Although I no longer have cable here in Bali, I’m still privy to some English-spoken advertisements circulating on local Indonesia television, including the one recently launched by Sony for their Bravia HD-TV, shot on location in the Indian states of Rajastan and Uttar Pradesh.

I absolutely love this video (which is essentially what it is) — not only for its stunning visuals (it takes viewers on a journey from a magnificent fort in Jaisalmer through the desert all the way to the Taj Mahal in Agra), but also for the splendid original music (composed in Singapore at Song Zu and recorded by Rob Barbato, from the indie L.A. band Darker My Love).

This is one of those things that, because the spot was developed by Sony Asia in and for the Pan-Asia region, I’m not sure if it’s in rotation back in the States. If not, here’s the spot (HD version here):

The spot has generated a lot of interest here in Asia, and now making the rounds online at YouTube is the “Making Of” behind-the-scenes documentary. I suggest you check them both out — this is some really great work.

(Via The Inspiration Room, which has even more information and production notes)

[Originally transcribed: 12/04/08]

It’s funny, I’m here in Sumatra — between surf sessions — and the amazing sitar playing of Anoushka Shankar came up on my iTunes during a random shuffle. Even now, after all the shit I went through in India, listening to this Punjabi music STILL fills me with a vague, if not altogether sane, desire to visit India again.

Luckily for me, I’ve already been there (at least briefly), so I can separate that romanticized sitar-filled vision of India with the India of reality.

Yes, I still dislike the contemptible, toga-laden ‘drippy-hippies’ I met who were seeking out the India of their dreams. Yes, I still think India itself is an overcrowded and over-polluted cesspool. Yes, I still equate the entire country with the wrenching agony I suffered in the clutches of the Dengue Fever.

However, for possibly the first time since before I first left for Sri Lanka and India last November, I can empathize with these knuckle-dragging simpletons in drag — albeit on only a slighter, more sane level.

Maybe it’s because I’ve had a chance to just sit back, relax, and get in some halfway decent surf sessions during the past couple weeks. Maybe enough time has passed to mellow my views on the country. Maybe it’s my new diet of virgins’ blood and truffled chocolates.

Whatever. It’s actually kinda nice to look back at India with a ‘bit’ less disgust. Now, if I can just hold out until November 2, maybe I’ll be able to do the same with respect to the United States … but I ain’t holding my breathe.

Nota Bene: I struggled with publicly posting this long and somewhat contemplative entry because I don’t wish to convey to my friends, family, and/or other readers that I’m in any way depressed, because I’m not. To the contrary, I am settling in here in Bangkok quite nicely. However, I wrote this back in India to pass the time whilst confined to my hotel bed in the final throes of the Dengue Fever. I wasn’t feeling quite as ‘upbeat’ then (although I was, ironically, listening to the same U2 song as in my last post). So I’m posting it, confident others will understand, as I do, that context is everything.

I honestly don’t know where to begin, or where I’m going with, this post. I really don’t. I’m still a bit fevered still, so I guess I’ll just have to talk (or write) it through.

With so much time on my hands lately (see post re: Dengue Fever), after sifting through too many books and movies to even recall, I find myself now at a point where I can do nothing more than lay in bed, listen to my music, and think. It reminds me of how I used to pass the time when I was in high school.

Now, most of my thoughts rifle through memories of the people I’ve met, the places I’ve seen, and the things I’ve done throughout my adult life. For some reason, most of my thoughts begin by centralizing around old friends and past girlfriends.

I use them as ‘indicators’, since I immediately relate certain friends and girlfriends with different chapters of my life — my formative years, high school, college, law school, working in California, living and working in Miami, and — most recently — my travels abroad.

And then I get distracted, lost even, in recollections about the smaller subplots during those times that gave each of these larger chapters their own particular context and flavour — the different jobs, cities, friends, lovers, hobbies, movies, and music.

When I was younger, this ‘meditative recollection” used to be a truly enjoyable exercise. It gave me the opportunity to recall some remarkable things I had otherwise forgotten. However, as I’ve grown older, it’s become more and more difficult to keep track of the ever increasing number of chapters — with more and more characters and subplots lost to time. The difficultly lies not only in the loss of time, but in the accompanying melancholy that comes with the realization I can no longer fully recall people and things which at one time meant so much.

It is for this reason that, while I do not condone, I understand those people who, despite not properly ‘fitting’ with their friends, spouses, or loved ones, choose to maintain such limited connections simply because it allows such people a greater, more immediate connection with their past. Peripherally, it also helps to limit the number of ‘chapters’ in their life — possibly to a more manageable level. The less chapters, the less likelihood of remembering JUST how old you are, and JUST how far away those lost years are.

I could of course be wrong, I mean, what the hell do I know?

Fortunately or unfortunately, I am not one of those people. I’m much more demanding and restless. And while this allows me to meet a greater number of people and visit a wider range of places, there’s only so much time to maintain friendships … and there’s only a limited amount of space in my brain to remember all of those lost years and friends.

No, I’m not trying to recreate my youth. But yes, I do miss it. Very much so.

I miss my youthful exuberance. I miss knowing the better part of my life is yet to come — set out in front of me as a fateful mystery. I miss my old friends. I miss my old girlfriends (even the selfish bitchy ones … okay, maybe not them so much), I miss my old toys — the motorcycles, the cars, the surfboards, the snowboards. And I miss my old homes — the apartments, condos, and houses, and the cities, states, and countries. I miss them all.

And while I’m still glad I had the time to have experience all of those things and I still eagerly look towards the future, I simultaneously curse time for wrenching my past away from me — without my having even noticed.

So that’s what I’m doing now — I’m sitting here awake at 3 a.m. in a half-fevered stupor in some shithole in India, listening to U2’s “A Sort of Homecoming”, trying to think about all the great places I’m heading this summer, but instead lamenting over all of the friendships, places, and experiences I’ve lost to time.

I know I can’t return to those times. And I know I can’t recreate as they once existed the close friendships I had before everyone got married, and divorced, and had kids, and got re-married, and moved, and got new jobs, etc., etc. And yes, I am thankful for all of those glorious memories from my past.

But goddamn it, I really wish I could, just for a moment, go back 20 years to that time when I could hang out in my room listening to “An Unforgettable Fire” with my friends dreaming about everything still to come, laid out before us as a glorious mystery.

This just isn’t quite the same.

I finally made it!! After weeks of abusive viral infections and neo-hippie hombres, I’m finally out of India!

And probably not a moment too soon. I swear, I thought that place was trying to kill me — dengue fever, food poisoning, the constant smoke from all the burning garbage (and people). I really do feel about 1000% better now that I’m back in Sri Lanka.

Not that THAT process itself wasn’t a bit of a ball-buster. First, I had to spend about 4-5 hours on a train from Cochin to Thiruvananthapuram (affectionately called ‘Trivandrum’), seemingly stopping at every backwater hole-in-the-wall en route. I tried to eat and drink as little as possible during that time, which made me kinda weak, too. That may seem a bit much, but my stomach was still ‘bothering me’ [ahem], and if you see the hole in the bottom of the train they euphemistically call a ‘toilet’, you’ll understand my aversion.

I couldn’t sleep in a hotel in town, because thanks to the local Kerala Communist leadership, the next day — the actual day of my flight — the locals were staging a ‘fuel strike’ protesting the fuel cost hike, so no taxis, tuk-tuks, or anything motorized would be able to take me to the airport. When I asked someone about catching a random taxi working outside the strike, I was told I didn’t want to do that just in case it got stopped by an angry mob. Nice.

So instead, I went to the airport the early morning beforehand and I was able to get a nice 1-2 hour nap in the front lobby of the Trivandrum airport. Then, when it was finally time to check it, I had to wait another 8 hours in the airport while my flight was delayed. Shit, at that point, I honestly felt like the country was trying to keep me there – just to finish off the job.

The good news is that we eventually made it onto the 45 minute flight to Colombo, Sri Lanka. The bad news is that we arrived at 1:30 a.m. I somehow finagled my way into getting a free ride from the airport to Colombo (about 1 hour away), at which time I slept on the front steps of the Colombo train station for another couple hours until the station opened at 5:30 a.m.

Yes, I know this is the same train station that was bombed by Tamil Tiger separatists — killing dozens — just weeks ago. Yes, I know it probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas sleeping on the front steps of a public train station in downtown Colombo. But fuck it, I made it out of India alive — at that point, I felt absolutely invincible. Exhausted, but invincible.

I caught the 6:30 a.m. train down to Mirissa, where I am again — at Dinu’s Resort. I’m still a bit too ‘blech’ to eat anything, but it’s nice to be back in a place where the only things actively trying to kill you are the terrorists.

I got a couple surfs in yesterday before crashing for about 13 hours. I hope to have at least one more before I have to begin the 5 hour trek back up to the Colombo/Negombo airport for my 5:00 a.m. flight to Bangkok tomorrow morning.

I’m already really happy to be back in Sri Lanka. But I REALLY can’t wait to get back to Thailand. Sawadee kap, bitches!

It’s now official — after Darfur and Iraq, India is my LEAST favorite tourist destination.

I’ve been laid up for the better part of 5 days now with what a local pharmacist says is probably Dengue Fever.

Admittedly, he may be wrong and I could have merely caught a really bad flu virus, since the only way to diagnose Dengue is via blood tests. But there’s no way in HELL I’m letting anyone in this country stick me with a needle — doing it in Sri Lanka was bad enough. So, for bitching purposes alone, I’m just gonna assume I’ve got the Dengue.

He may be right — there’s been an increasing number of cases in India over the past year, and I’ve been dealing with the symptoms described as being associated with the virus.

I’ve had a high fever on and off for the past 5 days — relieved only by copious doses of Ibuprofen (taking aspirin apparently makes it worse). I had a slight rash across my shoulders. My digestive system is in a worse state than Brittaney Spears’ career. My eyes feel like they’re gonna burn right thru my skull. And EVERY SINGLE BONE in my body aches. Intensely.

Yeah, there’s a reason they also call this thing the break-bone fever or bonecrusher disease.

So I’ve been stuck in my room for the past several days doing anything I can do NOT to go crazy with boredom — reading books by the kilo, surfing the internet (when available), watching DVD’s, and trying to get the most entertainment value as possible from my fever dreams.

The fever broke early this morning (but unfortunately has just resurfaced this evening — yea!), and I’m starting to get feeling back in my eye sockets. But I still can’t eat anything, and I still feel like I just went 10 rounds with Bobbitt.

Hey, I’m not complaining (well, yes I am), because it could be worse — much worse. In that respect, I’m grateful that I’m (apparently) getting better. But, all in all, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.

I leave India in one week. Let’s hope I don’t catch a parasite or get rolled by a gang of rogue monkeys in the meantime.

[Welcome to India, man! And yes, that IS "Freedom Rock"!]

I promise this will be (among) the last of the derogatory comments I have about my visit to India so far. That being said …

I understand I cannot justifiably classify an entire country after having visited only a tiny portion thereof — especially one swarming with foreign tourists. Agreed. I mean, to do so would be akin to someone criticizing the entire United States after having visited only Las Vegas.

Err … forget that analogy, but you get the point.

But to those people (many whose opinions I truly do respect) that say I need to visit the ‘real India’ in order to understand ‘the magic’ of the country, I say bullshit. I have ventured out into the boonies and cities, and I say ‘Bullshit.’

Yes, India IS a bit different from other countries. Yes, India DOES have a remarkable history. Yes, it DOES have some great food and an extremely diversified culture. But there are amazingly different things in just about EVERY country worldwide (for now that is, until Starbucks and McDonalds have completed their takeover of the Klingon Empire).

I don’t want to come off as hating India — because I don’t. Indeed, there are some very interesting aspects of Indian culture, and I don’t think it’s really ALL that bad here. However, this blog, by necessity, is a distillation of my recollections and experiences about my travels. I cannot write about everything I see. It’s just not a practicality. Instead, I must write about those things which affect me the most … in the moment.

I write about what I ‘get’ from India as I experience it — the hippies, the crowding, the poverty, the misogynistic culture, the frantic pace, the greed. And these things … they’re not for me. Indeed, I fled from many of these same things also existing back in the States. Only in the U.S., there was indoor plumbing and less air pollution (if you can believe that).

I will say this much, however: I HAVE learned some things about myself since my arrival here. Not from the country or its people, but in how other Westerners view them both. As one commentator here noted, there are a HUGE number of Westerners who have never visited India and have a romanticized idea of the country — believing the entire countryside is not strewn with garbage, and believing Indians are ALL spiritually enlightened.

Man, they’re just people trying to get by. Just because they’ve got different religions and philosophies does NOT mean they’re any closer to grasping the meaning of life (if any) than you are — especially the meaning of YOUR life, dipshit!

Yet many foreigners here seem to continually propagate that illusion — actively blinding themselves to the reality so they can justify their continued search for answers in a place they’ve seen romanticized in movies as the birthplace of ’spiritual enlightenment’. You can see it in how seriously they take themselves and the whole concept of ‘India.’ They’ve all seemingly forgotten that the minute you start believing your own bullshit is the minute you lose touch with the questions you initially sought to explain.

Ironically, I got a shot of this reality this morning seeing a funny quote on the side of one of the Starbucks cups used by a local coffee shop (not in violation of any copyright laws, I presume):

chances are you are scared of fictions.
chances are you are only fleetingly happy.
chances are you know much less than you think you do.
chances are you feel a little guilty
chances are you want people to lie to you.
perhaps the answer lies on the side of a coffee cup.
you are lost.”

-david cross
comedian, writer, actor

Indeed.

(MC Hammer, on left, and one of his neo-hippie fashion disciples, on right)

First off, no … I don’t have any actual pictures here from India to upload, since I lost the USB cord for my camera somewhere in the Philippines. Sorry.

Second off, I’m not sure I would want to put any pictures of the many, many MANY hippies roaming Kerala in their ‘Hammeresque’ Indian ‘harem pants.’ These pants are ostensibly used for yoga practice, but it seems that just about every Westerner here wears them at all times of the day, despite just how fucking silly they look.

It’s a bit baffling, considering that even the hottest of girls can ruin all that beauty simply by wearing pants that make her look like she’s wearing a big set of diapers. It’s really hard to tell if someone’s got a nice ass if she looks like she’s carrying around a load of shit in her pants.

And if the cute girls can look absolutely awful in these things, imagine — really imagine — just how unappealing all the aging, new-age, hippie wannabes look in them. It’s just …

just … wow.

I understand the concept of wearing comfortable clothing. Trust me, I haven’t worn a pair of shoes or pants in months. It’s hot and humid out and things can get hot and sticky (and stinky) really fast, so thongs (flip-flops) and shorts are obviously a necessity for maintaining any semblance of comfort (and dignity). That being said, I don’t see how wearing a big bulky diaper can make one MORE comfortable in this heat and humidity. To the contrary, I’m guessing there’s a bit of ‘hippie chafing’ going on right now.

In addition, apparently nobody has told these guys that parachute pants went out when Jim Carry and Jennifer Lopez were on ‘In Living Color‘ and Micheal Jackson was still black (well … sorta). Even then, they looked silly … and MC Hammer could DANCE in them.

These hippies in their yoga-parachute pants, though? Who are they kidding. C’mon buddy, just put on a pair of fucking shorts. Please?

Seriously, I knew MC Hammer, and you sir, are no MC Hammer.

Yes, I’m finally in India – what a fascinating country shithole! And what better way to celebrate this auspicious occasion than for me to immediately book a flight to Krabi, Thailand.

Yes, India is just THAT good.

The presence here of what I had feared most — rabid European tourists and ego-driven nuevo-hippies everywhere — has indeed come to pass.

I originally planned on staying in India for 2 full months practicing my yoga and getting some further training should I ever wish to pursue it as a career in the future. However, I’ve since learned that most of the yoga ashrams and schools here — and especially those specializing in Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, which is what I practice — are a complete farce.

On the one hand are the loads and loads of ‘yoga centers’ catering to all these Westerners who have been led to believe that the best practitioners MUST be in India since that’s where modern yoga developed. That’s complete bullshit. My brief experience has confirmed what others have told me — you can probably get just as good, if not better, training anywhere else in the world.

Then, on the other hand is the fact that yoga practitioners here, and especially in Mysore, which is known for being ‘ground-zero’ for ashtanga training, in fact produces bigger egos than true ashtaga yogis. Most of the guys here project a real ego-driven sense of “I’m more at peace than you are, and I can prove it!!” Fuck that, if I wanted to sit in a room full of bitches comparing how flexible and happy they are about living with no money, I could have gone to any ONE of the many fabulous nude bars in Miami and had a much (much) better time.

I know, I know … don’t be hatin’ on India. Yeah, I guess you’re right … it’s not ALL that bad.

I mean, the food here is probably some of the best in Asia — I actually enjoy eating vegetarian cuisine when it’s prepared THIS good. Plus, all the wannabe hippies with their long flowing gowns and ponytails DO make for excellent dinner theatre. And as an added bonus, all the garbage burning throughout the day makes for an absolutely beautiful sunset.

Okay, granted, you really shouldn’t go into the ocean unless you want to bring a pet parasite back home with you. But then again, the numerous packs of stray dogs and the occasional elephant you may encounter whilst trying to walk back to your room will more than make up for any ‘wildlife’ you may otherwise be missing underwater.

So, rather than stay here any longer than necessary, I’m going back to Thailand in a couple weeks to meet up with friends from Singapore before they all head back to states for good.

I’ve got a multiple entry 3 month visa, but I’m not really sure for how long — or even if — I’ll head back to India. Moreso, given the continuing escalation of violence in Sri Lanka (one of the same private buses that I took to leave Kandy on 1 February was blown up by Tamil terrorists the VERY next day, killing 18 people and injuring 55), I fear it’s not safe to travel there again until it all resolves itself. Instead, I will go back through and pick up my surfboards on my way to Thailand.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a hater, I’m just drawn that way.

(a view of Mirissa bay, where I’m currently staying, with a view of the point in the background)

Despite the chaos slowing making its way down south, I’m heading up into the hill country next week — mainly to get my Indian Visa. This, of course, means that after Sri Lanka, I’m heading to … wait for it … wait for it … India.

I’m heading to Kerala, India at the start of February. Kerala is on the Southwest coast of India, and has little to no surf. I’m heading there ostensibly to practice on my Yoga in preparation for a potential career change (should I ever decide be forced to go back to work, of course). I’ve been getting fairly involved in my Yoga (Ashtanga) during recent years — mostly in an effort to increase my strength and flexibility for surfing (and tantric sex, of course).

As described by one commentator, in Kerala:

Mosques, Hindu temples, Christian churches, Jewish synagogues and Chinese fishing nets exist companionably side-by-side. There’s a heady scent of spice in the air and Arab, Portuguese English and Dutch influences.

Kerala is also, from what I’ve learned so far, a fairly laid back area of the sub-continent, and fairly devoid of the fruity, cultish, neuvo-hippies on holiday from the West, seeking ‘enlightenment’ at a 7 day course in some random Ashram. I only hope I can better my yoga practice down in the Kerala province while avoiding these nutjobs as best I can.

If anyone has any suggestions as to other places I should hit during my two (2) month stay in southern India (other than Goa), suggestions and comments are greatly welcome (but not from you fruity nut-jobs, tho — no offence intended).