Here we go, wandering around on the main bathing day. Chad and Cerrie brought dry clothes and just changed in the boat so we didn’t have to go back to camp. Then we moseyed about the Ganga. Along with ten million other people. NBD. Keep in mind it’s also 3AM when we start. We get to watch the sunrise. This is the first (and only) sunrise I have ever hated. Stupid sun.

Then I reach my breaking point. Half the group had already gone back to camp 2 hours prior, but I had stayed, convinced I would see the Sadhus. When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, I put on my cranky pants and declared that I was going back. Bobby and Greg wanted to stay; Chad and Cerrie wanted to come with me.

Eric Hematisfingerpoint takes India

don’t let this smirk fool you. i am NOT happy.

So we leave this guy:

in action

and these guys:

we started taking photos of them, too

…and headed back.

All I can say is, THANK GOD Chad and Cerrie came with, because they showed me this “shortcut” which is as close to heaven as I’ve ever been in this lifetime:

an ashram being built

Which technically isn’t a shortcut, but a construction site for a new ashram. We simply ignored the “Do Not Enter” signs and blasted on through, laughing and skipping merrily through the wide open spaces with joyful abandon.

joyful abandon

Meanwhile, THIS is what those other fools had to deal with:

i die

can you spot bobby? he’s the brown one

My group arrives back at camp 10 minutes after the others who left 2 hours ago. More proof I would have died on that road of death. It’s 7AM, and I feel like we’ve already put in an entire day’s worth of work.

Thus begins our day of waiting. You know why we can’t leave? Because it’s the main bathing day, and no cars are allowed to come in or go out. There is literally nothing to do. Literally! We are in the middle of nowhere. The camp offers no entertainment other than sleep. There is no town to explore.

Some of us get sick.

“it was the chai!”

Some of us break the beds.

yep. it crumpled after i sat down.

Some of us attempt sleep. And I say “attempt” because in honor of the main bathing day, the camp counselors erect a crackling loud speaker that reaches to every corner of our camp and someone with a very nasaly voice proceeds to read Hindu prayers for SIX HOURS STRAIGHT.  Without pause. There was no escape. Then Lorelei had a breakdown due to not sleeping in 4 days and the incessant chanting. I laughed at first, thorougly entertained while she screamed and threw pillows in her delirium, until I realized it was real and someone needed to get her a benzo. This religious festival had us unraveling at the seams….

*Photos by Greg Bryan

and more madness-

There’s no schedule per se – no program to follow. Just a bunch (as in, millions) of people walking around kind of aimlessly. And so we do the same. I want the Sadhus. The Sadhus are the religious renunciates who have left all material possessions behind and live in caves. They wear loin cloths or go naked. They are also impervious to the cold due to consistently exposing their bodies to the elements, and abuse their * ahem * members to such drastic degrees that they are no longer capable of getting sexually aroused. They CHOOSE this. Cray.

Anywho, they are always the main draw to the Kumbh since they make quite a spectacle of smearing their naked bodies with ash then running into the river to bathe. I wanted a piece of that.

Cerrie and Chad decide that they’re still going to bathe in the sewage water. That’s fine. We wake up at 2AM the next day/night/whatever and walk down to the river to find a boat to take us to the bathing spot. We climb precariously into the boat, taking care to not let one ounce of water touch our skin. I pretend to push Juana in the river and we both have a good laugh. But my heart drops each time the boat rocks from side to side. She ain’t a sturdy barge, that’s for sure.

Lo’s holding on to her sins. That’s why she’s smiling

just your standard temple shot.

shit’s about to go down. literally.

da boat

maybe he’s reconsidering

Once at the bathing spot, Chad takes off his sarong and sprints through the Ganga in the nude. Best. Moment. Ever…  his naked body reflecting the moonlight. We are all laughing our asses off from the boat until he’s brought in by a river warden. No nakies in the river. Sad. They climb back in and I can smell the dysentery on them. It’s only a matter of time, folks.

i blurred out his bum out of respect. for chad, not you guys

sprinting Ganga style

From there, we set out to find the Sadhus. Where? We don’t know. Like I said, not much organization at this place. But I’m sure in this crowd we’ll just happen to bump into them.

I still hear the chanting. WHERE is that damn chanting? All I wanna do is sit cross legged on the floor and watch some chanting. Maybe burn some sage.

We never found the Sadhus. Henceforth, I was ready to call it a day and get the hell out of Allahabad. But no. The koomb wasn’t done with me yet…

*all photos by Greg Bryan, except the ones that aren’t*

The rest of the day, I was bothered. For the first couple of hours, I blamed it on my hangover and what he had said to me. But if the Path has taught me anything, it’s about looking inward. Investigating my feelings. Taking responsibility for them instead of blaming others for how I feel. So that’s what I did. I went inside and poked around, asking myself what exactly it was that was bothering me. And I realized my discomfort was rooted in MY behavior, not his.

What? I’ll explain.

No sooner had I been declaring the depths of my forgiving heart when God presented me with an opportunity to forgive. “Prove it.” That’s why I’ve got to be careful with what I say. God’s always calling me out. I looked back at how I had behaved with such a minor transgression and I was appalled. I reacted too harshly, and I held it against him entirely too long. Basically the exact opposite of a gentle, forgiving soul. Ick. I was disappointed in myself, which is pretty much the worst feeling ever.

But, I had identified the problem, and I knew what to do next. First I LAF’ed, because being disappointed in one’s behavior is never a fun feeling. I wanted to let that go ASAP. I forgave myself for not living up to my own standards. Then I apologized to him. I owned the irony of the situation: how I had claimed I was forgiving, and then was given an opportunity to forgive and I didn’t take it.

And then it was over. I forgave myself, I spoke my truth, and all feelings of ickiness dissolved instantly.

Not to mention, I was immediately humbled to know that I still have a lot of growing to do. But that’s okay, because that’s what life is all about. Learning, exploring and growing. And LAFing. Never forget to LAF

**If you’re interested in some guided meditations that Kelsie has created, click here!

Kelsie and Mercedes will both be there.

See y’all when I’m back. Have a beautiful weekend.

<3

That right there should have indicated how I would actually feel about this experience.

In a nutshell: I effing hated it. Now not all of my travel companions feel this way, so don’t take my account as the general opinion on the matter. But this blog IS called world according to ERIN, so, there ya go.

The whole point behind this Hindu shindig is to bathe in Mother Ganga. This year, the gathering took place in Allahabad (don’t ever go) at the confluence of the rivers Ganges, Yamuna, and the mystical Saraswati. Yeah. Mystical. I love how they just “created” an imaginary river to complete the holy trinity. I’m not being sarcastic! I really do love that attitude. “Only two rivers here, but we need three. Let’s INVENT one, man.” And then they all high fived each other for being so clever.

So at this very holy place, the Hindus bathe and purge themselves of present and past sins, therefore ending the cycle of reincarnation. They get to stay permanently with God. Deal. I’ll do it too. Just for ceremony’s sake.

UNTIL…

Bobby tells me the fecal matter to water ratio during the festival. Something like 60,000 to 1. Pass. I’ll keep my sins.

It takes 6 hours on the train from Delhi to Allahabad.

just a tiny corner of the station

When we arrive it’s just…confusing. Chaotic. There were people sleeping everywhere. Why? What’s going on? And of course they are all staring at us like we’re aliens. We hop in the cars waiting for us and begin the long drive to our camp.

“in case of”….use these buckets

We get to camp and it’s around 2AM. Chanting. I hear chanting. We drop our stuff off in our tents (which really were nice! 4 real beds in each, and a Western toilet) and make the way down to the river (to pray) by moonlight.

don’t be fooled by this inviting facade

B-2 campers, representin’

We see some stuff:

shop/home

at least the colors are pretty

There are pilgrims sleeping everywhere on the ground, all lined up right next to each other for warmth. Down at the banks, there is a hushed calm that seems to keep the moment sacred. The river is smooth and quiet – like she’s thinking. We can see the lights of the temporary city on the other side of the bank, but still can’t figure out where the phantom chanting is coming from.

pilgrims sleeping under those gazebos

let me just wash up in this fecal water

After another hour we call it a night and make our way back to the tents. I had just stood on the banks of the holiest body of water in the Hindu religion.  I’m in freaking India!! So surreal.

I’m excited to see what the next day will bring.

What a fool I was.

The following morning, we hop in our taxi at 5:30AM to take us to the Taj bus stop. We were supposed to be there at 5AM. Great. Now I’m irritated because we’re gonna miss the MOST FAMOUS MONUMENT in India. The driver knows we are late and I hope he can see the urgency in my face. I cannot miss this. He appears to rush but they all drive like maniacs so I can’t really tell. He takes us to the side of a highway and pulls off onto a strip of asphalt and parks the car. I look around. It’s still dark, and of course we are surrounded by nothing. No bus. Some trees. Some trash. Some mangas (dogs). We sit there, idling in silence. I shift. I look out the window. I look at my hands. I sigh. I look out the window. Then another van pulls up behind us, and the driver tells us to go get in the other car. Huh? Okay.

We get into the new van and settle in, thinking this is our own personal car that will take us to Agra. But after 30 minutes of highway driving, he pulls over in front of a bus that’s waiting on the side of the road. Waiting for us. That’s right, son! America in the house!

the cool kids in the back

Our first stop is Krishna’s “birthplace” and his temple. Krishna’s the blue one. That’s how I identify him. You aren’t allowed to wear shoes in any Hindu temples. Because feet are disgusting, and temples are sacred. When Lo and I hand our shoes over to the “shoe guy”, he puts them in slot 215, but gives us a token that says 216. We are concerned that our shoes will be gone when we come back, so we try to communicate the error to him. He waves us away like we’re a pair of idiots. We walk away – helpless indifference.

just hanging out in a squat – readin’ the paper

At one point during the tour, I’m standing in front of a display of 3 monks who look so lifelike it unsettles me. The more I stare at them, the more reality falls away and I begin to fantasize about them coming to life. I keep saying to them, “Look at me. Just look at me. Wink. Just one wink. Turn your head. Smile at me. Nod your head. C’mon! One wink.” I am focused in my pursuit, convinced that I can turn them human with my mind. Nothing happens. But can you imagine? If one of those monks turned and looked at me? I would LOSE MY SHIT.

Moving on. Agra Fort:

soul sistas

Eric Hemati’s fingerpoint goes global

cute kid

our first glimpse of the Taj from the roof!

Then, the crowning jewel of India, Lady Taj herself:

Here’s what you won’t see next: boring Taj photos. You’re welcome.

seeing the Taj in person does not suck

our superhero pose

*my fave

I hate the whole hands-on-the-hip pose about as much as I hate selfies and duck lips. So… a lot. But Bobby was convinced about it adding to the awesomeness of this shot and I begrudgingly complied. I guess he was right. This is the one and only hip shot you’ll ever find me doing folks. This one’s for you, India!

*photography by Greg Bryan

bright eyed. bushy tailed. yet to be worn down by the motherland

There’s this video my friend showed me made by a comedy team in Quebec, where they poke fun at their accents in English. They eliminate the “h” before words that need it, and put it instead in front of words that begin with a vowel. For example, a Quebecoise would say “ere” instead of “here” and “h’India” instead of “India”. And because of that video, I am incapable of saying “India”. Now and evermore, she will henceforth be “h’India.” Except when writing this blog. Cause that would get annoying fast. So, only when spoken will I say “h’India”. Which makes the above story pointless. Not deleting it though.

I also learned that INDIA is an acronym for:

I’ll
Never
Do
It
Again

I’m having a hard time reconciling my feelings about India. Every day I laughed until I cried. I made a new friend who I just adore, and strengthened relationships with old friends. I developed such a sweet bond with my travel companions (there were 8 of us) that we were like a little family. I was touched by the kindness of the people there, and the unguarded joy and fascination of the children. For many evenings, I watched the sun set into the Arabian Sea, while perched on the edge of a cliff with a cold Kingfisher in my hand.

On the flip side, some of the “toilets” I used during those 3 weeks are where syphilis and hepatitis married, birthed a baby, and that baby is now living in those dark places. There was a 24 hour time period that is now in my top 5 worst days of all time. We spent so much time in transit that I think I developed bed sores from sitting. I attended the Maha Kumbh Mela. (pronounced “koom-buh”)

So where does that leave India? Still not sure. Maybe writing about it will help me figure that out.

We arrive in Delhi at 2AM and tell the cab driver the name of our hotel. Hotel Airport City. From that, he then drives in circles around the airport until we end up on the other side. At another terminal. Really, India? We just landed and you already want us to leave. It took around 4 days to actually communicate to him that our hotel was a building close to the airport. Not the actual airport.

(next day)

The Lotus Temple is the most famous Baha’i temple on the Indian subcontinent, they say. But what I loved most about this day was how everyone wanted their picture with me! I had heard how white people are a bit of a commodity in India and so I was prepared for stares and attention. I thought I would hate it. I didn’t. I loved it! Yes, everyone can have a picture with me! Take a number and form a line!

toesies!

the Mother Ship

my first admirer – look at those sleep deprived eyes…

bobby making sure i’m not kidnapped

The plans for the night were to have dinner with Bobby’s aunt and uncle. We have their address and phone number, but no cell phone. And there aren’t exactly pay phones dotting the streets of Delhi. Bobby knows the metro stop, so we hop on during rush hour. In a city of 16 million people. That’s fine. I love crowds.

Anywho, after fighting our way to the street, we walk around for a bit assuming we can Magellan our way there (I just made that up). It becomes clear within minutes how ambitious our pursuit was, and as we’re walking we run into a group standing outside a TV station. They were young, hip, and spoke fluent English – heyooooh! We use their cell phone but have trouble communicating to Bobby’s aunt our exact location. Our new friend offers to help, so he takes over in Hindi and explains where we are and tells uncle to come scoop us up. He then stays with us the entire time to make sure we get picked up. What a gent.

After dinner, his uncle drives us back to the hotel and we get another present: Lo waiting for us in the lobby!

and then there were 4

This shop was right across the street from our hotel. You were the first person I thought of, Marissa.

RACIST

Tomorrow – the Taj!

This guy makes me chuckle:

have the loveliest of weekends!!!!!!!

Sometimes the Universe hands you a gift when you weren’t even asking for it. Just for funsies. That’s how Monday was for me. High fiving Monday!

source

Often in my life, there are brief encounters I have with truly gifted people. Such was my experience Monday with a certain young man who found me online.

What started out as normal texting banter quickly spiraled into a beast out of my control. And since I’m learning to ease up on my control issues, I figured instead of manipulating this monster, I’d just have a bit of fun.

After we confirmed our date for Saturday, he told me to dress sexy. Ick. I tried to play it off like a joke, hoping he would bounce back from such an unfortunate faux pax:

Dude: So, Onion Creek on Saturday at 1:30pm?
Me: Love Onion Creek! Sounds good
Dude: Wear something sexy
(uhhhhh…? turn it into a joke, Erin. quick!)
Me: You too
Dude: Always, woman

Guys – a hint: NEVER tell a girl you don’t know to wear something sexy. It creeps us out.

how he wanted me to dress

source

what i was planning on wearing

source

That was Sunday. Monday I texted him to reschedule:

Me: Hey, Saturday isn’t going to work. Can you do early Sunday evening?
Dude: Woman, why are you being difficult? (remember, we’ve never actually met)
Me: You haven’t seen difficult yet
Dude: And feisty! Look, I have the solution that will work for both of us. Instead of using up our treasured weekends, why don’t we use up one of the usual date nights: Mon, Tues or Wed. I do have a life, you know, and I don’t know if you’re going to be weird.

<blink blink>

Me: I just laughed out loud because I have no idea if you’re serious. Yeah, I get the whole busy thing. Which is why I’m not free on week nights. Looks like our schedules are off. Oh well, we tried! (throwing in the towel)

Dude: Dead serious, sweetie. (Note: don’t call us “sweetie” either) Ok, we’ll play it by ear but you may just have to meet up with me wherever I am on Sunday during the day. Also, chances are I won’t be on my best behavior so forget about ideal first impressions where I pretend to be someone I’m not. As a matter of fact, if we do get around to eating something it’ll probably be romantic nachos or lovely chicken wings so we can both get messy.

(What? No no no. I retract said towel and go in for more…)

Me: Hmmm…nachos? I’m really a white tablecloth kinda girl.
Dude: Wait, lemme check your profile again

…………………………(pause, while he determines my worth)

Yea, let’s work our way up to nachos. Let’s get a beer somewhere first. (didn’t make the cut. sad.)

fingers crossed I get nachos!

source

Oh, and you have a blog! I missed that. (it’s right there on my profile, buddy) I’ll check it out

……………………………..(pause while he reads my blog)

Want to know an interesting tidbit about me? I used to set Neruda’s poems to music and sing them to American girls when I was in college. (in reference to this post)
Of course, they then wanted to know what I’d said and I butchered the translations. Hahaha I crack myself up.

Me: You have good taste in poets
Dude: This is true
Me: Impressed you know who Neruda is
Dude: Please sweetie, (stop!) I’m from Latin America. Our education is not limited to ‘Merica, fuck yeah!

……………………………………………(pause)

Dude: Man, I can’t believe you’re so into El Salvador! Wait til you visit my country, Nicaragua. It’s better all around.
Me: I’ve been.
Dude: And nothing about that on your blog? Shame.
Me: I did blog about it, but I went in ’09

………………………………..(pause)

Dude: So why are you so busy every week night?
By the way, you look familiar. I hope we’ve never inadvertently exchanged testy words.
Ok, I’m done stalking your blog. I only got to Uncle Jesse and decided that “time”… you have a lot of it. (he nailed me!)
Me: Thank goodness! Now I can drop this whole ‘I’m too busy on the week nights’ charade. It’s exhausting.

i’ll always have time for uncle jesse

source

Dude: I’m glad we’re communicating here.
Me: Yeah, especially because I don’t get to talk to too many people. It’s nice to chat.
Dude: You’re very mysterious, you know that
Me: My blog is literally a complete exposure of my soul
Dude: Yeah but you actually have to read it to know you. I’m old school. I keep it realz yo. (what does that even mean? what ELSE do you do with blogs?)
Me: Valid point. Maybe I should stop writing altogether. Stop hiding behind my laptop. Actually get real with people. That’s probably why I don’t have a boyfriend.

Dude: You may not have a BF because you refuse to believe/acknowledge/accept that a woman’s responsibility to the world is to perpetuate the human race by making babies
Me: Ah I see. Well I’m 31. I guess it’s time to get started.

Me: So why are you so busy on the weekends and not the week days?
Dude: I have a little something called A LIFE!
Me: Right. Like most people I know.
Dude: Yes but Thurs, Fri and Sat nights are the funnest (not a word) and I therefore dedicate them to my friends and family. No need for any potential awkwardness with people I only know on paper. It sucks to leave my friends because I have to go on a blind date. Or if I invite the chick to come join us she’ll feel intimidated and there’s ALWAYS a chance she’s a freakozoid.

Me: That’s an amateur move inviting a stranger to meet your friends
Dude: That’s why I’ve never done it, miss professional dater (i’m a professional!)
I’m just saying, what are my options? One on one or group thing. And if I’m having fun because my weekends are awesome (6th time he’s said that), why allow for the possibility of ruining it by taking a break from the fun to meet a potential weirdo? Trust me, I’d rather meet potential weirdos on a Mon, Tues, or Wed.
Me: Makes sense. My weekends aren’t very awesome so I guess that’s why I have so much time. I’m usually just watching TV. (was surprised I got away with this, considering my profile specifically states that I don’t own a TV. Advantage, Parker)
Dude: Boring. You should be out with me exchanging crazy travel stories about naked Indians in the forest
Me: Well I have to catch up on my shows! I don’t really like to go out much. (at this point I wanted to name some really awful shows, like Top Model Runway Project which I almost typed, but then remembered it’s called Project Runway. When I realized I’d actually have to Google names of reality tv I gave up and just said “shows”. Not worth the effort.)
……………………….
And then he went to a meeting and my fun ended.

Do people like him really exist?! What an amazing gift. I want more.

awwwwwwwww Real Housewives!!! Oh man I could have used that as my show. Now it comes to me. Next time ladies…

source

Mostly I just wanted to go for the name: STOOOOORM KIIIIIING (say it with a booming, God-like voice). It sounds so formidable, yes? I imagine that if I was to have a castle in the north country (next to Winterfell) I would name it Storm King. Jon Snow would never be forced to leave. And all my ravens would be white. Think about it.

Let the wonderful and amazing Cheyne Stepanski take you on a photo journey…

the brown stuff is sugar, i think. everyone was really impressed. i was not. sugar? who cares.

I forced Cheyne through this forest to reach the river. He didn’t want to get ticks.

punim

sugah hut

my fave

definitely worth the potential ticks