Happiness

The Chinese seek happiness in colors, characters, statues, temples, and highway underpasses. This morning I went to Heaven’s Temple, definitely a place one goes to find happiness. And happiness I and others did.

There were hoards of dancers, singers, ti chi artists, clappers, hacky sack players, and more. In the vast park area of this temple hundreds, most likely thousands of retired people throng to whatever it is that brings their heart delight. Watching them brought smiles, laughter, and eternal bliss to my soul.

I especially enjoyed watching the tango dancers. Such precision and pose. Such perfection in their movements, that I typically and falsely attributed to young bodies, yet these masses of wrinkled joy were showing me otherwise. Not surprisingly there were more women then men, so they coupled together or danced solo gracefully across the parks open spaces, and this gave me comfort towards the future. It was so cute too to see the newbie’s to dance, mouths moving to keep count and track of the moves. No old dogs here that can’t learn new tricks.

Later that evening in a new city, 1000s of kilometers away, there was still dancing and singing. This time however the beautiful back drop of the trees, temple, and grass was replaces by honking horns, flashing billboards advertising gambling, and tons of concrete.

As I walked home from dinner, in the distance I heard soft music and realized there were five woman practicing Ti Chi under the highway overpass at dusk. I clapped my hands and ran over to try and capture it on film from a polite distance. I stood marveling at these women and their dedication to health and self, their ability to create inner peace in the middle of an industrial and busy business district. As I headed back towards the hotel, the strains of a symphony playing Jingle Bells tickled my ears. I wondered if some parade was happening, and I quickly chased the sound to the another island of concrete under the highway.

As I neared the director was giving notes to his players, explaining the next piece they would play-wafting his attention from the horns to the reeds. The audience formed a circle around the symphony, all eyes on the director, all ears listening to the players, all hearts eager to remain open to the magic of music in the misty moonlight.

The man I was standing next to looked over at me, and then swung his head back in shock as he realized I was not from around here. I grinned and whispered, “Nee How” and he return my greeting with a large smile and vigorously nod of approval. My heart swelled.

Soon I scooted to a space in the front and squatted down right next to the clarinet player and busted out my camera to capture the sights that would later trigger melodic memories. Old and young faces peppered the crowd, while only wrinkled hands and lips created the harmony under the concrete jungle paths above.

I laughed at my own foolishness, and the tireless efforts of the universe to teach me. It had been three long days since being on an organized tour in China, and I couldn’t escape the feeling of being a caged bird. My wings had been clipped, my voice only grated those around me, and I was quickly falling into a pit of my own making. After all, I was the honored one here, and in China that is saying a lot.

Months ago my parents had delighted me with the news that they would come and meet me on my travels. China was the place and my mother vigilantly began making arrangements, getting the advice of her friends, and organizing a trip of a lifetime for us to share. The love and happiness I felt every time I thought, bragged, or talked of our meeting in China somehow escaped ruthlessly the first morning of the tour when our first stop took us to a overcrowded site filled with tourists and noise. I wanted to be grateful and pleased, but instead a snotty insatiable teenager took over, and my eyes seemed to keep rolling back as my arms were firmly crossed across my chest.

And here in front of me was beauty, joy, and happiness in the most unlikely of places: under the overpass of a highway, on an island of concrete with cars zooming by on either side.

Happiness is created. Happiness is the gift your own heart, hand, and head provide you, if you are willing to take it, create it, and have it.

I get to be in China. I get to travel. I get to be with my parents. I get to be loved by them. I get to be happy. If only I will. I get it….I hope.

Shambo

Shambo

Sounded like a name for a whale or some other aquatic animal at the aquarium that was the latest display to attract the public. However, he is a Sivananda yoga teacher in Auroville. He also provides physical therapy and AUM (like OM) massage treatments. Shambo had posted a notice that he would be hosting yoga classes on T//Th from 9:30-11am starting next week.

YAHHOOOO!

That would work perfectly with my farm work schedule. I was ecstatic! Finally, the universe was agreeing to my plan of yoga. I was going to stretch and learn, and grow, and become more centered, and gain insights, and provide world peace!

At the first class, I felt so happy. I had found what I was looking for. The class taught meditation, stretch my limbs, and gave my mind seeds to consider. Shambo had said many things that rang true to me during the class. I felt a weight being lifted from me that I didn’t even know I had. I was just bummed that I would be leaving in 5 days, and could not have more.

At the end of the class, the other student -Emma, opened her mouth and said many things that I was feeling. It was enthralling. Then, she asked if there was any way we could have MORE classes with him. I thought I was about to cry, as she was articulating my thoughts and desires.

Shambo agreed and we set up a schedule that would provide me with all the yoga I could squeeze in with the short time remaining. I also set up an AUM massage for Friday, the day before I left.

The massage was amazing. I mean, of course someone rubbing your body, and relaxing you is amazing…but that was not the amazing part.

Shambo explained so many things to me about my body. For instance, he said that my legs were not meant to be always on the go. That my legs were the type that needed to plant roots. That I they would carry me to adventures, yet that they would always bring me home, because they were not restless wanderers. I knew this to be true. I have learned this during my travels, and had just discussed it with Candice the previous night.

Another mystery revealed was the my ankle problems. As many of you know, I have been trying to figure out how to heal the pain in my ankles that I feel on a daily basis, and that has kept be from running for over a year now. When Shambo explained what he felt, it rang true.

He said that my ankle problems come from my knees. That the problem requires rest. That my body is trying to communicate to me that I must rest them, otherwise later they will not even have the strength to tell me to take it easy, and will no longer be able to carry me. That I should realize this , and listening and respond to my body’s effort at communicating with me.

Energetically, problems in these areas typically are a result of problems with communication and relationships.

GULP.

He said it with such kindness and without a trace of judgment. Then he asked if I believed it. I nodded in assent. He asked if I wanted to change anything about my communication, and I again nodded in assent. He gently asked if I wanted to explain.

I told him that I was ashamed of my lack of control, especially when it came to getting angry quickly. He asked me what I did for it. I told him running.

And now?

Tears spilt from my eyes as I nodded my head negatively and choked out the word: nothing.

Shambo shaded in the picture for me. I would get upset, react, feel guilty, and then go for a run to let go of the tension and emotion. Now that I cannot run, I have not found a way to deal with my sparking temperament.

I nodded again.

He carefully talked about meditation and yoga asanas, outlining for me some ways to approach it, to begin to start a practice in order to direct my energy at maintain a constant energy that would not spark and fly off the handle.

A wave of tenderness and peace washed over me.

I have never walked out of a massage feeling confident that I had the tools to solve some of my deepest fears and inadequacies. Yet on that Friday I did. I know most of it, was due to finally allowing myself to open up and receive the lessons I needed to learn.

Treasure

Words. So powerful. I use them to share this story, you use them to understand this story. They can be funny, romantic, cruel, frustrating, etc. I try to use them carefully, and often make mistakes. I say hurtful things purposefully, and then other times, try so hard to say the words that will bring understanding, only to get caught in frustration and doubt.

Last week, after a cerveza, tapa, and “it’s a small world” connection with a newly made friend in Milan, I was making my way to the bus stop on the romantically moonlit streets of Granada, when I came upon a treasure.

It was in front of a library.

I saw a man with one of those reflective vests you see worn by roadside workers , slip between two gate posts around a construction site. He had left the treasure by the gate for me to marvel at, sitting on a push cart amongst what I consider junk, debris, and garbage.

I stood there for a full minute with my mouth open while other passersby looked at what I was staring at. One man, nodded his head in appreciation and agreement while my eyes searched his body for a camera- or some device for recording my find. I did contemplate how I could take it with me. Would it be possible to store it at my friend’s house? I knew though, that it belonged to the man in the vest. It was his. He had found it, he knew it to be a treasure, although he must be in pursuit of another treasure of greater importance to have just left it here in this cart, for anyone to nab, and make off with.

But, I was on the wrong side of the river.

I needed to catch the bus, in order to get back to my friend‘s house. It came on the other side of the bridge, 200 meters away, and -most likely- it was the last bus of the evening. I could chance it, that perhaps another bus would come, yet it would be unwise to get myself stranded in another country, in an unknown city and worry my friend with no easy way to contact her of my predicament.

So I pushed it for another 2 minutes, hoping that the man would come back, hoping I would see a passerby with a camera, and at the minimum get a picture of the moment. Just to make it real. I mean- what was the chance of seeing this here? In front of a library, no less?

No one even walked by. I saw a bus coming, too blind to read the numbers clearly, so I ran.

I got visually clarity just in time to see the backend of the bus pulling away from me, 50 meters away- #171. I was waiting for either 180 or 181. Breath started to return in short gasps, including a sigh of relief.

But now, I was on the wrong side of the river.

I couldn’t go back, couldn’t chance the bus coming and me missing it. So, I strained my eyes across the river to see if perhaps my friend in the reflective vest might possibly be making his way towards me. Then maybe we could talk, he could tell me the story of how and where he came across it, and what he planned to do with it.

Or maybe he’d have a camera.

So in the meantime, I pulled out my book to occupy my brain with words. The images, the feelings, the world they invited you into , and allowed anything at all to exist. As I read on this journey, I often think of the words I will share with you, and how they might affect you-and your world. How important it was to me to have a keyboard, a way to type and save and share my thoughts with others during this singular experience in my life.

It was then that I realized that a reflective vest had just passed me by, pushing a cart with the treasure!
He was now 50 meters away…what do I do?

I ran after him.

Pardon! Pardon? Eh, Senor? Um…tienes un camera? Quisera un photo con….o solo de….una cosa? Come say dice…esto?

I crashed through my Spanish, awkwardly trying to ask he if would take a picture of it, and send it to me. I reached into my pocket, for one of my moo picture cards with my email on printed on it.

Mi correo electronic es aqua, y un photo de mi tambien. Si possiblemente enviar un photo a mi …correo electronico?? Por Favor?

The man laughed. He did not speak English or Spanish. He pointed at the 1950s antique type writer and then me.

Photo?

I nodded by head vigorously. He chuckled again. He took out his cell phone and took my picture. He said the words CD, yet I tried to convince to email me (I have no CD drive) by pointing to my email address on the back of the card.

I posed. He took the photo. We both smiled. And the bus pulled up.

Sitting safely in the last bus of the evening I thought of excitement and freedom that the typewriter signified for me, adding doubly by being in front of a library. The place that hold all those moments of typing, creating and expressing.

From one key at a time, to the keys that open all. Letter to line, page to book, I hope someday mine will be resting in a nook.

Sea Legs

Some things in life just work out super perfectly.

Like eating breakfast to Glee’s rendition of Madonna’s Like a Prayer. I started the song as I was eating my idly and coconut masala. In true Kory fashion, I was in the Visitor’s Center and had earbuds in, and was rockin’ my head, toes and tummy as I slurped and mashed away at my breakfast. Song ends as I put the last deliciously melodic bite in my mouth! Viola! Perfection.

Or like waking up to the sound of the crashing waves. Getting to walk out the door and down the street and into the ocean. Feel refreshed by the water, and strengthened by the sun’s rays.

That is what I did this morning. I have a wonderful capsule mate, Candice of Canada, who has a friend who has the keys to a friends beach house. After a glorious supper of vege pizza, seafood risotto, and chocolate cake we headed to the beach house. I slept under a coconut grass roof and mosquito net, sliding into a restful slumber by the sea.

I awoke at dawn, as typical here, yet it was extraordinary as it was the FIRST time I awoke. I had slept through the entire night and it was sublime.

I headed out to the beach looking forward to being fully immersed in water. The first wave to crash over my head and soak me entirely brought a gush of laughter that could not be contained. I was home. Transformed by the sea to a feeling of comfort and calm that only home offers…and somehow these waters had been home and brought it to me.

I allowed the sea to lift and carry me. Sway me out and then let me slide on a wave back in. I felt this collective force picking me up and guiding me. As I relaxed, it coaxed me back and forth in a gentle lull. I closed my eyes and breathed.

In the bumpy bus ride on the way to visit a farm the other day, I saw a running race that was about to begin. There were about 30 men, and the scene looked antiquated- all the men could have come straight out of the 1940s or there about, with the shirts, shorts, and flat cloth like shoes that they wore. In fact, some had no shoes, and I noticed tape placed strategically on some. The numbers they wore on their shirts were hand written on cloth material. I saw a flag go up, yet had no vantage point to see the runners take their stance. And then the flag went down and I saw the first wave of runners round the corner just as the bus took me out of view. As we drove on, I noticed no markers, or signs to indicate the way.

I thought of races back home. Course all marked out, volunteers posted to provide water and electrolytes, music blaring to pump everyone up. I thought of all the fancy advertising, the shirts, the medals, the goody bags…the entire thing seemed to be filled with such glitz, that somehow made this race feel beautiful. Grounded.

It outlined a simple analogy in my mind. The roads in life are not always clearly marked or even constructed well. Yet we still must navigate our way. Sometimes we carry ridiculous accouterments that we think will make the journey easier, yet only burden us unnecessarily.

After about 15 minutes in the bus, we came to a small clearing with about two cars, and 7-8 people. I thought at first their car had broken down, or perhaps a picnic. Then I saw a water cooler (again..straight out the 40s..car and cooler) balanced on the fender with the hood of the trunk open. These people were there to hand out water and perhaps offer up encouragement. The support team.

Along the road, there will be those that offer help or distractions. Only we can decide for our own self when and if to accept the help or deflect the distractions.
Slam! I was covered and felt the fierce force of the wave crash over me and throw me about. I sputtered and coughed, and tried to wipe the sting from my eyes while ejecting the burn from my nose. I kicked and flayed by legs and arms until my feet found footing in the sinking sand. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my burning eyes looking about.

I had been indulging in my thoughts and lost my awareness for my surroundings. I had let go, yet the sea requires one to hold on to the present, being conscious of what is going on around you, and responding as needed. The waves can either carry or crash you, one must know this before going in and understand their own limits to the sea’s seemingly endless power.

Uh…whoa there girl! Easy on the thoughts and just enjoy the sea-consciously.

There seems to be a lesson in all I immerse myself in here in Incredible India. She has much to teach me. And I have much to learn.

Fish Food

In the land of gurus, yogis, spiritual mysticism and vipassana, one would think that finding a yoga class would not be difficult. Yet I have not been able to, and have found fish food instead.

It all started with a simple request from friends for an ashram in the south of India that I could go and immerse myself in yoga. Six to eight hours a day of stretching, balancing, sweating, twisting, and expanding….

I was first recommended Pondicherry. Then, close to Pondicherry, Auroville- a community of like minded individuals, with integral yoga at the heart of the founder’s teachings. So, I looked it up on the internet, and it all seemed just what I was looking for. Upon arriving in Chennai, I got on a bus to Pondicherry to spend some time at the Sri Audiobindo Ashram.

At the ashram, I found the grounds to be beautiful, however, it was not a the teaching ashram. After spending 2 days in town trying to find a yoga class to attend during the hot months of April and May, I decided it was time to head to Auroville. I booked my ticket and was off in one of Sri Audiobindo’s Autocare cars towards Utopia.

Upon arrival to the area, I skipped the Visitor’s Center and went directly to the canteen. I ordered the ‘healthy meal’ and was in sprout and carrot soup heaven. I chatted with one woman who was also a visitor and she was staying at a rather expensive guest house. The next couple I asked were WWOOFing at Buddha Garden. In exchange for 3 hours of work (6-9am) a day, room and one meal was provided. My heart lifted up and I knew that was the place for me! I could work in the early mornings, and take yoga during the day.

Shortly after setting up my mattress and mosquito net, I learned from the others that most the yoga classes were offered in the morning. Poop. I was starting to feel that I was not destined for yoga in India. Within the next couple of days, I heard about yoga possibilities, yet one thing or another came up and kept me from attending.

Finally on Thursday, I was bound and determined to make it happen. I got on my bicycle and headed in the direction the map indicated. Within 25 minutes I realized I was completely turned around and confused. I started to ask local villagers for directions, yet the Tamil people were unfamiliar with my English written map, and I had no idea where was to get us oriented. After about 15 minutes of harassing a dozen or so people, a kind man explained how to get to where I wanted to go. I headed off and soon I heard a honk behind me, and the same man zipped in front of me on his scooter indicating I should follow. He got me to the next landmark and waved me well.

I then received directions from an Aurovillian who was familiar with the place. Within another 10 minutes, I had arrived. I parked my bike, and walked towards what looked like a big hall, where classes were most likely held. The doors were closed, as the class had most assuredly begun long ago. I felted bummed out, yet decided to at least walk around the grounds, and perhaps find a quiet place to wait and meditate as to allow myself to talk to the teacher afterwards.

I walked and found closed doors, and what appeared to be an empty dormitory. I then saw some open doors ahead. I slipped off my shoes and walked in and found a couple with their feet in the serene looking fish pond. I decided to sit down and join them.

I slipped my feet in the water and immediately my feet were kissed and nibbled by a dozen or so fish. I yanked my feet out and tried not to giggle too loudly. I then slowly lowered in my heels, and for the next couple of minutes tried to control and reign in my ticklish laughter as to maintain the stillness of the space. After a couple of minutes of building up my tolerance, I finally plunged both feet right in.

For the next twenty five minutes I became fish food.

The following morning I was describing the experience to fellow WWOOFer, Pierre while trying to laugh that perhaps the universe had not intended me to do yoga in Auroville.

He paused in our task and look calmly at me and said, “ Yet you are doing yoga. This is true integral yoga.”

And I realized I was. I was stretching, balancing, sweating, twisting, and expanding my mind, heart, body, and experiences while farming, asking, biking, and feeding the fish.

If They Could See Me Now…

I wonder what they’d do. Kick me out? Reprimand me for laying my clothes out on the grass to dry in the sun? Or, would it be that I am using the reading room to type?

I just find it fascinating that I am asking the questions at Sri Audibindo’s Ashram, Park Guest House.

When I first arrived two days ago I was in utter bliss. I couldn’t believe that this place was right on the ocean, and quiet, and Sir Audibino and The Mother’s collective! I had struck gold. I was asked to read the rules, to make sure I could agree to them. Some being:

No Visitors - I knew no one here.
No Alcohol or Smoking- Easy
Doors close by 10:30pm- Looking forward to maintaining a trekking schedule of early to bed, early to rise
Check out by 12pm- Can’t imagine that is a problem

I agreed and was shown my room: Third floor, balcony that face the ocean and sunrise, while remain private to other guests. I could do yoga here! I could do yoga naked here (sorry if that was TMI). I am in bliss. I got my things in. Took a rinse of the sticky sweat shower and felt refreshed for 3 minutes. Headed to the canteen (as they closed in 10 minutes) for some dinner. Had a delicious lassi and edible noodles (top roman style) with ‘cheese’ on top, then dashed outside to walk along the beach front. I returned before curfew, read about allowing the body to rest just before sleep (one of many informative notices adorning the walls) and enjoyed a heavenly sleep with windows open as to be lulled by the crashing waves in my room dubbed, “integrity”.

The next day the ashram atmosphere continued to awe me. As I walked around the garden and grounds, I began to read the many stones, notices, or art that invited me to be calm, tranquil, and learn.

In the meditation room:
What do I need to learn? What do I need to change? How can I take what I have and transform it into growth?

In the canteen:
Food is an integral part of our nourishment. Chew slowly and give mindfulness to what the food is providing for your body. Control your food. Allow the sniff of flowers to nourish the body too.

In the stairway:
You could just see the stairs as something you must go up and down. Yet allow yourself to feel the body’s ability and strength grow with every step you take.

In the garden:
The grass love’s your feet. Open yourself to the garden’s influence….Stop in it…observe..identify..grow…let each step be a revelation.


Here I was surrounded by knowledge, and I began to feel uplifted and inspired to be my true self!

I passed the afternoon in my room and garden reading. It was glorious. That afternoon I went out to explore Pondicherry and find one of the scrumdilicious French restaurants I had heard so much about. I returned just before 7pm with excited about attending the Transgender Festival being held the next night. I went to ask permission, that if the bus returned later than the stated 10:30, would they let me in?

NO

I received this answer from reception while he busied himself with his cell phone. Deflated, I tried to ask if there were somewhere-

NO

This time cutting me off mid sentence and still not giving me the common decency to pretend to be paying me any attention.

“Um, I was about to ask.”

YOU ARE NOT UNDERSTANDING? NO. THAT IS THE RULE. THE DOORS WILL NOT OPEN FOR YOU. THE ANSWER IS NO AND IT WILL NOT CHANGE FOR YOU. UNDERSTAND?

I understood that I was getting upset. I understood that he was being rude. And I could not understand how this was happening at an ASHRAM for goodness sake.

I ridiculously got on my teacher self and tried to school him in some cell phone etiquette and reception manners. Waste of time.

The next morning, I went to inquire about renting a bicycle.

Would you like a two wheeler?

My mind froze, as I was unsure if this was humor or if they offered tricycles for the balance challenged.

Hello madam. Two wheeler or bicycle? Do you know what you want? Today only? I am asking you which you prefer…

He -different reception dude- continued in the rapid fire questioning for sometime, and after attempting to get in an answer twice I shut my two fine lips together in meditative closure. Finally, when it seemed he had used all his breathe, I ventured to state that I thought the sign read they did not offer scooters, IF that was what he was referring to when asking me about a two wheeler, as if it matter to him, bicycles also have two wheels.

By now I was wondering if the receptions folks are trained in anti-ashram practices in order to push guests to the limits of mind over body power, as I was feeling the tinge to kick him in the shins- accidentally of course.

At check out time, I brought my required blue card that I was instructed to have give and key. They took nor looked at either. I saw a place for the key labeled “checking out”, yet nothing for the card, so I left it on the counter. I waited patiently for either the woman or man to look up at me, and after a minute finally asked if there was a place I could leave my bag for the next hour.

NO

Unashamedly, I asked if there was a place to leave my clothes to hang and dry- fully knowing the answer, yet wondering how many negative replies I could get without eye contact.

NO

Could I ask the bellboy guys to keep it? Could I type on my computer in the lounge? May I still order something from the canteen now that I had checked out? Was I now considered a visitor? Did I have access to the garden anymore? Did they notice any of the teachings? Were they believers? Do you even like people?

And as Amy Winehouse sang:

NO. NO. NO.

Okay, I didn’t ask any of those last questions…because I didn’t want to hear the answer. Especially after the bell boy tried to put my bag behind his desk, and we both got denied, again.

So instead, I followed my inner voice and went straight to the canteen and ordered a coffee. Asked for some ice (got initial NOs here, yet I knew their hearts weren’t black and smiled and explained). And made (definitely to the shocked of the canteen workers) an iced coffee to calm my nerves. Then I went and laid my clothes out on the grass to dry (far from the eyes of reception) and am presently sitting in the ‘reading’ room typing away. I wonder what they do if they could see me (and my underwear) now.

Why? Because I say:

YES. YES. YES.

Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles

Wonders #1:
The internet was working at the café this morning before 8am in Kathmandu, allow me to speak with my dear friend thru google video.

Of Wonder #1:
Why don’t the management or waiter ever seem to know when the internet is working or not.

Miracle #1:
Able to repack bags, speak with friend, eat yogurt, drop off laundry, print up letter for VISA and get taxi all by 8:30am.

Wonders #2:
On the way to Chinese Embassy I feel confident and happy that I will arrive on time as the doors open, thus a sign that the doors will be open to a double entry VISA.

Of Wonder #2:
Why there are pages missing from my passport, including my Indian VISA and all the pages after 27. I look at picture and do not recognize myself…because it is not myself!

Miracle #2:
Taxi driver changes course and takes me to opposite end of town to Immigration Office to return identified unidentified passport and pick up mine. As it turns out, the woman, married to Nepal’s most famous actor (cannot release her name as story might make it to press -causing an international scandal) had yet to pick up passport up, and mine was waiting patiently for me.

Of Wonder #3:
Why the Immigration officials would not return the 500 Rs (7 USD) I paid for rush processing, as they had made a major blunder in handing over the wrong passport. True, I could have checked to make sure it was mine, yet after two people checked the receipt I gave them before handing over ‘my’ passport , I ASSUMED (ass out of you and me) that is was the correct one- and had only bothered to check the extended VISA was correct.

Wonder #3
That whole process had only taken 30 minutes!! Wow! Perhaps I could make it to the Chinese Embassy by 9:15 am, as the taxi driver was waiting outside to take me there.

Wanderings #1:
There are two Chinese Embassies…old and new. Where to go for VISA? I had address for old…taxi believes that is correct. As we pass the new one, he points it out, and I tell me to pull over and I will go and ask. He cruises by and responding that it is the old one, and not this embassy. We continue and I realize I might need more Rupees if they do not take USD, so we stop at an ATM…and I am ready! I run up to embassy, and security tells me it is the other embassy I must go to. Jump back in taxi, we head over to other embassy, zooming around cars, scooters, people, rickshaws, motorcycles, police directing traffic…and arrive. There is a HUGE line down the street- happily its for Qatar airlines. I run to the gate, security directs me to the other gate…I run and it is sealed shut!

Of Wonder #4:
Why do guards only open a steel gate only 3 inches wide and seemed to be impatient when they cannot understand what one is trying to say?

No Wonder #1:
The Chinese Embassy ‘boss’ told security that immigration/VISA would close today at 10am.
“ Come back Friday”… awesome…my plane leaves Friday.

Of Wonder #5:
What do I do now? Go to the Thai Embassy to see if the VISA requirements are changing for entry there? (a girl at immigration mentioned it yesterday). Go visit one of ‘wonders’ of Kathmandu? Patan? Bakhtapur? Pashupatinath?

Wanderings #2:
I sulked away from the embassy. I stop in at two travel agents hoping they will miraculously solve my VISA problems with some super sonic connection they have. No such luck. I pass a movie theatre and wonder if I should hide out in there, masking my tears as a reaction to some sad drama I could watch. I pass the Palace and wander over to a guard and ask about buses. He shrugs, raises his eyebrows, and I can only hope he was smiling under his pollution mask, trying to let me down easy due to lack of understanding. I find myself at the corner of honking and motors running, still without direction. I head over to the shady side of the street and realize I have found my way home: Embassy of the U.S.A.

Wonders #4
Wonderful woman tries to answer my questions about VISAs, and sites. She kindly directs me to where the buses congregate, so that I can hop on one to Patan. She gave such careful and accurate directions that I left cheered and confident of my decision to sight see.

Miracle #3
I found the bus. I got on it. After 10 minutes, it left. It stopped ONLY once. At that stop, an American volunteer got on bus and recommended Dhokaima Café for lunch. She mentions cheese. She mentions basil. She mentions arugula. She walks me part way and wishes me well. I wish her a glorious life. She tosses me a suggestion to walk into open doorways, as the often lead to private temple courtyards.

Wonders #5:
I skipped 250Rs Durbar Square and wander past a open doorway that gleamed of gold. I retreat back and enter into the Golden Temple. As I am not wearing leather shoes I can enter with mine intact. Wow. Beautiful art, sculpture and work. Photo heaven.

Miracle #4
I find the restaurant. From the outside it looks tiny, dirty, and old. From the inside it looks smaller, with a cake display, and only one table. I inquire about lunch and am lead through a doorway ….to a luxious garden courtyard!!!!! (Sara had forgotten to mention the scenery, probably as she saw I was so caught up in the food). I had a sweet lassi. (oh..heavenly cool). I had a grilled cheese with tomatos, basil, and …parmesan type cheese. Homemade chips on the side, with a few slices of the most tasty cucumbers marinated with red onions and tiny tips of green hot peppers. Divine!

Miracle #5:
Dessert. Deserves its own paragraph. Apple and banana spring rolls with chocolate ginger sauce and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The chocolate was fudgey on the ice cream. The spring rolls were crunchy, sweet, and dripping with melt cream and sauce. They soothed my VISA troubles away. I got an iced coffee to wash it down.

Of Wonder #6:
Can I lick the plate?

Wonders #6:
I finished lunch at 1:30. The Chinese Embassy opens at 2:30 for those lucky enough to PICK UP their generously rewarded VISAs. Should I leave this oasis and try again? I have enough time to get there before the steel wall will slide open. I walk out of the café, and a taxi is there…and AGREEs to my price. I get to the embassy at 2pm. At 2:30 the iron curtain rolls open 12 inches…”Tibetians Only”. Five minutes later…they let us all in, and I slip in without a slip.


Of Wonder #7:
Why must my turn be after the screaming swearing girl who curses the embassy official?

Wonder of Wonder, Miracle of Miracles
The official looks at my documents and asks why I need to go twice. I explain the itinery of the tour group my parents joined, leaves mainland for Singapore, then returns to the mainland after 3 days. He says the rule at this embassy is if you are going to China for the first time, you may only enter once. He tells me I can get another VISA in Hong Kong. I say that I was hoping to spend that time with my family, as they were coming so far to see me. He looks are me, and says:

“Okay. For this special reason.”

I can’t hold back, I cry with relief and joy!

Xie xie!