Sitting in a beach bar anywhere is usually a nice place to start a blog! I’m on Had Yao, a quiet Thai beach on the island of Ko Phangan, where the usual wanderlust dreams are happening before me. You know the ones, the soft orange glow from the setting sun, the gentle swish of the waves lapping to their demise, and a cool fruit juice at hand. A perfect spot for calm reflection and blog writing. Hemingway would’ve approved. Still recovering from a mountain mishap during my motorbike road trip when I ran out of real estate while overtaking a bus. More later. First, a yoga wrap-up.
AWARENESS IS KEY
Practicing yoga at KPJAYI finished at the end of February. 550 sun salutations later and copious amounts of coconuts, I’ve enjoyed my time immensely. Practicing ‘Mysore Style’ (self practice at your own pace) daily for three months with Saraswati was not only sweaty, enjoyable and fun, but also deeply rewarding and humbling too. I’ve been blessed, and I hope to be back.
The intensity of practice opened mind and body to deeper realisations and understandings, as I learned more about myself and my practice. Still have tendencies to avoid difficult poses, but also more gentle on myself, able to quieten the inner critic and quell the competitive mind. Now closer to 50 than 40, I’m also mindful of my bodies current capabilities. While fit and healthy (and lighter now than I was at 25) and able to go deeper into many postures, there are some things I probably will never be able to do, and I’m fine with that. I can still challenge myself and probe limits with the body I’ve got (my days as a racing driver taught me that!), while remaining conscious of the red zones where injuries occur. Besides, the objective is to still the mind 🙂
The Mysore style of self practice puts the onus on you the practitioner to do the practice safely. More than anything else, it teaches personal responsibility for your practice, your body, and most importantly for quietening your mind. Awareness is key. It’s what Yoga is all about really, developing awareness, unveiling your true nature and realising universal truths of life. You’ll be glad to hear I’m at ease and at peace with myself, most of the time anyway!
I’ve met many beautiful people along this part of my journey. Some connections were brief, others prolonged, such is the nature of the Mysore merry go round. Not enough room to mention everyone but a few stood out. The lovely and friendly Erica from San Francisco and the well travelled and engaging Aurelia from Poland, both of whom practiced with me at Saraswati’s the entire time.
I call them my two Moms, as they kept an eye out making sure I was ok. Peter & Rachel, a lovely English couple from London were also good company, and of course the main man of Santosha cafe, champion hugger Arun who always had a fresh coffee for me and serves the best omelette in Gokulam! There were quite a few Irish friends here too. Had some nice times with Gillian, my teacher from Dublin, and her very friendly Dad, Tom. I’ve been truly fortunate, thank you to everyone who made my time so enjoyable and fulfilling.
 THE MYSOREANS
Before I left Mysore I spent a few days delivering photos to various people who had been kind enough to pose for my camera. It was the least I could do, bearing in mind many of them don’t have modern gadgets let alone a digital camera. It went down well. Villagers, stall holders, mothers and kids, chai wallahs etc. all appreciated the gesture with rural villagers, in particular, lining up for more shots. Despite limited communication, there was no way I was going to disappoint them even though I knew I wasn’t going to get further prints back to them. One thing that always strikes me as I photograph Indians is how serious they become when posing.
Their usual smiling faces suddenly turn serious, as if posing for a mug shot. It takes some gentle persuasion to convince them it’s not a firing squad they’re facing! I’m also taken by how happy they seem with so little. Maybe there’s a lesson in there for us all.
Here’s a link to the full gallery of “Mysoreans”
GOOD TO GO(A)
Getting a Royal Enfield was the easy bit, keeping it in one piece proved more difficult. After an unintended late night meeting with a very well camouflaged kerbstone, my Classic 500 needed a few running repairs (and rider a few plasters!). The roadtrip to Goa was delayed two days getting things sorted, with much thanks to Krishna Murthy. The aim was to cover the 650kms in three days. I’d also get to pay a visit to my good friend, and yoga teacher, Tony Purcell who winters there every year. A beautiful sunny day greeted me as I loaded up my saddle bags, said goodbye to what was left of my dwindling Mysore community and set off. After a brief cold plug splutter, typical of Enfields, I was on my way.
The first day was magical. Once clear of the city it was fairly quiet, the roads surprisingly good. Running through aromatic rows of Eucalyptus trees with the sun picking out their beautiful pale trunks, accompanied by the soft rumble of the Enfield. My idea of heaven. Stopping every now and then for a chai was particularly enjoyable, a chance to chat with some local. After six hours and 260kms I reached the large town of Shimoga with a fuller understanding of the term saddle sore, having bounced over countless Indian speed humps.
Next day, the run over the Western Ghats was going to be a highlight, with many hairpin bends winding up and down through the lush green canopy of the tropical mountain range (it’s actually a fault line up to the Deccan plateau).
After a short stop at Jog Falls, India’s highest waterfall, and again at a viewing spot where I met some fellow Enfield road trippers from Sweden. We chatted briefly before I rejoined behind a slow bus….
IYARISH GUY IN ‘BIKE SKID’
I clambered out of the ditch grasping for air, clearly winded. My first thought was a punctured lung, such was the force of the accident. My little finger was at an odd angle, but curiously no pain. Then a crowd from the bus gathered, giving me water. “I can’t breathe”, was all I could say. Nobody spoke much English, but they got the bike out of the ditch and left me there! I could not stand up for the pain down my right side. 15 minutes before another bus stopped. This time they got a local van driver to take me the 5kms to the nearest clinic from where I eventually found my way to a hospital in Honnavar. The local policeman, meanwhile, kindly looked after the bike.
Two nights in St Ignatious hospital in Honnavar being lovingly looked after (and spoonfed) by a multitude of eighteen year old student nurses eased the pain a little. I could not have landed in better care. They came at me in groups of five and six with each changing shift, each time asking where you from? What happened you? I was the Iyarish guy in the “bike skid”, and famous for a couple of days in a hospital in Honnavar at least.
The bike was ready for road by 7pm the following evening but, rather than ride at night, I stayed a second night in hospital before continuing on to Goa the next morning. Sure why would I leave all those lovely nurses!
In hindsight the decision to overtake the bus was fine considering its very slow speed. Being squeezed onto the dirt would have been OK too but for large rocks that separated me from the Enfield. Nonetheless, I was lucky, my camerabag saved me from worse injuries as the bike actually rolled onto me compressing me and the fuel tank a bit! Having endured the pain, I now feel a little entitled to do one of these….
My ten tips for Indian roadtrips:
GOA AT LAST
Spent a lovely few days in Anjuna, Goa with Tony, getting plenty of much needed rest and a few sea dips.
Tony showed me around, visited a few nice beaches, a fine juice bar in Chapora and eat some lovely food, but overall Goan life wouldn’t exactly be my style, far too much sun for my fair skin! I did enjoy seeing the ocean again, after three months of continental captivity. Tony’s was a welcome face too, after my travails, and in no time I seemed to be back on the road again.
HOME RUN
I decided to take four days for the return journey, allowing me two short days riding with plenty of time to hit a beach and have a swim. The quiet beaches of Agonda in south Goa and Om beach in Gokarna fitted the bill nicely before the run back over the mountains. After a quick stop at the hospital to deliver some ‘thank you’ ice-cream I was soon retracing my tracks through the Western Ghats. After about 30kms I came to the scene of my accident. I stopped, surveyed the corner, noticed how the road curved and narrowed as it approached the corner where I fell off. I was lucky. I had managed to turn the bike away from a stone wall. As I contemplated the scene I realised that things change in the blink of an eye, our lives are quite fragile and can be extinguished in seconds. Then, as I got back on the bike I checked the speedometer to gauge my distance.
The strangest thing. It read 4949kms. My late father, Tom, passed away suddenly aged 49, and I’m due to turn it soon. Surely not a sign from the Gods telling me I dodged a bullet at this corner? After a poignant memory of my late father, I fired up the Enfield, selected first gear and rumbled on up the mountain. The next 40kms through the countless switchback hairpin bends and left/right/left combinations seemed to breeze by. Changing up and down between 3rd and 4th gears, the renowned torque of the Enfield made it seem smooth and effortless as it pulled me up the mountain. Maybe the old fella was right there with me this time – he was one smooth driver in his day! 🙂
STING IN THE TAIL!
The last leg of my roadtrip was a straight run of 260kms, but there was nothing straightforward about it. Despite four trouble free tummy months in India, the previous nights sweet and sour vegetables were looking for a fast exit! Eventually, by twelve mid-day, having popped two Imodium pills, I was on the road again with a nervous clench….Two more punctures delayed me a further three hours, so I completed my trip in the dark. Whatever about driving by day, night driving is just for lunatics. Proper lights and illumination are really just optional. Thankfully it passed without incident, hair raising at times, but no close shaves. I was back in Mysore by 9pm, relieved to have made it in one piece, and looking forward to the next stage of my journey….a few weeks on a sandy beach in Thailand, from where I now listen to the aforementioned waves and write :-). Go n’eiri an bothar leat!
A World of Wanders 