassi. How we loved the lassi.

The lassi mastermind. God bless <3

DO: Music

You can learn to play virtually any Indian classical instrument here- there’s a school on nearly every corner. Look out for the free jam sessions, they’re everywhere.

If you’d rather rather listen than learn, spend a couple of hours in one of the many music stores around town. If you’re fortunate like I was, the salesperson might be really passionate and be more than happy to recommend and play you some wonders.

EAT: Hole in the walls

After getting violently ill in Kolkata, I swore to myself that I’d never again eat in a hole-in-the-wall. Promise broken.

Not only is the food much more flavoursome than the tourist joints, it’s a hell of a lot cheaper. I’d pay 25-40 rs. for a lunch at one of these locals and up to six times that amount at one of the tourist places. Of course, the ambience isn’t exactly inspiring, they are not usually the most pleasant (and well-lit) places to take your meals in. There’s always take-away, anyhow!

To avoid falling ill, make sure the food you’re buying is being freshly prepped. This is easy, as the kitchen is usually located at the front of the shop, rather than tucked away in a back room where you can’t see what’s going on. It’s really quite interesting watching how they make things anyway, so be patient (like I should have been in Kolkata) and wait while they make you something new.

SEE: Benares University

A doctorate in Ayurveda or Yoga, anyone? I was at first shocked and then stoked and then soooo jealous to find out that Indian universities offer courses in these areas. Have a browse around the faculties, it’s interesting to observe and chances are there will be a student around willing to give you a tour.

Also: I’m betting that the university’s bookshop has a quirkier selection of books than any other university in the world. Physics and mathematics titles line up against books on crystals, reflexology, witchcraft (huh?) and the like.

SEE: Sarnath

This isn’t quite Varanasi, but it’s near enough (13 km north-east) to do a day trip. I paid 150 Rs. for an auto rickshaw for 2 people (so 75 each). There’s an archaeological museum housing Hindu, Jain and Buddhist artifacts, and of course there’s the main attraction of the grounds in which Buddha delivered his first sermon. It was here that my Varanasi buddy, Vanesa, and I fell asleep: our quick rest was quick to turn into a granny nap – the sound of the group of monks chanting next to us was sooooo relaxing.

DO: Yoga

Be WARNED. It’s best to have done a few Yoga classes at home before trying a class in India, this way you know you’re getting the right sort of treatment (anyone with enough money can have a certificate in anything in India).

It pays to visit a few schools – the quality of classes really does vary teacher to teacher. Personally, I found the lack of focus on safety a bit disturbing. If the teacher tells you to put your body into a position you feel is compromising – don’t do it. You know your body better than they do.

Expect to pay between 150-300 for a class.

BUY: Tea

I was warned by a local that the tea sold in the pretty, branded bags is of bad quality. He suggested I go to Imperial Tea Co, located at the farmers market near Dasaswamedh Ghat to get my tea fix.

Imperial Tea Co is where the locals go, so the tea has got to be good (right?). The up side is it’s way cheaper- you’re not paying for a pretty bag. The downside is the range is limited; there were about nine different blends and they were mostly black and darjeeling varieties.

DO: Cinema

There are three cinemas in Varanasi. Check the local paper (your hotel should be able to help you) for times and synopses. Indians really get into their movies, expect lots of clapping, whistling and jeering. It’s all quite fun, especially if you join in.

DO: Ghat Walk

There are 80 ghats to explore in Varanasi, each with its own unique history and activities. Some are quieter than others, selling art or jewelry or housing a chai stall, temple or a restaurant with fantastic Ganga views.

It takes a good few hours to walk the ghats (I was told 2.5- 5 depending on how fast you go), so unless you’re up for the hike, consider walking one way and catching a rickshaw back.

There is much more to do, see and try in Varanasi, this is just a snippet of what I got up to. This website seems to have both mainstream and unknown stuff if you’re keen to know more.

2. Be aware of breath

3. Build Foundations

4. When moving in and out of postures

5. Cultivate regularity, enthusiasm and caution

6. Honor the suggestion of pain

7. Take personal responsibility

8. Cultivate Patience

And finally:

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Book Review of

Abu Dhabi Days, Dubai Nights

By Jillian Schedneck

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Just when I let my guard down…

Hindsight

And Before I Go… Some IQS-Inspired FOod Porn

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Why I am Quitting the Sweet Stuff

My Affliction, being Emotional Eating.

Let’s Get Physical (Physical)

My name is Amanda and I’m a sugar-holic.

It Wasn’t The First Time.

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The Sound of Silence (nothing like an over-used

phrase to set the scene)

LATE.

Arrival

Silence

Kundalini

Vipassana

***

Shit Gets Nasty

It wasn’t all sitting and dancing and quiet.

Aftermath

Over to You

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Scenario A

Scenario B

Outcomes

My Concern

So…?

Imagine

Don’t Forget to Care

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Discovery 1

Discovery 2

Regrets?

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Fear

Conversations in KL

MAYA

Sam

Matthew

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

Touch Down

Seeing With New Eyes

Material Stuff

Non-Material Stuff

THE END

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Ni hao Ma

The Best Shower, Ever.

Factory 798 and an unnecessary Hangover

Winter, Nostalgia

Body Image, Lame

YongHe Gong and a Confucian Temple

VEGETABLES!!!!

SPRING FESTIVAl

A Great… Misunderstanding, I suppose.

I Loved LAKE HOUHAI, REALLY, I DID

Guanghua Temple and Mission Possible!

MY MISSION