New Beginings

Hinduism and Hindu mythology was something that fascinated me as soon as I arrived in India. Grand tales of gods and the divine seemed so far removed from the world they forged today – which is why I never expected to be pennyless, shoeless and nearly naked on an Indian beach, genuinely questioning whether one of these gods had muddied his divine hands in the life of lil’ ol’ me.

It had really started in Goa. After having my only shoes mysteriously swallowed up by the sand (or the hands of a cunning opportunist) while swimming I’d resigned myself back to my bogan barefoot life – who needs shoes anyway? At least not in northern Goa, where rocking up to a beachside party bare foot and knotted hair fits you neatly into the foreign hippy boat. Even the knock-off Havianas I eventually bought kept wandering away from me: Left outside cafes and stores, quietly borrowed by friends and sometimes just disappearing and reappearing at the homes of other friends.

So when I bid my final farewell to those elusive rubber thongs outside a café in Hampi I wasn’t too phased. In the safe haven of another small town overrun with enough hemp-wearing foreigners to make you question what country you’re in, the barefoot life beckoning was kind of quaint.

Until the case of my wandering possessions upped the anti, that is.

On a mountain peak in Hampi I sat meditating, watching the sun set over one of the most striking landscapes imaginable: Boulder stacked mountains looking like the pebble castles of giants, with palm tree forests and rice fields bursting through vivid lime greens into the dry landscape. The absolute serenity I felt watching that sunset is one I will always remember – just as the absolute terror I felt as my jaw drop and eyes popped when I turned to my backpack behind me only to see it and its contents scattered with a group of monkeys now well on the race to escape me.

Monkeys used to be cute. My first time seeing a monkey in Morocco I ‘oohed’ and ‘awwwed’ with the rest of my tourist friends. I giggled watching them steal a can of coke from a gora in Mumbai only to bite into it and erupt sugary liquid everywhere. By the time I reached Rishikesh I’d learned to fear the sneaky thieves as they continually tricked me out of my fruit. Having been outsmarted by a gang of fur faced bandits time and time again, I knew a pack of monkeys and a scattered backpack was a bad sign. Except this time, with no fruit to spare, they’d looted something much more valuable. Something very difficult to live without anywhere, let alone in a foreign country. They’d taken my only working debit card.

Monkeys: 3

 Olivia: 0

A bonus point I’d like to offer here is that this occurred right outside the temple for Hanuman, the Hindu monkey God. Regarded for his complete devotion and strength, Hanuman is the personification (or monkeyfication?) of humility and loss of pride before god. I couldn’t help but think these monkeys were somehow acting on behalf of this monkey god. Was this because I didn’t do Puja?* 

Hanuman, opening his heart to reveal where he safely hid Rama and Sita (and not all my things).

Had it occurred six months earlier I would have panicked more than I did. Having less than $10 cash, in a tiny Indian village with no Western Union, to last an indefinite period of time until I could get a backup card going isn’t the most comforting of thoughts – but this was the third time in the last year I’d found myself in a foreign country with no money. It was a lot less daunting this time around. I just hoped this time I wouldn’t have to succumb to someone’s foot fetish to get by (Yes, that did happen. Yes, I will write about it soon. Yes, I am okay, Mum). At least the thought of a monkey shopping spree was a little entertaining.

Plus, in this situation, I had an advantage: I was travelling with a friend. I should mention that this beautiful friend had similarly lost her debit card – not to monkeys but to a hungry ATM machine weeks before. Cash from my card was to cover us both until her card had been reissued – a very slow process when you’ve got no fixed address on the other side of the world to your bank. But scrounging through our backpacks to compile remaining cash could feed us for longer and, more importantly, being barefoot and broke with good company was a whole lot nicer than doing it all alone.

So, we did what any other girls with very limited money to last an indefinite time would do: Hitchhike 8 hours to the Karnataka coast where we’d heard rumours of a hidden hippy Paradise – an isolated beach where some likeminded stragglers had hung hammocks and pitched tents. A place to live almost money-free until we could organize banking necessities. And so, after a night of very little and not-so-comfortable sleep on a yoga mat clad rock in the fields of boulders of Hampi (and one of the most awe-inspiring sunrises imaginable!) we set off.

Finding ourselves squashed in the front seat of a truck and clinging onto a motorbike - backpacks, guitar and all - there was an undeniable enjoyment for the adventure of it all. We rejoiced when a small truck pulled over, offering us to sit in the back tray, and so we spent 2 hours merrily sprawled out on a tray of blankets (seriously, who hitchhikes onto a truck transporting blankets?!), much to the amusement of every bus, bike and car that passed us.

The most relaxing of all rides

Our biggest challenge of the day was when we arrived in the halfway city. Streets teeming with people and a ground scattered with cow shit and general city filth, this was not the ideal place for my naked feet. But still, those naked feet took me on as we walked across the city, struggling to get a lift out. Eventually though, we made it off the streets and into the car of an off-duty cab driver making a long-distance drive all the way to the coast. Thanking our lucky stars, and also privately our ridiculous privilege (particularly being a blonde-haired, blue-eyed damsal in distress that makes me a very rescuable novelty), we made it to the beach. Exhausted and knowing the Paradise beach we were seeking was too far a hike for 10pm, we stealthily hang our hammocks by the side of a mountain path and commit to a decent night sleep.

We finally reach our rumoured Paradise the next afternoon, after a morning spent using our last few rupees to buy a week worth of fruit and vegetables. The hike was exhausting in the midday sun – more so with a sleeping bag bursting with kilos and kilos of vegetables – but peering over the mountain top to the tropical beach below quietens all of our complaints: We’ve reached Paradise.

I could spend hours talking about Paradise. I could, and probably soon will, write pages and pages about that beach which exists in a world of its own – it’s a place full of character and charm, made memorable mostly by the amazing people who temporarily called it home – but this isn’t a story about Paradise, and more importantly:

I hadn’t escaped Hanuman’s curse yet.

After only a single night all of our food, my clothes and my phone had disappeared.

 You know those dreams where tragedy after tragedy occurs before you finally click – things can’t really get this bad, and realise it’s a dream? That’s the feeling I was waiting for as I sat watching the waves, furious that I couldn’t even let the ocean wash away my miseries without exposing myself to everyone. The thought of an exhausted thief lugging 5kg of watermelon up the mountain track was my only consolation.

Had I picked up a curse to have ALL my things stolen? Was this a sign from the universe or a Hindu Monkey God to shed my material possessions? The simple result of not looking after my belongings? 

Doubtfully, probably and certainly.

Whatever the reason, there I was broke, hungry with no food or clothes or phone. It sounds shitty and admittedly it felt shitty. So shitty in fact that I considered packing it all in (what little there was left to pack) and heading back home. I still had my passport safely stored in a guesthouse at a nearby beach with a few other essentials; maybe this was a big sign from the universe: You’re out, you’ve lost the game.

So what to do? Go home and mourn the loss of my possessions?

I don’t believe the universe has some grand plan for us, or that our destinies are marked out before us, but I do believe that we can and should take as much meaning from every situation.

In the seclusion offered by large rocks, I dove naked into that ocean and made a promise to myself to stick it out. So I had no phone? Fuck, who would I be needing to contact right now. No clothes? The dress I was wearing would do. No money? I was going to live on the beach! No food? Okay, that was harder to reconcile, but I took the gamble.

Let this be a humbling experience. Let me surrender to this beach and the people on it. Let me lose myself in this moment of being truly naked and owning almost nothing (okay let’s note here, I’m very lucky and privileged and did in fact own things, it’s just that most of said things were thousands of kilometres away). 

And also, just in case my mum ever reads this: yes, let me please learn to take better care of my things. (Ha!)
And, if a Hanuman wants me to be naked and humbled then, in a place like Paradise, you betcha, I was gon' be naked and humbled. Let the beach and this moment be my god.

Paradise became my home for nearly a month. With a small loan and food from new friends carrying me through until my new debit card was activated I felt what it was like to live entirely on the good grace of others. I can’t thank those people enough. Taking a needle and thread to discarded beach clothes I fashioned myself new swimwear and clothes, and came out looking like what my mum would call ‘beach rag chic’ before admitting nothing I ever do could really be considered chic. Rejoicing in a pair of old flip flops found buried in the sand, I was back on track.

A run of bad luck and an inability to keep anything I seemed to own  (thanks to thieves: monkey and human alike) led to the most fulfilling few weeks I’d had yet – and I can’t and won’t complain about that.

Monkeys (and monkey Gods): 4

Olivia: 1

Oh, and I haven't had anything stolen since. So let us all raise a glass over being 3 months curse free.

**puja = prayer ceremony honouring a god