Gurus, Sadhus and Hippies

The Hippy culture was heavily influenced by the music, drugs and philosophy of India. In its heyday many made the pilgrimage, some lost themselves, some found themselves all were changed forever. I bought my bus ticket for Kathmandu from a very persistent hawker in the Nepali border town of Birganj. As a rule border towns are shit holes but Birganj is especially sleazy and the hustlers super aggressive. It was a sleepless night and in the morning I was happy to find that I actually had a seat on a real bus. My mood soon changed and not even the magnificent mountain scenery could lift my spirits. After being thrown around in my seat for 12 hours I came to appreciate the atrocious Indian rail system. Arriving in Kathmandu in January was a mistake, although it rarely snows the cold can be bone chilling and central heating was unheard of. Fortunately I had a down sleeping to keep me warm. Unfortunately it was too cold for trekking and I was stuck in the Kathmandu valley, a hippy Shangri la, more western than eastern, only restaurants fronted for hash shops. With names like Eat at Joes, Hungry Eye, Mellow pie and Eden Hash each with their unique menu including Mexican, Italian and American. My personal favorite the Pleasure Room had a great sound system and played Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, and the Greatful Dead. Peace and serenity was all around, I spent my days at the temples trying to soak in the karma and my nights in the “pie shops” smoking my brains out to my favorite tunes, drowning myself with vulgar sweets. By the second week the hash and pie was getting old, and I got involved buying rice paper prints in quantity, my friend Mark introduced me to Jas who was a printmaker. The prints are beautiful and simply made by inking the carved wood blocks, placing the course handmade paper on the block and rubbing with a clean cloth to transfer the design. At $50 for 500 assorted designs it seemed like a huge bargain and a way to finance my traveling. It was going to take a couple of days to produce the prints and while I waited Jas became a good friend but I realized I was cold and hungry for a change.
The south of India is warm year round so I sketched out a plan to stop at the spiritual city of Varanasi before heading to the beaches of Goa. Strolling along the sacred Ganges among the funeral fires, and bodies in preparation felt like a surreal circus with action everywhere and a cast of characters from high priests to low caste untouchables from oblivious livestock to in your face lepers. It is the duty of every Hindu to bath in the sacred river, many come to die and have their ashes spread in the Ganges. Getting caught up in the spirit I took the plunge one morning but stopped short of drinking the brown water and made a hasty retreat when saw a turd and a dead dog float by. The pilgrimage is most important to the old and the infirm. Many like Baba and his disciple are young sadhus, holy men who shun materialism and wonder homeless living on offerings from the less pious. I met Baba on the burning ghats, where I was warming myself after the chilling plunge, our lack of a common language led to a bowl and as my head swirled Baba quickly convinced me to give him the blanket I wore as a shawl rationalizing that I wouldn’t need it on the hot beaches of Goa.
I left Varanasi and headed to Bombay by train then a boat to Goa where I met lots of people from Kathmandu . In fact it was very similar but more cliquish, from the town of Calingute the beach extends north for miles with villages populated by fisherman, cults and hippies. I kept to myself as much as possible, staying in Baga a small fishing village between the uptight born again Christians and the naked acid freaks. I rented a house from a very poor family. The house had no electric or plumbing, was infested with fleas and rats, the mattress was hard and lumpy but it was on the beach and the price was right. Most Goan’s are strict Catholic’s, having been a colony of Portugal for centuries. The landlord’s teenage daughter was in constant trouble, one night we went to a festival where she turned me on to feni the powerful local hooch made from the cashew palm. Sometimes she would borrow money for liquor then her and her boyfriend would crash on my floor. Each afternoon the fisherman prepared their lines and sailed off in their dhow like boats, returning at sunrise with the catch, mostly shark 8-10 footers not uncommon. They butchered and divided the catch right on the beach in front of my house. Then they would sleep for a few hours and do it again, day after day their stamina amazed me.
Once again feeling restless, it was time for another encounter with the spiritualism India is famous for, the Hindu festival called Kumba Mela takes place every 12 years and attracts millions. I was on my way to Hardwar to witness the largest human gathering on earth, no it wasn’t Woodstock. Looking back I must have logged 5000 miles on Indian trains alone, at an average 20 miles an hour that’s over 10 full days. Needless to say I was doing a lot of traveling and some things stand out in a world wind, one was seeing tens of thousands of naked sadhus, dread locked and smeared with ashes, crushed between millions of upper class Brahmins and common untouchables, moving in a great migration into the confluence of three holy rivers to bath at the specified moment. This sight is forever etched in my memory alongside the scene at the burning ghats of Varanasi. Instead of raising my spirituality it lessened it. Life in India is chaotic, my idea of religion is peace and tranquility. I imagined a yogi in a cave high in the Himalayas deep in meditation with the discipline to find his personal nirvana, rather then expecting a communal bath to wash away the guilt of sin.
I had not forgotten about Nepal and being in Hardwar reminded me that I had unfinished business there. I had also not forgotten the back breaking bus ride, but I was determined to trek into the Himalayas. This time the plan was to take a bus directly to Pokhara which is the second city of Nepal but quite different, quiet laid back with a large lake and a beautiful view of the Annapurna range. Before I had a chance to explore the trekking possibilities I got sick. This was different than the usual jelly belly, this was a painful stomachache. So after several days I decided to go to a hospital, only the nearest one was 5 hours away in Kathmandu. Only a couple of years before it would have taken a week to walk. Upon arrival, the first doctor diagnosed a peptic ulcer, the second said hepatitis a third ordered a blood test which confirmed hepatitis. The doctor ordered 2 weeks bed rest, no fatty oily or fried food and no alcohol for 6 months. My old friend Jas had another idea, he took me to a local shaman who prescribed a home remedy of ground herbs to be taken every evening for 5 days. That week turned out to be a big turning point for me, instead of returning thru Europe I decided I would fly to Bangkok with a stopover in Burma. Then travel down the peninsula thru Malaysia to Singapore, Bali and Australia. So on my last full day in Nepal I was approached by a tall guy with a shaved head and the burgundy robes of a Buddhist monk. Although he said my name I had no idea who he was and I looked at him like a ghost. When he smiled I saw his gold tooth and realized who he was. In April 1972 I met Tec on a bus ride from Istanbul to Herat. During the next 5 days we were baptized and initiated into the third world. Now exactly 2 years later our lives intersected again but this time we were heading in different directions. With little time to catch up Lekshe (his new name) introduced me to one of his teachers, a Rimpoche from Bhutan after I made the traditional kata offering he gave me his blessing and an auspicious new beginning.