First day, second time around

4 years later, 4 years older, at the same ashram in the heart of Incredible India.  Then, it was the Teacher-Training Course, now I’m attending the Advanced Course.  Some things have changed; teachers & volunteers come and go, buildings have been added to accommodate growth.  Some things remain the same, such as the incredible meals (though the food is even more delectable) and the silence that must be kept while enjoying them. Surrounded by green rolling hills, the air here is fresh and calm.  There’s a constant chorus of birds during the day, taken over by the buzzing, chirping insects at night. 

After a 30-minute ride from Nashik city, we pulled up to the quiet ashram.  A man raised the gate to let the vehicle, piled high with bags, enter the grounds.  There was never a gate here before, let alone an armed Indian Army guard.  I suppose everyone feels safer now.  All bags must be inspected.  Really?  What the hell!?  Though a zip-loc bag of baking soda was ignored, each book was carefully fingered.  After lunch, I settled into the room I share with a Canadian, Northern Irish, and Egyptian. 

Vegan Cocoa Banana Muffins

For my delicious vegan version, I substituted:

*WHEAT FLOUR for all purpose flour

*BROWN SUGAR for white sugar

*1 TBS lemon juice mixed in 1 cup soy milk for buttermilk

*maple syrup for vanilla extract

Here's the original recipe from Vegetarian Times:  

Nutritional Information

Makes 1 loaf, 3 miniloaves, or 12 muffins

Amount Per MUFFIN:

Calories	172
Protein	3g
Total fat	7g
Carbs	26g
Cholesterol	1mg
Sodium	176mg
Fiber	2g
Sugars	11g

Vegetarian Times Issue: March 1, 2008   p.78

Mashed banana binds to flour the same way eggs do, creating moist treats that are low in fat and cholesterol. To make this loaf even more decadent, prepare a Chocolate Drizzle. Melt 1 oz. chopped bittersweet chocolate in double boiler or in microwave at low (20 percent) power. Drizzle over cooled loaf or muffins.

Ingredients

Makes 1 loaf, 3 miniloaves, or 12 muffins

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 tsp. baking soda
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1 cup low-fat buttermilk
• 3/4 cup mashed banana
• 1/3 cup canola oil
• 2 tsp. vanilla extract

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Coat 9- x 5-inch loaf pan, 3 6- x 3-inch miniloaf pans, or 12-cup muffin tin with cooking spray.
2. Whisk together flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, and salt in bowl. Whisk together buttermilk, mashed banana, oil, and vanilla in separate bowl. Fold buttermilk mixture into flour mixture.
3. Scoop batter into prepared pan(s). Bake large loaf 50 to 60 minutes, miniloaves 35 to 45 minutes, or muffins 18 to 22 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 5 minutes in pan(s). Unmold, and cool. Drizzle with Chocolate Drizzle if desired.

Do you ever...

...look into the mirror and see your new, same, different 1000th self?  
Do you ever stop back-and-forth questioning between a life of devotion and a life of the worldly ways?  
And don't you really just love the path you're on, the way it's all cleared out from time to time... 
the adventures that still lie ahead 
and the teachers you'll meet 
and the teacher you'll be
the road you will dance upon
the roads you won't see.


and who you are and what it is and where it's at 


And the people I've loved and
the people I have yet to love.


And the answer... it's always a very big, grateful YES.

Pedestrian Paris... a perfect day

 the walk:  Pantheon/Jardins Luxembourg/Jardins des Tullienes/Montemartre

“GO IT ALONE” is often my motto.  In that mode, I don’t get the pleasure of sharing the experience, seeing new things through the observations of others, or fun conversation.  On the other hand, when I’m solo… I’m able to walk as far as my long legs will carry me.  For four days in Paris, I was paired up with a dear sweet friend who was kind enough to give me enough walking to keep me sane. 
[Jen in Montmarte]:

 

We booked an apartment through Yellowstay.  Ours was conveniently located just north of the Seine River in the area of Hotel de Ville and the Pompidou Center.  On our first full day, we opted for a riverboat cruise through Bateaux Mouches, embarking from Pont de l’Alma, not far from the Eiffel Tower.   For those who aren’t so enthusiastic about walking, it’s 10 Euros well spent for viewing a high volume of buildings, monuments, and bridges. 
[view from the riverboat]:

 

The next day, it had to be walking.  The main points of our route:  The Pantheon, Luxembourg Gardens, Tullienes Gardens, and Montemarte. 

We started heading south on Rue Saint Martin, which turns into Rue de la Cite.  Crossing over the Seine, one could easily take a quick detour on Ile de la Cite (turning left, heading east) to have a look at the great gothic architecture of the Notre Dame Cathedral and its grounds which contain a fountain and beautiful varieties of roses. 
[roses @ Notre Dame]:

 

Staying on Rue de la Cite we passed by Sorbonne, the historic University of Paris.  Just past the university, we hung a left on Rue Soufflet.  Going southeast, it was a short walk to the Pantheon.   Though the innards of the great domed Pantheon are no doubt a feast for the eyes, contain the remains of Rousseau, Voltaire, Marie Curie, and Louis Braille among others, and were the location of Foucault’s original pendulum, we did not go in (lame, I know!).  Instead, we circumambulated its magnificence while enjoying the fresh breeze and blue skies of a lovely spring morning.   
[the Pantheon]

 

Back onto Rue Soufflet, we strolled west through the Jardins Luxembourg.  The garden is the perfect calm in the middle of a monster city, with its numerous shaded benches and gentle fountains.  From the west side of the park, we took Rue Guynemer, crossed over Rue de Vaugirard, and followed Rue Bonaparte, continuing north.  Turning left to go northwest on Boulevard Saint-Germaine presents the opportunity for some upscale shopping and window gazing.  At a large roundabout we took a right on Rue du Bac, which led us north again towards the river.  Crossing at Pont Royal took us directly to Jardins Tullienes.  Here’s another lovely, wide-open, manicured garden meticulously landscaped to emphasize its variety of flowers and trees. 

 

By then, we were hungry for lunch.  Exiting the north side of the park via Rue des Pyramides, we quickly found a suitable café at the corner of Rue Saint-Honore:  La Rotonde des Tuileries.  The usual sidewalk seating of cafés provides a great resting place for people watching, and this was no exception. 
[cafe lined streets of Montemartre]:

 

Two blocks north of the café, we hopped on the metro to Montmartre for a stroll through the northern hilltop district.  Montmartre is a quaint, artsy part of town that lies around the jaw-dropping Basilica of the Sacré Cœur.  Around the area, we passed by the one-time studios of Van Gogh and Picasso.  We wanted to see the Dali museum, but it was closed.   For a refreshing snack on that warm afternoon, we delighted in cones of creamy, fruity gelato while browsing the works of artists in Place du Tertre.  There, I bought a reasonably priced colorful oil painting of a local café-front.  We once again headed around to the Basilica to enjoy the view of the city.  Down the stairs, we stopped to enjoy live music and watch a highly coordinated free-style footballer performing atop a narrow pedestal. 
[freestyle footballer, Iya Traore]: 

We descended down the hill towards the metro station, stopping at a small nearby park to take a look at the Wall of Love.  Written on a black brick wall is “I love you” in more languages than I could count.  We hopped back on the metro, headed back to the apartment and took a rest. 
[the wall of "I love you"s, Montmartre]:

 

For the ideal ending to a perfect day in Paris, we went to the nearby grocery and fruit market, stocked up on wine and food, and walked down to the riverbank for a picnic.  As we savored the wine, figs, cheese, olives, baguette, and nuts, I removed my Chacos and she wore Converse… we were satisfied from head to toe.   

France by chance

PARIS NEVER CAME CLOSE to topping my list of “places to go”.  Actually, it probably wasn’t even in the top 100.  But here I am, boarding a flight at Charles De Gaulle.  Paris was four days and nights of ideal weather- plenty of sunshine, yet not sweltering hot.  From what I’ve heard and what I perceive to be true, many regard the city of lights as a most romantic city to spend a holiday.  Why are people so charmed?  Is it the art, the literature, and the music?  Is it the café-lined streets housing a most diverse crowd of inhabitants enjoying gourmet delicacies and seemingly warm conversations?  Perhaps it’s the common sight of embraces hello, and long kisses goodbye.  The politeness of Parisians is apparent all day long.  There are hellos in the elevators, held doors throughout the metro stations, and greetings in the bakeries and markets.  The wine flows like the River Seine, cutting through the city, keeping her alive and moving, gracefully dancing.  The architecture is magnificent, with each building carrying beauty.  Impressive columns, statues, monuments, gardens, fountains, carvings, and churches are so common that it’s almost too much.  The structures and spaces are all so nice that the individual beauty ceases to stand out and we’re left with a single, breathing, and gorgeous hunk of elegance that is the city of Paris.  And that's just the surface.  
[J-Pa with a guidebook, near the Pantheon]:

 

Yes, there’s the Eiffel Tower, which does tend to stand out.  Seen from various points in the distance, it pierces the hearts of so many with that cliché of romanticism.  I do appreciate big pieces of metal, and seeing so much metal up close wowed me.  I was over it after a short time.  It didn’t hit my gut, and I never expected it would have.  It didn’t disappoint, perhaps the lack of expectation being why.  The tower is quite unique, with a great merge of phallic height and feminine curvature.  As the last bit of daylight finally faded after 10 p.m., it was illuminated with a soft amber glow. 
[the Eiffel Tower]:

The grassy stretch to the south made for an ideal gathering of picnickers.  Large circles of friends and intimate pairs spread out comfortably upon blankets fill the lawn.  Facing the tower, one can watch the sun’s slow descent as the sky darkens and clouds turn from white, to pink, to grey.  From the base to the tip of the tower, white lights occasionally sparkled and danced to the cheers of the lounging, drunken crowd.  Champagne bottles popped as vendors made their rounds offering wine, beer, smokes, and souvenirs. 
[a woman, as seen from a boat along the Seine]:

 

As darkness settled into night, the crowd also darkened, emanating that wild, fake drunken energy.  It was during that hour that my dear companion, Jen, left to find a restroom.  I sat on the blanket, watching and listening to the others around me.  A moment turned into an unreasonably long time for her to be gone, and I began to worry.  In the meantime, I packed up our trash and leftover foods.  After more than half an hour, she finally returned and we were ready to go.  I hit the toilet in the way out, in the form of a squat among a dark patch of bushes.  To get back to our room, we rode the ageing, sturdy metro alongside some drunk, some quiet, interestingly dressed others.  We rolled into the space after midnight, and that was my last of four evenings in Paris.  I was exhausted and relieved to be through with such a splendid monster of a city.  
[the church @ Montemarte]:

on Toilets

IF YOU EVER BACKPACK in Tunisia, be sure to use the bathroom before stepping out of the airport, as it may be the nicest you’ll use for a while.  The restroom ladies might expect a tip, but it’s impossible if you haven’t yet done the currency exchange.  Each time I thought it couldn’t be rougher, the next toilet proved me wrong.  And each time it was necessary to use the bathroom, the more grateful I was for all of the little things in life here to enjoy.  My first two nights were spent in the capitol, Tunis, at a decent hotel.  The shared toilet was right around the corner from my room.  At times, a puddle accumulated on the ground where the right foot stands while on the toilet.  But, there was always toilet paper and the flushing mechanism worked. 

Moving on to the city of Sousse, the toilets went downhill.  Among so many switches, the bathroom light switch was nowhere to be found.  In the raunchy closet of a bathroom whose size required strategic entry, I left the door cracked open allowing the outside passage light to enter.  Judging from the smell, it was probably a blessing to not have seen the facility flooded with light. 

The next morning, enter the chic, sunny café.  After indulging in a café au lait and a croissant whose center revealed a creamy, subtle dab of chocolate, nature called.  Although the kind waiter had just given me a napkin for my hands, I forgot to take it with me to the restroom.  Crap!  Seriously.  Instead of stocking the restrooms with toilet paper, there’s always a water hose.  In India, it was often a faucet with a mini bucket for water.  The greater thing about India is that the toilets were usually squatter-style.  Set into the ground, they require one to squat down.  In my opinion, they’re brilliantly cleaner.  No tissue?  No problem.  Squatting always allows for a naturally clean break.  Here, it’s a rubbery or metal hose, fastened to a faucet, hanging beside the toilet.  Rather than wasting paper and clogging the toilets, simply spray the area to be cleaned with water from the hose.  Hahahahaha!  Oh, how I longed for a squatter style throne.  So there I was, having to spray this water hose between my legs and all around.  The gracious mirror was big and low, if needed, to ensure everything was washed.  In the end, my ass was a little damp, but at least it was clean. 

I’ve already written about the shower in Kairoaun, so now I’ll move on to the toilet of Khazazia.  Joking, I asked Nadhem if I’d need to go outside for the toilet.  Indeed, I did.  Among the roaming poultry, not far from the fenced-in sheep, the aunt led me to a small door less, barn-like structure.  In the corner were old sheepskins piled onto other things.  In the middle of the dusty concrete floor was the toilet bowl, just a bowl.  No back, no flusher.  Beside it was a large jug of water with a bucket.  Auntie lifted a 3-feet-high slab of wood and propped it up against the doorway for privacy.  I was truly understanding and living the “right hand is for eating, left hand is for cleansing oneself and using the bathroom” aspect of being in that part of the world. 

In Kairoaun, at a café, I used a toilet in a back room where there was no light.  Gotta appreciate those flashbulbs on the mobile phones. 

At one house, I had to ask someone to show me how to flush by pouring water into the toilet.  I didn’t realize it required such a great amount.  It wasn’t just any toilet; it was a filthy toilet in a bathroom that smelled like a Porta-Jon.  The next day, I had the luxury of showering in that very bathroom.  At the time there was no hot water, so they made some for me.  In the shower was placed a large plastic tub, filled with warm water and a small bucket for pouring.  The bathroom may have been below my standards of cleanliness, but it wasn’t mine.  And that day, the dwellers of that house went beyond all expectations to accommodate me and make me feel at home.  In the midst of a nasty toilet, my ass was still grateful.  

t.g.i.f.

FEELING UNDER THE WEATHER, Sana apologized for not being able to accompany me to the Friday prayers.  As we entered the mosque’s wide courtyard, Nadhim beckoned a woman walking in front of us.  He asked if she wouldn’t mind guiding me in, as this was new to me.  She agreed, and Nadhim made his way to the men’s entrance.  Shorter, older, and with a few gold teeth, the gentle woman led me to the women’s section.  She showed me where to place my shoes, on a shelf near a large pillar.  The prayer hall was full of women of all ages, and a few children.  Some wore dresses, some wore skirts, with every kind of hijab one could imagine:  black, black with rhinestones, busy patterns, subdued solids, striped, flowered, bright, paisley, some with silvery strands of thread, others modest and blending with the skin.

We found our places in the last row, near the open entryway to the courtyard.  As I faced forward for the first rounds of prayer, I was overtaken by this amazing, new experience.  I stood there.  I didn’t try to remember, nor did I forget, I just stood.  I was in the Great Mosque in Kairouan, Tunisia, and it was beautiful.  After a few moments, I focused and prayed.  We sat for several minutes, waiting for the Imam to speak.  I couldn’t grasp all that he was saying, but did understand the reference he made to Mother’s Day, noting that mothers must be celebrated each and every day.  Following his words, the worship began.  Shoulder to shoulder, we prayed in unity.  It was yet another great day to be alive, and a moment I’ll not soon forget. 

Following the prayer, I thanked the lady and made my way out to find Nadhim.  We walked around the corner and sat on a bench in front of the mosque.  Scores of tall, blonde, summery-dressed tourists flooded the plaza, taking photos of the holy site and its dispersing crowd of worshipers.  As the day-trippers hovered around the big, luxury buses, I was grateful to not be one of them.  For the rest of the afternoon, Nadhim & I walked around the city, ending the evening enjoying a sheesha smoke at a roadside café.  He and a friend walked me back to my hotel, and tomorrow we would be off to a Land of Olives… Khazazia.