i heart gokarna

I've taken a room with a family behind Kudle beach.It's a family of only women, this question I haven't yet asked. The other room houses andrea, an italian sadu type who seems to have been here forever, his skin leathery and brown from the sun, his body skinny and strong like the indians. The huts are made of mud, with a palm thatched roof, no electricity. I sleep on a bamboo mat on the floor, and hang my wet sarongs outside. I have a small candle in the window, and it's fire is always crazy from the sea wind. The other candles in the corners drip wax in different directions, so you can see where the floor isn't level. In the mornings, I wake up to him chanting, ringing a bell, lighting his incense. I have chai and bread with Mahadevi and her mother. She's fourteen, an only child, and always wants a sister. "I like your teeth", she said when I inquired about a room. "Very white. But you- very dark". After my days of endless walks and hikes and swims in the heat, I usually descend back to my little hut from the temple just after sunset. I squat at the well, and fill a bucket with water for my shower. It's a new feeling, this, and my hands are calloused from the rope and pulling the weight of the water up towards me. It takes about 4 dips down to the well before I've filled my bucket beside me. I'm careful not to spill any of it on the ground, and the sound of pouring water from one bucket to the other is really satisfying, for some reason. There's a little plateau of rocks behind some palm walls they've built, and I wash the day off me at that time when there's no more sun, but still light in the sky, and I hurry at the end before the mosquitos come out. Walking back to my hut, I use the light from the Taandoori oven as a marker to turn left, unless the moon is bright enough to see the steps. Everything takes so long, going to the bathroom invoves at least a 5 minute hike (no toilet-jungle style!), getting water to wash yourself, grinding spices for yoru chai and heating it over the fire...so I've come to appreciate all the things that come to me, that I never think twice about at home. Flushing the toilet, a hot shower, a familiar voice, ordering a drink and having it miraculously appear in 60 seconds. I'm also seeing how little I need, and how much I have. I think of my piles of clothes and big car, and wonder what I do with it all. Even this backpack seems excessive, or even my queen sized bed.

I came into town to sort out a few things, took the one hour late one and a half hour scheduled but actual 3 hour train, fighting off packs of indians following, staring, and groping Ida and I, though we were covered with scarves. The walls and doors are rich colors, the way everything was colored in kindergarden, ceilings are covered in fans, and men go up and down the cars yelling in that indian voice we all love, "Drinks, coca cola, samosa, chai, sandwich sandwich..Drinks!". Eventually, we sat in front of an open door, feet hanging on the step, holding on to a bar, ducking back inside the car if we entered a tunnel. Watched the coutryside go by, and had a couple samosas. When I arrived at the station, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror for the first time in weeks. First, I was shocked. I barely recognized myself, Mahadevi was right, I was dark, and at first only saw my eyes and teeth. My hair's gone unruly, and I have a few scars on my cheek from I don't really know what. I thought about how many hours I've spent in front of a full length mirror, squeezing my zits, checking out what a good photo angle would be, pulling back the flesh of my thighs to look skinnier, practising that mad dance move. Or walking by a shop window and having a quick look at my pants. I thought about how different I feel like I've become, and how much I needed to stop looking at myself and seeing what needed to be done, and just looking outside for a while, to find myself not really giving 2 shits how I look. There's to much else in this place to look at! and dammit, I feel geeeoood, namaste stylie. Must be the chai diet.