Holi Mess

I awoke to the sound of children. The screams, laughter and footsteps running didn't deceive me: Holi had begun. The child who is in me jumped out of bed and went out to see it. When I looked at the set of colors that flew I couldn't believe. Although it was something that always wanted, I didn't thought I would have the opportunity to enjoy it.

Holi is celebrated with colors, water, and occasionally eggs. With great joy and smiles. It is a multicolored mess and wasn't different in Pokhara. There is something in this festival that appealed to me immediately. The colors are the most iconic. But they are colors of emotion. All share the joyful spirit that the festival brings.

I prepared to get into this mess. I buy ammunition - a pack of each color and a bottle of water - and join this Holi mess. In each "Happy Holi", a color is placed on my face and in the one who crosses me. For the main avenue there is a parade in celebration. People dance, colors fly and we get wet from the upper floors. That day, all is confusion, all is joy.

In the end, I'm a multicolored thing. Like all the others around me. There are no nationalities, ages or genders. This confusion is about sharing a sentiment common to all: the joy. And what better than mirroring the joy of it in blue, green, yellow or red that makes up the whole scene around us?

From error to error to being a tourist

A journey is also made of wrong decisions. The errors abound. This had many reasons. The fatigue of a journey, an empathy and a rather early and unnecessary yes.

When I sat down, next to my "Nepali friend" – a tourist agent – I wanted to give him a little business. I think it is important to choose whom I spend money. So it didn't seem bad to discuss a package tour. And my tiredness pushed me to that conversation. After months "on my own" I didn't remove the possibility of having a package that included everything down to Pokhara.

Of course, such feelings should pull all the alerts that my body has, but I was numb with fatigue. When my "friend" gave me the brochure, my great interest was whether the trip to Pokhara was included - and if it was worth giving some business. I looked at the prices, did a little mental calculation and it seemed to me a price more than fair. Didn't cost me anything to say yes... Well actually it did, and a lot. Once again, all in me should have said that something was wrong. At least all the accumulated experience should warn me not to anticipate a yes without knowing everything.

As might be expected, the price I had seen wasn't correct. It was the Nepali price. Mine was slightly more expensive - almost the double. The fatigue came back and won. I did not argue and my final thought was that the damage that wasn't that bad.

All this ended up transforming my trip. Without noticing it, I just went from being a traveler and became a tourist. With all the flavors and disappointments that this implies. Chitwa was seen differently from the other places. I ended up doing everything I wanted and didn't wanted. But I think my soul wanted to be one of those tourists who don't need to care about anything. And when I left Chitwa I regain the strenght to continue the trip. Perhaps more than before. I knew again the importance and joy of doing a trip like I'm doing. In a strange way, it was necessary to go to the other side of travelling, to see a little more of my one trip...

Kathmandu - A strange familiarity

I need to make an introductory note in this 'travel article. " Walking also means learning our limitations. One of them became clear. With each passing day, I withdraw more from the "travel article" style. I still don't have complete mastery of my writing to be able to take this space to the destination I want to lead it. However, because I believe to be important to show the places where I've been, I don't stop this rubric. But it will be more to the flavor of the moment of imagination than of a certain style - indeed increasingly I think my style is not having one. I hope you have the patience to follow the evolution and different facets that this space will have.

I decided that because Kathmandu proved an obstacle impossible to transpose. I couldn't get it in the format of this rubric. To this, it contributed the change in me. At first, the place was the most important. Today I haven't such interest. I still “wow” myself to the surprise of a large landscape or monument. But my focus has shaped itself to the people around me and the unique emotions that every place gives us.

Rather than describe the Pashupatinath (a very nice area of temples), Swayambhunath (aka Monkey Temple) or the Durbar Square, my interest is explaining the feeling of being in Khatmandu. Maybe you'll find it strange the word I will use, but what I felt was: familiarity. I don't know if this happened because of the dream I had years ago - and that materialized when I arrived - or because it is the feeling of this place.

But the unpaved streets, dusty aspect or the mixture of different traits were not strange to me. Being in Kathmandu is to be in a cradle of humanity. From here we follow a line that leads us to anywhere. And Nepal has much of India as has Portugal. Yes, here and there, you recognize the hand gestures similar to those of the Indians. And there is no escaping the "Namaste" that accompanies the exchange of greetings. But these traits appear by fusion with other cultures. You have the temples that are already closer to China than from India. In some houses you will find the smell of Western architecture. You are enchanted by a song that does not deviate much from the Andean South America. And every trace of the face of a Nepali can escape to a different continent.

Perhaps this familiar feeling appears because you see a little bit of everything in everything. Or by the returning to my youth. In my neighborhood. When I went to the Monkey Temple - which sits atop a hill – I couldn't predict what to expect. I left Thamel - a main district of tourism, trade and confusion - and ended up in an unpaved road. My senses told me I was correct, but between houses that seemed I was in a street of my neighborhood. Of course it was only a brief illusion. But when I crossed the river - and got lost looking for this temple – I could be back in my childhood walking by the stream - what was more a sewer - among reeds and gardens.

When I finally got up the hill, everything was behind. But this magnificent place also didn't seem strange. The Stupa, with eyes that see everything, become warm. And the wheels of the prayers, that I had imagined for so long, were already part of me. Combining with this long walk, was a talk with Kash - a friend of the friend who helped me unlock this country - that led me to discussions about religion and ways of life, and above all, to the common thing of all humanity: feelings.

Kathmandu is a place of narrow streets, beautiful squares and friendly people. Tourist center and political capital. But most of all, is a familiar place. Where I don't mind getting lost and floating in my imagination. Here I always end up finding the smile, the beautiful detail or the necessary help. I do not know if you will find the same city. But if this happens, send greetings, such as when delivered to a common friendship.

Le moi errant: Something more...

I walked slowly. A step at a time. Each one more secure than the one before. I know that this moment was coming. And just as I left India, every cell of my body said: “It's now!”

All this time I escaped myself. I knew that understanding of myself was superficial. Inside me there was a part that has always been well protected. It was too strong. I never felt the courage to face it.

When I had my first appointment with a psychiatrist, he told me that it wasn't the time to face the crocodile (or put in another way, of doing therapy with a psychologist). It was time to create the weapons before facing him. I've always loved this image. And symbolized what was inside of me. So years passed, depression came and a life-changing experience before I could face my crocodile.

Now the waiting time expired. While starting another leg of this trip, also my inner journey was going to another destination. A deeper and stronger one. It was time to confront myself. Take up my weapons and remove surgically the part of the Self that wasn't mine. Accept what is and free myself from my shackles. I don't do it lightly. Everything in me tremble to think what I am doing. The same one that smiles while imagining what is to come...

Story of a picture: Through your eyes

I notice you and see a life. A vacant stare fills my thoughts. I know I cannot access yours. I'm just here, in the distance, trying to capture your beauty.

Through your eyes I try to walk in your life. I try to understand what motivates your look. I wonder what you see when your eyes cross mine... Will you see a person, or just another tourist that can give some of your food? A stupid tourist who ignores the harshness of your life?

Did you see me? Or the habit of spending a day in the same place makes you blind to what is around you. I was not indifferent to you. Your eyes told me that your life wasn't easy. Your wrinkles follow the beauty of your eyes. Confide in me that you never surrender. That even today you look around and admire your surroundings. You try to capture a future client while savor the time that your job allows you to.

In this square you can see the world. You can admire the Europeans, Americans and Chinese. In between you see your fellow citizens. In the traces of the architecture you can travel between the east and west, and perhaps you are proud of being a daughter of this place that is a world of civilizations...

Moments without place

Throughout the trip you will find them a lot. A variety hard to match. And if the word "place" is something that pops up when the subject is travel, the reality is that it will lose its initial strength. And sometimes - almost by magic - it disappears from the vocabulary. It was in Kathmandu as a physical location. We had around us the Nepalese and its monuments. The air was definitely from this city, but we were not there. We were in a moment without a place.

That day I spent with Nuno Cruz – that I already talked about here - was passed in many places. Was passed in emotions and dreams. In the present situation and future projects. It was a magical moment, hard to put into words.

The curiosity was too much. I have followed his steps through this world on his blog, and now I was curious to meet him. Of course I met the traveler. But more than that, I met a human being with tremendous depth. Those ones that are able to change the world with their actions (or as Ben Harper said, with his “own two hands”). And between a cod fish, a park bench and a room, the time fled to the rhythm of the words that brought us many worlds.

When I left him at the airport, I was longing for the future times and the joy that you feel whenever you cross with a special person. Now our paths unfold in different directions, but always in the same world. Not a physic one, but one of emotions and dreams.

Goodbye India, Hello Nepal

I wasn't used to it anymore. After three months in the same country, here I am. Preparing another trip abroad. The nervous niggling feeling in my stomach returned. Almost like butterflies when you're in love. As a gift I bought a plane trip to Kathmandu via Delhi. Which is why I was at the small airport of Dabolim in Goa.

I like small airports. They give us a feeling of travel. The international ones are too hygienic and belong to a world of their own. Few differences exist between them. The little ones have more character but also less things to kill time. This only offered a cafe and a small bookstore to get me distracted. As I looked at the small collection of books, my mind wandered through the feelings of a hard farewell to India. A trip as intense as the Indian one doesn't disappear with a simple border crossing. So I was preparing my body to receive Nepal.

But it was still far away. Before I had to go through bureaucratic entry into the travelers area of the airport, arrive at Delhi, wait eight hours to repeat the red tape again until I could get to Nepal. From day one – the only I used the plane - that these procedures amazed me. For a country as "organized" like this, it was impressive how many steps you have to pass through a single checkpoint.

You check in as any other country. Wait ... I forgot to say. Before this, you have to pass the bag through a x-ray machine - that "conveniently" is in another location. If you're lucky - and have nothing to disturb the security guards - then you get a stamp of approval. Of course it was not my case, and when my backpack was set aside, I knew that life wouldn't be so easy.

"No lighters ..." tells me the security with a sympathetic smile. I was already waiting this after losing mine when I got to India.

"Is it ok now" I asked, just to be sure they did not commit any mistake taking in hand my backpack. He looks at the the other guard, and although I don't understand Hindi, I can understand that not yet...

"Do you have cameras?" Question that I feel like a dagger in my back. "Yes ..." I reply hesitantly. "... But I have not the slightest idea where ... omg, I'll have to take everything out of the bag ... "I think, while the other part of the brain tries to find a solution.

"Can I see the picture?" I ask and pray that this was not the worst place: the middle of the pack.

"Yes of course" I smile with the sigh of relief when I notice that it is on top of the backpack.

With this problem solved, I go to the check-in. Something that is not complicated. With the backpack on the weight limit - to my astonishment – I give my passport and receive the boarding pass. Time for one more bureaucracy: pass into the passenger area. Nothing special ... Well it wouldn't be if the person at check-in has given me the paper to be stamped by the security check point. I find that out after spending 10 minutes in line. Time to return to check in, get the label and back in line for another 15 minutes.

Finally I'm in the waiting area for my plane. From that moment everything was simple. When the plane took off, part of me was already saying goodbye to India. I was only one night at the airport of Delhi away from Kathmandu. But as it was in India, I still a small surprise to come...

Just outside the plane I had a strange feeling. A mismatch between what my mind had imagine and what my eyes were seeing. Something that I confirmed when I left from the domestic airport. I couldn't believe ... All neaty and tidy. Everything so ... perfect. After three months my body reacted violently to this dose of Western normality. It seemed that I had returned to Europe.

With the late hour I was looking for a place to sleep. My original plan was to stay in the waiting place inside the airport. Of course making plans here only serve to fail, so I was barred at the entrance of the international airport. "Too early" the guard tells me while suggesting me to go to another waiting room in a corner of the airport. I try to follow the suggestion, but before entering the room I see a sign informing me that staying in that place cost 70 rupees each hour. In a fit of greed, I think the spotless floor of the airport is a great bed.

Once I've found a nice place, I lay down. I choose a place near other passengers trying to do the same. Unity is strength, and in these things I don't like to be alone. After a while I already felt like in a real bed. It was time to dream ...

"Excuse me ..." I wake up to this startling comment. He was a cop. By now I could read in his face what he wanted to transmit. First with a rude face - perhaps thinking that it was Indian - then with a kinder one when he understand that I am from abroad. And in a very polite way he tells me to get out and go to the waiting room. I explain I don't want to pay money, and he tells me, to my astonishment, that I only need to show the ticket.

Back to the place that I had been an hour before, my astonishment doesn't end. After wandering in search of a place I notice they have chaise lounges to rest. While I put my body to rest I have my last thoughts. I smile imagining how the tourists have the wrong image when they arrive in this place. A so clean place before facing all the incredible challenges that India has to offer.

The next day was more mechanical. Perhaps the anxiety overcame the farewell feeling. With everything set, I quickly found my seat on the plane. I looked around me, and the faces of people didn't deceive me. I was going to a new country. Traces of eastern asia already penetrated the faces of the passengers. When it was announced that we are arriving, I feel again that thrill of a new adventure. It was time to greet this new country.