Thailand

Who would have thought my time in Thailand would be shaped by a meeting in Kolkata of all places. When I was there the first time, suffering and on my deathbed, I met a baba who gave me a blessed prayer bead seed to wear around my neck, and told me that my stomach would be okay now. The next day I finally, after three weeks, passed something resembling what normally comes out of your bottom and I was immediately convinced of his powers. The fact I had been taking antibiotics for the previous four days may have been a factor but I like to believe in the power of the baba. When I flew to Thailand, I went from Kolkata, and having bumped into the very same baba; he introduced me to a Canadian guy who told me of a squat in Bangkok and I made it my plan to set up home there for a few days. The few days turned into nine, then a break in Pattaya and a further six back in Bangkok. To say I haven’t really seen a lot of Thailand would be an understatement. When I arrived I had two conflicting plans, one was to sit on a beach and the other was to go up to Chiang Mai and get a abdominal massage called ‘Chi Nei Tsang’, which unlocks all the bad chi, making you all happy, smiley and cuddly. I did neither.

Thailand was only on the list because to enter Burma, I have to do it from Bangkok, and in all honesty I was not particularly looking forwards to it; “it’s going to be full of clean folk, ‘the horror’”, was one particular thought which entered my mind. The clean folk are here because Thailand has sold it’s arse to both tourism and the west, making it quite a wealthy country in the process, but destroying whatever soul it may have had. My first night I went down Kho San Road, the most infamous of drinking streets in all of Asia, and one not to disappoint. I watched a Lady Boy getting touched up by a tourist and was amused by a policeman doing his best T-1000 impression on a motorbike. Having become fully acclimatised to India and Nepal, I was a mixture of shocked and horrified by this place. For those from Newcastle, it’s like the Bigg Market, and for those with any knowledge of British culture, it’s like one of those awful resorts we’ve created in little fishing villages around Europe. I was sober so I watched it all with clear focused eyes, and found myself questioning, as I watched the pissed Thai girls needing help walking, and the tourists shouting, screaming, making tits of themselves and generally pissing off the locals; whether these are those values we’re trying to spread around the world; I bet the Iranians can’t wait to be liberated. Welcome to civilisation, it’s shaped like a golden ‘M’ with a drunk hanging off it.

When I arrived here I was determined to prove how easy it would be to travel in a country of clean folk and order. “I’ve travelled India”, I told myself, “if I can travel India I can travel anywhere. Step aside Marco Polo, William has arrived”. Unfortunately I was proved very wrong. It’s not that I can’t cope with this country, that part was a doddle, but I realised I’m not actually a very good traveller if I’m on a time budget. My time in both Nepal and India had been quite infinite and for that reason I had simply been able to sit around, soak a place up and in, and then leisurely move on when I felt the time was right. That wasn’t possible in Thailand, I had less than three weeks here, and my birthday was smack in the middle, so I had that to take consideration of too. When I first arrived in the squat it was great, I was staying in a house, not a guest house, where my house is my room, but an actual house, and it was amazing. Throw in the fact the people there were great, especially my little companion Off; so I decided to stay a little while, but a little while as I’ve already said became nine days, and then it was nearly my birthday and after much deliberation I decided against either the beach or the chi, and went and visited an old friend in Pattaya; which is not like a resort town in Europe but is a resort town, and of course Thailand’s infamous sex capital.

Now for all my bravado and ability to give an impression which isn’t always quite accurate, most could easily believe me to be an enlightened saved man. I was once a drunkard who liked a good smoke, yet I now do neither and am actually happier for it, I even contemplated veganism recently; if twenty year old me could see what I have become, he would be horrified.  But if India reveals you for who you are, to a degree so does Pattaya, or at least the darker side. Last year on my twenty-fifth birthday I spent the morning and afternoon in a Buddhist monastery and the night getting a hot oil rub down and a little ball tickle from a fortune teller. I swore the very next day, for as long as I continued to have birthdays; I would never out of curiosity stay sober on one ever again, and never would another man tickle my balls. So this year I had naked Thai girls sing happy birthday to me, and drank enough Thai whisky that I feel I suitably made up for last years sobriety and molestation. I would like of course to point out that I didn’t actual do anything with these naked singing Thai girls, and had no intention of, but it was nice of them to sing happy birthday to me all the same, and it’s a memory I certainly won’t forget in a hurry.

Having embraced the darker side of life; I returned to Bangkok with the plan of going to Chiang Mai and unlocking some of that bad chi I had built up of recent. However, having not sorted my Australian visa yet, and with these few days being the last chance I would have, I decided the sensible option would be to hang around in case of any problems. I feel vindicated in that I had to go and have a chest x-ray to prove I didn’t have tuberculosis and enjoyed my time with my friends in the squat. A few days before leaving; it dawned on me that maybe it would be possible to unlock some chi in Bangkok and a trip to Chiang Mai may not be completely necessary and I was proved right thankfully. With the darkness lifted; I finished my time in Thailand with a skip in my step and a smile on my face. I didn’t do a lot there and there’s not really a lot to tell but I enjoyed my time; and now I’m in Burma, which despite being so close, is, I can assure you, a complete other world.

Family

I’ve spent over eight months of my life now in Nepal. Whenever I tell this to people who have been there I always get the same look of disbelief, and it always makes me think that maybe I have actually spent too long in that strange little mountain kingdom. The eight months have been shared, rather unevenly, over three visits, and with three being the magic number, I can’t help but feel the third may have also been the final time. That was my intention at least when I went up there from India, to a degree a saying goodbye to the place, but more a few people who will always remain very much in my heart.

With Nepal being so close to India geographically and culturally; it’ll always be compared to it, and this is simply a battle it cannot and will not ever win. If India is ‘same same but different’, then Nepal must be ‘same same but shitter’. It has some very picturesque qualities, but so does India, and although in India people will try and rip you off, they try and rip each other off too which kind of makes it okay. In Nepal they’re just money hungry and greedy with it, but it’s the fact they get annoyed and sulky when you won’t let them cheat you which irritates the most; as if we should because we all have servants back home and we’re in the wrong for not. It doesn’t annoy me as it once did though; I have taken a step back and found myself taking a more amused view on the whole thing, but it has just strengthened my disgust of moneys corrupting values and what it has done to an inherently good people.

And they are a good people, you can see it in their nature, and it is why when money is not involved; I have made some very good connections. I have two families in this world, the one I was born into, and the one which adopted me. Many moons ago on my very first day arriving in Pokhara; I ate some mashed potato in a little restaurant called The Laughing Buddha. My life would never be the same again. Here a family work by day and sleep by night, and rightfully complain about both these things. I spent so much of my time there on my first visit that I became part of the furniture, and in time; part of the family too. Towards the end of my first spell I was being given free cups of tea, the second free food, and by the third I was so much part of the machine I was peeling potatoes and serving food; to both earn my free dinner and just help them out because I wanted to.

My last full day with them was taken up with the Depvali celebrations; a festival as important to Hindu’s as Christmas is to Christians and to Capitalists. It is in honour of the brother, so sisters perform the ceremony; sprinkling water around you and then rubbing oil into you before giving you ‘tika’; the mark on your third eye (your forehead). I was involved in this last year but this time it felt slightly different, as if I really was part of the whole procedure, and I realised then that I was actually part of the family, whatever that may entail. I don’t know when I will return to Nepal, if ever, but if one day I do find myself in that slow, corrupt little place; I know I will put all my effort into doing one thing and it won’t be paying a fortune for the honour of walking up a mountain, it will be to find my Buddha family. I will then commiserate with Imran and Nira about how hard life is, kick Prakash’s idle arse and make sure Rekha is working hard at school and hasn’t been married off to some lazy Nepali by Nira for a few rupees. Ah Nepali life.

But to talk of only one family in Pokhara; would do disservice to another. While The Laughing Buddha became my Nepali home, another one came together from many different countries, continents and cultures, but which was equally strong and open. Thanks to a beautiful Brazilian couple I met first in Varanasi; I was introduced to a group consisting of Brazilians; Germans; Turks; Japanese; French; Indians; Portuguese; Americans and Argentineans. It was an eclectic mix, where bonds were made first at a festival over hallucinogens and a show of solidarity in the face of greed, and then at a guest house; which became our home as we took it over cooking together, living together and ultimately being in harmony together. It was a perfect environment to live in and despite the fact I was tired of Pokhara itself; because of them I didn’t want to leave.

I realised given a bit of creativity things can be reused with a simply needle and thread, that vegan food can actually be really good, that I can be around people smoking a lot and despite it being tempting; not need to be involved in the smoking to not only enjoy myself but to be a part of something, that drinking your own piss only results in partial insanity, and finally that everything can be shared and everyone will always get what they need. I travel to learn and to experience, and while I naturally get both those things from the countries I visit and the local people, this was just confirmation that anyone and everyone around you has something to offer and plays the part they are there to play. Whether you want to cook, be the chai wallah, build the fire, take charge or simply sit back, observe and let people get on with what it is they want to do; people can live together and they can live together in harmony doing it. Of course long term who can say what would happen but in the time I was there, with them, these people showed me nothing but openness and love, and they will always be in my heart for it.

I wasn’t sure about going back to Nepal again but I am really glad I did, and although I may be tired of Nepal itself, it has provided me with a lot, be that experience, learning or simply people never to forget. I hope I see them all again someday, wherever and whenever that may be

India Through My Eyes

India

Modern India

 

Shiva overlooking evening puja

Me in the old derelict Beatles ashram

The Ganga - Hindu's 'Hail Mary'

The same Ganga

Baba Shanti

Sacred India

Goats eat anything apparently

Cows, rickshaws and bikes.

Spiritual wealth coming in the shape of fat, shiny rings and mobile phones during puja

A rickshaw sales room, yes those are chickens

Buffaloes washing away their sins

Religious hysteria and Orangemen; India I think

The daily grind

Being kids before the hardsale

 

The Goddess Durga

 

Evening Puja

A cow

Hungry?

Arif Salman Kahn

This is twelve year old Arif Kahn. Arif has a story. I don’t know much of his story, and despite much prompting I’m struggle to discover it, but I’ll tell you what I do know. Arif can’t read or write, and he has never been to school. I asked him if he would like to go and I got neither a yes or no, he just said it had nothing to do with money, the usual reason; but his father died and he has to work. The shop is owned by his relatives and he works there from eight in the morning until nine at night. It’s not hard work, as like a lot of work in India; it involves sitting around waiting and trying to attract customers, in reality he’s lucky he’s not carrying loads or selling things. He is paid one thousand rupees a month, about fourteen pounds, and this is sent back to his mother. I tried to discover where that was but he didn’t seem keen on answering the question and I didn’t want to push him. His English is excellent and I never feel a need to grade my language like I do with many people. He doesn’t just work in an internet shop though, he runs the place and I’m constantly being told off for doing something wrong, despite his constant surveillance. 

But Arif’s life isn’t out of the ordinary in India. His is the story of millions of young boys, and even more so young girls. The one common factor being wealth, or lack of it, and although the finer details of the reasons may change, the poor of this new ‘Modern India’ don’t seem to be seeing much of the benefits the politicians and elites seem so keen to tell everyone about. The idea is that the wealth will trickle down and will eventually benefit everyone. The reality is that child labour, although in India it’s just called labour, is nothing out of the ordinary. Just ask Arif, who doesn’t complain about it, expect or ask for anything, but with a smile on his face he simply gets on with it. He isn’t suffering enough so his face won’t appear on the celebrity career building Comic Relief or on sponsorship forms or any of that other bullshit people do in the west to give themselves some self-satisfied feel good, and to convince themselves that they’re ‘doing their bit’. His story is just about the reality of life in India and across the developing world too. There’s no point giving him pity or getting sentimental as it will achieve nothing, and that’s not my aim. I just wanted you to be aware of this one cool little boy and his life, and to just ask you to give him a moments thought before getting on with your own life.  

A Magical Land

There once was a magical land full of adventure and insanity, where people wanted to know your name and which country you came from. In this land animals freely roamed the streets, some holy and some less so. The people here were inherently good; young and old would offer assistance to strangers in need of help, and happy smiling children would always be ready to play; fun and games were never far off. This was the type of land where you could get anything as anything was possible. There were stalls selling an array of sweet foods, fried foods and spicy foods; the finest silks, the purest wools and the shiniest of gold’s. This was a diverse land, an enormous kingdom made up of many different territories and states, all living side by side in harmony, each with their own unique cultures, traditions and landscapes. There were many different gods in this land too, and like the different lands the followers of these gods had in time learnt to live side by side. Many have tried to travel this land and while some have succeeded, leaving with the most unique of gifts and stories of the wildest of adventures; others have consciously succumbed to its addictive charms like the sirens on the rock. 

For you see; had it’s darker side, and no matter how much pretence there is on the surface, where for some it was all shanti and Shiva, for others it was a land full of conmen incessantly wanting to know if you needed any assistance, but only at a price. Here the finest of silks, purest of wools and shiniest of gold’s were not always as they appeared and the sweet foods, fried foods and spicy foods could often lead you to spend more time over the toilet than exploring the place you had come to see. This was a land of holy men who didn’t always practice what they preached and less holy men who practiced anything but what they preached; their beliefs and sermons serving only their own agenda and their purse. In this land despite there being much potential for wealth and equality, there was much suffering for there was a breed of people who took more than their fair share, leaving the scraps of whatever was left over for the rest to fight over like dogs. And while this land could offer you the most beautiful of landscapes, from rolling valleys and mountain ranges, to white sandy beaches and blue waters, it could also offer you dirt, human faeces and squalor. This land had everything, but nothing at the same time; it was humanity stripped bare.

There once was a wanderer who entered this kingdom, this magical land. He thought very highly of himself and his achievements; a great traveller he believed himself to be. At first; all was easy and as he discovered the valleys and the fruit growing on the trees he believed he had entered paradise. This land was his own Garden of Eden and he could not understand all the stories he had heard of the hardships of such a beautiful place. One day though, he took it for granted and having become too confident he picked the fruit from the trees. Now that fruit was bad and it made him very ill, it pushed him to the very edge of his own existence. From that moment on his Eden died and in time he saw not only the place for what it was but also himself too. He survived but he came out of it a shell; like the land he too had been stripped bare, little of his former self-confidence and ease of life remaining. In time though he fought out of the darkness and while little remained of his Eden; what he now saw was the same as before but with clarity. This land had revealed itself to him, and in the process had shown him who and what he really was, good and bad. He knew then what he was capable of and what it was he really wanted. This land had taken everything, but then given everything in return.

And while this magical kingdom would only ever be the stuff of myths and legends for most, for those who chose to walk it’s sacred soil it was known as the land of India. For this land still exists and is thriving as a result of all it’s benefits and despite all it’s problems. In this place; good and bad is merged into one and you will see whichever one you choose to look for. If you embrace it; it will embrace you. You will become one with this land and all it’s good bits and all it’s bad bits will be merged with all yours too, just slightly more powerfully than can be comfortable for some. You love this place or you don’t, and if you fight it and challenge it; it will destroy you. For India is an unforgiving place; where it is tough to survive and even tougher to let go once you have. Once you become part of India, and it becomes part of you; it enters you just as much as you enter it. In reality India is indescribable and for that reason you have to see it to believe it. While stories are merely words put in a particular order; experiences are real and unforgettable, for better or worse. India is no normal land; it will always be something different for whoever enters, but one thing you can be sure of is that it is a special place, a truly magical land.

Varanasi

I have been in Varanasi over four weeks now and can confidently say it feels like one of those special places I could easily make and happily call; my home. Varanasi is a tangled web of little streets and alleyways forming a type of maze of confusion for those not familiar with the place, and equally a maze of confusion for those familiar with the place. The spaghetti street planning could only be possible in Varanasi, where my hourly walks take up to three hours; following a series of wrong turns, despite walking most of the streets regularly and having my ‘man sense of direction’. If you’re not squeezing past cows, you’re dodging their shit, and you can’t just avoid the dead bodies by avoiding the burning ghats; as the Pandas, the people who deal with the dead, come rushing down the street at full pelt carrying dead bodies on stretchers chanting as they go. The speed they move endangers your life to the point were I think they’re just trying to drum up a little extra business for themselves in the hope you won’t jump out the way in time. In Varanasi, more than any other place in India I’ve been, it is advisable to just say ‘yes’, or stop for that conversation as you can be sure it’ll be interesting or at the very least lead to something amusing. Varanasi makes no sense if you try and explain it, and I am struggle to even think how I can do it justice with mere words. You have to experience this place to understand it, and then to experience it you have to embrace it.

For those who don’t know; Varanasi was created by Shiva; the God of creation and destruction, and who is like the Godfather of Indian gods, all one million and three of them. Varanasi is to the best of my knowledge the most spiritual site of the Hindu religion, although I could be wrong, and if you die within a certain radius of the Ganga, India’s most spiritual river, in the vicinity of Varanasi; you achieve instant moksha, which is emancipation from the physical body after death and therefore onto better things, thus saving you the toil of having to go through another tedious life of enlightenment hunting. It is known as the place of rebirth or of death. People come here to die, or have their bodies sent here after death to be cremated on the pyres and the ashes scattered in the water. It is also, although I’m not completely sure I have been witness to it, a common sight to see dead bodies floating down stream, as not everyone can afford to be cremated, or even fully created, and being dumped in the river is at least the next best thing. The rebirth refers to dunking yourself in the river and having all your sins washed away. Apparently it is that easy, but as I’ve already mentioned the river is full of death, some burnt some not, raw sewage from the town and at least five different kinds of industrial waste, not to mention all the other rubbish collected en-route from it’s source and the addition of the Yamuna river which flows into it at Allahabad having gone through Delhi beforehand; a few ‘Hail Marys’ is probably a safer option.

I haven’t mentioned what I got up to in Rishikesh yet, and as it was nearly two months ago I probably won’t, but it’s further up river and I washed my sins away there instead, so don’t really feel obliged to risk my health here. I mentioned this to a baba, who also read my palm and astrology, all is well nothing to worry about, and he said it’s all in the mind and it’s that faith and belief which allows people to drink the water. That’s great for them, my weak western immune system on the other hand will need a little more than belief to go on I think. Positive thought can only get you so far and although I have full faith in Mother India; she probably has her hands full with over a billion Indians needlessly and constantly risking their own lives day after day to have time to deal with another bloody tourist trying to do like the locals do.

 As a result of all this rebirth and death there is a powerful energy to the place. It may have been here first and be the reason for Varanasi’s construction, or as a result of Varanasi, but I doubt I’ll ever fully know. I felt the same about India when I originally arrived and when I re-entered having gone up to Sikkim, but this energy is much more than that; it’s like a concentrated India, and maybe that’s why they say Varanasi is like India in miniature. Varanasi is an intense version of an already intense place, and it is understandable why it’s not to everyone’s liking. Me, well I’ve fully embraced the place, I love it and I’m absolutely exhausted as a result.

Despite the crazy nature I’m not full of big ridiculous stories, or at least ones I can remember, more just little things which amused me or freaked me out at the time. For instance; I fulfilled some morbid curiosity by discovering flesh melts when set alight, and smells like barbeque. I was suitably freaked out by these discoveries that I vowed never to return to a burning ghat again. On my second visit, while in a particularly small and cramped area of the ghat, I had a dead body carried so close that despite my best efforts to get as far away as possible, I was still in what I like to call ‘smelling distance’; so close that you find yourself having dead body Ganga water dripping on you. I may have at this point been either purified or had some dead persons sins added to my own but I didn’t hang around long enough to find out and have not returned, and will not be returning.

There have been some little things while going on my walks. I watched two bulls fighting in the middle of a busy road; oblivious to the chaos ensuing around them, as drivers either swerved at high speeds to avoid them or had to use their brakes for the first time. The whole incident just made me laugh, similar to the time I was listening very intently to the boy in the internet shop complain about Israeli’s and a big funny looking goat just walks past the door, taking the seriousness out of the conversation, for me at least. It’s the little things in India.

I watched a chicken being executed. A quick slice of the throat, the executioner holds it in place with his feet until it twitches it’s last; he then clips the wings before decapitating it and then rips the skin and feathers off in one like he’s peeling off a leotard. After this I left so can’t say what happened next unfortunately. I continued my walk down the high street and amused myself with the idea of what would happen if this scene were repeated in full view on a British high street in the middle of the afternoon. The council would be straight in there; followed by someone suing them for the trauma they suffered by discovering that that’s what their chicken nuggets started out life like. Little Jonny was never quite the same after discovering the realities of eating meat. KFC spend millions on a new PR campaign as word spreads ‘chicken’ is an animal and not just some chewy white stuff you put tomato sauce on. And Paul McCartney writes a song about it. Those were my thoughts and they amused me at the time.

I was kicked out of my first Indian wedding. Unfortunately the men and women were separated so not for anything dramatically romantic as I would have liked; just having gate crashed and then been fed we were asked very politely to leave. A bit of an anti-climax to be honest, but I can at least tick being kicked out of a wedding off the list and I can’t complain about the free and tasty food I got out of it. And finally, I saw a family of monkeys crossing the street. It was all very funny. The biggest went first to test how safe it would be. Head down as fast as he could weaving in and out of the traffic, his life flashing before his eyes as they say. This was followed by an angry encounter with the man who owned the jeep he used to jump from onto a roof; the man in full-on comedy style turning and running away in fear despite initiating the whole thing, much to my vocal amusement which I don’t feel was entirely appreciated. A few minutes later the entire family of fifteen followed him and his exact route, much to my amusement and the man who owned the trampoline jeep’s horror. This was another time in which a few unfortunate Indians discovered what use the other peddle had and a few fat people almost fell out of their rickshaws. These may have all been ‘one of those times you had to be there’ but I thoroughly enjoyed them at the time and they put a smile on my face.

It wouldn’t be India of course without a little suffering. It’s been hot in a humid way and the power cuts constantly; turning my room into a stuffy box without the use of the fan. As the month has gone on I’ve been a little more tired each day and am now fully exhausted. India is intense but as I’ve already said Varanasi is an intense version of India and it’s taken it out of me. I thoroughly love Varanasi and will return, but I am probably ready to move on, I just can’t quite bring myself to do it. The problem is; to leave Varanasi means to leave India and next stop Nepal, so not all that bad, but not quite the same

 Some photo's with no relevance to anything I have just been talking about except that they're of Varanasi

An Evening Puja

Sunrise over the Ganga

Boats, Temples and Soul Cleansing Water

A Little Rebirth

It’s not that I’ve lost the urge to write, or lost the inspiration to come up with ideas, and it’s not that I’ve just become idle, but I’ve not been overly interested in writing another piece on here for these last few weeks, and as a result, well I guess I just haven’t. I am a believer though that if you leave something too long it becomes more difficult to get back into doing it again; the whole falling off a bike thing to a degree you could say, it’s also a handy way of killing time while my washing soaks.

Much has happened these last 3-4 weeks. I’ll go into more detail on it when I write up India as a whole but I’ll throw in a few things now. The last piece I wrote was from beautifully picturesque and cool Sikkim, just what I needed after the sweltering suffering of Calcutta; so I spent only four days there before moving onto swelteringly hot Bodhgaya. Now Bodhgaya is a special place, not only for Buddhists; as it’s the place Gautam Siddhartha experienced enlightenment under a tree and became The Buddha, but for future Williamists too, as it’s the place I was reborn. I did say a great deal had happened.

When I wrote the last piece, all I said was true, and everything still stands, but it was a slightly defiant happiness I was feeling, I was still suffering slightly. In Bodhgaya though, with the heat, I could feel myself slipping back down the same path as in Calcutta but this time with no illness as an excuse. To prevent this, and to regain a little fitness after the feebleness lying down for three weeks results in, I decided to get fit. I started with going for walks for at least an hour everyday, which I discovered is actually a great way to explore a place, I got back into my yoga and perish the thought; enjoyed it and still am, and I even found myself doing some doing some push-ups of all things, evidently desperate times. At that point I was anorexically emaciated and I needed to emancipate myself from this feeble skin and bones I had become, and this I saw as the only way. It was not easy and took much effort to do any of this but now three weeks later I’m finding it much easier and am actually enjoying all these things, I’ve even found a stone to lift like a weight, and as I’m now in Varanasi; the walks are one of my favourite times of the day, often lasting up to three hours as I bear witness to the crazy.

I also had to push myself through that mental suffering in Bodhgaya too. Not only the part trying to be idle, but the part which was going a little insane from the heat and the bit which was still not completely over the tired miserable emotions previously felt. With the insanity issue I just decided not to worrying and thoroughly embraced it, which was great fun, and this also helped in me regaining the ‘love’ which I thought I had lost. I saw that I had been fighting India the previous month, and it had led to my suffering, but I fully embraced it just like I did at first and I remembered what it was I loved about the place, myself and life; a good thing to remember I like to think.

So there I was in Bodhgaya. I was back on the road to recovery of both body and mind; I really felt alive again, like I had been reborn. And then I got the urge to move. It was weird how it happened, it coincided with the new moon, and this I assure you was not intentional. On the last day of the previous moon cycle I suddenly got the urge it was time to move on, and the following day on the new moon I woke up and realised that while the body may have still been in Bodhgaya, the heart and mind no longer was. I paid up, said goodbye to some police officers of all people who had befriended me, fed me and let me hold their guns, and went straight to the train station; next stop Varanasi and the next phase of my new life. Two weeks later and I’m further from describing this place than I was when I arrived, but I can feel it, and it feels good.