Orble - Random Travels

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I caught up with an old mate of mine on the weekend, one of those old buddies who seem to slip through the gaps as life proceeds and time contracts. We were mates at that transcendental age when you believe there is nothing you could not do better, and no force that cod harm you. We were both reckless and rebellious, and always as close as you could be to expulsion from our school. If we hadn't been the stern pair of the 1st VIII I am sure we would have got the boot. We didn't and went on to win the rowing championships and travel to the National titles in Perth, representing our school.

When I look back at some of the risks we took I don't cower or regret anything - they were amazing times. We used to wag school and play pokies at the Veneto club during PE, or sneak away and climb the impossibly tall Electrical Towers. From so far up you could see for miles, and I remember one time we saw our class boarding the bus for an excursion we had forgotten about. We had to fly down the tower ad run back, too late of course, and we were duly punished. We would compete to see who could amass the most detentions in one term – I think it was 27 hours to 23 at one stage.

Invariably we would have to return to the school at the end of the term and suffer a reverse detention, which was secretly my favorite part of the school year. It was like a handpicked bunch of the most creative and disobedient girls and guys set loose in an abandoned school. One teacher was in charge of the lot and our chore would be to wander the grounds collecting rubbish. The only other souls on campus would be the cleaners, who sympathized with us and drank at the same topless bar, that we did. One of the cleaner’s sons played footy in the same team I did, and would kick the ball with us. Ahh detention. It’s where I made most of my true school friends.

JP and I shared one great love – comics. Especially Conan, and specifically the Savage Sword of Conan. We were also incorrigible kleptomaniacs and would sneak off at lunchtime to go looting at the comic shop. We had an impossibly brazen but effective way of stealing the goods. We would walk around store, removing the comics we wanted from their protective plastic bags, to which the metal alarm was attached. Amassing a pile of the best of new releases and back issues, we would stuff the comics inside our blazers, keeping them in place with one arm. We would select sleepy looking victim, usually an Asian school boy, and deftly slip the alarm tag in their bag or pocket.

The side blazer pocket usually had a yawning gap perfectly suited to this purpose. Both of us would approach the front counter and purchase an Amazing Spider man or something cheap, then become distracted by the collection of miniature models near the front of the store. When the hapless target unknowingly set off the alarm, the security guard would approach them and move them into the store to frisk them, past our vantage point from where we would causally stroll out, suppressing the laughter and booming adrenalin rush that shoplifting will inject. Loaded with contraband we would retreat to JP's house via the 7-11, and slurpees in hand, would languorously devour the pages of Black& White fantasy we loved.

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Letter from Bolivia

December 17th 2007 00:59

I checked my email at work this morning to find a message from a friend who is travelling through South America right now. It is a fairly impressive tale, and it made my morning.

Mt. Huayna Potosi

Faaaark!

Mate just got back from the craziest and most hectic ice climb attempt ever. 5 of us tried to climb Huayna Potosi, a very scary looking mountain that sits at a lazy 6088 metres above sea level. I think this is the one you said you regretted not doing.

I can easily say that it was the scariest and best experience of my life.

The tour guide advertised it as an easy climb that was suitable for climbers with no experience. No worries. The guide also said that the weather was going to be perfect and that we should have no problems getting up.

Yesterday morning we set off at 9 am and drove the two hours to the base of the mountain. We then had a very tough 6 hour hike to the refuge from where we were to make our assault to the summit. We were carrying all of our gear so we were pretty knackered when we got to the refuge at about 5.30. Weather had been spot on so there were no worries. We had some food and then tried to get some sleep, because we were getting up at 12.30am to climb up the ice to get to the summit. The climb had to be done at night because during the day the sun melts the ice and avalanches are frequent.

We all got up feeling shithouse, the altitude is pretty intense at 5200, which was the height of the refuge. Had a quick stale roll with jam (standard breakfast fare over here), and started kitting up. We were wearing thermals, pants, t-shirt and two fleece jumpers, all of which were covered by a full ski suit and gators to stop the snow/ice from getting into your heavy duty boots. Balaclava and two sets of gloves mandatory. We had to wear massive spikes on our boots for traction, and the piece de la resistance was the nasty ice axe we had to use to climb.

As we set off, there were massive flashes of lightning all around us, but they seemed to be in the distance so we ignored them and began the climb. Climbing was very difficult, the ice was very steep, and quite soft in parts. The ice axe was a life saver, you used it every step to push your self up. About 45 minutes into our ascent, it began to snow (it is late december i might add). As we kept walking the snowfall increased and increased until you could only see as far as the person you were tied to in front of you (we were all in harnesses and in groups of three, there were 5 of us and three guides). In some sections we were crossing over passes that were so narrow and that if you fell off you would be dead straight away. In other sections we had to jump over the nastiest looking crevasses ever, one metre wide jobs that looked like bottomless pits. Adrenaline was flowing big time, i´m scared of heights (used to be anyway) which only added to the madness of it for me.

We reached about 5500metres, 500 from the summit, and apart from being rooted from the altitude and a bit cold from the snow (which was now a flat out blizzard), we were going well and making good time to get to the summit before the sun rose. Here´s where the fun started. We reached the first of two 30 degree ice climbs. This climb went up 80 metres effectively vertically. You had to stop using the ice axe as a walking stick and start throwing it into the face of the ice cliff, then stab your spiked boots into the ice and haul yourself up. Each effort probably gained you 1.5 metres, and it was ridiculously exhausting. It was like a chin up using your feet. So many times i thought i was certainly going to fall but you knew that if your throw with the ice pick wasn´t good and you didn´t get your feet into the ice you would fall and die, and bring down your mate and guide with you. So you just had to go mental and get up. I can´t explain the mixture of fear, adrenaline and general bemusement i was feeling. I kept thinking of how ridiculous it was that i was doing this on my summer holiday!! There is no way that any old punter could do it, not suggesting that i´m strong or anything but there is no way the majority of people could get up.

Anyway, we reached the top of this ice face and now stood just below the summit. As we walked along another impossibly narrow pass towards our final climb a deafening buzzing noise started and i saw metre high sparks coming off the head of the head of my mate. I shouted out to him but no one could hear a thing over the blizzard and the buzzing noise. The next thing i know our guide is pushing us to the ground screaming ËLECTRICALE!!! We were lying face down in the snow and a massive crack of lighning struck somewhere nearby. Our guide is shouting MUCHO PELIGROSO! (much danger!) at us and holding us down. Here we were, on the side of a monstrous mountain, wearing metal spikes on our feet and carying a virtual antenna in our hands with the ice axe, and we are in the middle of an electrical storm. Brilliant. We were all genuinely afraid now, we were way out in the open on the top of a narrow pass. Even our guide was panicking. We lied down for an impossibly long time, and i started to worry that if we didn´t get hit by lightning we were going to die of hypothermia. For some reason i started to find the whole thing quite funny. I guess you either do that or start crying.

After a while our guide pointed us back down the side of the mountain - lighning was crashing every 2 minutes and if you held up your hand, the sparks would start flashing off them again. There was so much electricity in the air you could smell it. So, despite having made it to 5800 metres, a mere 200 metres from the summit, we were forced to climb back down. It was pretty disappointing to have got so close but we quite seriously would have died had we stood up and attempted the climb in that weather. The climb down was hairy as well, we had to jump over another really ugly looking crevasse and also scale down a ice cliff backwards, which was even scarier than going up.

Anyway we made it back alive, and it was an incredible experience - one i will never forget. I think i might have to come back one day to beat it. The mountain only won by default, it was the lightning that beat us.

Having a cracking time over here, head to BA on the 19th for xmas and new years before Rio. Will be in touch, hope all is well on the Black front and work front.

Adios amigo,

Lace

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Burning Mustard

November 28th 2007 04:44

I was aware that Comlesh was a particularly ruthless masseuse, but I was not prepared for what followed.

I lay lie a piece of meat as Comlesh traced her pattern into my body. She slowly worked her way up my body, massaging my neck and gradually sweeping her fingers toward my face. I begrudgingly allowed her to apply the ointment and gentle massage to my face, even the affected areas, assuming her touch would be soothing on the burning skin that was left. Inexplicably, and utterly intolerably, she applied a type of mustard oil to my nose, its ominously pungent odour hinted at its acerbic nature. She began to roughly rub the contours of my face causing the crumbling flakes of skin to rasp against her finger tips excruciatingly. When the mustard oil was absorbed by the raw layer of nerves underlying the dead peripheral skin, the stinging qualities of the ointment made itself known.

The affect of the scalding oil was not instant. By the time it felt as though a small bushfire was raging across my face, she had finished her torturous work and left the room. Too angry and hurt to speak, lest I burst into tears and further humiliate myself, I got dressed, donned my cap, pulled it low and strode out without a word. As I left the door, I glance to Alicia sitting on the porch, awaiting her session.
“How did you go?” She asked, concerned at my awkward aloofness.
“Shithouse” I murmured, turning away from her to hide my face and walking away toward the gate “I will see you back at the Ashram”.

My unstable emotional state would have been readily apparent, and I felt my mortification at my repulsive visage feed off the thought that they would discuss my problem in my absence. I hurried home and locked the door. I needed to wash off the oil at once, but it couldn’t be done with pressure or haste. I lightly doused the areas with cool water. I took two Panadol and read in bed, my only solace an absorbing book to keep my mind away from the pain and the awareness of my new hideousness.

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Setbacks

November 19th 2007 09:40

On the way to my treatment the following day I was a seething mass of emotions. I had been too embarrassed to face the lecture, meditation, or yoga that morning. Too humiliated even to face Alicia when she came to ask why I was not at meditation. I wanted her comfort but I could not endure the look of sympathy she would give me, or that wincing expression I would witness as she examined my wounds. By the afternoon I was resigned to allow her to inspect the damage. I had observed the aggravated area more clinically and recovered a little after wallowing in self pity. Alicia was entirely professional, as I should have always known she would be, stepping into her nurses persona and comforting me with the utmost care. My unhappiness genuinely distressed her and despite the lapse in passion we had been suffering, there was absolute love expressed in her tending. She suspected the drying of the coconut to oil to have caused to outbreak. I left to go to the ayuvervedic medican man’s clinic and demand a reappraisal of my treatment

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Eczema and Emotions

November 13th 2007 23:35

Relaxing by the Mighty Ganges River, Rishikesh

Alicia and I were really enjoying our time in Rishikesh; yoga 4 hours a day, meditating for 2 hours, a strict diet, massages and relaxing by the mighty Ganges River. The primary reason I was keen to learn more about Ayurvedic medicine and the benefits of Panchkarma was a skin condition I had been enduring for over 12 years. It was a fairly mild but maddening localised form of eczema, unfortunately localised mainly on my nose, resulting in angry red patches and dry, dead skin. For the last few years it had been spreading outward, claiming first the bridge of my nose, then my forehead, eyebrows and now my temples and chin, leaving the condemned areas looking like a 6 year olds birthday cake - pink icing covered with desiccated coconut and flaky almonds. Coupled with chronic and aggressive dandruff, I feared I would run out of skin above my neck before I was thirtyfive

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Panchakarma - Western Medicine Vs Eastern Holistic Health

November 13th 2007 02:15

Shiva

The Panchkama treatment began with a consultation with a young Ayurvedic doctor, who arrived suddenly on a red scooter dressed professionally in a suit and tie, which was totally incongruous with the dusty scene parading in front of the porch of the clinic. It was like someone arriving at an afternoon BBQ in a tuxedo, suiting neither the occasion nor the purpose. He had the impersonal manner of western doctors, but asked questions more akin to a astrologer than a man of science, such as ‘what is your favourite colour? Do you have a good memory?’

They were such open questions with so many variables that I answered hesitantly; ‘Blue, I guess? Yellow maybe? I’d say I have a pretty good memory doctor

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Distracted Mind - Injured body

November 11th 2007 22:41

The Ashram

It was not too difficult to arise in the morning, due to the 10pm curfew. What was difficult was trying to cross-legged in a basement for over an hour in an attempt to focus the mind on nothing. The mind, my mind in any case, has a frustrating way of conjuring fascinating and mundane images to thwart attempts to empty the consciousness. Hitherto forgotten events rose up from the nebulous realms of my memory like a kraken from the depths, and seemed irresistible in their obscurity. Significant conversations; forgotten friends and adventures and unresolved mysteries all tempted and waylaid my untrained mind.

In addition to the mental denizens diligently distracting me, random aches and spasms, ancient injuries and bizarre new sensations would attack my body at regular intervals, disrupting my tenuous concentration and setting me off on whimsical revelries. I would be settling into a deep calm when suddenly a sensation that hot burning fluid was flowing through my left calf would jerk me back to the earthly plane. I would stoically resist the urge to scream, but surreptitiously shifting my body weight to relieve the agony would earn a reproachful glare from the Swami. I could only look on with envy at the statuesque poses of some of the more seasoned acolytes. Swami explained how one could employ a variety of techniques to stem the flow of unbidden thoughts. I tried counting backwards from 100, observing my breath and visualising myself sitting alone on a beautiful, deserted beach. It was very difficult to assess my progress in meditation. It seemed to me I was achieving nothing, but it would be impatient and impertinent of me to present my frustrations to Swami or Babji after only one or two weeks efforts. I decided to persist

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Beatles, Dengue Fever and the 102-year-old Yogi

November 9th 2007 01:32

Hannuman Watches over the Ashram in Rishikesh

It was with an attitude of determination and scepticism that I entered into a course of yoga, breathing and meditation. The setting was inspiring; Rishekesh, Yoga capital of the world, where the Beatles, (except Ringo, who got bored) based themselves for their spiritual adventures in India. This move to the Maharashi, claimed Hunter S Thompson, marked the admittance of defeat to the 60’s generation; the dream of self realisation through mind expanding drugs was over, and those optimistic neophytes in California realised the way was, after all, through instruction, discipline and God.

I pessimistically wondered if I would posses a type of hippy mind, too erratic to be silenced by my own will, too chaotic for tranquility. I was prepared to give peace a chance and however spectacularly I failed it would improve my health through enforced abstinence. One of the fortunate charms of Rishekesh, for the weak willed, is that it is impossible to buy meat or alcohol, in the city (although every second man in an orange sari asks you if you want hash or marihuana

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Yoga - New Begininings

November 8th 2007 03:26

Empty your mind . . .

As a traveller, and a consumer of many things, I spend a lot of time trying the exotic foods of the countries I visit, sampling their famous sweets, alcohols, foods, local brews and other intoxicating delicacies. I crave alien tastes and mysterious fruits, bizarre rituals and obscure customs. Basically I have spent a lot of time, and money, filling my mind and body with foreign cultures with no thought of the sanctity and health of the vessel, especially not of the holistic nature. I thought it was about time to engage in something more nourishing to body, mind and soul. With the debauchery of many years in mind I embarked upon a one month Yoga and meditation course.

The practice of yoga is not entirely a mystery to me; in my sporting days I practiced it on and off for a year or so, mainly to improve my flexibility and prevent soft tissue injuries. I also enjoyed the muscle tone it developed, and I especially admired this result manifested in my girlfriend Alicia, who was a vigorous practitioner. Always in a bit too much of a rush to get home or to training to really benefit from the relaxation at the end of the session, I thought of yoga as merely a good conditioning practice for a healthy body; the spiritual nature of it was practically lost to me

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The Ashram

November 4th 2007 04:18

He stole my bread first!

In India, things occur which can baffle a sensitive mind. People are strange here and animals don’t behave as they should and they provoke you to react in ways which seem unusual upon reflection.

Today when I was taking a piss in my cell like room a monkey came into my room and stole my loaf of bread. When I chased him he scampered just a few feet away and stopped, taunting me with my delicious, freshly baked and purchased loaf. It was still warm. When I lunged again he climbed onto the roof so he could watch me while he ate my loaf. I knew he was male by the large red sack between hanging between his legs, inviting me like to pummel it like a scrotumnal speed ball. It was more of a dodge ball cause I couldn’t get near it

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January 2008

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December 2007

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November 2007