Thousand-Mile Journey

I’m not just here for shits and giggles. I need to get myself back on track. And that’s going to take some serious work. But whether it’s the karma, the dharma, or the vegetable korma, I really believe India has the medicine I need. 

Nonetheless, being jolted from my sleep by a chorus of howling dogs at stupid-o-clock in the morning isn’t exactly the palliative start I had in mind. But I’m up now and I’m keen to seize the day.

The major item on today’s agenda is yoga. Varkala has become a bit of a hub for the discerning yogi with a number of schools offering the full immersion experience. So what better than an intense period of downward dogging to iron out the kinks and give me the jumpstart I need?

Sadly, there’s not much going on in Varkala at 4am. So to kill some time, I head to the bathroom for a nice leisurely shower. But I forget. Hot water is a rare commodity in Indian Slummer-land. And seconds later, there’s a new howling bitch on the beach.

It’s now 6.00am and I’m thoroughly bored. I’ve already moussed and teased my tresses into a succession of perfect curls. So just for the hell of it, I set about squeezing the poison out of every mosquito bite on my body. By 6.45 I’m stippled from top to toe with a collection of angry, swollen pockmarks of purulent ooze. Still, at least my hair looks nice.

At 7am I deem it late enough to venture out.  I head to Abba, the restaurant I was in last night as I noticed they had free wifi and I want jack my Mac in so I can start searching for yoga schools...plus the cute Nepalese waiters working there didn’t entirely escape my attention either!

I arrive to find Abba open and in full swing. One of the waiters recognises me and escorts me to an empty table. In Broken English he proceeds to charm an order from me and before long, I’m tucking into a bowl of “fruit-muesli-honey-curd”…with a dash of Internet and a large dollop of eye candy on the side. It’s an outstanding breakfast combination.

Two hours later and I’m thoroughly satiated: I’ve chased the muesli down with two masala chais and a watermelon shake; I’m now Facebook friends with ‘Chattre’, the hot Nepalese waiter and, subject to an interview with an instructor called Mahesh later today, I’ve secured myself a spot on a four-week yoga teacher training course, starting tomorrow. Not bad for a morning’s work.

I head back to my hut for a well-earned disco nap. I awake some hours later to find it lashing down with rain outside. I’m also running late for my meeting with Mahesh at his yoga shala. I launch myself from the hut with no idea of which way to head and within seconds, I’m both thoroughly lost and thoroughly soaked. I spend a further 20 minutes or so frantically trying to find a rickshaw, but the place is eerily deserted. My appointment is at 4pm. It’s now 4.45. I decide to give Mahesh a call.

After a really difficult conversation, where I try to explain where the hell I am, without really having much of a clue, Mahesh somehow manages to pinpoint my location. It turns out I’m about a block away from the school. But given the complete hash I’ve made of finding it so far, I’m instructed to remain exactly where I am. He’s coming to get me. And he seems really pissed off.

Minutes later Mahesh arrives looking about as disgruntled as he just sounded. He greets me with little more than a grimace and then turns on his heel. I think I’ve just blown my place at the school. But I follow on behind him anyway.

On arrival, I’m tersely told to remain outside. Clearly sopping wet idiots are not permitted anywhere near the shala. I’m left to shiver in a hypothermic heap, where I promptly become dish of the day for the local mosquito population, and before long I’ve yet more angry red welts to add to my collection.

I’m beginning to seriously dislike Mahesh now.

To make matters worse, I can hear laughter and jollity coming from inside the shala. It sounds like there are other students already in there. And they’re all having a high old time.

I’m seething. I feel a tantrum brewing.

Fortunately, a lady appears at the door before I fully work myself into a lather. She hands me a towel and introduces herself as Elizabeth – or ‘Ely’ for short, Mahesh’s wife and business partner. She smiles at me apologetically and ushers me inside. I instantly like her, and I’m delighted when, over a warming cup of chai, she reveals that she, rather than Mahesh, is the main instructor for course I’m hoping to enrol on. She quizzes me about my health, fitness and yoga experience and once satisfied that I’m in good enough nick to handle the programme (a relentless 200 hours of practice and theoretical study squeezed into a time frame of 4 weeks), she registers me (a quick passport and visa check, along with the settlement of fee) and escorts me up to the rooftop, where all the other students are gathered.

Aware of how important it is to make a good first impression, I desperately want to do something constructive with the wet t-shirt look I’m rocking, not to mention the clusters of matted hair that hang where once were perfect curls, but there’s little opportunity to address either. So channelling as much blasé as I can, I enter the room and beam out the brightest smile I can muster.

Seven startled faces stare back. Clearly my attempt to make a good first impression has gone down like a cup of cold sick.

A few stilted conversations later and I’ve learned that my compatriots are as multi-cultural as the multi-cuisine menu on offer in Abba - three Americans, a Canadian, a Colombian, a Lithuanian and a Pole, who actually now lives in Norway. I’m then subjected to another bout of embarrassment when Aneta, the Polish-Norwegian, grabs hold of my passport and announces with resulting hilarity, that I’m the only person she’s ever met who looks better in their passport photo than they do in real life. Great.

Taking this as my cue to leave, I politely excuse myself and make a mental note to try and claw back a small slither of dignity when school begins in earnest tomorrow.

I empty out into pitch darkness. It’s still bucketing down with rain. And I realise a little too late that I’ve absolutely no idea of where I’m going. I’ve already lost my bearings so going back to the shala is not an option. All I want to do is flop into bed. But I can’t bloody find it!

After a solid hour’s worth of trial and error I finally navigate myself back to my hut. And while I finish the day looking like a drowned rat and feeling as tired as a dog, I’m weirdly satisfied. The first step of the journey has been taken. And my adventure has begun.