To Nepal

life in a broader perspective, where everything and nothing is different, that's all

2010-06-15T05:59:00.000-07:00

Drawing a conclusion out of a journey of nine months
There are easier tasks
Today is tuesday, it's a warm sunny day in the Netherlands, but also cloudy, and when the clouds come it is cold
That is today, or at least now
12.30 pm, tuesday 15th of june 2010
Tomorrow will be different, as well as the conclusion
How to possibly answer the question 'how was it?' when it was everything?
But the one thing, above all, that is remarkable is the broader perspective
That is an unchangeable change after this journey
The world is bigger than before
It's not only about my house anymore, my friends, my happiness, my agenda
There is more around
There is not only that which the eyes can see anymore, that what the heart craves for
The motivation for action isn't the own happiness anymore
Or better, it is
But the own happiness has broadened, spread, has permeated the surroundings, the people around, the nature around
How freeing it is not to see one self as the starting point of life, but life as the starting point of one self
Everything remains the same
The friends, the job, the doubts, the jealousy, the loves, the interests, the regrets, the exaltation, the uncertainty
But it's the importance that has shifted
From 'I' to 'not only I anymore'
The eyes still see the same things, the lips still form the same words
Disturbingly comforting how fast one can adapt and adapt again

But while the one eye is focused on the own life, the other one is looking at the world
And that is what going away does
It offers you the perspective of the world next to that of your own life
That is what going away does
It gives you space to breathe where before there were dark clouds of self-pity
That is what going away does
It gives the chance to come back to the home of which the evidence has been unveiled, at least for a little while
That is wat going away does
It teaches you to trust on more than your own limited ability to make decisions
It teaches you to let go in order to be better able to receive
It teaches you to breathe where there's fear
It teaches you to act where there's inertia
It teaches you to wait where there's impatience
It teaches you to stay still where there's restlessness

All of this I've read in a book before
But the insights a book can give you are only useful to that extent in which they are brought in contact with the proper, tangible, concrete experiences

That you should just do the things,
That is what I've learned

Now it's cloudy and windy again
and 15.30 pm
15th of june 2010

The end

2010-06-06T21:23:00.000-07:00

I am waiting for the right words to come
to form the answer on the question
how was it
Come back in a few days and read the real end

in the mean time
I want to thank you for reading, following from far and closer, supporting, commenting, advising and loving
thank you, merci, efcharisto, tessekur ederim, kheyli mamnum, sukriya DANKU

the river and the girl

2010-06-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

Paris
half of the day under the ground finding places away from the chaos of people
to rest, to put the backpack on the ground
waiting for friends, busy as always
at the Seine a girl comes to us
playing the guitar
while her friends pack the tent they were sleeping in, to find another place for tonight
she begins by wondering why she is born in france why she lives in paris why she has to be schizofrenic
she sings, I cry a little bit
but only when she's gone
because she is the one with sorrows, I'm just the witness, I can only watch and realize how lucky I am
I cry because the whole journey seems to be lying on the shoulders today, because of the pain I have seen on the way, the misery, the poverty, the dead people
because of this girl who doesn't fit in
because of the West that is so luxurious, so anonimous, so rich, so indifferent, so busy as always
because of the sad faces in the subway
because of the ipods in everyone's ears
nobody listening to the surrounding sounds, nobody there, everybody where

Ganga, my friend from India, is here with me for a few days
the girl looks at him, longing for his homecountry where she has never been before
longing for it's liberty, it's spirit, it's nature
through her eyes I see India again
far away but still present

I am not sad, it's just my eyes that are crying

Tamara from Budapest

2010-06-06T09:39:00.000-07:00

Tamara, Georgian, moved ten years ago with daughter and former boyfriend to Budapest
Tamara designs clothes
She doesn't like to do the dishes, she smokes
she likes to surrender to life
She doesn't have any privacy because her job is her life
In Georgia, communism was the boss
There has been a time when everybody lost their money
The poor, the rich, and the in-betweens
It was a period in which there were no classes, because everybody possessed the same : nothing
To become rich everybody had to start from scratch
Tamara wanted to design clothes
When, in Georgia, there were new shoes on the market, they were in every shop
Everybody had to wear these new shoes, no other choice
Very promising perspective for a fashion designer
She grabbed life by the tail and came with man and daughter to Budapest
Man has gone back to Georgia
Daughter is Sophie and 18 years and wears her mother's clothes and is a disarmingly honest young woman
Tamara started from scratch in Budapest because that is what one should do when being new somewhere
Her workroom is her bedroom
That explains her life
Working is sleeping is still working
She just finished the summercollection
The second one in the series of cheap collections
Before she designed exclusive expensive clothes that asked a lot of time
Now she makes exclusive affordable clothes and tries to keep it simple
She thinks a lot, she has a philosophy, a goal she wants to reach with her clothes and her life
Most people don't see that, most people only see the clothes, but they love them and can't explain why
That is the secret of a philosophy behind a concept
That is good art
You can't explain it, but it works
She doesn't want to make special clothes for a few rich ones
She doesn't want to make clothes for many people, made by many before her
She wants to make special clothes for many
Special, because she doesn't look at the trends
but at what she feels when summer is coming
or winter

When you look at someone, you have an idea of that person
When you talk with someone, your initial idea is being confirmed or corrected
When you talk with someone often, then you have so many ideas that they don't matter anymore
When you leave someone, you learned a lot of that someone
From some more than others

Tamara Barnoff. Fashion designer en good friend after two days
Time is of no importance in human relationships

European experiences

2010-05-27T02:31:00.000-07:00

Wanted to hitchhike from Budapest to Vienna
two hours and thirty minutes by car said Google
everything was ready
had asked God to give me the ability of right distinction and a safe arrival at my goal
but there was fear
because of being alone now
a man who held his hands at his belt and didn`t look me straight in the eyes but first did a quick bodyscan was enough to lose the trust that wasn`t there in the first place
a man whose girlfriend didn`t have small breasts and neither a wide t-shirt, but at least in that way I could see she was a woman,
to whom I told that I was looking for a lift to Vienna, looked at me and asked me What kind of lift do you mean
that was the last drop, no man would be trusted by me today, not even the trustable ones
most of the familycars were full and those who weren`t were taken by more fat than skinny people whose goal was rather the Mc Drive inn than Vienna
So after one hour I gave up and gave in to the longing for safety and security
The trainstation was within a 5 minutes walk so that was a nice present from the world
I payed 30 euro`s and sat in the fast modern jetrail whose charm was nothing compared to my love, the Balkan-express
But everything together, Eastern Europe had been crossed a bit more and Vienna was reached
where even the little sideways are huge and where vegetarians like to eat things in the form of sausages and even lobsters and where I saw Jan and Els, the first familiar faces since a long time
I realize that I`m not giving Europe the respect she deserves by crossing her in such a hurry
but for the moment there is no time
and neither time to lose
on the 31st of may I am expected to be at Roland Garros because that is a present from my sister whom I`ll meet in exactly four days
unbelievable

From the day I set foot in Istanbul again, the West is slowly coming back into the veins
the safe traffic, the metrosystem that leads you to wherever you need to go, that warns you for the gap!, that tells you which way you should get out!, that costs you as much as two meals in India!, the women wearing whatever they feel like, the supermarkets where there`s nothing you can`t buy, the places where there is space for art to be made and to be seen, the terrasses, the weather, unreliable as ever,
the cows that are not on the street anymore, the garbage that is being collected!, the eyes of the people not staring at you anymore, the atm`s that have to be visited by me much more frequently than before
and so on
coming back from the East via Istanbul and slowly making my way to Belgium
a good way to get used again to this great, exhausting, peaceful, capitalist, familiar, secure world where I was born

for the next few hours I am in Munich
then there will be a nightbus to Paris
the last stop before
HOME

budabudapest

2010-05-23T00:27:00.001-07:00

I could cry again but I won't

2010-05-22T23:56:00.000-07:00

because I am in a coffee bar at the railwaystation in Sofia maybe
I could cry because of the beautiful way all things fall into
Arriving here at six in the morning and a train all the way to Budapest leaving at 12 am
Sofia. The woman behind the counter smokes
In fact, no woman who doesn't smoke
In fact, no man who doesn't smoke
A church where religion still means something for young and old
Fashion of the 80's without an ironical touch next to the newest expensive designers
And then the train!
You wouldn't get me more easily on the most luxurious cruise than on this incredibly romantic slowly but steadily moving oldtimer
A coupé all for myself
The train hasn't changed since it was made, in the 40's I would say but the sign says 1970, I believe
Don't go all the way to Russia for a transcontinental trainexperience.
Get on the Balkan-Express
What a treasure what a pleasure
For 60 euro I am traveling from Sofia all the way to Budapest
I couldn't be more at ease than here
I don't need to be anywhere else than here now
Smoothly on my way to the next stop, Budapest, where some singing friends called The Durgas who I once met by accident in Paris will be coincidently performing on sunday I heard from the girlfriend of a bandmember who appears to be a good friend of Jan, my good friend. What a world.
And then heading to Vienna where some biological and Belgian friend is living for already 4 months and I didn't know
That's enough looking forward, you never know what life will bring
But do me a favour, come and take this train
You should've left already
work will wait
And is in any case not that important as we think
come

I could cry but I won't

2010-05-20T04:28:00.000-07:00

because I am in a soupbar maybe
or because I realize it is because of the corny music on television
The journey flashes frequently through head and body
Memories are there without being asked for
Are there, because they once have been lived
Because I wanted to
Because life has given me what I needed
Memories are there again because house is coming closer, because I am back in Istanbul
Again, like seven months ago, crossed the bridge that connects West and East
across the river that seperates West and East
I could have cried, or at least looked around in confusion, because I can walk around again in pants and t-shirt, because people here know about tourists, because of not being special anymore
Because there are no cows in the way anymore
Because the weather starts to ressemble that of the country in which I was born
Because it feels safe being in a place you know
As much as you don't want to admit it, as much as you want to call yourself a die-hard traveler, not afraid of unknown paths, holes in the ground that call themselves toilet,fruit- and vegetable markets in Pakistan, wooden things that call themselves bed,snakes,men in little villages,cold mountaintops,new people, all the time new people, diarreah that follows days of constipation etc., women sitting on your lap in the bus, dying people in trafficaccidents
still it feels good seeing the West again
the well-known signs of a Western city
How beautiful it all has been, it is good being on the road again. Home now
The only missing parts are the old familiar faces
The mama biting her nails for 8½ months now
the papa following uninterruptedly, sometimes from far, sometimes ın silence, sometimes with words of poems
The sister giving advise on the right moments and never not being there, not even in the night not
The best friend whose life has taken so many turns that it is almost abnormal that I wasn't there for her
Susan, who was the special companion at the very special beginning and has gone her own beautiful way afterwards
Lau, who was in the big middle part and is already applying all the lessons we have learned
Jan, who silently without me realizing it fully, gave me his silence and peace to take with
And all the other faces who have helped and followed
who are luckily all still there and who I will see,meet and befriend again one by one with all my gratitude

But first I will still have to come a little bit closer
The busticket to Sofia is in the pocket
Bulgaria
From there it goes to Budapest
In the trainstation of Istanbul a hand-written note was hanging saying that the trains to Europe are not in function and we don't know when they will work again
That's why I'll take the bus
Until it stops

the next step

2010-05-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

Next monday the overlandtrip will make an exception on its name again
Considering the negative advise of many about crossing the Baluchistandesert and considering the time I have left to get back home,
I will take a plane to Istanbul.
The plane to Tehran was too expensive and the Iranian embassy wouldn`t allow me a visa in time.
So, heading to the West a bit faster than foreseen.
From Istanbul I will most probably cross Romania, Hungary, Austria.
But let us first reach Istanbul. Step by step.
Home is coming closer.
As well as lower temperatures.
From 12pm until 15pm one can do nothing here except lying on a bed and breathing the dry, hot air in and out.
But, no complaints. It is beautifully interesting here in Pakistan.
Happy to eventually have come here.

See you on the next step.

Pakistan - that is all

2010-05-11T19:59:00.001-07:00

In Bhai Pheru, a village 70 km from Lahore, I meet father Leopold.
Father Leopold, or Bara Father, the big father, or Baba Ji, or father Ji, or Leopold Evens from Meeuwen-Gruitrode, Belgium, is living since 40 years in Pakistan. As missionary. But not to convert. Because that word is often being misinterpreted.
Father Leopold is here to help the Christians of Pakistan out of their miserable situation, to integrate them in this society where Christians are still often considered as untouchables. Unbelievable. Sometimes I feel as if I am being transported directly into the Middle Ages. Villages where Christians are living together in miserable conditions far from the centre, next to the open sewers. Muslims who, as I am being told, don’t want to talk to them, don’t want to touch them, don’t want to eat with them. This is what is happening in the villages, in the city they are apparently and luckily a few steps ahead. But here, where literate people are exceptional (only 25 percent of the population is literate),here the future of the Christians is often hopeless.
To help them to integrate and to release them from the status of untouchable, education is the key, father Leopold realized. When one is literate and well educated, then the kind of his religion only comes in second place. Then he is appreciated because of what he can do for the society. Christian, Sikh, Muslim or whatever.
That is why father Leopold started founding schools. For the Christians, because they needed it, but also for the Muslims, because bringing together these two religions is of utmost importance to get rid of the prejudices.
The Middle Ages are not far, seeing the working conditions and the feudal system. The largest part of the land is in the hands of a few who own factories, brick ovens, land for wheat. The villagers work for them, often living in houses – if a room with a bed can be given that name – next to the working place. For cement there is no money. Bricks are being piled up and that is called wall. They are fully dependent on the landlord who often doesn’t even give them the minimum wage. Many children don’t go to school, because that means two hands less to work meaning less income.
When these people could be given the opportunity of a good education, even only one member of the family becoming literate, then there is hope for a better, independent future.
That is what Father Leopold knows and what he lives for. Child by child, stone by stone, school by school. He doesn’t keep anything for himself. His patience is endless. “You need to have 25 years of patience.” That is what his predecessor, Father Henri, told him and what he himself found out to be the truth.
Between the houses of the brickers he has started at least three times a little school. Every time he was chased out by the bosses. Bosses, at least these ones, don’t like smart people.
Under the name St. Paul’s educational system, Father Leopold has founded 15 schools now and 60 churches, spread throughout the villages of this parish as big as the Belgian province of Limburg.
Much money is needed. He doesn’t always know where it is coming from. People he never met before, but who hear about him and his work, and know that it is right what he is doing, transfer money or send containers. From different parts of the world.
In Bhai Pheru, where the missionary is based, there’s a hostel for boys and one for girls and a school. Since one week I am staying here. Filming. To show people what is happening here. To translate my amazement about the situation in images – the Middle Ages, they still exist, really. To capture the love that Father Leopold gives and is. There are almost no words for it, there are maybe images for it. I try.
Love, when pure and true, seems to be endless. As well as gratitude. The children of the hostel are eating out of his hands, hanging at his clothes, his beard. They realize, some more consciously than others, that they have been given an uncommon chance to improve their and their family’s lives. Everyone passing by, or visited by Father Leopold -parents, babies, Christians and Muslims, dogs and their puppies- everyone knows that he is here to help them. Not to help himself. His life is a life devoted to the weak, the suppressed, the children, the poor. Everything is in function of them. When the electricity runs out (from 6 hours per day up to 24 hours) he gets angry and irritated. Because the water pump doesn’t work anymore. Not because he can’t take a shower, but because of the children being out of water, the people of the neighborhood being out of water. Luckily the hostel has a generator, but what should the normal people do? Without water, without power? He wonders sweating in his sleeveless shirt. One fan, attached to the battery, is still working. The temperature is around 40°C now in may in Pakistan.
I watch with big eyes. Never before have I seen so much gratitude all together, never before have I been so close to the misery of people, never before have I realized so strongly how lucky a Belgian is.
Every day someone passes by, from nearby or from far away, with a gift. The first milk of the cow that has just given birth. They don’t possess much more than that cow. They can’t afford the journey nor the gift. But still. The Christian brickers we visit offer us meat and cola and fruit. Meat! That’s a few days’ wage, they can’t afford that. And still. And that shows the sincerity of their gratitude. After having spent a week here I know that their gratitude is rectified.
I learn what being a Christian actually means. Giving love. That is all. No sermons, no empty prayers. But help, food, education, hugs and chances. That is all. That is really all.

awayfromnepal

2010-04-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

the journey back home has started
slowly slowly
the content of the backpack has reduced
only the necessary things are left over
some clothes, some soap, a book, a towel
traveling forces one to give up belongings, favorite dresses, attachments
giving away things that are closest to you -so that it hurts a little bit :
the best way to feel light and free and happy to have nothing in particular

Amritsar the first stop on the way back
Amritsar, close to the border with Pakistan, known for its golden temple, holy place for Sikhs
from the Kumbh Mela to this place
only the kind of the religion is different
all the rest is there : the charity, devotion, the masses, the offerings, the merging of daily and holy life
a tiring experience but who cares being tired when home is coming closer?

From Amritsar it is 40 kms to the border with Pakistan
There a very strange event happens every evening at sunset
On both Pakistani and Indian sides there are tribunes for public
I was sitting on the Indian side
Last night, just like every night, there was a ceremony
celebrating and increasing nationalist feelings
First a whole bunch of Indian women (and a few tourists) stand in the middle
when the Bollywoodmusic starts they start to dance and laugh and have a party
The Pakistani`s are now only swaying their flags
India has more fun
India-Pakistan 1-0
After the party the real battle starts
A handful of guards throw their legs in the air and walk with their arms swinging dangerously back and forth
On the Pakistani side the same thing happens
A man with a microphone and running shoes runs around like an Indian with a microphone and running shoes and encourages people to clap their hands, shout and sing louder than the Pakistani`s
He puts the microphone in the mouth of a guard who starts to make a sound as long as his breath allows him to
after that the guard swings his leg over his head
the same roaring sound is heard on the other side when the Indian is already finished
So Pakistani`s have a longer breath (or they begin to roar later)
In any case, cheating or not: India-Pakistan 1-1
Now all the guards start to swing arms and legs again in the direction of the Pakistani side
The gates are violently thrown open from both sides
One guard from each country has the dangerous task to shake hands
They do
They shake arms and shoulders and heads, would be a more proper description of the shake
The public loves it
The man with the microphone shouts HINDUSTAN, the public shouts something back which I don`t understand because I don`t speak hindi
Pakistani`s also have a microphone and shout Jeera Jeera Pakistan in it
The gates close
One guard has some problems with the rope of the Indian flag
but no problem
What can go wrong
we are all having fun
My attention wanders away a bit in all the mixed feelings I`m having
and then the ceremony has ended
Pictures were taken, people laughed, shouted, had a great time
I couldn`t help but think of Gandhi`s biography and his life he devoted to teach people that differentiation is stupid, that divisions between casts, religions, colours, sexes is senseless
I could see the fun of it for a few seconds when those guards started to roar in the microphone
but the overall feeling was sadness
sitting on a tribune only for foreigners
next to that a tribune only for women
close to the guards some rows only for very important Indians
two tribunes for men
then two gates
one with India written on it
one with Pakistan
and on the other side
the same division
A sad, funny, childish happening that doesn`t hurt anyone of course
but only because Gandhi is already dead
he would`ve undertaken a fast in order to teach the people again and again that categorizing people only leads to suffering and violence
Especially here in Amritsar where thousands of people were killed in one day by a British officer in the months before the Partition happened
They were non-violently gathering during a protest against the British rule, just standing on a square
The officer ordered his men to open the fire
Just like that
That is what happened in Amritsar
not such a long time ago
A city with a beautiful golden temple and charitable sikhs
and a dark past

Back to the plan
The next stop will be Lahore
From there most probably a plane will be taken to Tehran
if I am granted a visa and if a plane is available
let`s see
Let`s first see Lahore
because planning two steps in advance has proven not to work
having an idea and following that idea without knowing how it will turn out
that has proven the best way of traveling

The current idea is a strong one and the only one : reaching home
hopefully in a few weeks
over land (mostly)
Pakistan, Iran, Turkey and then through Europe

You will hear from me soon

India strikes (again)

2010-04-14T05:32:00.000-07:00

Life has played a trick on me
Not necessarily wanted to come to India
it was just on the way to Nepal...

Now
The outward journey
Is becoming an inward one
India shows its hidden powers
What is buried underneath the chaos, the sounds, the masses
Is a universal, endless knowledge
What is hidden behind the 1000 gods
Is one
What was a seed inside elsewhere
Is sprouting here
India knows
She doesn’t speak
Or at least not about what she knows
She only gently takes you by the hand
Without you realizing it
Gives you the experiences you need
Takes away the superfluous ones
Encourages seekers of truth
Doesn’t leave them empty-handed at the side of the road
She knows she has a lot to offer
Many fakes, one real one
Many cheaters, one saint
But she knows
That that is the way
Offering the wrong
In order to identify it, experience it, live it, taste it
Become sick
And be purified
And find the right
India knows more than one is able to grasp
Understanding not to understand
Traveling while not moving
Losing in order to find
Holding the breath in order to breathe
Diarrhea in order to become healthy and empty
Craving not to crave anymore

That is India’s teaching
That is India’s noble truth
In the form of mountains, rivers, saints and a very special woman

baba's at the Kumbh Mela

2010-04-14T05:25:00.000-07:00

doubts

2010-04-14T04:25:00.000-07:00

sri santosh puri ashram, 9th of april 2010

Being here for the second time
Unavoidably more intense
Just this and just that are not enough anymore
Why this and why that?
The answer is gone
So many feelings, experiences, sensations
But unable to label them
As if one bath filled with many things
Without distinction
What am I doing here?
What to learn? What to experience?
Is there maybe someone who can point out the direction?
A guide not needed
Just someone, or even one finger, to exclude some options
And to demand kindly but insistingly to go this way

And actually I know it
I know the answer
Doubt as an excuse to postpone the answer
And the answer is surrendering
Only that
Because that is what surrender is
Only that
A little bit of surrender doesn’t exist
Only that
So simple and so hard
To surrender oneself to the unknown
To let go
Of the control of the West, the past
Of opinions and thoughts
Of self-image and other image
Of heart and head
To let it be and to see with clearer sight her true nature
Fear

Even the words won’t help me this time
Even showing inability won’t work this time
Waste of time
In the best case an assist
A revelation of that which is necessary
And that is doing
Only that
Jumping
Just jumping
Closed eyes, closed ears, closed mouth, closed nose
-and therefore opener than ever-
And three times head down in the holy Ganga
Why holy?
No idea
Why three times?
No idea
Why head down?
Because head above is fear
Because head above is grasping on
Because head above doesn’t wet your hair

Why to bow?
Because bowing is surrendering, of body and mind
Surrendering to that what has always been present
In bower and non-bower
In giver and taker
In guru and disciple
Surrendering to the divine in each one
Simple
Om namo narayana
But still only words
Praying is a way to become enlightened
But what if the words sound hollow?
Right for the other, but not for me
Understood by the head, but not by the heart
What to do?
Being silent
Not wanting to become enlightened
Listening, being present
And then suddenly
A glimpse
Having given up the search, just breathed
And there is the normal miracle
Happiness, not more
Without thinking
Only that

The heart needs a bit more time
But once opened
It learns exponentially faster than the head
The heart doesn’t need to learn by heart
Doesn’t need to be convinced
It knows, directly

Darkness again
Thoughts, resistance, irritation of all that and who is in the vicinity
Being allergic to hollow words, hollow deeds
Seeing a baba, everyone at his feet
In a tent with glitters and airco
I can’t feel it, the respect
I see a man in a leather sofa, talking
No saint, no Jesus
Just a man with a beard of whom many pictures have been taken
But then there is the devotee
With simple words, simple gaze, no unnecessary action
“so how many are you, are you hungry?”
Getting food, without blame, without fuss
Normal
And then you feel something real
This I understand, says the heart
I understand, says the heart, that surrendering is nothing more than giving what you can
I understand that it is no special gift, no yogic art, no magic
Surrender is a bread that you give without counting the crumbs
Surrender is a smile that you give before you know it
Surrender is a gaze, without purpose or doubt
I understand, says the heart
And the head nods because it has understood that it is sometimes better to be quiet and it even starts to like it
I understand, says the heart, because it wasn’t finished yet,
That from today on I will give what I can, will say what I think, will act without expecting a reward, will listen to words and see through them the heart that is talking to me
I understand, says the heart, that that is now the task
And praying will come or not, bowing will follow or not, surrendering will be right or won’t be
The heart is quiet for a while, is not used to so many words
I am quiet too
Silence
And then I say, without anyone having to hear it, meaningless and much too late because the heart has yet decided : “I agree”

farewell to Laura

2010-04-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

We left as two big girls
We will return as two women
Where to begin?
A letter that starts from the heart never begins with the beginning
That’s why : the end
Nepal, the trek
It is so beautiful to see you here in the mountains after 5 months of traveling together
In your eyes I see change compared with the start
I see your passions arising, your dreams becoming more defined, your ideas more clear
And what I know for sure, I just know
Is that you will reach the goal you want to reach
Without any doubt, without looking back
Maybe with a detour, a side road, a run-up, an obstacle on the road
But what is sure is that your goal whatever it may be
Is within your reach
What a power
There aren`t many people who can create there life in that way, according to their wishes
You possess a sort of power that attracts what you need in order to go forward
And that`s where you`re going
Forward
All the time forward
Even if sometimes it doesn`t seem so, it is

You have the quality to change
To observe yourself and draw conclusions out of it
To stay true to yourself
Sometimes at the cost of being on time
And of my patience
But that`s only my own problem
Having lost yourself to eventually
Find yourself
More pure, more real, more honest, more feminine
Back

Those are the things I have seen
And of which I take a little piece with me
Just because they`re beautiful and right

As if this trek is a concentrate of the whole trip
Everything is being lived so intensely
The lessons we learned the last months are being applied
The troubles we had with ourselves, in ourselves, with each other
Are being pured out and dissolved
The pleasure stays and increases

As if this trek is a resume
A necessary goal
Where nature, human, time, space, clouds, snow, silence, past, future, now come together and become one

To share that with someone is very powerful

In the beginning of the trip I`ve written down something, a wish
That we would help each other to grow
That wish has been heard

Thanks to our faith in life
In things and how they go
Thanks to our willingness to learn, to keep on changing, to search, research
Thanks to our ability to be flexible

We are traveling together
Soon it will be that we were traveling together
Each with her own mindset
Each with her own things to process
Each with her own goal
And it works, it works
It worked, it worked

Beyond the differences I`ve learned to see you
It is a lesson of every day
Adjusting the image you have
With each step
Not clinging to a moment, a word
But continuing
On your own rhythm
And still together
Leaving space for each others growth
And still together

To have the opportunity to be with someone on a turning point
In life and thoughts
In body and heart
Is very intimate
Very intense

We left as two big girls
We will return as two women
Thanks to each other
Thanks to you
Thanks, to you

broken english on an unexpected saturday

2010-04-06T00:34:00.000-07:00

Haridwar, sri santosh puri ashram, saturday april 3rd

A usual day in the ashram. As far as one can speak about usual during the Kumbh Mela festival. The loudloudspeakers of the adjacent temple remember you of it every second. And more subtle, Kumbh Mela is being felt. Something hangs here. A constant movement, which you can call agitation when in a negative mood, in the good moments you feel the upward energy, the gathering of so many souls with the same goal : being together in peace around the holy ganga. So, a regular day in unusual circumstances.
A friend of the ashram came by to say hello, to talk a bit.
From far I heard him say that the Dalai Lama is in Haridwar. He says it in such an evident way that it almost passed my attention. Until I tell myself that I would love to meet him, had I forgotten maybe?
I finish the text I was writing and leave with three other people and one clue of where he could maybe be. The search can begin. For his Holiness the Dalai Lama.
On the first spot we are being sent to another place. That`s how searching goes.
Only Simone, Australian girl, joins me to the second link. From the rikshaw she sees a big poster with the head of the Dalai Lama. We stop the rikshaw and find the 3rd link.
It turns out to be the final one already.
We hear a man talking in a microphone. Not the Dalai Lama but maybe a supporting program?
We enter the tent and first see around a thousand other people and then the Dalai Lama, together with a handful of other highly respected Indian saints.
We find two seats in the front and sit down in awe. In awe because of the ease of the search.
That`s how it goes. Whenever you don`t expect anything to happen, it happens. Just like that. Not just like that, but with considerable greater ease than when expected.
Here we are. Listening to the Hindi of a saint which we don`t understand. Simone takes pictures to later look up which Indian celebrity she has taken pictures from.
Where are we actually?
At a presentation of the encyclopedia of Hinduism apparently.
Beautiful. The Dalai Lama presenting the encyclopedia of Hinduism.
A man runs, hops and laughs on stage accompanied by loud applause. It is Ram Dev. The Indian who brought yoga to the masses.
I start to have the feeling we ended up in a holy rockfestival. With idols of whom everyone wants to catch a glimpse.
Every culture its heroes.
We have the rockstars, they have the saints. That`s how the whole Kumbh Mela looks like, seen superficially and from the outside. As one big holy Woodstock. Encampments everywhere, billboards of saints, loudspeakers speaking loudly holy music.
Ram Dev talks. Everyone is hanging at his lips. The Dalai Lama is pulling his beard. Everybody laughs.
He must be talking about the roots of Hinduism, because every five words he says the word Sanskrit.
Then the Dalai Lama talks. In Tibetan he praises India and her non-violence. Compared to Hindi, the Tibetan language sounds so peaceful, almost meditative. Then he talks in English. In broken English, he apologizes himself.
The eyes of the Tibetan women-monks next to me are worth gold. The devotion, the love, the respect that shines in them is beautifully moving.
The Dalai Lama starts with saying that he is a son of India. He considers India as the guru, the Tibetans its disciples.
He praises Gandhi and the history of ahimsa, non-violence, in India.
He says that it is unseen, such an immense country with so many inhabitants, where so many religions are able to live together in relative peace without making life hard on each other.
He sees it as an example for the world. Then he gives some practical tips to attain peace of mind. Because peace of mind is good for the health. He emphasizes that he speaks beyond religion, that he`s bringing a secular message that anyone can understand and apply.
He says that peace of mind is attainable through being compassionate.
He advises to be compassionate in the morning and then to feel the result the whole day long.
He then also praises the chapati of India and the beard of Ram Dev. Nothing of what he said was unknown to me, but to hear the simple words from his mouth, feels like a privilege.
Having the ability to make people believe in and live in the simplest truth, is a great power. He has that ability because he doesn`t only say what he says, he also does it, you can hear that, you can see that, you know that.
He is not (only) a politician pleading for his case, wanting to increase his power.
He is a human being who understood that non-violence is the longest but the only right way to peace.
Just like Gandhi had understood that in head and heart and deeds and words.
I am happy to have seen and heard him.
In broken English, on an unexpected Saturday.

Kopan monastery - a thought

2010-04-04T21:56:00.000-07:00

When a bird whistles, then he`s already whistling something else before the thought `a bird whistles` could`ve been formed in my mind
When I see a bird, then he has grown already before I could think `bird`
Words always –always- come too late
Not a single word has come to existence before the thing that it refers to
That`s why it is better just to see a bird than to think `bird`
Why it is better to experience the whistling of a bird than to think `a bird whistles`
It will be the most beautiful bird ever
The most beautiful whistle ever
One time I hope to be able to apply my own words
Until that day, I, too, will only see and here the limited bird

Annapurna round – a diary after the top

2010-04-04T21:35:00.001-07:00

Muktinath to Jomsom

We are tired. But at least I slept well. Laura almost didn`t sleep. And then Babu appears to have decided to walk seven hours today. Long, tough day. A lot of wind. Really a lot of wind. We see the most beautiful landscapes, I take many pictures. But we are tired. It`s yesterday that has made us tired.
Jomsom is a place where you rather don`t want to arrive, certainly not when tired.
The guesthouse is not cosy and the woman unfriendly. A tough off-day.
What goes up…

Jomsom to Kalopani

The bodies are still tired. The minds are ok. Better than yesterday and we`re happy that Jomsom lies behind us. We eat lunch made by a transvestite who makes the best dal ever (dal is a typical Indian/Nepali dish made of lentils). We walk in a good rhythm. A good, normal day that ends in Kalopani that can be called a paradise after Jomsom. The warm shower is being welcomed, the food as well, the company as well. All is good. Long live all.

Kalopani to Tatopani

Kalopani was a heaven compared to Jomsom. Slept well, ate well (Yak cheese!) and did yoga in the morning with the Israelian girls we met on our first day.
Today we walked again around seven hours.
I discovered today what already exists since ages, what has always been under my and everybody`s nose, as if I have read a book that I`ve read a million times before without understanding, I had an age-old insight. I was in the now.
Nothing more or less. What a tremendous energy!
What a burden that suddenly disappeared. What a simple happiness. Afraid to lose it? Impossible, it`s always there. And it`s so simple.
A river only flows now, I hear her only now, the step I am taking is now the only step I am taking, worries about money, about Belgium, about future, they are not there now, because I am taking a step and then another step and then another step. Every moment the possibility of this insight. No way back.
Talking or not talking, doesn`t matter. I don`t have to be alone in the now.
I don`t mind sharing this.
What an energy that`s being released.
No effort in walking.
And getting there back? That`s possible at any moment. Just breathing and waiting and nothing else.
And listening.
The whole world is in this moment.
Only now.
All the rest has passed or has to come and I don`t have the least control of that.
The only thing I can do, I can do now.
And being happy is being happy.
Being sad is being sad.
Being tired is being tired.
Nothing more. Without blame. Without intention. Without a monkey on your back.
That is what truth is. Now.
All the rest is a little bit of a lie because passed or still to come. And who can control what has already happened, who can know exactly what there is to come? That`s why now is the only truth to which I want to live.
To which I want to act.
Acting is living in the now in concentrated form.

Tomorrow will be a tough day. For the moment (now) I am ok. Still 3 more days to go. We go.

Tatopani – a day off as a surprise

How clearly you begin to see signs when you open yourself to them. Life is full of them. We`re only sometimes too preoccupied to see them.
Yesterday night I went to ask for the key of a room where we could do yoga in the morning. Had to wait. A man started talking to me. It turned out to be the same man we passed twice yesterday on his motorbike. He was a westerner who wore a blue shirt and a tie. That`s why he drew my attention. Most westerners you see here wear a backpack and walking sticks. He appears to be engineer and is building a school here. Already for ten years.
He told me that we could impossibly leave Tatopani without going to the hotspring. Tomorrow early morning he would go there for meditation. We agree I would join him.
A nice meeting.
At 5.25 am I see the flashlight of the engineer and we head in the direction of the hotspring.. He gives me a sari that I can/have to/want to wear to go in the water. The hotspring should be good for aching muscles and the skin, the engineer tells me, whose name is Douglas from now.
It`s still dark, I close my eyes and try not to think about too much. It works for a few bright seconds. Eyes open and it`s light. Wonderful when that happens. Meditating on the edge of night and day. And above that in a natural hotspring. In the Himalaya`s.
After the hotspring, yoga. The idea arises to take a day off here. This spot begs for it. Again a very powerful place.
The yoga went so smoothly. The whole body more flexible than ever.
Laura gratefully accepts the rest-day-proposal
Douglas joins us for breakfast together with Bhuwan (the owner of the guesthouse) with whom we talk for hours on end. About traveling. He agreed that it is important to see the world to see things in a broader perspective. Although I start to wonder if that is really true. The more I learn, the more I see, the more incomplete it all appears to be. As if you chop some pieces out of a thick glacier to get a glimpse of what is underneath. But at the same time, because of the chopping,the ice you are standing looses its stability. Something like that…You lose more when you think you`ve won something. Only loosing isn`t always such a negative happening as we think.
A beautiful day. A rest day. The first day of spring (in the West). All is good. Long live all.
Douglas showed me the last version of the manuscript of the book he has been writing for over 23 years. `Time Travel Rabbit`. On the occasion of the telepathic relationship he had with his pet, a rabbit, that, after it died, appeared in his dreams to dictate him the book. About metaphysics, about traveling in time. A man to remember. Again. What kind of meetings on what kind of a travel…
The signs are just lying there to be seen.
The next morning we took a tired dip in the hotspring and started the tough 8-hour walk up to, apparently, the most beautiful view of the whole trek.

Tatopani to Gorepani

Up up up. No mercy. Only the weather was good. Enough clouds to keep the worst heat away. Eight hours up. We slept in `super view guesthouse`.A kind of dollhouse. The view was fog. Super. But anyway were we too tired too say more about it than `hm, ironic`, to nestle our feet again against the stove and half an hour later nestle our bodies in the dollhousebeds. Tomorrow to Poonhill. To see the sunrise above the Annapurna massif. Not alone apparently. And after that to begin the last day of the trek that would be a very tiring descent to Birektati.

Gorepani/Poonhill to Birektati

We get up at 5am. One hour up. Together with around 100 others with the same goal : seeing the sun rising above the mountains. Difficult to enjoy it with so many morningchatting people around. But still, took some pictures to look at them later alone and in peace.
After breakfast we descend, all the way to Birektati, the final village. We see many many people in the other direction. We are happy that`s not us.
It makes you realize how intelligent the mind is. It is focused on this day being the last one and a descending one. If we would have continued for five more days, then our mind and body would`ve saved some energy. But today all the energy can go out. No problem. And secretly we`re happy that it`s not us climbing up, but them.
Babu leads us to paradise. Green view guesthouse. With view on the river, delicious food, a terrace with the moon and stars above. I cry. For the whole trip. For every step, every misstep, every thought, every frustration, every relief, every shiver, every little pain, every mountain, every view, every insight, for every second I cry gratefully without any blame.
It`s over. 16 days of trekking. 14. Two resting days. The end of a long trek. The end of a long travel with Laura. The end of our ups and downs. The end of a search. Of a beautiful struggle, of a recognition.
The beginning of something new.
How many experiences can a human being have in a short period?
That many.

Taxi to Pokhara

The body is tired. As well as the mind. They can let everything go now. It`s over. Both have kept strong, have worked together to bring us to the end. Now it`s over. They know that and they act like that. I can only follow and let it happen. I can`t do more. Nor less. I sleep. Now.

Pokhara – not even an orange

In Pokhara., trekker- and touristparadise, in full tiredness of mind and body, sauntering between the stalls with 100% yakwoollen shawls and other things you buy, with aching calfs and muscles of the front of my feet which I wasn`t aware of before, realized to the fullest, between the masses of British, Germans, Israeli`s, seated on cosy terrasses, 100% western with asian touch,
that I am in need of nothing, but of absolutely positively nothing. Not even an orange.
Then I went to sit at the lake, where it wasn`t per se clean, but I didn`t mind. Then I went to the hotel because it got dark. Then I ordered a herbal tea and ate two digestive cookies, I read in the biography of Gandhi, went to sleep but couldn`t because of the heat and the mosquito. And still I was in need of absolutely nothing.
As if I had swallowed a mountain.
This morning I was nervous because of the beginning of something new, but underneath the nerves, underneath them are mountains now, lakes, creeks, moons and stars and silences that have always been there. And a new, old peace.

the next and almost final step

2010-03-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

We`re in Kathmandu now.
And will go to the Buddhist Kopan Monastery for a few days, fleeing from the busy Thameldistrict in Kathmandu.
After that both of us will go back to India.
Laura takes a plane in Delhi on the 4th of april and Maaike will stay a few weeks longer in India before going home.

See you sooner than before.

annapurna round - what comes down comes down

2010-03-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

On 17 march at 3.30 am we wake up in Thorung Pedi in a guesthouse packed with trekkers and bikers who would do the same as us that day, go to the Thorung Pass at 5416 meters.
At 4.30 we and our torches are ready to climb up. And that will appear to be true : climb up.
Still dark, further ahead some lights of early trekkers, behind us some lights of later trekkers.
Only the breathing of others and the ticking of walking sticks we hear.
And also something hanging at my backpack that has chosen this day to make very irritating ticking noises.
All irritates me, my torch gives up, already during the first few steps up I wonder how I will manage today.
But I call myself back, think `now,now,now` and concentrate on every step I`m taking at the moment.
That`s better.
Slowly it`s getting light.
The trek goes on. Upwards. Of course. We`re not there yet. It`s hard. Breathing is difficult and asks energy. The cold asks for my breathing and the bladdder for my attention.
A teahouse, a well-deserved very expensive gingertea in the first sunshine.
The irritation fades away and gratitude for the warm sun through the window takes its place.
Ok, time to go on. We climb. In the snow.
Where is my breath? Nothing to do but to stop as many minutes as I`ve been walking.
Continuously. For hours.
And then, finally, I see Laura`s arms waving at me from the top.
The body finds the energy to run the last meters. And less euphoric as I thought I would be, I reach the highest point of this trek. Thorung Pass, 5416 meters.
That`s how it`s going already the whole trek : You`re so focused on walking, that the thought `when will we arrive` slowly fades away. And at the moment when it has disappeared completely, you arrive.
But anyway, we did arrive and of course we are happy and moved.
A picture of the special moment is made.
Now nothing can go wrong anymore,only going down.
That`s what you think...
The cold made us leave the top quite fast.
So we started to descend.
And there it was. Relentless. The hammer on my head. Nothing to do even if I had wanted to do something.
Every stap a smash of the hammer.
Every five minutes five minutes rest. This would take us hours before arriving down.
The heart began to hammer also now.
Getting altitude sickness in descending, never heard of it before...
Resting against a rock. Would this ever end or would I die? Apparently one becomes a little dramatic during altitude sickness.
The rock made me feel sleepy. Babu, our guide and friend, firmly grabbed my wrist.
His worry fed mine.
We had to continue. The cold would undercool us.
Because it was cold.
Babu took my backpack. Laura in front.
Step by step we went down.
Cold, ice, slipping, getting up, slipping, icecold hands, the hammer relentlessly in head and heart.
Something told me that a body is strong enough to keep on going rather than to die as long as it has the choice.
So, keep on going.
Slipping, getting up, hammer, cold.
The weather beclouded. No sense of time.
Only sense of putting one foot in front of the other.
Laura had given me diamox after the rest against the rock.
To reassure me completely Babu said loud enough to Laura that that`s not a good idea, that only paracetamol helps in such a case, that diamox only helps when taken regularly.
Totally reassured we continued the long way down.
Poor Laura. After such a hard way up, now such a long way down only because there`s a hammer in my body.
Stone by stone. Step by step.
Holding still no option. Dying neither.
Continuing the only option left.
Nausea was there too. Squeezed stomach.
Why were we doing this again?
For pleasure?
Indeed.
I started to burp. A good sign, the stomach started to relax. Felt like eating something. Chocolate. Laura and Babu were possibly more relieved than I was.
It`s getting better, no?
Better. A little bit.
The chocolate remained in the stomach. The legs remained weak.
Still stone by stone.
No house ahead.
Only concentrated on the next step.
All other action superfluous.
After some six hours we reach a little guesthouse. I ask for a bed and get that, order food because I`m hungry.
It goes in and stays in.
Relief and pleasure.
Conquered the descent.
As well as the fear of death.
The next time I will climb a mountain, it won`t be such a high one anymore in the first place, and second I will fully realize and know that there are expressions that are true.That what goes up also must come down and that het venijn in het staartje zit.
After the food we continue. Still one hour and a half to go. To Muktinath, a perfect village surrounded by perfect mountains. A pilgrimage for Hindu`s and Bouddhists.
Babu then finds us the perfect guesthouse which` hot shower I won`t quickly forget (the first one in five days), neither as the bed and the sleep in that bed.

My gratitude is big. Possibly even bigger than when I wouldn`t have become sick.

And that`s how you learn that joy is even more enjoyable after suffering.
A lesson that we learned on this trek every day.

*

silence
mountain
5416 mtrs
Thorung Pass
breath
thank you

*

annapurna round - a top

2010-03-25T06:21:00.000-07:00

annapurna round - thoughts

2010-03-25T05:31:00.000-07:00

to enjoy is to experience the absence of pain that was there before

like when you first walk seven hours and sweat and climb
and then stop
and feel
how nice it is to sit on a chair
who could`ve thought that sitting on a chair could be so pleasant

or like travelling and arriving and leaving and attaching and detaching and moving and bying traintickets
and then to go home
and to feel how nicer it is to sit on a chair of home
than on any other chair
who could`ve thought that sitting on a chair of home could be so pleasant

*

craving for a craving to go, won`t lead to the end of that craving
an apple doesn`t eat an apple
the end of the craving will be the end of the craving
entered through the backdoor
or left
as you want

*

the word silence demonstrates how helplessly insufficient words can be
the word mountain as well
the word meter as well
the number 5416 as well
and then the word altitude sickness

*

the himalaya`s
drying your socks on a walking stick above a stove that burns on cow dung
the himalaya`s
the sound of the wind blowing in your bamboo walking stick
the himalaya`s
washing yourself with a bucket and a cup at minus zero degrees
the himalaya`s
Laura starting to see elephants in the back of horses
the himalaya`s
donkey traffic
the himalaya`s
getting altitude sickness while going down
the himalaya`s
Laura getting dressed to go to sleep
the himalaya`s
meditating in the dark, opening the eyes at sunrise

annapurna round - a conversation with a guide

2010-03-25T05:29:00.000-07:00

-Babu, will we pass the lake?
-no, no, no pass lake
-so we won`t see the lake?
-yes, see the lake
-so, we will see the tilicho lake?
-no, no too far
-so we will not see it?
-yes
-ok

annapurna round - phase I

2010-03-25T04:48:00.000-07:00

walking

the rythm
the necessary words
-rest?
-yes
then there is rest

thoughts arise
like thoughts do
you pass them by
as if you stand still while walking

the mountains are there
no need to look at them too long
as if you watch with closed eyes
as if you`re outside from the inside
-can you take my drinking bottle?
no,other side
-ok

the necessary words
you walk
you share
because you`re three
you know
still so many days
that`s why you walk
and why you stand still while walking

you walk
she walks
he walks
we
as if a conspiracy

-ok?
-ok
-how long?
-one hour
and that appears to be 30 minutes

you`re happy when you stop
you`re happy when you leave
in the end a tea is heaven

you walk
you pass a stretcher
with a man
without fingers

a few minutes before you were thinking
how lucky you are
with all your limbs

your life unrolls
you pass it by
your feet walk

you think of someone
you make a comparison
how she maybe walks the path with the least stones, the least holes
how you, next to it, on the same way, deliberately choose the side with the most obstacles
just
because that`s how you are
but you arrive in the same place

you walk
in nepal many mountain
your guide guides

the road sewed with stones and memories
with perspectives maybe too beautiful
you pass them by
you call yourself back
"now,now,now"

there you are again
there is the mountain
here the swollen ankle
you learn how to lose time

wether you know how late it is or not
it won`t get you there faster

-up?
-little up, then flat
slowly
your guide guides

even by stopping you don`t lose the rythm anymore

still more days ahead then you did
walking
forward

why?
for pleasure
to learn how to enjoy a tea again
warm socks, water when you`re thirsty

you pass porters
chips, backpacks, generators
that`s your fault
because you want to walk
they`re wearing flip-flops and 100 kilo
you hiking shoes and 6

but you walk
you pass them by
concentration
no space for namaste
only for the next step
the concentration of an animal

you pass them by
with guilt and respect
you try to become a better person
that`s why you walk
you can also stand still
but you walk
in order to
later, when you`re back where you once were
to live how you stood still while you were walking

you can do anything
without moving a finger
but sometimes you need to move them all
in order to know that that`s not necessary

sometimes you need to travel
in order to know that you don`t need to travel
because the mountains are everywhere
because the mountains are silent
because there are many mountain
not only in nepal
but everywhere

you walk
and you know
suddenly
certainly
in complete loneliness
that you`re never alone

sometimes standing still is the most forward we can go

Varanasi/Benares 15-18 february

2010-03-04T01:11:00.001-08:00

Lau and Maai at the Ganga

2010-03-04T01:07:00.001-08:00

a way to nepal

2010-03-03T23:51:00.001-08:00

From Haridwar (see former message) the journey continued.
A way to Nepal appeared to be a 40 hour bumpy sleepless busdrive from Haridwar to Kathmandu.
In the first bus to the border we passed a seemingly dead man on the streets, we didn`t help, what could we have done?
I will always remember the traffic in India as reckless, inhumane, impersonal and so extremely indifferent. This man was the last sign to rembember me of this cruel side of humanity. India contains all that is digusting and all that is noble. It`s still true.
`If we will have another leader like Gandhi, then India could become one of the most peaceful and at the same time powerful places of the whole world`, Riaz, a very nice Moslem man told me in the train. But until that time comes, until that man or woman takes up the honest task of purifying India and uncovering the most beautiful powers that are now mostly hidden under open sewers and poverty, it will stay dirty and interesting, powerful and dumb, lively and dull, smelly and tasty, inspiring and exhausting, spiritual and deadly,noisy and silent.

After the first busride, we crossed the border on a cycleriksha, stopped at four or five immigrationoffices at the side of the road (a table outside, a man and a big old book), drove over the neck of a duck and left it halfdead at the side of the road (another last sign of how indifferent we all can be), paid the rikshadriver in our tiredness and out of my Nepali/Indian-rupee-confusion maybe five times what he should`ve earned, ate our first Nepali meal that made us feel a bit sick and got on the second bus that would eventually bring us to where we are heading to for already some months. Nepal, the Himalaya`s, the purity of the mountains. Nature, it`s something I have been missing on this trip.
We met such beautiful people, heard such amazing heartwarming stories, I deepened my yogapractice, we`ve seen different religions, mosques, temples. We`ve been invited by people who I will never be able to forget even if I would close my eyes and try really really hard. We`ve seen amazing cities and learned about their history.
But nature was missing (Laura has seen more of it in India of course during our 6-weeks seperation).
That`s what we are going to make up for now. Starting our trek (the Annapurna round) on the 6th of march to finish it 20 days later.
I probably won`t have the possibility to write during that time. But know we are enjoying it because there is no other way.

After that Laura and me will part.
What our plans are, you will read when we come back. Especially for me, the mountains still have to give me a little advise on my near future. But the plan is there, as always.

Namaste

And warm Belgium up for us

a letter of gratitude to Mataji and the shri santosh puri ashram

2010-03-03T23:48:00.000-08:00

We came here, unknowing
We saw many people, we watched them
We saw people singing before every meal, we opened our mouth and uttered some similar sounds
In the evening we saw how people offered flowers to a statue with a long beard, while singing
We watched with big eyes, opened our mouths and again uttered some sounds
There was something with this place, but we didn`t know
We didn`t know what
The following morning. The sunrise. The Ganga. I still didn`t know, but felt something
Something right and strong
we decided we would leave
we couldn`t pray, we didn`t want to belong to a sect
we didn`t know
Then we heard we are free to do and don`t what we want
We decided to stay
We watched with bigger eyes, bigger ears, bigger hearts
We cleaned the meditation hall, without expecting a reward
We opened our hearts, slowly
We opened our mouths a bit more and sang the right words
We still saw many people but were among them now

A party. Two birthdays. The smell of flowers everywhere.
Singing, offering. I couldn`t help but felt part of a family.
Love everywhere, like the smell of the flowers.
Impossible to use another word than love.

A man, physically gone out of this world, is holding this place together.
A man who is living through his beloved ones
Who is thought of every second of the day
A man who has become love and flowersmell
A Babaji

A woman who`s life can be called devotion
A woman who speaks untinterrupted with closed eyes for more than two hours about her passion. Yoga.
A woman who every day gives little pieces of herself to anyone that enters her life.
A woman who still has enough pieces for many more years to come
A woman who inspires you to give away your own little pieces
A woman who`s eyes laugh like a child
A woman who`s body sometimes falls asleep during meditation, but who`s mind never does
A woman who`s eyes see everything. Even when closed.
A woman who`s actions can be called love.
A Mataji.

A place that can be called the right one
At the right time for most of it`s guests
Coming from over the world
Coming and going and mostly comng back
Like children always returning to their favourite toy

A river that unites
Daily and holy life
A river that vibrates through the country
nourishing, inspiring, healing anyone she touches
A Ganga

Non-attachment to this place is difficult
But a lesson
A good one
could be gone tomorrow
But now it is here
and that`s all there is

We`re going now
We know now
Something made us come.
Something made us stay
Something makes me come back
Like a child to her favourite toy
That something could be called God
Thank God

With all my respect and gratitude

Haridwar, 3th of march

Mumbai

2010-02-26T08:01:00.000-08:00

India

2010-02-26T07:26:00.000-08:00

India
a man rattles
or is it a woman?
India
A young man passes
and suddenly grabs my breast
I scream
He runs off
he has X-legs
India
the dog of the neighbours howls
a slap, another slap
the dog doesn`t howl anymore
India
a coconut
another one
another one
India
february 35 degrees
a boy with earwarmers
India
a cow with clothes on
India
a naked man on the railroad
men and their gaze
cleaning your buttocks with your hand
giving away personal space
loud oh such loud horns
gods, one for every day
dots on your forehead
monkeys while you`re doing yoga on the roof
vegetarian paradise
meditation at the ganga
guru`s ashram`s sadhu`s shri`s
offering cowdung at sunset
poor people
rich people
and love, a lot of love
India

bypassing the leaf

2010-02-15T03:41:00.000-08:00

"Of all the people you meet, you take a little piece with you. Just a little one so they cannot feel it.
To all the people you meet you give a little piece of yourself. Just because you have enough, little pieces of yourself.
All the people who are far away and waiting, you send them some glimpses of pieces sometimes, you tell them about these pieces of people, you show them some other piece of you than they already know.
And that`s how we all become happy pieces. Bigger than we ever could`ve imagined. I think all this is called inspiration."

This is what I was writing in the train that would take me to Varanasi in a little less than 48 hours.
I didn`t even finish writing the `n` of inspiration and suddenly there was this boy.
Just like this.
He said bonjour but wasn`t a frenchman.
He asked me what I`ve been taking a picture of. Two men holding each other`s hands, I said. And that was the start of a conversation that skipped the normal questions. Because we didn`t have much time and apparently we had some things to talk about.
Seven hours we spent together.
We`ve discussed the end of the world, he assured me that Jupiter is in the fifth with me. The fifth what? The fifth house of course. Where? In the stars apparently. Because I am not really worried about material issues and still I always have enough to live.
We`ve also discussed the purpose of life.
About dying we talked and coming back after having died and then being more grateful that you live.
He told me about his plan in Chennai.
Apparently once there have been very powerful psychics, Rishi`s, who`ve written down in Sanskrit, on banana leaves (Nadi leaves), the past, present and future of about half of the current population in the world. Everything, who you are, what you do, when you`ll die, the names of your friends. Thousands of years ago they`ve `seen` that. Exactly because they don`t believe in `thousands of years` and `ago`, I assume.
Going to look for his leaf, that was what my temporary travelmate was going to do.
Because he was a bit confused he said. About how that works, fate and predestination.
When you learn something or you have an insight, he said, then it is already known that you will have that insight. Also the insight that that insight is predestined, appears already to be predestined. He wondered if there is really nothing beyond this predestination. A way to bypass the leaf.
Also religion was on our topiclist. About the devil we talked. And his friend. Who were watching the people from a mountain. One man found a piece of paper on the floor and started glowing, out of happiness, joy and peace. The friend of the devil asked the devil what that man had found. The devil said : the truth. The friend of the devil said that that was not such a good thing for their case. Now a lot of people would find the truth. No problem, answered the devil, I will go down and help them to institutionalize it. The friend laughed and said O. O yes, said the friend.

Then there was also a boy, an Indian boy who was suddenly sitting next to us, pretending to read a book.
There were transvestites who slapped our head (not mine actually, but that of all the men). Everybody seemed to be afraid of them and gave them some money so they would go.
The Indian boy joined our conversation and said that he was more into technics than philosophy. I didn`t find that a problem, not at all.
It came down to this that the three of us wondered what was good and bad and how you can live without control because that`s what Krishnamurti had written in a book.
Well, said my travelmate, you just try not to do the do`s and don`t`s that society wants you to do and you just do and don`t what you think is the best to do and don`t. But I started to be a little bit hungry and allowed my attention to wander away and let the boy continue asking my travelmate a lot of questions. The boy was of the Jainreligion but had left it, rebelling against the imposed norms and rites. And now he didn`t really know anymore who or what he was. Apparently he seeked a teacher and found him in my travelmate. I let them. The boy was a confused boy. But an intelligently confused boy.
I ate my rice and vegetables which I had prepared the previous night and fell asleep.
That was normal because I was tired, what was also normal because I only slept for two hours the night before because I got on the train in Mysore at 4.40am.
During my nap some Indian men had been watching me with big eyes, said my noble stranger. So he decided to stay near to me while I was sleeping. Having a brother for a few hours, that`s how it felt. Not unpleasant.
But that I will be sleeping here without him near me and that probably those men will still be having big eyes, is true and what can you do? I try to cover the body with my shawl as maidenly as I can. Much more I can`t do. I remain a woman. From the west.
My brother spoke about a place in India with a tree with monkeys and a river where the sea runs into and not the other way. And I could see that place.
What a very nice and powerful encounter. Maybe it is written on his leaf.
I read his hand while I can`t read hands. But he believed me and I myself.
Sometimes we didn`t speak for a while and then we did again, that was also normal. And what we do to earn our money, we didn`t tell. But I don`t care about money anyway because my Jupiter is in the fifth.
We came to the conclusion that coincidence is a nice word. Co and Incidence. That was this encounter.
Thank you.
Bye stranger.

little update

2010-02-12T00:25:00.000-08:00

I am very sorry for the low message frequency but being in a country where it`s 38 degrees is very tiring you know.

Just a little update.
The 6 weeks in Mysore are over.
Tomorrow I will take a train and two days and more than 2000 kms later I will get out of that train in Varanasi, North India.
There I will see Laura again and then we will talk for a long time with each other because we will have missed each other. And I will teach her some yoga of course, whether she wants that or not.
Soon more news about these six weeks & about Laura`s six weeks.

We are planning to go to Rishikesh after Varanasi and maybe Dharamsala, because we heard that the Dalai Lama will be there talking to many people on the 28th of february.

I`ll send some sun in the direction of Belgium and be happy all.

the teachers

2010-02-02T22:35:00.000-08:00

camilla from australia

gabriella from australia

roland from germany

karol from slovakia

nellie from canada

angel from china

daniel from germany

rhiannon from wales and maaike

kaisa and sirpa from finland

shiva from china

bharat from india

new pictures new pictures

2010-02-02T22:15:00.000-08:00

look on the right side of the site
at the end of the trip I will have managed to get them all online probably
for now, enjoy italy, tehran, esfahan, yazd, the desert, persepolis, shiraz

Yes, I can fail!

2010-02-02T21:27:00.000-08:00

First there was the pain in the neck. I tried the `dolphin stretch` at home. The lesson was not to be impatient. Not to do anything but lying on your back or eating or both after a day of 10 hours of yoga and other courses.
Then there was the shoulderache. Because of sirsasana. The headstand. I could do step 5 so why not step 6, both legs up. My shoulder revolted and didn`t let me do any headstand for four days. Again, the lesson was not to hurry.
Then, in the third week the left hipmuscle wouldn`t co-operate anymore with the surrounding parts. Now I couldn`t do anything anymore. Never again. My left leg would be stiff for the rest of my life, my right leg pointlessly flexible. No Nepal or Himalaya for me. Physically burnt out before the age of thirty...Tears, despair, anger. The drama increases in a course like this.
And then Bharat, our teacher, tells me that physical pain is a sign of progress and with one sentence he does what I thought would take at least three years : he almost immediately cures the hipmuscle and my mood.
Like the teacher in the vipassanacenter who asked me if I was maybe afraid when I told him I have been walking around with numb legs for two days. And almost immediately there was life in them again.
It`s all in the mind. That`s a sentence. But I finally discovered it`s a true sentence.
What`s happening with me? As if there are all kinds of deeprooted fears in the form of burning feet, numb legs or teared hipmuscles coming to the surface and so running away because they`re not welcome in my body anymore.
Stress takes revenge on the body. That`s also a sentence. But that it can come from such unconscious depths, I didn`t know.
"It means you`re progressing", he tells me.
"First the neck, then the shoulder, now the leg. But the neckpain is gone, no?" Yes.
"And the shoulder, gone, no?" Yes
And the leg will also be gone, since I know the cause.
My body is only asking me friendly but firmly to listen to it. Otherwise there will be a strike again. Somewhere. In one part or another.
As soon as I`m trying to show off what this body of mine has learned the past few weeks, or when it wants to become as good as Shiva`s, the 23-year old chinese superhuman being who can fold herself in two, who is on the mat next to me, there`s the strike again.
Stay on your own mat seems to be the moral of the story.

The only thing left to learn is to fail.
Those moments when I found myself in rabbitpose (it`s a real asana, you can look it up)on my mat, while the rest of the class was standing on his head, those were the most satisfying. Yes I can. I can fail and I don`t mind.

Not wanting everything, that`s what I want.

yoga, teachers, trainings and courses

2010-02-01T23:17:00.000-08:00

the four weeks are over
there are twelve more yogateachers in the world
we are tired, happy, sad, melancholic, more flexible in body and mind, more co-ordinated than ever
we are grateful and some of us are sick
we are never going to forget
we are ready for whatever comes

thank you yoga-india, thank you barath, diananda, kirstie, peyman, thank you camilla, rhiannon, karol, sipe, kaisa, nellie, daniel, roland, shiva, angel and gabriella

more pictures of these amazing people will follow soon
now back to work again
yes, I decided to stay two weeks more
After that the travel will continue, promised

namaste all

a classmate`s witness report

2010-01-23T02:01:00.000-08:00

I think I wrote about yoga

It feels as if someone has pressed the flush in my body, soul and mind, out pour the toxins, the tears, the diareahs......

Apparently we store memories in our bodies, trauma manifests itself under the skin, muscles tie into knots, joints becomes rigid and close, we become inflexible and old. When undergoing intense yoga practice for a long period the body begins to unlock. We practice and practice, opening and stretching, reaching and bending, then suddenly its hay wire...............

The mind is on fire, I enter the room with exhaustion and gloom, I can not do it, not today, but I begin anyway. Patiently persevering into my physical exhaustion. The body responds to my working by recruiting the emotions, who begin to cry and why and why! I think I'll die, but instead I just try, to stay focused, I try for the locust. Lord give me strength, but instead he gives me tears, he raises all my fears, they pour out of me in torrents as I do my practice, in this room, in India I persevere. We go deeper, myself and I, I don't ask why, I am here, it's queer, my break through is near. And the Lord he laughs and brings me sparks, through my knees to my anus I feel the energy. I cry, my whole body is collapsed in Shashankasana and I am crying, in a ball on the floor, in this here yoga school. I persevere, no fear my dear, the break through is near. The gods cheer and give me a cup of tea, spiritually, as I gain ground in Vrksana. But again I am being broken in Uttkatasana. I cry. I cry and I cry.

My teacher is compassionate, the lying down mediation at the end is luxuriously expanded for my benefit. I find peace in between my gentle breaths, I feel light and during the closing prayer I am centered and beautiful.

I eat. I go home, on the way the belly begins to bubble, I am in for trouble. I get home and my insides turn outside as I explode on the toilette. I laugh, inner and outer cleansing hits me with full force, I am exhausted. I lie on my bed and sing to myself, I sing songs about my life, my strife my freedom. I feel young again, a child dancing around her room to the soundtrack of Lauren Hill.

Live life with skill.

I am studying hard this life of mine, it is taking time but I am learning. Things keep turning. I'm in a fire and burning, and then, after the grief I find the release. It is so sweet. What a relief!!

Rhiannon

after 2 weeks of yoga

2010-01-17T05:40:00.001-08:00

If you really want to know the name of this posture : Kakasana ...

there are worse places to meditate

2010-01-17T05:38:00.001-08:00

the vipassana meditation center, chengannur, 6am, january 1st 2010

bend, friend

2010-01-14T03:14:00.000-08:00

After one week of yoga teacher training,
I learned not to do anything in a hurry `cause that hurts your neck.
I finally know where my abdomen are and how to use them.
I cannot stand on my head yet and all the rest can but I don`t mind.
I`ve saluted the sun hundreds of times.
I sang hare krishna and also I am bliss, bliss I am, bliss absolute, bliss I am.
I can make Indian curry thanks to Rani, our host, who sometimes cooks for cookingprograms on tv.
I`ve been in front of a class and told them what to do while I can`t do it myself.
I realised that `front` in Indian-English is pronounced as `frent`. Until the fifth day I thought I was asked to bend, friend.
I know there are a lot of things I can`t do yet.
there are three more to go in which a lot, if not a very lot of things can and will happen and change.

I bow (now already a little deeper) for you and bliss absolute, bliss I am.

today is the tomorrow you were worrying about yesterday

2010-01-02T05:58:00.000-08:00

The meditationcentre. In the midst of fields, twohundred palmtrees, beautiful white birds, a sunrise that pushes herself through the early fog every morning (one advantage of having to get up at 4am is never missing this happening...), singings from here and there, a little cooking lady with a lot of inspiration, fifty co-meditators from here and there and far and not far, one teacher and some volunteers.
We will be silent for ten days en surrender ourselves to the meditationtechnique invented by Buddha himself. Vipassana.
The technique is simple. The story behind it logical. The application hard but wholesome. But above all, no fuss.
No `Om`s, honourings or rituals. Just clear and consistent and therefore at times so hard and confronting.
The story of vipassana in a few sentences.
If you want to know more : www.dhamma.org .
The goal of the technique is to purify your mind and change the habitpattern of it in order to find real happiness.
How do you do that?
You just sit on the floor. Everybody can. Is true.
During three days you don`t do anything but observing your breath. Sounds easy.
The little space between your upperlip and the bottom of your nostrils is the only thing you can put your attention to. It makes the mind alert and sharp.
And then, on the fourth day, the real vipassanameditation starts.
Where you could change your position in the former days, you now have to stay still. Less easy.
And then you are being asked to observe the whole of your body part by part, piece by piece.
And then your are being asked to keep your mind calm and peaceful, alert and attentive and above all equanimous, without any craving or aversion for this or that sensation.
This last thing seemed to me the easiest task while struggling to get my attention back from the food, or the Halleluja`s outside or the plans for the future or the counting of the money I still had left for the rest of the journey, back to the sensations on my body. But I had better first stayed for one hour sitting immobile on the floor with crossed legs and closed eyes before thinking that.
At one moment your feet are burning, you are sure, they`re burning, there`s no doubt. You keep sitting there because you want to be a good girl and you`ve been raised in that way that you know it is impossible that your feet are on fire. Then someone should have put them on fire. And that is not possible. Because it is not so easy to put a foot on fire. And not easy at all in a meditationhall where nobody is supposed to move.
So you come to senses and tell your feet (in silence) that they are not on fire, that they only think the`re on fire.
And then you are being asked, whenever you feel a gross, solidified sensation (fire wasn`t named specifically, but I felt free to count that in) to stay there for a while with your attention. With an equanimous mind. Without desire or aversion. The desirepart wasn`t too difficult. But that aversion.
Why am I sitting here? you think. Why do I have to watch my feet being on fire while outside there are very beatiful no burning palmtrees and a tree trunk to sit on and a sun to sit in. What am I doing for heaven`s sake?
And then something very strange happens.
When you keep your attention with the pain and try not to feel that aversion, the pain resolves.
The feet were still a little bit smoldering but the worst part was over.
And then you experience for the first time in practice what the meaning is of all the words in some spiritual teachings.
And then you realise that you don`t know anything before you`ve experienced it.
I never thought that burning feet could teach me that misery is only as big as to the extent of importance you give to it.
And then you realise that nothing from the outside world can make you unhappy.
It`s your own reaction that makes you unhappy.
And that thougth makes you happy.
And then you are again a little less happy because now someone has stabbed a knife deep into your rightshouldermuscle and also some needles in your leftankle.
But then you think again of that misery and aversion part.
And then you are happy again.
A little later you feel something you`ve never experienced before.
A kind of flow of all little vibrations passing through the whole of your body.
And then you think, I did it, I can meditate, I can go home, I only needed six days, maybe they made it ten days so the slow ones can get there too.
And then the voice tells you that you shouldn`t crave for pleasant sensations because they also are impermanent just like the unpleasant burning feet.
And then you want to run away again. What am I doing here? You can enjoy a little bit, isn`t it? After all it`s christmas for all (well, for all in Belgium). What am I doing here?
Until you realise that nothing from outside can make you really happy either.
Because then you would only be happy when everything goes well. And when does everything go well?
So you learn day by day, step by step, to firstly sit still for one hour, but secondly that here exists a happiness other than that you`ve known before.
And then you realise that you will be banging your head against the wall still more than a few times because you are a human being.
But you also realise that you now have learned a way to attenuate the headache afterwards, or even to make it dissapear.
And then you are happy to have sit still for ten days on your journey in one spot, practically on one cushion.
And you want as many people as possible to do the same thing because you maybe can`t explain it that well and because there`s still much more.
But you know that it works because you felt it in stead of reading it.

If you, while reading this, didn`t feel a too big intention to book a ticket on the first plain (sorry, plane would be easier) to India to save me while it`s still possible from the all-devouring spiritual monster, if your thoughts didn`t produce the word bullocks too often while reading this, then you can always try it.
There are centres everywhere.

After these ten days there was the goodbye.
Laura and me will be going our own way for a while.
Not because of problems, on the contrary.
Just because. Pieter-Jan is coming tomorrow and will be travelling with Laura for six weeks.
And I am starting a new adventure tomorrow in Mysore.
4 weeks, also staying in one place, but this time with a little more movement than before I assume.
A yogateacher training course is what I will be attending.
Because India is the country where you should do that.
And because a long journey allows you to take some time for one place.
And because life is just long enough to do all the things you`ve always wanted to do provided that you don`t wait with doing them.

I will keep you informed about Laura`s travelling around and about the amount of knods in which of my limbs.
Although it won`t seem like that due to the maybe little lower frequention of blogmessages in the next weeks, the journey has reached her cruising speed.
The one intense experience is following the other rapidly.
And we are receiving without craving or aversion.
Looking forward to what is still there to come but above all enjoying what is being being. And enjoying each other. Ten days not having any communication at all, you can only do that with noble strangers or with real good friends.
The only thing we did once in a while was giving eachother`s arm a little caress before going to sleep. In the dark, at 9h30pm when the lights went out. To say sleep tight, or merry christmas, or I hope you are ok, or thank you.

U will hear from us. And be happy and remember : the weather is not really cold, that`s just your idea.

A thousand kisses deep

2009-12-20T21:28:00.000-08:00

Hi to all everywhere
After a journey of more than 48 hours in the train we arrived yesterday in Chengannur, in the province of Kerala. The south of India.
The average temperature is around 30 degrees here.
The next ten days we will be attending a vipassana meditation course.
So our best wishes to all everywhere for christmas and new year because we won`t be able to go on the internet, nor to speak in general!
A different way to start the new year...

After those ten days Maaike will be attending a 4 week-yogacourse in Mysore and Laura will travel a few weeks with a friend of hers through India.

I wish you all the best and will be delighted and enlightened to speak to you again in ten days.

very very very sloooow

2009-12-16T23:12:00.000-08:00

To really learn to be patient, don`t only travel, go to an internetcafe while travelling.
Little by little pictures from the whole trip are being uploaded to photobucket.com to show them to you.
Soon there will be more pictures from Turkey. Look at the link on the right side.
Excuse me now, I will go back being patient.

our first camel - Persepolis

het leven gaat door daar

2009-12-16T22:51:00.000-08:00

Soms zijn er berichten
van het land waar je hart ligt
je schoenen en al je kleren
behalve vier onderbroeken, een broek, 2 t-shirts en een trui
je leest, je hart versnelt
misschien 1 traan
voor een traag computerscherm
en een schuin oog van een indier
je weet hoe het daar is
je bent er vaak genoeg geweest
de vraag wat doe ik hier
heb je je daar even vaak als hier gesteld

de cyclus van een mensenleven is
1 dag en 1 nacht
een andere optie is er niet
die dag wordt geleefd beleefd gevuld
in die dag wordt er gehoopt verlangd gegeten teveel gegeten
tot hij op is
en de nacht begint
en daarna
wanneer de dag is uitgerust
de ene dag al wat beter dan de andere
begint hij opnieuw

en wanneer ik hier ben
en mijn hart schoenen en al m`n kleren
(behalve vier onderbroeken, een broek, 2 t-shirts en een trui)
in het andere hier zijn
dan zie ik beter
dat het leven doorgaat

en wanneer ik hier ben
of eerder omdat
is dat veeleer een opluchting
dan een teleurstelling

na de traan volgt
de zucht
volgt
de dag
die zo vol gevuld wordt als ik zelf wil

laat ik vandaag niet teveel vullen
1 traan kan vermoeiend zijn

wat ik vandaag gezien heb?

2009-12-15T18:59:00.000-08:00

good luck

2009-12-15T18:24:00.000-08:00

wat ik vandaag gezien heb?
Een koe, een bloot nat kindje op straat, twintig hysterische vrouwen in de trein die zich in 1 van mijn foto`s wilden wurmen,
een vrouw die een man op de trein uitmaakte voor veel vuil van de straat omdat hij in een vrouwenwagon stapte,
dezelfde man die zich duizendmaal nederig excuseerde,
het gebaar voor het getal vijf : van je hand een vogelbekje maken en dat open en toe doen (we dachten dat de man aan het loket ons aan het uitlachen was, maar hij beeldde vijf roepies uit),
een rijschool die good luck heet,
een naakte man lopend naast de treinsporen,
een kraai die een andere kraai aan het opeten was,
een national park waar halfblote mensen zichzelf en hun kleren aan het wassen waren en 100 meter verder de opnames van een reclamespot voor 1 of ander sappig sap met allemaal afrikaantjes en een valse mangoboom,
het national park vanuit een toeristentreintje,
dansende aapjes op een strand,
een mooie man in de theaterbookshop
veel mooie, pezige, opplooibare mannen met lange vingers
een couchsurfkoppel met een dienaar die we fooi geven als we weggaan na het eten,
de dienaar die voor hen werkt van 8u `s morgens tot 11 u `s avonds en twee dagen in de maand vrij heeft
een hare krishma languit op z`n buik biddend op de grond terwijl de anderen in de tempel zingen, tamtammen en religieuze boeken en snacks verkopen,
en toen ik dacht dat het gedaan was en dat ik in mijn bed kon gaan verwerken
kwamen we voorbij het taj hotel waar er sluipschutters aan het wachten waren op Pakistaanse bommen die vorig jaar zijn afgegaan
en toen reed er ook een ontmijningswagen voorbij en een Duitser die ons zei This is serious
niks serious gebeurd op weg naar het hostel
het is dertig graden
mijn ogen liggen wagewijd open in bed
en de ventilator maakt een tiktiktik geluid

O. de geur
die een mengeling is van wierook, urine, curry en uitlaatgassen
doordringend scherp onbeschrijfelijk
het eten, de prijs, de keuze! Wij, vegetariers, duiden aan en krijgen en eten en vinden lekker en wenen van geluk en pikantheid
de taal was moeilijk in het begin
tot we beseften dat het engels was
het ontcijferen begint me te lukken
als ze je hier de weg uitleggen, wijzen ze steeds naar alle richtingen en als je dan verifieert en wijst in een richting kijken ze je aan alsof ze het jammer en onbegrijpelijk vinden dat je niet goed geluisterd hebt en bewegen met hun hoofd ook in alle richtingen
dat blijkt knikken te zijn
Alleen wordt het voor zowel de ja- als neen-versie gebruikt

Voor de rest genieten we van elk moment
al is het wachtend op een trein die niet komt omdat je op het verkeerde perron zit
Lau en ik verstaan elkaar al eens verkeerd maar dat komt deels omdat hun toeters hier ook zo luid staan
voor de rest gaat het wonderwel met ons
we eten we praten we zwijgen we moe-en we ontmoeten we stappen en we stappen

x

Mumbai

2009-12-13T19:33:00.000-08:00

How many impressions per second can a human have?
How many can he handle?
Leaving iran is one.
Taking a plane on an overlandtrip is two.
After thirty days showing your hair in public again is three.
A difference of 15 degrees in temperature is four.
And then the counting stops.
Then we see a marriage, a boy on a horse, people sleeping on the streets, not five, not twenty, but hundreds of them, we see advertising in the streets again in stead of khomeini and khamenei, women with naked bellies, dogs, a lot of dogs, cars everywhere.
The trip to the hostel takes us a little hour in a little taxi.
The poverty is immense.
On the way to our first Indian meal for less than a euro a child is lying stretched on the street.
In the eyes of the other travelers I see something hard. Something`s closed.
Maybe a few days of Mumbai make you like that.
In the eyes of the Indian men (didn`t have contact with a woman so far, but it`s only our second hour in Mumbai) I see a joy, a playful smile.
Maybe years of Mumbai make you like that.
I know and see that I know almost nothing and that I`m happy I`m born where I`m born.
We didn`t turn one but ten pages in one time.
It`s a hard transition. From Iran tot India. But being three months on the road makes the shock a little less.
And the missing part (Pakistan) will fit in somewhere. Maybe in a few years, maybe in going back. Insjallah.
I know nothing anymore.
I go to sweat and sleep.

Khoda Hafez Iran

2009-12-12T01:51:00.000-08:00

Iran, seen from the inside.
From the moment we entered Iran, we`ve been hosted. By friends of friends of friends.
In Tehran we saw for the first time those eyes, those sad eyes.
As if they were already longing to go back to the country they want to leave. Eyes we would meet in the whole of Iran.
In Tehran we experienced what it really means to `be guest`.
In Tehran we`ve been guided, fed, looked after.
Elsewhere in Iran it wouldn`t be different.
In Tehran I received the message `Life is very little maybe just like this`. From an Iranian editor. Who has a dream. The general Iranian dream : go abroad.
In Tehran we drank selfbrewed wine en blackmarketwhiskey.
In Tehran Mahbube entered my heart. She won`t leave it soon.
In Iran we became grateful for our own belgian country.
In Iran we`ve seen the power of a woman. What repression can do to a person. It makes defensible, militant, flexible, mildly powerful.
In Iran the youth stays young and confused for a long time. She`s caught between two systems, two visions of life. She wants a lot, but can`t do much.
Iran is surrounded by mountains and desert. We`ve seen buildings, mosques, learned about important dates and facts. It`s the people who teached me more than the most beautiful mosque.
In Iran I long for nature, but that will come that will come.
In Esfahan, at 7am, there`s a bridge. In every inlet someone is reading, learning, feeding birds, flirting, standing. In the cold wintermorningsun.
In Iran the hospitality doesn`t expect anything in return.
Iran is like one home. Strangers talk with eachother as if they`re old friends.
In Iran I felt the desert. The wider the surroundings, the less important the proper thoughts. They humbly stay in the background.
In Iran people sit more often than not on the ground.
In Iran, I heard the silence, on a tower in Yazd.
In Iran I lost that silence several times. Being zen is a constant battle.
The beautiful women Mahbube, Shirine, Arta, Mahsume. It`s them who showed me the inside of Iran.
Kheyli Mamnun.

Arta

2009-12-12T01:16:00.000-08:00

Laatste dagen in Iran.
We hebben drie nachten bij Arta geslapen, de nicht van Ehsan, die de man is van Julie, die een vriendin is van Sachli, die vrienden van me zijn. We slapen in het huis van Arta`s moeder. Arta verloor haar vader vier jaar geleden. Ze werkt in een computerwinkel om te sparen om te kunnen studeren in het buitenland. Ze wil hier weg. De zoveelste. Het is niet goed in Iran. Zoals het nu is, maakt Iran veel kapot. Misschien onrechtstreeks, maar kapot is kapot.
Arta`s 64-jarige moeder is afhankelijk van haar, belt haar meerdere malen per dag. Arta is enig kind. Ze werkt tot 9u30 `s avonds, zorgt voor het avondeten, kuist daarna de wc en moet dan nog instuderen wat ze die dag heeft geleerd omdat het morgen computerbeurs is.
Haar moeder roept. Waarom we zo laat thuis was? Waarom ze dit en dat niet heeft gewassen? Waarom Laura en ik hier nog zijn?
Arta zegt niets. Ze laat haar moeder roepen. Ze incasseert.
Wanneer we vragen wat er is, zegt ze dat haar moeder moe is. Ze gaat niet in op alle beschuldigingen die haar naar het hoofd worden geslingerd. Ze doet de afwas want als wij die doen krijgt ze ruzie.
Arta is 20 jaar. Ze heeft een doel. Ze wil piloot worden. En ze wil weg uit Iran. Nu mag ze niet. Niet van haar moeder en niet van Iran. Iran is bang dat ze gaat trouwen in het buitenland en niet meer terugkomen. Haar moeder waarschijnlijk ook.
Arta zorgt voor ons, ze wil dat we het goed hebben. Zelfs als haar moeder roept glimlacht ze naar ons en weent ze in zichzelf. Tot het teveel wordt. `s Avonds aan tafel na een werkdag van twaalf uur.
Arta is 20 jaar. Ze heeft zoveel verantwoordelijkheid. Op de koop toe heeft ze haar eerste liefdesverdriet te verwerken.
Ze huilt en zegt sorry.
Wij zeggen zeg geen sorry, het is normaal.
Ze vreest dat ze nu niemand meer heeft.
Geen moeder om iets aan toe te vertrouwen, geen vader, geen zus, geen broer, geen vriend, wij moeten weg.
Ze huilt. Terecht.
In Iran hebben vrouwen veelal twee gezichten.
Aan de ene kant is er de make-up, de ge-epileerde wenkbrauwen, de eeuwige glimlach, de grote ogen, de mascara,de sluier over het perfecte haar.
Aan de andere kant is er de andere kant. De binnenkant. Het verdriet. Het onuitgesproken verlangen naar een ongedefinieerd iets anders. De kwaadheid soms. Of ergernis. Die meteen omslaat in een glimlach wanneer onze ogen elkaar kruisen. Want wij zijn de gasten.
Ik zie in Arta`s ogen dat ze weet wat ze wil. Ze heeft enkel nog wat gevangenissen te openen. Haar moeder zal niet de makkelijkste zijn.
Hoe dankbaar mag ik zijn. Het idee alleen al mijn land niet te mogen verlaten omdat ik misschien zou trouwen in het buitenland en niet terugkomen...
Een schuldgevoel bekruipt me.
Omdat wij hier zijn en genieten van de gastvrijheid van deze prachtmensen, maar morgen nemen wij gewoon het vliegtuig. Wij gaan door. Zij blijven.
Een vrouw, twee dagen geleden, zei ons dat haar zoon in Spanje woont, haar broer ook. Een man in het gezelschap had een Canadees paspoort, zo vertelde zijn moeder ons.
Het buitenland lijkt een status te geven.
Hoe meer Iran roept en tiert en dreigt en mensen dingen verbiedt, hoe meer de mensen hier weg willen.
Is het dat wat het bange Iran wil?
Is het dat wat Arta`s moeder wil?
Hoe groter de angst iets te verliezen, hoe groter de kans dat je het ook effectief verliest.
Arta is sterk. Dat zeggen haar ogen. Ze komt er wel.
Haar moeder zal nog lang onwetend en triest zijn. En Arta zal dat geweten hebben.
Het is niet eerlijk, maar het heeft haar wel een zachtaardig krachtige strijdlust opgeleverd. Ik zie een wijze vrouw in een jong meisje. Ik bewonder en ben nederig dankbaar voor waar ik vandaan kom.
*
Ik doe een handwas in Arta`s huis. Haar moeder ziet dit en stelt me voor of ik niet met de zoon van haar oudere zus wil trouwen? Ze wijst naar haar trouwvinger en glijdt er een denkbeeldige ring over. Ik lach luid want vind dat grappig. Mijn lachen stopt omdat het niet grappig bedoeld blijkt. Ze maakt een sjjt-gebaar en doet teken dat Laura er niets van moet weten. Ze wil onderhandelen. Alleen omdat ze mij ziet wassen. Trouwen beken vanuit een lichtjes pragmatischer standpunt dan ik gewoon ben. Ik maak een tussenbeweging met mijn hoofd. Iets tussen `ja` en `neen` en `eerst wassen daarna zien we wel`.
De moeder gaat naar de keuken.
Ik knijp m`n t-shirt nog eens uit.

For the record

2009-12-09T22:33:00.000-08:00

We are happily and safe in Shiraz, invited by the family of Ehsan (husband of Julie`s and friend of Sachli`s, two Belgian friends of mine) to stay with them for a few days.
That`s Iran, friends of family of friends of friends become your friends in no time.
Our last days in Iran we`ll spend here. After it, we`ll fly... To Mumbay. Once we`ll see Pakistan. Not from the air.
But not now. They`re too busy fighting. Let`s naively hope they`ll soon stop.

I imagine in general

2009-12-09T21:17:00.000-08:00

If anyone on the verge of action should judge himself according to the outcome, he would never begin. S. Kierkegaard

Memory from the desert : A traditional weddingparty.

The end of november. We`re staying in a traditional guesthouse in Toudeshk.We know it`s traditional because that`s what Mohammed`s card tells us. I always find it very strange when people call themselves consciously traditional, but bref, we follow our new travelfriend, Kurt, because he`s nice.It`s a relief to be in a western man`s company for a while. (As a woman in Iran, men don`t address directly to you when travelling in a man`s company. Well, some men don`t.)
Mohammed tells us stories, asks us where the end of the world is (it appears to be in the middle of the carpet in his house), tells us about a British gay whose arm had been chopped off and after that his leg, but in the end it`s a myth...
The first night in Toudeshk, Reza, Mohammed`s brother proposes to go to a traditional weddingparty. This time the word traditional doesn`t cost us anything so we say O, yes, without knowing what to expect.
With Mohammed, Reza, Fatime (his wife) and their two children and Maarten, Kurt and Kim we walk through the dark little desert desertstreets. I realize that a few houses can create a feeling of safety, even in the middle of nothing.
We arrive in the street of the party. Better, the parties. Reza`s wife and daughter and Laura and me go to the women`s party. The men go to the men`s party...
In a room of barely four by four a thousand women are sitting on the ground. Maybe a little less.
Before ten seconds could pass, our coat is out, our scarve on the ground, our gloves lost, we are in a hundred pictures and sit on eachother on the throne next to the bride whose face is covered with white make-up and whose breasts don`t want to stay in her dress.
They look at us, point at us, laugh with us, talk or try to talk with us. `Aks,aks`, picture, picture, there are fights for the best pictureplace.
One of them makes a sound that I know from Indianmovies when it`s time to go fighting. Another woman joins her.
I don`t feel quite comfortable and look at Laura who doesn`t seem to be very happy either, sitting there with a plastic plate of rice and shish kebab and me on her lap.
I feel bride. Well, I almost sit on her.
Suddenly, music. I think I know what`s next. Yes, I know. Before I realize what`s happening I`m standing in the middle of the room with the majority of the little less than a thousand women sitting and watching. Laura could escape to the toilet but will soon be dragged out.
In the mean time I try to act as comfortable as possible and move my arms like they do and my hips, well not exactly like they do, but I try I try.
Now the bride (23) is also dancing. Soon I don`t see her anymore and try to dance as discrete as possible not to offend the bride but not too discrete as not to be lynched by all the rest.
It`s difficult sometimes to satisfy everyone.
Meanwhile I find a little second to wonder how it would be for two Iranian women at a belgian weddingparty. They would be looked at briefly, a lone drunk uncle would try to talk to them without realizing that it`s not dutch they`re speaking, most of the people would eat their own piece of cake with their own friends. I imagine. In general.
But that`s not the case here, now, with us. All attention goes to us, our blond hair,our age and our marital status. "Not married? Very good!", a woman shouts to us. She`s standing almost on the bride`s feet. Who is married. Just.
I`m stunned. Haven`t they seen a stranger before? Most of them come from a big city. But still. The West isn`t quite present in Iran. I have the impression that not a lot of foreigners come here, except for touristy reasons.
In Belgium, we know foreigners, women with scarves, we live next to them. We don`t ask them every second where they come from, how long they`re staying, and if we can take a picture with them.
Maybe we ask them too little, but that`s another story.
But here, we`re in the middle of the lioness cage. Hier we experience in concentrated form what we`re experiencing already for three weeks. Excessive attention. Only because we`re westerners.
A child is being pushed in my arms and a flash goes off.
Fatime decides to take us out. The gloves I lost in the first ten seconds are still lost so I run back inside to find them. Rejecting some pictureoffers I wrestle to the bridesthrone. The bride`s sitting there, a friend next to her. Before I can mime a glove, I`m being chased away by their eyes. I have to go and make space for attention for the bride.
I go and find my gloves on the way out.
The hospitality here is immense but I just became acquainted with its boundaries.
Understandable. She`s marrying. I don`t. I just come from the West. Without a present.
A group of the men`s party is standing outside. One of them confuses Laura`s personal space with his. Time to go.
At Mohammed`s home we meet our male travelcompagnons.
We exchange similar stories.
They too were the attraction of the night.
We thank the family for taking us to a traditional wedding, say shab bekheyr and go to sleep on our traditional floor of the guesthouse in the desert.

Yazd

2009-12-02T10:31:00.000-08:00

In Yazd there are two towers. Once corpses were lying there to be eaten by vultures.
The corpses aren`t there anymore. The towers still are. And we were on them. On the towers of silence. It was the last resting place of the Zoroastrians.
Is it because you know the history of it, or just because you can feel it, that a place leaves such an intense impression?
On a mountain, and certainly on a deathtower on a mountain you can sit and listen to what would escape you otherwise. You hear the space you see, you hear that the motorway once wasn`t there, you don`t hear yourself for a moment.
You descend and you lose the experience, but you carry a little piece of that mountain with you. A little piece of silence in the background.
Also while traveling, you lose every place where you were, every person you met.
But from all that you take a little piece with you and you never lose that.

On the roof of our hostel, together with our new travelfriends, we watch the animationmovie Persepolis, from the book of the same name by Marjane Satrapi. The autobiography of an Iranian woman during and in the aftermath of the Islamic revolution in Iran.
The revolution, the protests, the Iran-Iraq war, the emigrations, the personal tragedies, the senseless killing. It all strikes you harder while being here.
Although safely smoking a waterpipe and freelytouristbeing, but still.
Watching the images of the revolution immediately made me think of the youtubeclips and pictures of the demonstrations in june.
The story of the war between Iraq and Iran that lasted 8 years suddenly got a face through the huge paintings on almost every streetcorner of Tehran. Paintings of martyrs who died for their country. Serving as an excuse for a totalitarian islamic `democratic` republic.
The soldiers of the revolutionary guard in the movie have the same eyes as the men who reproachfully/protectively look through you on the streets.
The people in the movie,the normal people, have the same warmth, the same unconditional openness as the people now, here, on the streets, wherever you are.
The people in the film that want to leave, still want to leave now. Whereto? Doesn`t matter, America or Europe. New-Zealand. India. London. Antwerp.
One out of four Iranians we meet wants to leave.
To be able to drink a beer in public, to wear what they want, hold hands when they want, dance wherever they want, say what they want.
The other three are staying and still do what`s not allowed, but underground.
Or as Marjane Satrapi puts it : We were so focused on having a good time that we forgot we didn`t have our freedom.

In the mean time we keep on traveling.
Since a few days we are in Yazd, city in the desert.
With an old part where you`re obliged to get lost and take thousands of pictures of old men (Maarten, Belgian cyclist we met, answers my question why so many photographers like to take pictures of old people: Because they sit still.), hijabs, soldiers (who afterwards keep staring at you for minutes), breadkneaders and little children in very coloured jackets (a relief compared to their hijabed mothers).
The city where we saw the practicing of Zorkhane, a combination of sports and praying. It comes down to a group of men standing in a circle, spinning around and chanting prayers to come closer to God. All this with live djembemusic. It made me want to dance. I`ll wait for that till we`re in India. Scarveless.

Tomorrow we`ll take the bus to Shiraz. And slowly we`re making up our plan what to do next. It hurts to say, but we will have to skip a little piece of land in our overlandjourney. We will avoid Pakistan. Even after hearing enough stories of travelers who have safely done it and are going to do it, we decided to go by plane, or maybe, and that would be the best middle way, by boat. From Dubai/Oman to Mumbay. We will put all our energy on this plan and try to make it work. We`ll see. But first Shiraz. Then all the rest.

Good luck to Maarten, Kim and Kurt, our company for the last days. Thank you for the nice time.

Iran - womenparadiseprison

2009-11-26T00:50:00.000-08:00

In Tehran there`s a park. The Noshatpark. It`s only accessible to women. Except for fridays, then men are allowed too. Women can walk around here without their headscarve, can jog here, can lie in their bikini in the summer.
In the houses surrounding the park mullahs with binoculars are said to live there. Our first reaction after hearing about the park was what a paradise. Our second what a prison. Both are true. It`s a womenparadiseprison.
For me this park is little Iran.
For me it`s the symbol for all the opposites, the inconsequences and hypocrisy in Iran.
For the latter they have a word in Farsi : tarov.
Someone who`s too friendly, hospitable,gallant is tarov. It`s a very common used word here...
But about the park. A woman CAN walk around here without the compulsory scarve or long coat. It`s allowed.
First, this park is ugly, concrete is everywhere and it`s tastelessly decorated. There are works going on and it`s next to the big road.
Second, if something is allowed somewhere it means that elsewhere it is NOT allowed. And that`s the problem. The elsewhere.
Elsewhere women should be allowed to walk around the way they like.
And here, in womenparadiseprison, here women can come hopping in their hijab if they want.
Here the police can come and arrest women when the coat isn`t covering their behind.
Here women can guiltely avoid the gaze of a man when he`s looking at her.
Here it`s not allowed to flirt or hold hands.
Here it`s not allowed to talk out loud about leaving Iran or about Ahmadinejad.
Here can`t be worn green.
But elsewhere, yes.
Let it be this way. Give the extremists their place where they can apply their rules, give them a space next to a big road, where it smells and ask for their gratitude. Even expect gratitude. Because you are showing respect for them and their needs. You understand them and want the best for them. You make sure they`re not in lack of anything here, somewhere, in Park Noshat.
It should be something like this, but it`s something else. It`s elsewhere. It`s in the whole of Iran.
Because someone has written it down and called it law.
They are so beautiful, these women with their headscarve slided as much as possible to the back of their head, with their tight coats hardly covering their behind and making their body even more attractive, feminine and mysterious.
That can`t have been Ayatollah`s intention.
What is it about then?
About power. About a woman not being able to think about her freedom because all the time she has to think about her scarve and her coat, if they`re still in the right place, if the police isn`t near, if there`s no spy near.
That`s what it`s about. And that`s how the system is intruding in the head of a woman and stays their 24 hours a day in the form of a scarve. When someone knocks on her own door, the thing has to be put on.
That the thing can go off in the park seems like a favor, but it`s a candy to keep the child silent.
When will they realize that to enforce something always has the opposite effect?
And that opposite effect, that`s what we`re seeing in the people we meet.
That`s the beauty of Iran. The kind, hospitable people. The protesting people. The little, honest people that eventually will appear to be on the right side.
But victims have to be made to reach the right side.
And that`s an endless pity.
That makes angry.
In Iran live the most hospitable people I know.
In Iran you`re being given so many things that it makes you feel uncomfortable.
In Iran you can`t drink alcohol.
In Iran I`ve been offered the most alcohol ever.
In Iran they drive like crazy, but that`s allowed.
In Iran, they don`t stop for red lights, but that`s allowed.
In Iran, you can`t dance at a concert.Dance.
Because what? Maybe because you can punch someone on his or her freshly corrected nose, because that is allowed, a nosecorrection. A woman has to wear a headscarve so that men can`t see her hair but they can look at her fresh and more beautiful nose, they can.
In Iran, they can kill people on the road, but they can`t drink in their own house.
Iran, beautiful ugly country.
Womenparadiseprison.
Thank you, Iran, thank you.

It`s over now

2009-11-20T14:05:00.000-08:00

Tehran.
The reality comes close. Closer than comfortable.
This is what the system is doing : on the bus to Tehran I`m wondering if I can take off my socks, if it`s allowed to show my bare feet in public, I`m wondering if I can write the names of our hosts on this blog, I can put their first names they tell me.
Mahbube and her sister Shirine with whom we are staying have been arrested 5 months ago during the protests after the elections and have spent two weeks in jail and have been hurt badly.
Mahbube tells me the story after showing me a film of Bahman Ghobadi.
A film about two young people who want to leave Iran to play a concert abroad.
Two young people who aren`t allowed to leave the country, only because they want to play a concert abroad, and thus try it illegally.
Two young people who fail to leave the country and, after a lot of despair and malchance, die.
A film based on a true story.
The president causes more drama than he thinks.
The director of the film who is a friend of Mahbube has fled Iran 4 months ago and his wife has spent 21 days in prison.
Only films about the war between Iraq and Iran are allowed to be made here and more specifically about the martyrs who have died for Iran.
In Farhad`s passport holes have been made so he can`t leave the country. Why? Because he`s pro-Mousavi.
In a bookstore you have to talk silently about certain subjects because it`s a popular place for spies.
Farhad wasn`t allowed to work for four months because he`s pro-Mousavi.
When someone knocks on the door, the women put on their headscarve before they open the door.
Alcohol is bought on the black market and served out of plastic bottles.
The red wine is undrinkable but who cares, what`s forbidden tastes good anyway.
Mahbube and Shirine tell us their story about prison.
They see my face and start to laugh. They are laughing.
Mahbube tells me Don`t think. It`s over now.
I am being comforted...
We have been welcomed by Mahbube, Shirine and their youngest sister Fahime as two new sisters.
Everything is so normal, we laughed from the first minute, talked via the books Farsi on a trip and English on a trip, we talked mostly with our hands.
Mahbube takes us to the productionhouse of the film that she worked on until last week.
We sat at the editingtable. No problem.
They gave us lunch. We`ve spent the whole day there. We`ve been invited in three different households already. It`ll be busy in Tehran.
The people surprise me. Their hospitality is so normal to them. We sleep in Shirine`s bed, the three sisters sleep on the floor in the livingroom. No discussion.
We have a moneyproblem, you can not get money in Iran with your visacard. At the border we were told that we could and we believed.
No problem. There`s a bank in the heart of your friends, tells Mehdi us, director of the movie they`re editing now.
We put on our headscarves in the Iranian way, so that the half of our hair is uncovered, put on our long coat and drive to Shirine`s house, where she`s making dinner for us.
These are the women of Tehran.
Three so beautiful women of Tehran.
A beautyspecialist, an assistant art-director and an athlete.
Three so strong women of Tehran.
I arrange my headscarve again and wonder what I would do if I was being pulled up with chains on my feet to the ceiling for five hours in total.
I wonder.
My back would ache, I would hate the president, would maybe smoke and drink a lot like Mahbube.
That`s what I think.
And also that I am very lucky.
And all the rest I don`t know and I don`t think. It`s over now.

Tehran part Two

2009-11-20T13:50:00.000-08:00

Tehran part One

2009-11-20T13:28:00.000-08:00

Erzurum

2009-11-20T12:40:00.000-08:00

De grens : de Koerden en hun feest

2009-11-20T12:24:00.001-08:00

We zijn in iran!

Wat voorafging :

De grens

Dogubayazit, grensplaats, non-plaats, doorgangsoord, ontmoetingsplek, nomadenwoonplaats, Koerden.
Vier mannen lopen op een open plek, twee ervan ontmoeten elkaar even, gaan dan elk hun eigen weg
De moskee echoot door de heuvels
De zon brandt, om vier uur is ze onder, dan is het ijskoud
Het moet hard zijn hier te leven
Nomaden hebben hun plekje gemaakt tussen de ruines van wat kan het iemand eigenlijk schelen, stenen zijn stenen
Een troep soldaten steekt de straat over
Ze lijken meer op schooluitstapjongetjes aan het begin van hun pubertijd
Dat komt ervan met die verplichte legerdienst zegt Laura
In Camping Murat waar we slapen, aan de voet van het onwaarschijnlijk indrukwekkende en goed bewaarde Ishak Pasha paleis, is er een feest, een koerdenfeest
We komen binnen
Een man achter de synthesizer, een zingende man ernaast
De versterker op overmaximum
Ogen en longen passen zich aan aan de rook
Murat zelve komt meteen naar ons toe en geeft ons een plek aan een tafel
Ik tel 1 vrouw in de neonverlichte tapijtzaal en een veertigtal mannen
Het blijkt een feest voor haar verjaardag
De mannen lachen hard drinken hard roken hard
De vrouw ziet er niet zo gelukkig uit stelt laura vast
Een man gaat naast lau zitten, een tweede man schuift aan
Murat vraagt om whiskey en krijgt meteen de hele halfvolle fles van een helper
De versterker van de zingende man en de synthesizer werkt nog steeds heel goed
Een bord met fruit en een brandende zakdoek wordt op onze tafel gesmeten, ook chocolade
De man naast lau wil ons onafgebroken banaan op een vork voeren
De whiskey wordt onafgebroken aangevuld
Het kersensap ook
It`s my job to make people drunk, but I not
vertrouwt Murat me al roepend toe en valt ondertussen bijna van zijn stoel
Hij houdt van het leven zegt hij
Ok, zeggen wij
De man die nu bijna op Lau`s schoot zit zegt I love Belgium
Dat nemen we aan ja
Belgium good for Kurdish people, PKK, you know PKK?
Yes, we know PKK
Do you have friends in Belgium vraag ik
Now I have two yes is het antwoord
We eten de chocolade en het fruit en houden ondertussen de afstand die nodig is om juist geen Koerd op onze schoot te krijgen
All my friends roept Murat wijzend naar de veertig mannen
Ik knik
De vrouw is er niet meer
Ik vraag iets in de stijl van what do you do?
Importexport. 90 percent of people here. importexport
Wat doet een mens hier anders?
I take everything as long as it`s good money
Ik begrijp
Er worden servietten gegooid van tafel naar tafel. Feest. Koerdisch feest. Mijn eerste Koerdisch feest.
You are my sisters zegt Murat die niet Murat blijkt te heten maar Saim en ook niet Murat blijkt te zijn maar zijn broer.
I will pray to my Jesus for you. My Jesus is good.
Dan zegt hij nog iets van een gezicht en een raam en erdoor kijken maar dat kan ik niet zo goed verstaan
Hij blijkbaar ook niet want hij voegt er zelfbewust aan toe maybe I`m a little drunk
De Koerden. Ze zijn waarschijnlijk niet over 1 kam te scheren. Zoals niemand.
Ze houden van luide synthesizermuziek, van Belgie en de vrouwen van Belgie, sommigen hebben een eigen Jezus, anderen zijn communist, drinken geen alcohol, houden van de PKK en doen - hier althans- aan importexport. Dat is wat ik weet. Meer niet.
We besluiten dat het tijd is wat meer afstand te nemen, danken voor de gastvrijheid en gaan naar onze kamer. Dat van dat raam en dat gezicht wil ik liever misbegrepen hebben, maar ik neem het zekere voor het onzekere en bedek de ramen nog met een laken-matrasconstructie
Morgen Iran
Turkije was goed voor ons, toch voor het grootste deel
Semra en Zekeriya zullen onze laatste herinnering aan Turkije zijn en dat is heel heel goed
We slapen goed, zonder Koerdisch gezicht voor het raam
De volgende ochtend stappen we de zeven kilometer naar het centrum waar de dolmush (busje) ons naar de grens voert
Aan de grens wordt ons aan zowel Turkse als Iraanse kant gevraagd wat we in Iran gaan doen
Tourist zeggen we en zetten onze doek op ons hoofd
Een vrouw in hijab (hijab in het farsi betekent letterlijk tent) kijkt ons aan en stopt daar niet mee
Na een tijdje glimlach ik en zeg ik salam
Dat helpt , nu glimlacht ze tenminste terwijl ze ons blijft aankijken
Wat zullen we tegenkomen aan de andere kant?
Heel veel gastvrijheid, nieuwe vrienden, geldproblemen en intens gemengde gevoelens zo blijkt.

quotes

2009-11-19T00:07:00.000-08:00

Worrying is the same as chewing chewinggum to solve an algebraproblem.
English Nic with her old ambulance
Afscheid nemen is alsof de conducteur een gaatje in je ticket prikt.
Susan na het afscheid met El en mama.
From now, very up.
Thanos op de Olympos, een uur voor de top.
The feet walk alone.
Thanos tijdens razendsnelle afdaling van de Olympos
Only when we lose what we have do we value it truly.
M.Mazower in Salonica
Never trust the women or the weather of Istanbul.
Serdar, onze eerste couchsurfhost
I don`t like it that they want women to close their everywhere, that only the eyes are open.
Ahmed, bontverkoper en paraglider, over de conservatieve moslims
Blijf beslissen zonder beslist te worden.
uit mail van papa
I read in a book that a more proper name for earth would be water.
Marcus, Australian traveller
Maybe he has the wrong address.
Hakan over orkaan die maar niet komt in Antalya
Clean shoes, lady?
Schoenenpoetser in Antalya. Ik draag sandalen.
To know if someone is really a good person you have to travel with him, do business with him and see him in a high position.
The prophet Mohammed
-Moge je lang leven
-Moge jij zien dat ik lang leef
Turkse uitspraak na niezen
There are different ways to reach one goal, but I believe that mine is best.
Zekeriya about his belief
Don`t kill the day.
Murat`s brother of Camping Murat advises us to go walking while the sun is still shining
Why you go to Iran?
verbaasde Turkse politie aan de grens met Iran
Why you come to Iran?
verbaasde Iraanse man in de rij aan de Iraanse kant van de grens
I will pray to my Jesus for you.
Murat`s brother who considers us as his sisters
That must be Ahmadinejad giving a speech.
F. in de Alborzberg in Tehran na het horen van het balken van een ezel

Sponges we stumble upon

2009-11-10T23:45:00.000-08:00

I will remember Antalya as the town where we looked for a good place to eat, the town where a hurricane was expected to pass through but eventually he must have had the wrong address told us Hakan, the archeologystudent who showed us the non-touristic part of the town and a good good restaurant. The town where we found the good nightrest to be able to carry on to the east. A town where we passed through.

The next day Nihad the gentle medicineseller gave us a lift all the way to Konya, in the middle of Turkey. It's the first place where we're real strangers. In Istanbul,with some imagination, we could've been one of them. Not in Konya we can. We see only women with hijabs on the street. I discover a certain feeling of unease sitting on the bus, holding my house, wearing a headscarve just for the beauty of it. On that bus I wish we could be hosted once by a Muslim family. To get rid of my unease and ignorance. To understand. A woman with the kindest eyes ever steps on. Even without smiling or looking at me I could feel the friendliness of that woman. It made me feel more comfortable on the bus in the conservative muslimtown.

From Konya we take the bus to Cappadocia, to Göreme, a town where you don't want to be in the season seeing all the guided tours,rafting,horseriding,hotels,the quads,bikes,cars to rent. Now the town looks empty and the people unhappy. We have a walk in the spectacular spongey landscape, spongey due to the eruptions of the volcano's surrounding the area. While walking I realise that this is not something we planned to see, we just happened to stumble upon it, like all the other things and people we meet. I realise I didn't know anything about Turkey,Atatürk,the Ottoman empire,the so many different nationalitybackgrounds of the Turks. I realise this is why we're making this journey. To meet and greet whatever comes and to learn from it. I decide to write about this, about the why and the how of this journey, something to grab on to if we would ever forget, a little support that could be useful some time, maybe. You can read the result on this blog under the title why and how.

We're skipping the hitchhiking for a while and decide to go on by bus and train or only with people we've known for a while. One not so kind, very sad and lonely man showed us that not everybody has the right intensions. But for the record, we're ok and we're very happy that we are where we are now. In Erzurum. The East. It's cold and the sun is under at 4:30pm but we couldn't have been in a better place than we are. We're staying with Semra and Zekeriya and their two chidren Betül and Lokman. A muslimfamily. It's what I had wished for on that Konyabus. The generosity that is so normal to them surprises us so. We were one of the family from the second we entered the house. We can wash our clothes, eat the incredible food of Semra and in the evening we're all together in the sofa for reading hour. We decide not to rush and stay here for a few days. In fact we decide not to rush at all anymore on this journey. Like this, things can come in their own pace and we're greatfully following that rythm and slowly forgetting about the Belgian one.

All is good

2009-11-04T05:38:00.000-08:00

people

The time has come to speak some english. Most of the people we met don't speak the dutch language and would like to follow our journey. Hi welcome and thanks. So where were we.
We left Istanbul on the 28th of october and headed to Ölüdeniz,on Turkey's Mediterranean coast. No better place to test the ebaytent for the first time than the 'paradisish' beach of Ölüdeniz.
No better place to celebrate Laura's 27th birthday than the paradisish beach of Ölüdeniz.
While paragliders are flying above us I keep on thinking of when we went flying a few days ago. I think about how strangely normal it felt to be up there. Think about the complete confidence I had in Yurdaer,our magnificent co-flyer and fantastic pilot-friend. I think about how nice it is to be able to trust people you don't know for a long time and to be trusted by them. It happens to us all the time and it seems that by doing so we attract the right ones...

Kaş

We're staying in Kaş with Necmi, a friend of Memet,our couchsurfinghost from Istanbul. I'm on his terrace. There's storm. Lightning. Thinking that everything is fine like it is. That this travel won't turn me into someone else,like I must have been thinking sometimes,that everything's just fine like it is. I think about home and how being away affects the homestayers. Hearing the thunder. Think about the bellydancer of last night that went lying on her back and the enthousiasm with which she asked the old man and his son to drink raki out of her bellybutton. Think about how it will be when I'll be back. Not much different than before I imagine. There's electricity in the air. The moon's almost full again. Thinking that my thoughts are perfectly fine like they are.

Çıralı

Ali and Zeyneb give us our first lift. From Kaş to Çıralı. There we meet Günay who proposes us to put our tent in his garden if we want. He sais : "Turks everywhere. You go Alaska,you see Turks."
Where do all these nice people we meet come from? Turkey apparently.
We walk to Chimaera, the flames that are formed out of gas from the earth that comes in contact with the air. We stay here for a while, it darkens, the moon's there again and we are ordinarily greatfully normally happy.
Every morning we do yoga and every day someone asks us if he/she can join. Nice to leave a yogatrace behind.

We'll see

We're in Antalya now. The next thing will be Capadoccia. Probably we'll go there with Nic and her van.
Soon you'll hear more about that.
Insjallah and everything's fine like it is.

Nog Istanbul

2009-10-27T16:15:00.001-07:00

Er was het afscheid met Susan, één traan en de busdeur ging dicht
Het ontvangen van Laura in een stad die de mijne al lijkt
De hamam met Ali de zachtaardige schrobber
Serdar, onze eerste couchsurfhost
Biddende mannen voor de apotheek
Baba Zula met een etnisch electronisch buikdansconcert
De ondergaande zon in de smog
De stemmen en woorden van thuis
Het paragliden boven de zwarte zee
De sultanahmet met west dat oost komt zien bidden
De grand bazaar met "I hope you're looking for me","I wanna be your girlfriend","I have all other colors too","I work here,if you visit,I'm happy"
Memet en Sibel,onze tweede couchsurfers en vrienden ondertussen
Yurdaer,onze paraglidevriend
Engelse Nic die naar Nepal rijdt met een oude ambulance
Vrouwen in korte rokken naast vrouwen in lange rokken naast vrouwen verhuld naast mannen die op kleine stoeltjes zitten en op kleine jongetjes lijken
De troep Koerden die morgen uit Duitsland komt en niemand weet wat gebeuren zal
De gezichten die Mongools,Bulgaars,Grieks,Aziatisch,Russisch lijken
De thee's overal thee's de baklava's de pilav de kleuren alle kleuren
De klagende minaretten naast de mcDonalds en Starbucks
De veertien miljoen mensen
En het ont-thuizen van zowel Laura als Maaike
Istanbul
Bijvoorbeeld

Ook Istanbul

2009-10-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

Een vrouw legt haar sluier goed voor de foto zoals wij ons haar goed leggen
de minaret speelt een cassette
een jongen van tien rookt een sigaret
ik eet een gevulde aardappel die kumpir heet en blijf maar denken aan de ogen van de buikdanseres van gisteren
Istanbul.
Bijvoorbeeld.

Maaike

Istanbul

2009-10-27T14:22:00.000-07:00

nieuws en nieuws

2009-10-20T16:49:00.000-07:00

Klein bericht uit Istanbul : Laura is gearriveerd. Het tweede deel van de reis kondigt zich aan. Eerst nog even afkicken met Susan en aankicken met Laura. Er zit overgang in de lucht. Van west naar oost, van auto naar geen auto, van afscheid naar ontmoeting naar afscheid, van natuur naar stad. Alles is in verandering. Maar dat begin ik als een natuurlijke staat der dingen te beschouwen. Ik laat begaan en kijk nieuwsgierig uit.

Tussen de Olympos en Turkije

2009-10-20T02:01:00.000-07:00

"Only when we lose what we have do we value it truly" uit Salonica van M.Mazower.

We verlaten Litohoro, en dus ook de Olympos. Ons nieuwe plekje ligt op enkele kilometers van Litohoro want we zijn moe. De berg eist zijn tol.

Er is een strandje, een mobilhome met twee Duitsers, het is warm, het waait. Er is een afdakje waar Kantina op staat, auto's met enkel mannen rijden af en aan. De Duitser - Tony- slaat vliegen dood en speelt Rummikub met zijn vrouw - Maria. En zo geschiedt onze eerste rustdag sinds lang. Op een plek tussen dorp en zee, tussen vuil en mooi, tussen raar en nog raarder, tussen berg en zee. De Olympos achter ons, de machtige Mytikas waar we op stonden, gisteren nog, alweer onaanraakbaar, zoals het hoort. We aaien onze huiszwerfhond nog even slaapwel en noemen het een dag.

Het boek was beter dan de stad (of toch juister)...

Thessaloniki. Wat ik ervan mag verwachten volgens de auteur van Salonica : Een Griekse stad. Meer niet. De sporen van het heterogene verleden en de Ottomaanse bezetting zorgvuldig uitgewist.

We wandelen de hoofdstraat af waar zich één van de laatst overgebleven moskees en een oude hamam bevinden. De moskee wordt verbouwd (al sinds lang) en is ontoegankelijk, in de oude hamam liggen uitwerpselen... In het museum van de white tower besef ik hoe machtig een museum is met zijn schijnbare onpartijdigheid maar in werkelijkheid kiest het zelf wat een buitenstaander te weten komt over het verleden. Enkele woorden vielen over de tijd van de bezetting, maar enkel in termen als "wij, de slaven". Over de relatieve vrede waarin drie geloofsbetuigingen naast elkaar konden leven geen woord. Over de Ma'min, een nieuwe strekking, ontstaan uit Joden die zich bekeerd hebben tot de Islam, geen woord.

Van het kosmopolitische gehalte van Thessaloniki hebben we niet veel gemerkt, noch in het museum noch in het echt. Wat niet wil zeggen dat het geen fantastische stad is. De upper town met z'n huisjes in alle kleuren op de helling, de overdekte markt in het centrum, de moskee die verbouwd is tot cinema, de louloudadika hamams. Als je goed kijkt vindt je nog wat tekens van het rijke verleden van de stad maar van de vele Joden die hier ooit woonden, geen spoor. Zelfs hun kerkhof is met geweld door de Duitsers vernield. Nu staat er de universiteit. Maar daarover geen woord in het museum. Er zijn nog wat demonen uit het verleden waar ze hier mee af te rekenen hebben.

Maar, zoals gezegd, het blijft een geweldige stad, temeer omdat het boek me getoond heeft hoe ze vroeger was. Dan kijk je anders.

We zetten de weg, in moeheid, verder, vinden een slaapplek en doen wat moet : slapen en weeral veel verwerken.

tussen raar en nog raarder, the sequel

We zijn in Halkidiki. Met veel moeite, zelfs buiten het seizoen, vinden we een plek waar we enkele dagen rustig kunnen staan zonder al te veel 'toeristen'. We staan op het strand Kriaritsi naast Camping Cristina die nooit open geweest lijkt. Er zijn koeien, op het strand twee vissers, een kudde geiten komt voorbij, tientallen willekeurige asfaltwegen die plots stoppen. We zijn er weer, op een plek tussen dorp en zee, tussen vuil en mooi, tussen raar en nog raarder, zoals Griekenland er vele telt. De temperaturen zijn hoog, de sterren helder, het leven mooi. Tot zover het weer en de sfeer. De eerste Turkse woordjes worden geleerd, Istanbul here we come.

De Zee

De natuur doet zijn werk : onwaarschijnlijke windstoten en bijhorende golven. Zelfs Griekenland moet ooit toegeven aan de winter beseffen we, maar ze houdt moedig haar kop nog even hoog zodat we 's middags onze kleren moeten uit- en bikini aansmijten. De wind blijft, de golven hoog. We hebben daarstraks een Duitse jongen erin zien duiken (is het vakantie voor de Duitsers?), dan kunnen wij dat ook. We doen het. Niet nadenken. De golf overspoelt ons volgens plan. Maar dan, op het moment waarop ik verwacht boven te komen en tegen Susan wil roepen ongelooflijk wat een golf, is er alleen maar water in alle richtingen. Ik denk vanalles maar vooral oei en raak in paniek. Uiteindelijk dan toch bovengekomen. Ik zie Susan die blijkbaar in het zand is gesmeten door De Zee. Ik ben er nog niet vanaf en zie achter mij een even groot exemplaar. Ik vervloek mezelf voor het fantastische idee van het nabootsen van een Duitser, besef dan dat ik daar nu niets mee ben en zwem of krauwel naar de kant. Ik raak onelegant- wat kan het mij schelen ik leef- aan wal. Ik zal me nooit meer schuldig maken aan het nabootsen van een Duitser noch aan het onderschatten van De Zee...

Drama, de grens en een Engelse accordeonactrice

Het Griekse Drama is onze laatste stopplaats voor de grens met Turkije. We zijn snel het stadje uit want beseffen dat natuur niet iets is wat we veel zullen zien in Istanbul. We snuiven de heuvels op, de akkers, de ijskoude lucht (opeens is het 23 graden kouder dan gisteren!) en bereiden ons al slapend voor op wat komen gaat in Turkije.

De volgende dag. Aan de grens met Turkije ontmoeten we Nic, een Engels actrice die met haar busje over land naar India gaat. Een ontmoeting die we niet gauw zullen vergeten en die nog een staartje zal krijgen in onze nabije toekomst heb ik het gevoel. Ze leert ons alvast dat piekeren hetzelfde is als een kauwgom eten om een wiskunde-oefening op te lossen. To be continued.

the feet walk alone

2009-10-07T03:26:00.000-07:00

We zijn terug...

Maandag om 13u vertrokken voor de eerste drie uur opwaarts. Daar veel te lang naar de volle maan gekeken (zie fotooo),geslapen in de refuge, of tenminste in het bed gelegen en niet kunnen slapen omwille van veel indrukken en misschien zat de vele slechte rode Griekse wijn er ook voor iets tussen. In ieder geval, de volgende ochtend om 8u vertokken. Na een halfuur zei Thanos, Griekse Olymposkenner die we via de tante van Susan leerden kennen en onze gids was, hij zei dus : from now is very up. Zijn engels had gelijk. 3 uur later zijn we dan op de top aangekomen, na een laatste klimbeurt van een uur waarin ik veel demonen heb moeten wegjagen. Na juist een bijna verticale platte steen te hebben overkropen - nog tien minuten voor de top- zei Thanos : these stones no good, dangerous, you fall down, waarna hij onze gezichten zag en eraan toevoegde : but not now... Het maakte mij - raar- minder bang en na 10 minuten verder krabbelen bereikten we uiteindelijk de volle 2919 meter. Ik heb dan toch een traan weggepinkt bij al dat moois en al die overwonnen angsten.

Niet lang daarna begon de afdaling. Die nogal leek op de beklimming, maar dan in omgekeerde richting. Na een klein uur kwamen we terecht op iets begaanbaarder paden. We hadden nog een afdaling van vier uur voor de boeg. Thanos ging ons voor, wij erachter. De snelheid van die man! En dat ging maar door. Susan en ik probeerden elkaar nog wat uit te lachen bij elke struikel maar dat stopte al snel toen we merkten dat dat tot meer zelfgestruikel leidde. In stilte en in snelheid daalden we verder. Ik waagde het nog op een bepaald moment te zeggen that I didn`t have control over my body anymore waarop Thanos antwoordde : the feet walk alone. En toen zijn mijn voeten effectief alleen beginnen afdalen, ik volgde, verbaasd, want het werkte. Mijn voeten daalden. Ik liet ze met vertrouwen begaan. Na een tocht van in totaal 8 uur (incl. pauzes) kwamen we op de weg die naar de auto van Thanos leidde. Alleen stond die nog 4 km verder en was er geen enkele lift in de juiste richting. Ach ja, nog een kleine 40 minuten erbij. De laatste 500 meter hebben we dan maar gerend, wat kon het ons nog schelen. De dag was compleet. De voeten heet. De lichamen gezuiverd. Het hoofd leeg. De berg heeft ons met liefde ontvangen. Goden heb ik niet gezien, maar dat schijnt dan weer eigen aan Hen te zijn.

Tot de volgende keer. Thessaloniki ligt al in zicht.

ik geloof in alle goden

2009-10-04T06:44:00.000-07:00

Ik zal nooit rust vinden tenzij in deze ene zekerheid dat ik nooit rust zal vinden.
De reis gaat verder met rasse schreden. Mijn mama en zus zijn op bezoek geweest. Elk op hun manier hebben ze nood aan rust, aan even weg zijn, aan zon, aan elkaar. Het komt goed uit, Susan en ik ook. We vinden elkaar in Athene, gaan slapen in een tl-verlichte slaapzaalachtige hotelkamer. De volgende dag beklimmen we de Akropolis. Er lopen minstens twaalf bodyguards met belangrijke gezichten rond. We vinden dat allemaal wat overdreven voor een bouwwerk, maar beseffen dan dat ze bij een belangrijke man horen. Een man met een zonnebril. Het blijkt de baas van de Navo te zijn die de Akropolis ook wil beklimmen vandaag. Onze aandacht verdeelt zich tussen het bouwwonder en het kale belangrijke mannetje.
Na de Akropolis laten we Athene achter. We moeten snel gaan genieten en ontspannen want Elke en mama hebben maar zes dagen. Mama kent Griekenland op haar duimpje en loodst ons naar Kalamos, het einde van de wereld, in de Pilion. Vier dagen lang doen we yoga op het strand, lezen we, eten we, lezen we opnieuw, zwemmen we, eten we, kaarten we, lezen we en slapen we. Vier vrouwen op een keerpunt in hun leven, elk op hun manier. Het is een mooie ontmoeting.
Ondertussen de kans gehad om veel te lezen. In Salonica, City of Ghosts, van Mark Mazower, over Thessaloniki, dat nog op de route ligt. Over de onwaarschijnlijkheid van een stad waarin Moslims, Joden en Christenen voor lange tijd relatief vredig naast elkaar hebben kunnen leven. Dat kwam door de -ook weer relatieve- verdraagzaamheid van de Moslims. Zij waren niet geïnteresseerd in het opleggen van hun eigen godsdienst aan anderen. Zolang hun macht niet bedreigd werd ( van 1430-1912 was Thessaloniki onder Ottomaans bewind), waren ze verdraagzaam tov andere godsdiensten. Zo anders dan de Christenen en hun bekeerdrang...
Thessaloniki is lang een grensgebied geweest tussen Oost en West, een kruispunt waar veel volkeren, godsdiensten en wegen samenkwamen. Nu is het een volledig Griekse stad. We zullen het eens van dichtbij gaan bekijken binnen een kleine week. Het Oosten komt langzaam dichterbij.
Nu eerst nog afscheid nemen van Elke en mama. Het is alweer voorbij. Weer een nieuwe bladzijde. Ik begin het al gewoon te worden en besef dat afscheid nemen meer dan een noodzakelijk kwaad is, maar simpelweg een onderdeel van het reizen zelf. Reizen is continu ontmoeten en weer afscheid nemen. Het doet de vluchtigheid van alles inzien. Reizen vergroot elke ervaring uit. Het is wat het leven elke dag zou moeten zijn, maar dan in een notendop.
Dan zijn er nog de Meteora. De kloosters die zweven tussen hemel en aarde om dichter bij God te kunnen zijn. Het is hen gelukt. Ik geloof.
Nu zitten we in Letohoro, aan de voet van de Olympos. Maandag trekken we de Olympos op. Wanneer we terugkomen zal ik in veel Goden geloven. Ik hou u op de hoogte.

Maaike

Alles

2009-09-25T05:41:00.000-07:00

De boot genomen van Brindisi naar Patra, een reis van een uur of zestien. Tijd genoeg om de voorbije week te overschouwen, denkend aan de Italianen en hun openheid, hun emotionaliteit die me zo geneerde in het begin maar die zo ontwapenend is. Ik heb een paar mensen kado gekregen, waarvoor dank.
Op de boot was er Demo, een Bulgaarse 24-jarige ingenieur die me enkele uren lang zijn leven vertelde in zijn eigen Engels. ...She was so lonely in the face... No! That`s not unbelievable, that`s believable! ...I love your mother (na een kwartier praten)...
Griekenland nu. Susans eerste zin : Wauw, dit is zo anders dan wat ik tot nu toe al gedaan heb.
Ik wilde graag voor onze eerst nacht naar een uiterste stukje Griekenland, een baaitje, een vuurtoren, zoiets. Het werd Akr. Arachos. Er was alles, maar dan ook echt alles. Een pracht van een uitzicht, een paradijsstrand, een ondergaande zon, een doorschijnend blauwe zee. En daarbij ook nog eens een Duitse mobilhome, een mug, twee muggen, zevenhonderd muggen, wind, heel veel wind, zand in ons eten.Maar ook een door ons nooit eerder geziene sterrenhemel, een vuurtje dat zichzelf aanblies. Dan, slapen. Niet in de camionette omwille van de zevenhonderd bloedlustigen. Op het strand dus, met de kop onder een of andere cabine, met een zelfgemaakt windzeil en zand overal. Gewekt door een mug die in m`n oog stak en twee wespen die in m`n oren vlogen en een Duitse herder en een Duitse labrador die in m`n slaapzak vlogen. Maar ook : gezwommen in het blootje, yoga gedaan op het strand. Er was alles in ons paradijs.
Op dit moment zijn we in Korinthe. Morgen komen de mama en de zus. Het wordt een reis met veel bladzijden, die met Susan, die met enkele bezoekers, die met Laura. Kijk er alleen maar naar uit. Heb het gevoel dat het nu vakantie is, een prachtvakantie weliswaar en dat de cultuurshock zich ergens in, rond en na Istanbul zal bevinden. Ik wacht nieuwsgierig af.
Ondertussen Persepolis aan het lezen van Marjane Satrapi. Je kunt alleen maar medelijden hebben met jezelf zolang je leed nog te overzien is, als die grens is overschreden kun je het onverdraaglijke alleen nog verdragen door erom te lachen... Stof tot nadenken op deze paradijsreis. Ik zal misschien maar schuldbewust glimlachen bij de volgende verschrikkelijk jeukende muggenbeet en danku zeggen voor...alles.

italië

2009-09-21T03:14:00.000-07:00

10 dagen geleden vertrokken... de vanette heeft haar eerste stapjes gezet, van Luik naar Basel naar Lago di Garda naar Verona naar Brindisi. We hebben bij Tante Lies (dankuu) geslapen, op een strand, in de olijfboomgaard van Sante. (zie foto's)

Een week van hard werken ligt achter ons. In Brindisi heb ik meegedaan aan een dansworkshop met Julie Stanzak (danscompagnie van Pina Bausch). Susan heeft gefilmd (zie het resultaat later hier op de blog). Yoga, tai chi, dansimprovisaties, benen in de nek

leggen en dubbelplooien heb ik gedaan. Het was een heftige week, een aanwakkering van doorzettingsvermogen. Ik beschouw het als een krachtige opwarming voor het vervolg van de reis en ben Gaia en Hervé (die het georganiseerd hebben) en Julie en al de rest ongelooflijk dankbaar voor het volle vertrouwen en de intensiteit. Nu roept de road, of toch de boot, naar Griekenland toe.

It's 3:22 am, saturday the 5th of september. I will never sleep again.

2009-09-04T18:28:00.000-07:00

Meeting and greeting what- and whoever crosses my path. That’s my humble mission. I’ll be glad to tell you all about it once the journey has started. In 5 days Susan and her van (a nissan vannette ’93!) and me are leaving from Luik in Belgium. Our first goal is Brindisi in the south of Italy. On this blog you’ll read my thoughts and impressions during the journey over land from Belgium to Nepal. Sometimes short, sometimes not, sometimes about the country, sometimes not, sometimes a poem, sometimes a quote, sometimes a memory, sometimes in dutch. Its 3:22 am, saturday the 5th. See you in five days my friends.

Maaike