Traveling on, meeting new friends, making connections and experiencing love

It's been two months since we last posted something on this blog. It is not that there was nothing to write about, on the contrary there was so much to write about that we got a bit overwhelmed and also traveling has caught up with us. So even though we have not written we carried on traveling both on the outside and that prompted further our inner journeys.

The New Year began with a wonderful re-connection and tonnes of laughter with our busy urbanite friends from Mumbai, Kamayni and Ulhas, who came to Thekkady to spend the holidays with us and they managed to squeeze in every tourist attraction Thekkady and PeriyarTiger Reserve had to offer, they saw more tourist attractions in three days then Jerry and I managed to see in six weeks. A day after day left we left Thekkady on 4^th January. It was not easy to leave TheChrissie's Hotel, which was our temporary home for 6 weeks. There, while offering some of our hotel consultancy work we experience wonderful connections, made some new friends some of whom, we know, will stay in our life wherever we might be in the future.

Adel, a lovely, friendly and warm owner of the Chrissies Hotel and Cafe and his quiet yet equally loving girlfriend Ulli had welcomed us, with open arms to their jungle dream oasis. From the day one they trusted us and were open to ideas and changes we wished to introduce. The rest of the staff needed a bit more time. They knew we were there to introduce some changes that were supposed to bring improvements and potentially more customers and they wanted those changes, but they also needed time to develop their trust and to feel at ease with us 'roaming' around kitchen and the hotel checking things out. In the first few days we had quite a revelation about our own behaviour.  We realised that sometimes we were sitting on our, proverbial, European high horse looking a bit down at people judging them from our cultural bias rather than seeing their actions or inactions as it may be in the cultural context of India. Needless to say it seemed to us that some members of staff were not very friendly towards us, of course they were not, they were just mirroring our own attitude and behaviour. Luckily, we had enough awareness between us to see our behaviour for what it was, we caught our ego by its tail and we managed to remind ourselves about the NVC values and consciousness from which we wanted to live our lives. Always try to see and connect with the human being and their needs first and foremost, and only then look at the actions and behaviours as a way of trying to fulfill some of those needs. Once we realised that our whole demeanour changed, we stopped judging the actions and we started trying to connect to needs members of staff were trying to fulfill with those actions. We identified that the main need for all the the staff members was safety, other needs such as inclusion, acknowledgement, being seen and heard were also highly present. From this perspective it was much easier to stay with the human and to look for new strategies that might meet the staff's individual needs mentioned above, while at the same time meeting some of the hotel's needs: efficiency, professionalism, financial safety and a few others. The staff was not just staff for us any longer, rather they all became individual human beings namely: Bindu, Sathish, Binsi, Rajan, Anthony, Anshad, Arun, Mahi, Siva, with their own needs, and with their individual life stories. The more we got to know them, the more we were seeing and acknowledging each one of them, the more connections (despite the language barriers sometimes) we were experiencing and the more warmth and love was being sent in our direction. Somehow, we were included in what Adel calls his Chrissie's family. 

Next to the Chrissie's family, we also met new friends Jane and Chris, long term guests of the hotel. With them we created a strong bond and connection,  laughing a lot about our experiences at the Chrissie's, which out of warmth and love we occasionally referred to as '' the Crazie's''. In the early days of the hotel one of the members of staff was pronouncing Chrissie's as Crazies, hence he used to welcome the guests to Crazies hotel! And just as you think that the things cannot get better and crazier life surprises you. Another workawayer Floor from Holland arrived on the scene of the Chrissie's in mid December. Like us he came to the Chrissie's through Workaway. Apart from bringing gezeligheid* by lighting candles around the hotel, including several in front of our door, with his unique, dry sense of humour and his Dutch directness he brought lots of brightness, insights,warmth and love in Jerry's and my life.

You travel, you meet people, some of them start touching you deeply and then it is time to say good bye. This time at the Chrissie's we had quite a few people who touch our hearts and it was not easy to say good bye and to sail into new adventures. With a mixture of slight sadness because we were departing, and joy of full heart because we have experienced connections and love we said good by to our Chrissie's friends on 4^th January. Our friend Sathish went with us to the bus station and made sure we and all our language were safely on the right state bus to Madurai, Tamil Nadu ... and onwards we went.

* a Dutch word often translated in English as coziness, however it means much more than that, it describes and depicts an atmosphere that is cozy, convivial, sociable, light, friendly, inclusive and so much more.

Opening up our horizons through travelling

Most of us have heard a phrase that ''travelling opens up our horizons.'' I have heard it often enough and believed it to be true. Somehow it always made sense to me. Of course, you travel to different places and cultures, meet people with customs different from those of your own culture and inevitably that has to open you up, it has to increase your level of tolerance for difference. Well, sometimes it is true, and sometimes not. Also, for some people it is true and for some not. What I've realised in the last few days is that until now I've

always understood the above phrase to mean a process of external opening, but what became very clear to me while travelling in India is that external opening is only one and maybe even smaller part of the 'horizons opening process.' Another component of this 'horizon opening process' is opening up of our inner horizons.

 A little bill for lunch...?

When we travel in cultures that are substantially very different from our own culture we inevitably are faced with a need to travel through uncharted and often hidden territories of our own comfort zones. It is at this point when travelling starts to challenge our comfort zones that we have a chance to go on the inner journey to places in ourselves where we are stuck, where anxiety and fear reside. These are the moments when we have a chance to acknowledge our anxiety and discomfort, to choose “to feel the fear and do it anyway” and if we do, chances are that after initial discomfort we shall open up to experience our own humanity, which inevitably will make us much less stuck up, more able to laugh at ourselves and ultimately more humble.

Let me use a recent example to illustrate what I am trying to convey, above, about opening our horizons through meeting our comfort zones while travelling. Two weeks ago Jerry and I were due to travel from Cochin in the coastal area of central Kerala, to Kumily, in the beautiful, hilly, nature protected area of the Western Ghats. We knew that the only way to get there was by road and our guide book informed us that there were regular buses going to Kumily or Thekkady. So off we went to the main bus station to enquire about possibilities. In our minds we were set on a private air-conditioned minibus, which normally cost 3 times more than the state buses, but still we were quite happy to pay for the comfort and what we expected to be a safer option.

Well, we were in for a surprise, there were no private buses going from Cochin to Kumily; only state-ran buses. There were taxis to be hired, but they cost 10 times more than the state buses. Since we decided we were travelling through India on a budget, we were not prepared to pay such a price. So there we were: our only option being a state bus for which you could not buy a reservation; just show up on the day and hope for the best. There were a few different buses parked at the bus station. Some of them were looking relatively new and modern. Hence, with a high dose of positivism, I asked the information officer to point out to me the type of bus that goes to Kumily, hoping he would point to a nice newish looking Volvo-cum-A/C

Our bus to Kumily

orange bus. Instead, he pointed to what once was a white and blue bus, looking very old and battered, with no windows or, rather, open windows with no glass in them.

I looked at Jerry and saw a mixture of what I would describe as a sinking feeling, together with disbelief on his face. Before I could even say anything, he stated with determination in his voice that he was not going to travel on this bus, especially not for 5 hours, which was meant to be the duration of this trip. Trying to stay positive and humorous I pointed out that at least air-conditioning would not be a problem: there would be a full draft blowing through those windows. Jerry saw no humour in my remarks. His comfort zones were challenged and his body language, as well as his feelings, were screaming in resistance Jerry expressed that the poor condition of the buses, not knowing whether we would have a seat or be left standing squeezed by every commuter in the area, as well as the speedy driving of the Indian bus drivers were not contributing to his needs for safety, comfort and ease (He later pointed out to me that it was also a case of “seen it, done it, got the T-shirt and feel no need to do it again”.) I was trying to hear him emphatically while my own imagination was running mad. Realising that it was a village to village commuter kind of bus I was getting very concerned about the duration of the trip. I was not reassured that the bus would be making many break-stops and therefore not leaving enough opportunity for toilet stops. This was a real concern for me because in this climate I need to hydrate a lot, which means regular loo stops. We both felt rather gloomy and decided to look for other options on the internet that might better meet our needs for safety, comfort and ease.

Ropes and doors

The only other option was to go on the train further south to Kottayam, which would have taken one hour. From there, we would be able to take an A/C bus to Kumily, but there was only one A/C bus leaving at 5 PM, with a journey time of some 4 hours to get there, which meant that the most of our trip would be done in the dark.

OK; this was an alternative, but still with all the changes and travelling by different means of transport it was not going to contribute much to our need for ease. At the same time, driving in the night was definitely not giving me confidence and not contributing to my need for safety. So here we were, looking at two options, neither one fully meeting our needs. Of course, there was a third option: succumb to our fears and choose to avoid them by not going to Kumily at all. That strategy would have maybe met our needs for safety, comfort and ease but it would certainly not have contributed to our needs for adventure, playfulness, exploration and very importantly for self-respect. So we sat with all our feelings of discomfort and fear being quite prominent on the one side, and excitement and curiosity on the other, as well as the whole spectrum of our needs. Ultimately we decided to feel the fear and do it anyway.

If our imagined scenarios were not very hopeful, in reality, we experienced something close to the worst case scenario. The first hour went well, only us and a few other passengers on the bus. We were sitting comfortably in a seat that is normally meant for 3 people (3 smaller size Indians mind you, rather than full size Westerners). Then we were reaching suburban Ernakulam and the bus started filling up to the point that all seats were taken and the only free seat, or rather quarter of a seat by our standards, was the one next to Jerry and I. An Indian gentleman took that seat, squeezing Jerry between him and me. By this time, the bus was stuck in a traffic jam in the midday heat and instead of a draft refreshing us, we had the full heat, dust and smells of rush-hour traffic coming in. This situation continued for another two hours during which no toilet stops were made. Then suddenly, almost everybody disappeared off the bus, except for a few of us, die-hards. We transferred into a seat for two people to prevent any future clogging. I was getting uncomfortable, almost starting to be desperate when suddenly the bus stopped in an isolated hamlet with one restaurant, a shop and yes!

The toilet.

I was saved.

After a 10 minute break, we carried on, almost literally, flying. Recovered and fuelled after his lunch the driver started driving with vigour and serious determination to break the record in narrow mountain road curve-cutting driving. The conductor who was walking through the middle of the bus, trying to reach new passengers entering, was thrown from left to right while we were holding on for dear life to the seat in front of us. This was one of those situations that we were worried about yet now that we were in the midst of it we saw the comedy of it all. We could not stop laughing.

I saw a sign saying that Kumily was some 60 km away. By this time we were on the road for 5 hours already, and this meant that we had at least another hour, maybe even two hours to go given the curviness of the mountain road.

Beware, cows crossing or on the road

Suddenly, we reached a small town and almost every school-age child from all the neighbouring villages was getting on the bus. It seemed as if the fuller the bus got the faster the driver was trying to drive. All the seats were full and the standing passengers were squeezing through the middle of the bus, the conductor was trying to move through this density of people while the driver was increasing the speed. In the midst of all this I turned away from the window to tell Jerry about a beautiful plant I just saw, only to witness the conductor falling literally into Jerry's lap. This was the proverbial cherry on the top. I became hysterical with laughter. And as if all this was not enough, a tropical monsoon rain started pouring down - remember no windows on this bus -. Luckily there were some black shutters that could be pulled down. Suddenly all the shutters were down, inside, the full bus went pretty dark. Everybody breathing, humidity at its highest, mixed up with various smells of the passengers and the old bus's diesel fumes. All our comfort zones were pushed to the limit and yet we were laughing. There was not much we could do when in the middle of it all. Well, yes we could curse ourselves for ever stepping onto this bus, or we could argue with reality, or we just could take it as it was, laugh it off, and enjoy the ride. We chose this last option.

Six and a half hours later we arrived to Kumily/Thekkady alive, hungry, exhausted and psychologically numb, yet still smiling. Maybe we were smiling because we were still alive and in one piece.

To be fair to the Kerala State Road Transport Company, even though the buses are old, we realised they are still well maintained in terms of safety, and despite the fact that the drivers drive fast even when taking curves, they beep in advance, which is meant to inform other drivers that they are coming. Strange as it may sound, this system works in managing to keep Indian roads quite safe.

In retrospect, we are both glad we did the journey, happy that we dared to challenge some of our comfort zones and even laughed, when facing those challenges. Most importantly, we came out of it being much more acquainted with our own strengths and limits.

Do we have a need to do it again? No. Would we do it again? Maybe yes. It is not important. What is important is that we stay open to travelling - be it an inner, or outer journey -.

Do not take toilet paper for granted!

Where Jerry and I come from toilet paper is such a basic and essential item of every day life that we do not even stop to think about it not being the same everywhere in the world. We in the Western world are accustomed to the fact that in the supermarket the question is not whether they have toilet paper but it is more that you get overwhelmed with the assortment. It is not only that you can choose between different softness and thickness (2, 3 or 4-ply) but you can also choose a colour to match your bathroom and on top of that you can even get it with a scent of your favourite flowers or fruit. Just before travelling to India on our visit to Croatia we tested both violet and peach scented toilet paper. I must confess I am rather partial to violet scented paper.

This plentitude of choice of toilet paper types is not necessary the case in India. In India the majority of people, irrespective of religion caste or class, tend to wash after they use the toilet. Most of the toilets are either equipped with a mini toilet shower or the good old method of a bucket of water with a splashing can, which means that mostly there is no toilet paper in public toilets and sometimes not even in people's houses. In the big cities like Mumbai or tourist places like Fort Cochin in Kerala many convenience stores are stocking and selling toilet paper, mind you, mostly one brand only, well trusted ''Royal'' 2 ply, strong, soft

and absorbent. However in small villages out of the main tourist routes toilet paper is not the most obvious item to stock in one's store.

Well, Jerry and I have found ourselves in one such village in Kannur province of North Kerala. For two weeks we were staying in a house in the village of Edakkad (see the earlier blog ''Tropical Paradise ...or not?''). When we arrived to the house there were still a couple of rolls of paper in the toilet so no worries there. However as the first week progressed our supply started getting thin and we went to the village, as one does, to get some shopping done including the toilet paper. To our surprise the first store did not have any toilet paper. Well, OK that could happen, one can run out of stock. We went to the second store, and they also had none. By this point we started getting slightly suspicious that maybe, just maybe, no store in this village stocked toilet paper as it did not seem to be anything that the locals would make use of on the regular basis. We were working our way through the village towards our temporary home asking in every store on the way whether they had toilet paper and no store had it. Our last hope was the convenience store closest to the house where we were familiar with the friendly owner. We entered his small shop full of hope only to hear another no, but then proactively the shopkeeper offered us paper napkins. By this time we were ready to take anything made of paper, so happily we purchased a packet of simple white serviettes or tissues as Indians refer to them. They were nothing to write home about as far as softness and comfort were concerned but there was a surprise waiting to be discovered. When I opened the packet ready to make use of them, to my surprise a scent wafted from the packet. An unintentional scent, I believe, as it smelt of garam masala commonly referred to, in the West, as curry!

I guess we could count our blessings: not only were we lucky to find some kind of paper that we were able to use instead of toilet paper but it came with a free scent.

Additionally, this experience serves as a little reminder for me, Gordana, that when you travel in different cultures nothing is to be taken for granted, not even such simple thing as toilet paper

Zooming to the Internet café

Another day, another dollar they say. Yes, I have to admit that after a day of travelling on the train, tired and hot in the darkness of the idyllic house and with the heat and humidity of the tropical evening, things did not look very positive last night. Nevertheless, Jerry and I decided to go to bed on a positive note of ''tomorrow is another day'' and ''in the daylight things always look brighter.''

After a good night sleep, while hearing the sound of waves, we enjoyed our coffee overlooking the sea from the upstairs bedroom terrace. From this perspective it was a bit easier to ''look at the bright side of life.'' At the same time, the brightness of the day has also shown us even more things that were not working, that needed improvement, cleaning or replacement before the house was able to become a true tropical paradise. Still we were not to be deterred, on a positive note we decided to work hard on making an inventory of things and creating a mini report for the owner of the house back in the UK, specifically England.

Inventory and the report safely on the USB stick we headed for the village, where we were told we would find an Internet café. The local host explained to us in his broken English: ''Go straight, railway crossing straight, go highway straight, village internet café right'' so we understood that the Internet café was in the village, which we would reach by walking to the railway crossing that we passed the night before, when arriving. After crossing the railway we needed to walk straight forward and soon we would see and cross the highway, after which we should see the village and the Internet café, which was to be found on the main drag on the right hand side of the road, some 2 km or 20 minutes walking from the house.

It is 3.30 in the afternoon. It is hot and sticky, but we are determined to find the Internet café. Hence off we go navigating the coconut grove through which we only passed once, the night before, in the darkness with the guidance of our host. We manage to reach the paved road successfully and are lucky to spot an auto rickshaw coming just around the corner. How lucky can you get? Exactly what we needed to get us to the village. We wave and the guy stops and to our surprise we realise that the back is full, there sits a woman with two boys. Not a problem for the driver; he still beckons us to come in and signals to the woman and the boys to make room, which they obligingly do. Jerry and I squeeze in, Jerry's knees sticking out hoping that no car would come from the opposite direction and brush against us taking his knee cups away.

After initial consultations and a slight language problem we managed to explain, or so we thought, that we wanted to go to the village to the Internet café. Of course, the driver repeated the name of the internet café followed by ''yes, yes'' and shaking of his head from left to right.

Jerry asks the driver how much to the village to which he replies '' No problem, Sir'' giving him a smile and the perpetual left to right head shake of all Indians irrespective of the religion, caste or class. I look at Jerry and instead of reassurance, which I am guessing '' No problem, Sir'' was meant to produce I spot a bit of worry written across Jerry's face. I try to reassure him by saying ''don't worry, let's just enjoy the adventure!'' This seems to relax Jerry a bit and he tries to makes himself comfortable in a limited space of the back of the auto rickshaw meant for 2, maximum 3 people, carrying 5 instead.

All set, we leave with the wind in our hair. The first junction and the driver takes a right turn. OK, this does not quite seem to correspond to our local host's description, but who are we to argue. We do not know the way to the village and the driver says he knows, so we watch the scenery and keep holding the bar between us and the driver, as if our dear life depends on it, and maybe it does, given that he drives as if he is trying to break an auto rickshaw record in the fastest customer delivery service category. At the same time he is trying to hold a conversation with us using all 10 words of English that he is fluent in. So we learn that the woman in the back is his wife and the two boys are his sons. With that we arrive to the some kind of a beach promenade that has seen better days and within minutes he slows down, almost to a stopping point, in front of a guest house. We look at it, with no intention of getting out, wondering why he is stopping here. He turns around looking at us, and we say ''Nice house, ...yours?'' to which he says ''Yes'' while shaking his head from left to right probably realising that this is not our destination and pressing the gas pedal again. The suspicion is starting to arise in us, maybe this guy has no clue where we want to go. With that we reach another guest house where he slows down again. Seeing that we have no intention of getting out here either, he is ready to press the gas pedal again when Jerry shouts in half-panic ''Stop, stop, stop!'' He stops, turns around and now in pidgin English we try to explain that we want to go to the village to the Internet café, however this time instead of the name of the café we use the words ''Internet café.'' He seems to finally get it. He makes a U- turn and off we zoom retracing our steps. Finally, he gets us across the railways, and the national highway (mind you this is a single carriageway looking slightly bigger than a village road) and here we are in front of the Internet café on the right-hand side of the main and only road in the village, exactly as our local host explained.

Happy to reach the café and to be alive we pay to the driver 30 rupees only. A bargain!

Especially when you know that he squeezed in an unplanned sightseeing route of the local guest houses for us.

Once inside the Internet café, which really is a room with 5 PC's that have seen better days, we realise that we have no clue how to get back. At this moment Jerry has a brilliant idea. We know that the house we stay in is listed on the Google maps so we try our luck by typing in the name of the village and the name of the house and asking for directions. Voilà! We have the route in front of us. I find this amazing: we are here, sitting at the edge of the jungle and guess what Google has sorted for us...paradoxes of modern globalised world.

Gordana Stankoviċ is a qualified counsellor and life coach. Her counselling and coaching approach is an integration of humanistic counselling, otherwise known as person-centred counselling, and the model of Nonviolent Communication, a process developed by Dr. Marshall B. Rosenberg, which offers practical and powerful skills for compassionate giving, receiving and helping, to create deep, meaningful connections and relationships, and transforming conflicts into peaceful dialogue.

Gordana velues peace, the authenticity of every human being, relationships based on trust, acceptance and genuine contribution to each other's lives.

Tropical paradise...or not?

6 November 2015

This evening after our first Indian train journey we arrived to what is meant to be our home for the next five months; a beautiful house right on the shore of, in fact 20 meters from, the Arabian sea right in the middle of a coconut grove – a tropical paradise.

In order to reach the house we literally had to leg the last leg of our journey from the village road. The car was parked somewhere, just off the road and we walked on a narrow path through tall grass in between coconut trees. All of this, in the dark, following our local host leading the way with a torch from his mobile, showing the way. So, yes, in sum, the guest house is slightly remote, yet very idyllically located overlooking the sea. Idyllic, that seemed, until we entered the house, only to be welcomed by a waft of stale, musty smell of a post-monsoon house humidity air. OK, a bit of a shock, but we have known before coming here that the house needed some TLC, in fact that is actually why we are here. To give a hand to the owner who lives in England and help the local guys bring this B&B to European/international standards.

All is not that bad: the hall looks beautiful, with sofas covered by throws and cushions depicting other Indian motifs with jolly elephants; one of my favourite animals. From the hall I enter what is meant to be the office, however it looks like it was last used just before the British left India before independence and then left in a rush, taking only whatever they could carry on their backs. Old musty pillows on the floor, desk overflowing with papers, and many tidbits left there just in passing by. From there I enter the lovely big kitchen, which looks like it could do with a bit of dusting and sorting out, but I am not demoralised yet. I am determined to stay positive. I see that there is a nice red American style fridge where I hope to place the basic shopping we've done on the way from the train station.

Oh my God !

“what is this?” I wonder loudly in my head.

I open the fridge and seeing the black mould marks inside I exclaimed: ''This is disgusting!'' looking at the local guy – the host – who is supposed to be the person looking after the house and the cook when guests are around. I am already imagining the food poisoning and every illness under the sun looming over us. I cannot even imagine when was the last time that this fridge was cleaned. Alarmed by my face and clear disgust on it, our host quickly picks up the first cloth that he can find and starts cleaning the fridge. I am not going to comment on the cleanliness of that cloth!

That done, I am left alone I the kitchen to sort out the shopping, when suddenly I see a mouse running from the sink to the cooker. I shout for the host and go to find him on the terrace: ''Hey, there is a mouse in the kitchen” say I, in a slightly panicky voice, to which he replies in his broken English, smiling while tilting his head from left to right in the way most Indians do: ''little mouse?''

By this time it is slowly starting to dawn on me that our tropical paradise may turn out to be a tropical nightmare... I am thinking this just as the whole house suddenly descends into darkness – power cut – not a long one, but the first one and, I am to learn, one of many that are part of daily life here in this part of tropical India. My new temporary home is for sure tropical but I am starting to question whether it is a real paradise...

Gordana Stankoviċ is a qualified counsellor and life coach. Her counselling and coaching approach is an integration of humanistic counselling, otherwise known as person-centred counselling, and the model of Nonviolent Communication, a process developed by Dr. Marshall B. Rosenberg, which offers practical and powerful skills for compassionate giving, receiving and helping, to create deep, meaningful connections and relationships, and transforming conflicts into peaceful dialogue.

Gordana velues peace, the authenticity of every human being, relationships based on trust, acceptance and genuine contribution to each other's lives. 

http://www.livingpeacefully.eu 

Rickshaws & Stray Dogs (and the end of the story of the bloomin' cat)

Before touching the subjects that I outlined in the title, I'd like to offer you a paragraph from a book by Leo Buscaglia:

“Nature in Cambodia is very severe (same applies to parts of India, note of this author). Every year the monsoons come and wash everything into the rivers and streams and lakes. So you don't build great permanent mansions because nature has told you that it will only be washed away. You build little huts. Westerners look and say, “Aren't they quaint but poor little people! Living in such squalor.” It's not squalor. It's how you perceive it. They love their houses which are comfortable and exactly right for their climate and culture.”

Leo Buscaglia, Love, p.25, 4^th print, 1985 (Fawcett Crest books)

So, Ron the cat is safely home, even if last night we should have delivered her to her new address, yet she managed to pull a runner. In fact, things are not as bad, nor as hectic as they might seem, since today we are going to be brought to the airport by our friend, the one we saw last night, and we can give her Ron. Throughout the morning we keep policing every possible attempt at escape by our little feline. Successfully so.

Ron gets safely delivered. We get safely brought to the airport. First leg of our journey. It will take us to Amsterdam. In the days to follow we are to give a workshop for healthy relationships in the city of The Hague (if you are interested in reading more about that, just click on this sentence).

Fast forward. Different location, different continent. The temperature is about 33 Celsius. Humid. Very humid, probably 70 to 80 %. Everywhere I look, there are palm trees, mangoes, and so many more trees that I don't know. It's so lush and green that I can hardly believe that I am in a city of some 20 million, at least by the statistics I read. Probably, in reality, many more people than that. It's Mumbai, India.

We are currently sitting in an “auto” (auto-rickshaw, these vehicles are also widely known as tuck-tucks); a three-wheeler vehicle. The driver sits in front, behind a protective screen and holds on to a handlebar, which incorporates some of the necessary elements to control the vehicle: brake, throttle, clutch.

In the back, there is a long seat, where there is room for some three people, sitting very close to each other, often more. These vehicles -and their drivers (often referred to as auto wallahs in this part of the world. Some people consider this term derogatory, some don't) - do an amazing job at circumventing traffic jams. They will squeeze into spaces only recognizable to them, attesting to their mastery and an eye for the exact dimensions of their vehicle. They will create lanes where there are none -this morning we are on a highway with three official lanes, yet I counted seven unofficial ones- they will, in other words, get you there as fast as realistically possible on fully gridlocked roads.

Sitting in the “auto” and given my height, all I can really see when I look sideways are bus tires, tires and more tires and the odd, occasional exhaust pipe, kind of spewing exhaust towards us (“autos” are open vehicles).

It is a sprawling urban jungle we drive through: big buildings next to corrugated iron shacks, small stores next to temples, narrow streets next to three-lane highways. They all seem to intertwine perfectly, in a flow that I start understanding, after having spent a few days here.

Everywhere I look, though, while driving to the north-eastern park located some 15 km from where we are currently residing, there are dogs. Kind of stray dogs but to a point.

I refer to them as kind of strays, as they are and aren't, because most of them seem quite well fed and with a pretty happy expression on their faces; yet they live on the streets. Some of them seem to carry some illness or another. Most though, seem pretty healthy. This notwithstanding, I am advised to leave them alone and go stroke domestic pets if I really must, as some of these street-dogs may carry mange (canine scabies).

What strikes me is how street-wise they are. In a city that has more cars than one can possibly imagine, I see these canine friends wiggle their way through major intersections, looking at traffic and negotiating their way to the other side safely.

I speak with some people and they tell me that many city dwellers do distribute food to them, in fact I see a gentleman with a bag full of food going down towards the street. Many dogs around there; they probably know he is coming.

Another thing that strikes me -more generally- is a general mildness and kindness among the people I meet. There is obviously, like anywhere else, another side to this. I am reading in a local newspaper that there are gangs that steal electricity from the grid and distribute it to those slum-dwellers that can't hook up to the grid, because officially their housing is not allowed to exist, as it does not meet certain legal requirements. These gangs get into turf wars, mafia-style. An example of the other side of the coin, to me.

In a city in which many people live, sleep and cook on the streets -literally- it could seem, to many, almost obscene to talk about pooches yet, together with their goat, cat, monkey and cow counterparts, these dogs are part of the urban landscape in this vast nation and undeniably, from what I have seen so far, city dwellers of this part of Mumbai are kind to them.

My personal theory is that much of this is relevant to all the different cultures that inhabit India. Most of them -if not all- seem to argue in favor of respect for all fellow living creatures. This writer is a mix of yogi and Buddhist and I know for certain that both philosophies recommend kindness to our fellow planet-inhabitants, hence also the existence of such a large number of vegetarians in India. If you live by your desire to be kind and compassionate, then eating a fellow planet-inhabitant becomes a bit tricky -mind you, I fail miserably on this front; I still am a meat eater...-

So, my personal, totally unscientific and perhaps a bit biassed conclusion is that most ethnic, religious and otherwise groups that make up this nation of some 1.3 billion want to live in harmony with their environment. Maybe not always successfully, yet, nevertheless, the desire seems to me to be there.

Where is the bloomin' cat?

It's all set and sorted. It's about 16:00 hours on a Thursday in September, the 24th specifically of the year 2015 C.E.
I am driving to town to pick up some antibiotics that, in theory, will keep malaria well dormant in our systems, should any unfriendly mozzy decide to have a go at us in Kerala, India.
This, of course, according to our doctor in the village we currently live in. Mr Miguel is an immunologist, as well as my G.P for many years now. According to him, when we went to see him a few days previously, we are very, nay, extremely likely to be bitten by some mosquito that will pass on malaria to us. He excitedly goes on to show us pictures of what malaria proto-nuisances look like when they enter our cells. So exciting to him, so scary to me...am I sure I want to go for travel to that area of the world?
I guess curiosity prevails, and the answer is yes...
After this uplifting and exciting indigestion of theoretical malaria, he prescribes another set of antibiotics, just in case we eat something that causes us to spend more time sitting on the loo (Water Closet for those Anglos and non-Anglos among you who don't use this expression) rather than anywhere else in the house. All sorted; any slimy bug does not have any chance with us, by now equivalent of superman and superwoman-travelers.
Anyway, while driving to town I stop at the local ironmonger to get a set of keys. During the last few weeks it has been really frantic. Preparations for this journey have been really exhausting, as we were closing several chapters. For me in particular it was a moment of great changes: the house I had for so many years went back to the bank, on the one side because of our non-willingness anymore to pay a very high mortgage that we had gotten during the years of the boom, on the other side because a lack of desire by the bank to reach a new mortgage agreement. Well, I did need to mourn that chapter in my life, the death of a way of life yet, on the other hand, the palpable presence of precious friends made it possible for us to have another roof over our heads, whilst, at the same time, earning a very good living by promoting one of the properties as a B&B.
So, as I was saying, closing several houses really. And timing was actually quite important because a friend had asked over for dinner, as she knew it was our last evening. She figured it would have been much easier for us if we did not have to cook and, last but not least, it was a good way for us to share a fledgling friendship. We had seen each other only fleetingly, yet it was clear there was a connection at the level of the soul between us.
Furthermore, we had a cat. Ron is the name, after the Spanish verb ronronear, to purr. 18 year-old ginger female with attitude, lots of attitude. Will only eat one specific type of food from one specific store.
That evening, she was going to be relocated to the house of another friend. And here it gets a little more complex.
Friend A who invited us for dinner, was staying in the house of friend B, who was away for a few days. Friend B has a white terrier with a hyperactivity issue, hence friend A did not want him in her house; she agreed to stay in the house of friend B, take care of him, welcome Ron and by the way, take care of her own dog as well. Sounds complex? well, it is!
Back to the ironmonger's store. The keys are ready, I look at my watch: perfect timing; so much so that we have some spare time. I feel like a complete winner, get back into the car and drive back to our abode.
I am met by G, the person I live with, on the terrace, and I share my celebration and celebratory mood with her.
The celebration does not last long.
Gordana tells me, almost casually: "ah, Ron has just pulled a runner into the garden, and hasn't come back."
Usually Ron goes to the garden, which she also considers to be a toilet, and then runs back in. Not this afternoon.
My thoughts are quite adapted to an episode of Miss Marple's: "who dun it" in that I am considering which one to murder first; the cat if and when she comes back, or G for letting her go out, as if G had any magical power to stop cats from pulling runners.
I guess, I reckoned, on the other hand I'll just drop it and meditate myself into peacefulness instead...I stopped drinking alcohol some two years ago; maybe this would be a good occasion to have a whiskey as time is of the essence. Tomorrow midday we have a flight to catch, and if Ron doesn't show up, well, as tough as it might sound, she will be a homeless cat.
It turns out that Ron doesn't show up till we come back, late in the evening. There she is, in front of the big sliding window, screaming and clearly scared.
So what now?
More in my next article...:-)