I save a human life......

Sri Lanka, Negombo,
22-04-1995.

It is late afternoon I`ve just come back from my room after a shower, 75 laps I did in the hotel`s swimming-pool.....Can`t believe I managed that after my negative life style of the last 5/6 months in India. Tonight I`ll be on my way back to Amsterdam - if that is the wish of Lord Shiva - but now I`m freshly showered, have got my best clothes on, have an expensive hotel courtesy of AirLanka, just done 75 laps around the pool...

I need a beer cold and straight from the bottle. The pool is busy now, mostly locals, middle class Sri Lanka families with their kids. The open air bar is located right next to the bar, the atmosphere is good, some young indian ladies at the bar give me a nice smile, life is good...

The beer is cold just the way I like it. I look around to distract myself from the indian beauties who sure seem to have the hots for me. Just mere meters away from me, at the side of the pool I see a small boy in swimming shorts, lost and alone, tears in his eyes, in the middle of all these local people having fun and being merry, our eyes lock and my mind goes into a different realm, something is seriously wrong here...

I get up from my bar stool leaving the indian beauties alone, ignoring the disappointment in their eyes and walk over to this kid, not knowing why but the feeling of something bad upper most in my mind.

He looks up at me with his big brown eyes full with tears and point a bony finger down at a dark shape two meters down on the bottom of the pool, without a moment`s hestitation I jump in - forget about the nice clothes I was gonna wear on tonight`s plane to Amsterdam - .....the shape turns out to be his father and when I come up from the pool`s depth people are suddenly aware of was is happening, help to get the poor bastart out, I walk back to the bar, wed like as a fish, grin at the indian ladies and drink my ice-cold beer.

Twenty min. or so later the little family comes over to the bar, father still shaken, mother a few shades paler and the kid bearing a beaming smile, to thank me. Other people have already been ther to shake my hand and tell me what a big hero I am...

Strange end to my trip.....

The "DOG-CLEAN-PEOPLE", baba.

India, Trivandrum,
21-04-1995.

An indian on the beach told me this morning why his dog - a typical indian mongrel - has got a blue colored robe around his neck.

"To show the DOG-CLEAN-PEOPLE that my dog has a boss, baba, otherwise the "DOG-CLEAN-PEOPLE" will give my dog an injection, baba, not good for dog and I`ll no longer have a dog, baba".

I`ve moved to Trivandrum this morning because it is closer to the airport and I now suffer from the usual frantic worrying just before departure, will my plane be in time, do I`ve the actual flying date, will my plane make it to Sri Lanka or will the Tamil Tigers shoot it out of the sky, will the plane have enough kerosine aboard to cross over to...well, I`m sure you get the picture.

I did a desperate search for beedies - a handrolled india tabacco leave very popular among the locals - to sell at the dutch Queen`s Day once back home...though I am totally in the gray colored mists inside my f*cked-up mind what I really wanna do oncde I get back to Amsterdam after all this time.

Animals in Kovalam.

India,Kovalam, 19-04-1995.

When I wake up at four o`clock in the morning, still drowsy but already desperate for a Kerala grass joint, I see a huge cockroach walking on the wall of my room.

A dark green frog hides under a table in one of the beach restaurants while half a yard away a crab desperately digs a hole in the sand trying to save itself from being stepped on by one of the many passing waiters.

In the morning I`ve breakfast and watch two black/grey colored crows tip the lid of the sugar-bowl on the table, gorging themselves on the sweet delicacy inside while a third crow, perched high on chair, keeps a look out for the restaurant`s waiters.

I guess there is no spiritual quest - or the disappointment of failure - in their animal minds, just the daily worries of getting enough food inside, necessary energy for movement and procreation...

Divine inspiration.

India, Kovalam,
18-04-1995.

Sketchbook at the ready I sit on the beach and wait for divine inspiration, scenes to sketch.

Actually there is so much to sketch that it would be better to say I can`t choose and wait for Lord Shiva to tell me where to lock my eyes on and start drawing...

Like the middle class families that have come by bus from Trivandrum for a family`s outing to the beach. Husband carrying a freezer with food and drinks dressed in his best suit, wife - dressed in her best sari and busy with her kids - dragging an enormous suitcase with all the necesities for a day on the Kovalam beach. It reminds me of my own childhood, but only temporarely...

The memories disappear fast in the dark and endless void - I`m sure of it - is hidden somewhere in the fast volumes of open space that make up my mind. Well, at least I got my inspiration now!!!!!!!!!!

A desperate spiritual search.

Kovalam, 17-04-1995.

When I left Amsterdam nearly one year and six months ago now, I felt like going on a spiritual quest, a search for myself. I remember Lord Shiva's test, sending me that dark-skinned Surinam beauty that tried so hard to make me return to Amsterdam within months of the trip, a fruitless feminine attempt to convince me of the crazyness of my search for my inner being...

Now, sitting here late into the night, hearing the waves of the on-coming tide outside, in the closed confinement of my room that I rent for a meagre 50 Rp. a night, I`m still searching desperately for an answer to my excistence, the very reason for my presence here on this planet, just a mere speck of dust in this infinite universe. And however hard I have tried I`ve found no answer......Krisna or Jesus, Jaweh or Allah, Shiva and Ganesh, Vishnu nor Manitou; they all left me alone on my spiritual and lonely quest.

All these months alone travelling around Southeast Asia, immersing myself in the hippy scene, trying to do it the Sadhu way smoking charras from the holy Chilum...

Exhausted and in sheer fustration I light yet another joint......stumbling to the bathroom to clean my mouth of cheap tabacco fumes and "expensive" Kerala grass. I see myself in the bathroom mirror, a face I hardly regocnise, hollow and covered by a long bushy beard. I think about sexy thai Hot Mommas and gently phillipino Hunting Girls.

My desperate quest a fruitless one. What a shitty time to come to that conclusion, just five days before my return trip to Amsterdam......

My dairy, a life-line!

India, Kovalam,
15-04-1995.

Two days passed and I don`t remember much of them apart from a feeble and half hearted attempt to "ride" the waves again.

I didn`t get out of my room much apart from the necesary exits for food which I mostly took back to my room and ate inside.

I didn`t do much on this dairy either and have come to realise that this dairy, the stories I write down, the sketches I draw of the world around me the way I perceive it, the dates I put down every day, are my life-line to the actual realitiy.

Not the Indian Express that I usually read in the morning skipping over the dates and reading mostly world news only, though some local news stories can be hilarious, but mostly it all goes way beyond me.

Amsterdam where I`ll soon be...back home again....all of it seems way beyond me, maybe diving into this alternative hippy scene in India was not such a good idea after all.

I mean this is obviously more than just short time memory loss, this to my wesdtern trained mind, seems more like a complete back-out.

Shit, I`ve to go back to Mr. Bart Stokvis his Tae-kwondo dojo and work out like mad for the next few months after returning and hope that that will repair some of the physical and mental damage I`ve done to myself these last six months in India.

My head full with home.

India, Kovalam,
12-04-1995.

I still smoke Un Monton De weed at night alone in my room and spend time En La Playa at sunset tripping on the blood-red sky while smoking my treasured Kerala weed, the waves that roll in as they have probably done for only Lord Shiva knows how long.

Long walks alone along the beach, old restaurants have closed down while new ones have become popular - partly becuase of their newly bought video equipment - my head full with home, full with thoughts of home, my friends and my foes, going back after nearly one year and six months in Asia.

Riding the waves.

India, Kovalam,
11-04-1995.

Every morning while I have breakfast, and for the rest of the day untill about dusk I wonder about the hilarious screaming of the "Idiots-Who-Ride-The-Waves". They swim up to a big wave - quite big waves here - and turn back swimming as fast as they possibly can just before being engulved by the wave.

If you turn back at the precise moment and swim fast enough you can end up "riding" the crest of the wave for some time. It is then, by tradition, you scream at the top of your lungs.

I tried it today and the increased level of adraline while "riding" the wave justifies a healthy scream.

The smell of roasting fish on the display tables in front of the beach restaurants, fills the nostrils of my nose while I sit on the beach in darkness and ponder about my imminent departure - and subsequent arrival - back home.

A fly in my chicken fried rice.

India, Kovalam,
still late at night.

A fly had the "honourable" luck to land on my Chicken Fried Rice under preperation in the kitchen. I find the poor creature back in a heap of rice on my spoon 10 minutes or so later. His body fluids having coloured the rice around it a deep scarlet red.

The color reminds me of Rona`s menstrual flood that came out of her private female part together with my male member - both of it prematurely - only a few short weeks ago in our room in the Evergreen Hotel in Jaipur.

Our last attempt at Cupido`s game allthus ended abruptly and, in a way, disasterously

African death camps.

India, Kovalam,
10-04-1995.

Kovalam`s men in blue - In India their finest are actually dressed in khaki-brown - stroll aimlessly on the beach while Kasmiri businessmen try hard to sell chilums at inflated prices.

Gorgeous japanese ladies alone and on their own, devour me with their hazel-like eyes. I walk past them my head high on my last Kerala grass.

I try so hard to smoke it all that late at night and alone in my room I start hearing the screams of the african death camps I was at so incredibly long ago...making me realise maybe this wasn't a spiritual quest but search for oblivion of scenes that I will probably take to my grave...

In the sounds of the waves that roll in with the on-coming tide it starts to sound like something out of a horror movie. Oh, yeah, I can hear it all again very clearly now......crying babies and screaming mothers standing helplessly by while their infants starve to a miserable death.

All of that shit in the peacefull sounds of the waves just a mere twenty meters outside my room. SHIT I`M REALLY STONED NOW!!!

Nearly going home.

India, Kovalam,
09-04-1995.

It has been well over five months ago sice last I wandered around in the small fisherman villages in this area, alone and sober untill I met Christina...

Strange and almost bizarre to be here now nearly at the end of my trip. A trip that toke almost one year and a half.

Strange feeling to go back to Amsterdam in just a few short weeks.

When I left I was fit working out at the Dojo every night, got my black belt Tae-kwondo only days before leaving.

Now, after having done the alternative circuit, following the hippy route around India, hanging out with them and trying to understand their way of life, their facination with the infamous indian charas and chilam culture, on a spiritual quest that had no right of excistence to begin with and was totally fruitless...

It`s almost over now, my last Kerala grass disappearing fast, time to shave off my full and bushy beard, cut off the pony-tail that has nearly reached my bum, time to return to Amsterdam and my "other" life.

Kerala grass side effects.

India,Kovalam,
08-04-1995.

Smoking soft Kerala grass has got several side effect. Apart from getting mellowly high - not a bad feeling - it gives you gagging dry throat and serious attacks of the munchies. Not so good in India where the local chocolate is rumoured to stay in one piece only because of the huge quatities of oil added, now that cannot be very good for your health.

Insomnia, yet another side effect I suffer occasionally. But I spend my sleepless nights smoking yet more grass and sketching in my sketch book, eventually faaling asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

A desperate expert.

India, Kovalam,
07-04-1995.

With the eye of a desperate expert I look at the lone women on the beach of Kovalam. Most of the day, though, I spend in my room trying to recover from my 57 hour train trip from Dehli to Trivandrum.

A three day train trip part three.

Day time, somewhere across the Indian Sub-continent,

The one year old baby-boy of one of my fellow travellers has a shit and a pee in the gangway. While I sit and count how many people step into fresh baby-boy shit and urine, the mother is desperately trying to clean it all up with a dirty piece of her sari. I wonder why she doesn`t give her sprout a diaper.

In this part of the world some people are so poor they don`t even have the salt for their soup or diapers for their babies I`m afraid.

Another kid - quite a few years older and belonging to a middle class family - but his more advanced age not withstanding his parents feed him by hand. Not that the little shit appreciates it. He spits his food all around him. In a childish way his dad gives him a soft pad on his behind. Surprised by such "violent" punishment "Señor Grande" screams the whole train together.

The hours strech into yet more endless hours, more boring and exhausting hours. Every so often somebody pulls the emergency brake, they are near the village where they live so why bother waiting untill the next station when you can get off here? Saves you the money for the transport back to your village as well as time.

But everyting has got an end and in pouring rain and late afternoon the train pulls into Trivandrum station, I get off and take an auto-rickshaw for Kovalam.

A three day train trip part two.

Nighttime, somewhere across the Indian Sub-continent.

It`s three o`clock in the morning and the whole train is dead asleep when the train makes a stop in an extreme small village. I`m fast asleep myself in in the middle of an erotic dream featuring myself and half a dozen beautiful women spanning as many different nationalities and skin colours, when I wake up with a start to a very loud and very persistent CHAI...chaiCHAICHAIchai....CHAICHAIchai. It`s the local chai wallah CHAICHAICHAI again.

How this particular nasty fella has managed to get across all that junk outside in the gangway, all the people sleeping there with their animals, his only illumination the dimmed light from the station`s platform, I`ve no idea....nor do I care much. I`ve serious intentions to take his bloody head off...but let`s not do that, I`m a guest in this country nor do I wanna end up in an indian jail for manslaughtering a crazy chai wallah, let`s leave it to the locals, surely they`ll kill this nutcase. Well, no, everybody wakes up, gets a dirty one Rp. note, buys a chai and goes back to sleep.

A three day train trip part one.

India, New Dehli,
04-04-1995.

Like always when I take a train in this country, I`m acutely aware I`m in the third world. It`s India for real on the train!!! Since I`m a western tourist and have to dough to prove it, I was clever enough to reserve a bunk bed in a train compartment. Only the middle - and upper class can affort a bunk on the train. All the other passengers either travel on hard wooden benches,third class or outside in the gangway.

I`ve heard a rumour that the indian railway company is trying to discourage the locals from taking all their junk with them on the train, judging from the 50.000 kg. outside my compartment I would say that they are not having much success.

A trip to the toilet is quite an adventure trying to get across all that luggage, people sitting patiently on top of it, chicken and piglets - probably a food gift for whoever they gonna visit - rowdy children - mostly boys - but I manage, well, excuse me but I still have to get that indian off his free seat, that is..... the toilet seat, sorry mate but I need to have a pee, hope you don`t mind. Now I need to make it all the way back to my compartment acroos all that junk, across all that live pet shit.

I`ve no doubt that I`ll wake up to the cockerel`s crawing, as a matter of fact I`ve seen several cockerels so sure as hell they will try to outdo each other tommorow morning early.

A lone elefant.

Delhi, later the same day.

An old and sinister looking indian with dark-brown stained teeth - too much beetle juice I guess - on the lawn of Cannaugh Place wants me to take a look at his recomendation-book telling me he does good massage. I tell him I`ve a big problem as far as massage goes "I only like massage from ladies".

A flicka frän Sverige agrees with me and tells the dirty unkempt bugger to piss off. I quietly agree with her.

When I walk back to Pahar Ganj to pick up my gear - I`ll leave tonight for the three day train trip to Kovalam in the south - I watch a lone elefant marching down Pahar Ganj - where in the world does one see a lone elefant marching down the street in a big metropole like New Dehli? - I think about Rona and her obsession with these huge giant mastodonts, she must be in Bhuj by now.

I play with myself.

Dehli,
03-04-1995.

"I play with myself all the time" showing me and Ivo her fingers. "From the front and the back and for blue movies for Europe", an asian woman tells us in one of the many restaurants in Panhar Ganj. The crazy little bitch looks like she is on something and we decide to ignore her. Probably one of these lost souls, lost in India and lost in life. Too bad because she surely is not bad looking with a nice personality.

She reminds me a little bit of the Hot Mommas on the boulevard in that Male Kingdom called Pattaya back in Thailand. One of these poor Isaan women who has waited for ever for a farang to take her home, back to fabled Europe, give her a better life and a few children. It never happened, instead she had to make ends meet, sell her nubile young body to an endless stream of sex-hungry fat european lone males who introduced her to King Alcohol, sigarettes and the like. To deal with all that shit she started taking Yaa Baa.

I have met so many of them during my many trips to Thailand. And I`ve seen them going downhill fast and with no hope.

This little crazy bitch might well be one of them but I don`t wanna know. I presume I could show off my thai to Ivo but what is the point???

Pahar Ganj.

India, Delhi,
02-04-1995.

Rona kissed me adios this morning at 04.00 o`clock before leaving for Bhuj. I was hardly aware of her departure from my life untill I woke up several hours later and realised yet another woman who passed by in my life is gone, maybe forever.

The 6 hour train trip to Dehli streched into a full 9 hours and together with Ivo - a dutch bloke from Amsterdam I met on the train I took a room at the Hare Khrisna guest house in Pahar Ganj, the big shopping street right opposite the main train station.

Pahar Ganj is full with little guest houses, tourist restaurants and tourist oriented shops. Many of which cater especially to people from the recently collapsed Soviet Union.

These people come here en masse now to buy whatever they can put there hands on and sell it back home with enormous profits. Many of these shops have syrilic signs above their businesses trying to lure the former soviet people in.I see them leaving the shops burdened by huge packs.

Little alternative tourist ladies with rasta hair and sitting at the next table watch in wonder while I make quick sketches in my travel log.

In India ladies do not wear underwewar.

Jaipur, 01-04-1995. In a tourist shop down in Jaipur`s bazaar Rona sees a sculpture of Lord Shiva and and his consort Parvati dancing together. Lord Shiva having one of his legs all the way up above his head while Parvati`s stance is less exuberant. Full with wonder Rona asks the shopowner why Parvati dances less provocative. Totally aghast the shopowner tells her "but madam, tha is not possible, in India ladies do not wear underwear"!!! I`m outside nearly rolling around the dirty streets of Jaipur`s bazaar with sheer laughter while poor Rona is still trying hard to make sense out ofd this ridiculous situation.

I`m still in India.

Jaipur, 31-03-1995. When Lesly - one of Rona`s many Vipassana friends - and Rona are together it`s absolutely impossible for me to say even a single word. I decide to leave them to their Vipassana argy-bargy and get out for a walk in the old city. As always, all my senses get attacked by smells, sights and sounds. It`s India for real out here. The open gutters with the heavy odour of human faeces, the persistents smells of human habitation remind me constantly that I`m still in India. I walk up the many stairs to Tiger Fort located on top of a hill with wonderful vistas of Jaipur. I wait a bit to let a local pass on his way down guiding a flock of goats and eventually find myself a place to sit down on top of a Tiger Fort wall. I watch the madness of Jaipur down in the valley and wonder.

Commission people.

Jaipur, afternoon. Jaipur is full with commission people and the rickshaw wallaws refuse to take you anywhere but to their bloody commission places. People on motor bikes and kids on foot tour the city in a mad search for white faces. If I dare to stay in a place to long - say two seconds - I get besieged by these people. Their behaviour is agro and NO is to them a non-acceptable answer. I`ve strong suspicions about the mental state they are in. Either they are drunk or doped up!!!

Surviving DATURA.

Jaipur, 30-03-1995. Well, it seems I survived the DATURA experiment but it was something I would most certainly not wish to repeat!!! I woke up several times during the night, waking up from the most crazy dreams I probably ever had. Monsters shaped like they came right out of japanese Manga comic books, montrosities and evil thai spirits screaming all their rage at me. My throat as dry as parchment, like Sahara sand in trhe middle of summer. When Rona knocked on my door early in the morning I looked three quarters dead and felt like it.

DATURA leaves and TURBO beer.

Jaipur, several hours later. After several hours and no effect I decide to eat, instead of smoke, my last remaining DATURA leaves. Smoking them really seems useless.Everybody back in Pushkar told me "be carefull, it`s a very powerfull drug!". I can already feel the effect setting in, or maybe it are the two bottles of Turbo beer which according to Amid are the equivalent to half a bottle of whiskey each.

The Vipassana centre.

Jaipur, 28-03-1995. "Yeah, come with us, Hans", Choly says over breakfast. "Naturally we won`t speak hebrew but english because of you". Warily I come along with Choly and two other israeli women to the Vipassana centre. Two km. before reaching the place Choly gets into a massive arguement with the auto-rickshaw wallah over the price and we all end up walking through beautiful surroundings while the rickshaw wallah is busy screaming a mix of hindu and english insults after us. Naturally Choly and his two lady-friends speak hebrew all the time. At least I manage to see Rona who gives me her heavy backpack to carry back to my hotel where, she promises me, she will soon join me later during the day. Off course later means it is gonna be too dark to leave the Vipassana centre so it will have to be TOMORROW!!! Pissed off beyond believe I drag myself back to Jaipur big heavy Rona backpack on my back. By the time I arrive I know for sure the is the worst of days to fuck around with me. A lady in the restaurant of my hotel tries it anyway, joining me at my table and then telling me to go outside because she doesn`t like my cold. I tell her to get stuffed. The day is still not over and I need a few beers to relax.......I know the bloke at the infamous Beer and Wine shop down the road will surely overcharge me so I ask Amid - one of Rona`s Vipassana friends and an indian - to buy them for me at the right price. India has changed from a pardise into hell. I`ve definitely been here to long and it is time to go home!!! Amid is an indian freak and Choly a nervous wreck, Aubrey - yet another one of Rona`s Vipassana friends - a determined dope head. I return to my room and instead of having wonderful sex with Rona I end up smoking DATURA I plucked in Pushkar and dried on top of the roof of my hotel there, alone in my room. Still no Rona but the state I am in now it might well be better she arrives tomorrow.

Big financial problems anxiously awaiting me.

Jaipur, 27-03-1995. After several weeks of Big Party Time in Pushkar I managed to drag myself and my backpack off to the Pushkar bus terminal and on the bus to Jaipur. Only on the bus to I start to feel the sense of unreality that has slowly started to come over me the past few weeks. Maybe the reason I was going out of my mind so much, allowed the Bangh Lassies and assorted drugs to take over my conscious mind, induced - no doubt - by the growing uneasiness of going back home soon. The chaotic social life of me, a western tourist in India. The bad news I received from Frank and Francine the other day, it seems big financial troubles are anxiously awaiting me back in Amsterdam. At least Rona was at the Jaipur bus terminal to pick me up, together with Choly, one of her Vipassana friends, a bloke with incredible body language. Fascinating to see him move.

No complains.

Took a bangh lassie straight after breakfast this morning and had to spend the rest of the day in bed, a very high overtaking my conscious mind within half an hour. Colourful images and outlandish scenes untill I fell asleep and they turned into even weirder dreams. Tomorrow I`ll be off to Jaipur to meet up with Rona, hard physical work is waiting for me but to quote a certain american actor, I`ve got no complains!!!

Out of dope.

Pushkar, 25-03-1995. I ran into Kate today, someone else I met during my stint in Gokarna. I knew she was in Pushkar from Susanne and Tony who told me so a few days ago. We walk around the busy streets of Pushkar reminiscing. I enjoy her company and since I ran out of dope last night I`m slowly starting to get more active. Every hour without dope and I come down more. With Holland getting closer - at least in time - I`ve to start thinking seriously about kicking the habit. No way I can get back to my dojo, start doing my beloved Tae-kwondo agian high on dope. Never mind getting a job again stoned out of my head!!!

Ganja green hazy clouds.

Pushkar, 24-03-1995. While my notion of time is fastly disappearing and reality around me slowly dissolves in ganja green hazy clouds, I keep struggling on with a joint in one hand and my sketchbook in the other. Sitting outside the chaishop on the main square enjoying banana pancakes for breakfast and coffee laced with bangh I see the crazyness of indian life in Pushkar like in a movie. My mind is a whirlpool full with colourfull hallucinary images that cannot possibly be real. I befriend myself with a french blond lady I meet in the painting shop and end up with a dinner invitation from the owner of the shop. He is impressed with my sketches of daily indian life, I`m more interested in trying to charm the blond out of her pants.

Lord Shiva would be proud of me.

Pushkar, 22-03-1995. When I returned to my hotel last night I found the door to my room back there were it should be and my belongings neatly packed, my clothes washed and dried, folded on the chair next to my bed. The old patriarch who came straight up after he heard me going up the stairs, told me that the french dopeheads had to pay baksheesh to the police and repair costs to him for my door. I`ve a strong suspicion that he repaired the door himself but if wriggled some money out of these french crazes, who am I to disagree....He told me nada about the german bitch and I didn`t bother to ask. Saw these french weirdos again today when they ventured out of their room for breakfast but they seem to prefer to spend most of their time smoking chilam and do nothing. I`ve to admit that that is pretty much the case for me as well, the increasing heat gets me lazier by the day, not to mention all the energy that is sucked out of my body by all the ganja I smoke myself. "You hang around and do nothing the whole day"'' Rona said when I put her on the bus a few days ago. If Lord Shiva could see me now he would be proud I guess.

A strange new day.

Pushkar, 21-03-1995. Strange start of the day with these drunks and stoned -out- of -all- that- is- holy french in my hotel. Got myself and the german bitch out of the situation in no time and left the patriarch to cool down the french shits. While a semi-panicked german bitch tried to get dressed out in the street in a crispy cold of a new day in India, a crowd started to gather quickly watching the spectacle - crowds gather very quickly in India!!! - When their hungry eyes found the bitch trying to get dressed, their joy knew no bounds. It gave me ample time to escape it all and everybody and I found myself back at the main square sipping chai and staring at the darkly green liquid in the big pint sized glass, I know I will give me solace from all this shit.........................................................................sevaral Bangh Lassies and a whole lot of a chilams and joints later I suspect i regocnised these two ladies from Spain that were in the chai shop today but apart from that little bit of knowlegde I have got no idea whatsoever where I might have met them before. Their eyes were full of promise, lust literally drooling from their fine figures but when I meet them again later in the street I am already to stoned to investigate. I find myself back at Susanne and Tony, on their roof top making music and enjoying the freshness of a cold King Fisher with a constant suply of chilams I feel happy but realise that a new episode of heavy chilam smoking has entered my life.

New neighbors.

Pushkar, 21-03-1995. When this crazy little blond german bitch declared she was gonna stay the night I was already in a state were there was no defense. The text she wanted me to translate swifly found its way under the bed and with the aids of a tola of charas and and a grand botella of want she said was cuban rum, we soon ended up sweaty like hell after the exchange of bodily fluids, hot sex,. Only intercourse between two strangers can be so intense - do'`t forget the mind enhancer s we smoked and consumed.....We do manage to fall asleep eventually, but just to continue our naughty habits in the morning. In the morning that I find out that the room next to mine has new occupants, they are french and introduce themselves by seriously trying to kick my door down because of the erotic sounds we make.

An eventfull day.

Pushkar, 19-03-1995. I put Rona on the bus to Jaipur today, she wants to do another Vipasana meditation course at the meditation centre in outskirts of Jaipur. Together with her, the last of her Vipasana israeli dope heads, good-for-nothing friends left as well . Ultimately that means I`m alone again and I`ve been longing for that freedom after Rona and her friends, Vipasana was all that was on their minds, conversation always turning around Vipasana meditation.....Adois Rona, enjoy your meditation course nr. -I forgot count.- ands stay away for a while......I`m in mental turmoil, shit, i need a joint, a super strong Bhang Lassie ands a sweet chai.......hours later I end up on the roof top of a hotel with Susanne and Tony from Switserland, We met months earlier in Goa, Kutly Beach. We smoke chilam and drink cold King Fisher Beer,we make music, we swap stories, how have things been, what about him/her? Kutly Beach came back alife and hidden memories come to the surface of my drugged mind. When I get back to my senses darkness rules and I find myself at the market having a chai and a Bangh Lassie watching the strange going-ons of the brightly lit festival that has been evolving nightly for the last three nights. On the way home I muse over the Bangh Lassie I consumed while the chai is still warm in my belly. When I finally ly on my bed feeling happy I made it home safely after such an eventfull night ready like sure hell to dose off for at least the next 12 h. or so, the patriarch of the family I rent my room from, is knocking on the door informing me about a german lady who persistently wants to see me............

All this weird shit.....

Pushkar, 18-03-1995. The closer I get to my departure time and subsequent arrival back home, the stranger the world seems to become, the weirder everyting that has happened to me during this GRAND TRIP seems to be!!! I walk through Pushkar with a woman on my arm, Rona from Scotland, a great woman who loves to chat which means that I know everything there is to know about her and, still, she is a complete stranger to me. I feel as though I`m the stranger who walks around with the living without them knowing I`m not really there anymore. Cows in the street that look at me with their big bulging eyes, fighting stray dogs and docile donkeys, big and bulky bulls full of hard muscle with their male equipment hanging out of its hairy sheath, follow cows in heat. Thieving monkeys and dark green Bangh Lassies....Nothing of all this can possibly be real. A one-eyed sadhu preparing his morning ganja sigarette is surrounded by french dope heads that are so broke they even lack the money for a morning chai. Soon I`ll be back home and far away from all this weird shit.....

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Pushkar, 17-03-1995. Most of Rona`s amigos left Pushkar today - good riddance to bad rubbish - either to do a new Vipasana meditation course in Jaipur or they just shallowed off to God knows where. This, in effect, means that Rona has started to neglect her twice a day meditation. One hour early morning and another hour late afternoon. Usually I lay around in her hammock while she does her aftrennoon meditation, smoke a joint and read her Tintin comics. The temperature is on the rise, I can literally feel it getting warmer each new day. This feeling reminds me of my departure for Amsterdam that is slowly but by each passing day getting more prominent. The drum and stick dancing in Pushkar has stopped untill next year, untill the next festival of Holi. These stick and drum dancers were preparing for Holi.

Datura in my Bangh Lassie.

Pushkar, 16-03-1995. Festival of Holi today celebrating the beginning of summer in North India. Naturally all the locals are out en masse carrying buckets and colored powder they throw at and over each other, their main victims are of course all the foreign western freaks, dope heads and strage alternatives from Europe. Throwing colored water and powder all over you is their way to celebrate Holi. Tomorrow the local news papers will be full again with complain stories by the more conservative and middle class - like us the westerners, they are a prime target - of India, about the woes and evils of getting your best clothes spoiled on the way to work. Most of the people I hang out with in Pushkar had a Bangh Lassie last night, one of them flipped out on his lassie, paranoid beyond belief...I myself experienced the best Bangh Lassie ever, even started to halucinate. Maybe they put something else in their lassies last night, i saw dried Datura leaves lying around in the chai shop`s kitchen.

Lord Shiva and his steel iron lungs.

Pushkar, same day night time. Staying at Rona`s hotel means I`ve to cross half the village to get to the Brahma temple for my morning chai and early chat with my friend, the Brahma sadhu who takes care of the temple. With Rona being busy in the morning with her Vipasana meditation together with her israeli friends I can safely get myself out of the way. The chai at the Brahma temple is still hot and sweet, his charas gets me high even before my first Bangh Lassie of the day and his stories still fascinate me......ONCE UPON A TIME LORD SHIVA SPENT TWO THOUSEND YEARS MEDITATING ON TOP OF HIS HOLY MOUNTAIN, MOUNT KAILASH, HIS HIMALAYA RETREAT. AFTER THESE TWO THOUSAND YEARS OF HEAVY MEDITATION, LORD SHIVA CAME DOWN MOUNT KAISLASH LONG RASTA HAIR AND UNKEPT BEARD AND 2000 YEARS OF DIRT COVERING HIS BODY. WHEN HE REACHED THE FOOT HILLS OF MOUNT KAILASH HE DECIDED TO SPEND THE NEXT 165 YEARS SMOKING CHILAM!!! Trying desperately to make notes of his story and smoke his chilam at the same time i try to figure out the - no doubt - hidden meaning of his story but that is obviously way beyond me like it has been with most other stories he has been telling me.....only one thing is cristal clear to me, this bloke, Lord Shiva, must have steel iron lungs!!!

armed locals, and in a frenzy.

Pushkar, 15-03-1995. The last couple of nights I`ve been watching these groups of young local males dancing around in circles every night. The percusionist with a big drum in the middle of the group banging away at his drum like there is no tomorrow while his mates dance around him armed with two wooden sticks. They work themselves into a frency banging their sticks together on the rythm of the drum wallahs percusion, it is hopelessy out of tune but who cares.....? They beat their sticks against those of the guy in front and behind. I`ve no idea about the meaning of this weird phenomenon. Never seen it before in this strange and chaotic country but here in holy Pushkar they have been doing this every night and at several places around the village for the past two weeks or so. Naturally the sight of a lot of locals armed with two sticks each and in a mental frenzy is not a secure feeling in my opinion!!! Wonder if it might have anything to do with the festival of Holi that is a-coming soon.

A lone dionkey and crazy stray dogs.

Pushkar, 14-03-1995. I wake up at 04.00 h. in the early morning because of the mad barking of the street`s population of stray dogs. I look out of my window to see five of them surrounding a lone donkey. Two of the cowardly dogs in front opf the donkey making mock attacks while the other three attack for real from the back. When the poor donkey finally manages to make his escape with the darned dogs in hot pursuit, I can still hear its frantic barking - ia, iaaaaa, iaaaaaaaa - for quite a while.

You and me together in my room.

Pushkar, 13-03-1995. Rona arrived today. She sat down next to me outside the chai shop for a full 10 min. before nudging my ribs and saying "hello my dear". I pay her a bangh lassie and a sweet indian cup of chai and listen to her excited stories about her Vipasana course in Jaipur and the new israeli friends she made. It takes a while but eventually the bangh lassie kicks in and I can see clearly how her pupils start to dilate, her voice starts to waver, her conversation becomes incoherent. As a matter of fact I`ve no longer any idea what she is on about, innocuity rules now in her head, all of it pretty harmless really. She`s still trying hard to make her stories come across but with the bangh lassie taking over her mental capacities and my left hand that is stroking her tighs under the cover of the table, feeling the close proximity of her warm private parts, she starts to give in and wispers in my ear "I love what you`re doing to me, I feel ready to trot, I feel like you and me together in my room". That it is actually my room makes no difference. We get up and I help her with her pack, both of us rushing over to my room......

Still no Rona.

Pushkar, 12-03-1995. Still no Rona around and with my miss New Sealand out of the way as well, I have returned to my easy life style of getting up late with a bangh lassie after my morning chai. My breakfast banana pancakes taste just so GOOD after my first bangh lassie of the day. I watch the funeral processions that go on all day and spend my afternoons at the holy lake or I walk out of Pushkar to the tower where I have discovered a quail population nearby, nice to observe how they get about their quail daily business, not bothered much by my presence at only a few mere meters away. When I return to my hotel for an early evening shower before dinner, I have made it a habit to play a bit with the hotel family`s children and others from the neighborhood. My portret drawings are mightily popular among these kids and even their parents come outside to get their portrets done.

Lathi wielding police men.

Pushkar, 10-03-1995. An important hindu swami or guru is in the village to read some holy hindu scriptures aloud at the main Shiva temple. His presence in Pushkar is drawing lots of devotees and cool babas to the village, locals and foreigners alike. The drawback of this "festival" is that it also draws lots of cops to Pushkar as well. I usually give them a wary look before they can give me one and keep my charas hidden in my underwear, a place where an indian police man will never look for drugs out of pure principle.....Lots of the sadhus that have come to Pushkar for the fetival are obviously on a real religious quest, others have just donned the orange robes to make the Rp. come in a bit faster. A colorful sadhu has got his greedy eyes on my change when I pay for my chai. I try to ignore him but India is not a country where the locals are easily ignored and when he keeps hassling me for a free bangh lassie I call for the assistance of two passing cops. Both of them carry a lathi, a one meter long piece of sugar cane and when I explain my problem assisted by the owner of the chai shop, their joy knows no bounds and, wielding their lathis in anticipation they tell the sadhu to move on giving him a few well aimed knocks over the head for good measure. My colorfull sadhu gets the message real fast and disappears in the crowd.

No more worries.

Pushkar, 09-03-1995. Out of the blue and after a night full with King Fisher, spliffs and passion, Christine told me she would leave at first light for Dehli. That was last night and since I`m a gentleman I helped her with her backpack and brought her to the bus terminal. A few wed kisses, a tear wiped away from the corner of her eye and a last wave with her hand when the bus departed and that was it.....Miss New Sealand, Christine, her stay in my life was short but powerfull, wed kisses and yoga, let`s not forget her claim `"I`m an expert at fellatio". Chances are I`ll never see her agian, yeah these chances are in an elevator and going up sky high, higher with every km. her bus gets closer to New Dehli. To hell and beyond with it...at least I don`t need to worry now about Rona`s imminenet arrival.

Potential disaster.

Pushkar, 08-03-1995. My days in Pushkar pass slowly and peacefully. Early morning chai in the Brahma temple across the road, a bangh lassie after breakfast on the main square with my sketchbook and yoga and sex later in the day with Christine in my room, and good dinner with King Fisher beer at one of the numerous roof top restaurants later at night. Still....potential disaster is looming over me and I`m well awate of it. Rona will be arriving in Pushkar in two days time and I`ve a nagging suspicion in the back of my head she`ll not be very amused when she finds out about my little fling with Christine.

A SADHU STORY.

Pushkar, 07-03-1995. Again I felt restless this morning and went to the Brahma temple to have an early morning smoke with my new friend, the sadhu that guards the temple. He even serves me chai and chapatis. Told me this amazing Lord Braham story this morning. BRAHMA REACTED THE WORLD, BRAHMA CREATED THE HOLY COW, BUT FELL IN LOVE WITH HER, HE CHANGED HIMSELF INTO A BULL AND WENT AFTER HER FULL WITH LOVE AND LUST, TO ESCAPE HIM THE COW TURNED HERSELF INTO A BIRD, BRAHMA TURNED HIMSELF INTO A MALE BIRD, THE COW THAN TURNED INTO A TREE, BRAHMA DID THE SAME, THE COW TURNED HER FORM AGAIN AND EVENTUALLY WENT THROUGH ALL STATES OF CREATION, SPARING NO SACRIFICE BRAHMA FOLLOWED SUIT TURNING INTO ALL THE STATES OF CREATION AS WELL. I sat there stunned and my drugged mind desperately trying to understand the hidden message in his story, trying hard not to look like yet again a stupid foreign tourist......not even bothering to hide his triumph, he explained BRAHMA FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS OWN CREATION, EVERYTHING COMES AND EVERYTHING GOES, ONLY LOVE REMAINS, DESPITE THE INFINITE NUMBER OF LIFE FORMS ON THIS WORLD, AT THEIR BIRTH OF EXISTENCE AND AT THE MOMENT OF THEIR DYING AND ALL THE TIME BETWEEN, THERE IS ONLY ENERGY AND ENERGY IS LOVE.

A strange Sadhu .

Pushkar, 06-03-1995. It is early morning and Christine is snoring contentedly at my side. Despite the passion of last night and all the booze, charas and pot that came with it, I feel restless and ill at ease. I leave the bed quietly and dress trying to pick my own clothes out of a multitude of garments strewn all over the room. Pieces of left over food and empty bottles of Khazana Superstrong Beer, a french bottle of red wine we acquired mystreriously on the way home late last night. I leave the chaos and Christine stark naked asleep on the bed in the middle of all this, and walk the short distance to the nearby temple that is dedicated to Lord Brahma. It is only 06.00 h. in the morning but a shruffy looking Sadhu is already happily puffing away at his chilam, he probably wants to get stoned together with the approaching sun, not a bad idea and I join him. It does not take me more than 10 min. to realise the poor sod`s brain cells have been burned away by a life time of heavy charas smoking. His religious queeste for Lord Brahma came to bumby stop years ago leaving him with fried brains. I see his orange colored robes flashing through the temple when he gets up to boil some water for chai. I can see the orange color brighten up when he passes through the rays of early sunlight that filter through the holes in the roof. The shadows start to play tricks on me and I realise I might very well be a few mental levels higher as I originally thought. Pretty good charas this sadhu has got.

Christine in my bed, fast asleep.

Pushkar, 05-03-1995. Christine - my new New Sealand love - left me shortly after breakfast this morning. She wanted to go back to her room to pick up a few belongings. Still feeling pretty worn out from our nightly sexual conduct I wandered off to the main square to have a bangh lassie at my favourite chai shop. I have spent a lot of time at this chai shop since arriving in Pushkar, drinking luke warm chai and knocking down bangh lassies. It is a good chai shop with a great location on the main square, great spot for people watching while being under the influence of a relaxing spliff or assie. I`m not the only foreign tourist at this chai shop, the place is a real meeting point for the foreigners in Pushkar. Apart from a great location for people spotting, the also serve suburb bangh lassies. When late afternoon I return to my room I find Christine in my bed fast asleep. After chasing away the inevitable kids from the hotel from the cracks in my door, I take off all my clothes end join her in my bed.

A lady from New Sealand.

Pushkar, 04-03-1995. We chat for hours while sipping at our bangh lassies and watching the chaotic Pushkar street life. Slowly the darkness is becoming total and before the hordes of stray dogs that rule the nights in indian cities, come out of their hiding places and will give us a hard time, we decide to return home. Home is my place and she coming along is no question but a fact acompli. I don`t need to invite her over and she doesn`t bother to ask. We roll and smoke spliffs from the tola of charas I have hidden in my bathroom. After a while we feel so stoned, almost like the walls of my room are coming at us and we hide under my single sheet that is supposed to be white but hasn`t been washed for so long, it has turned a dirty dark grey. We kiss and let our hands go exploring the other body. We are both hot to the touch and excited like 16 year olds, wanting each other badly. We feel like we are rolling around on clouds so stoned we are, and our minds are even higher, some place just before what is supposed to be heaven. We quite literally fuck ourselves to sleep. When I wake up she is still there and the kids from the hotel family outside my room peeping through the cracks in the door, trying to spot our naked bodies on the bed with the aid of the first morning light that comes filtering through the windows of my room.

Weddings in Pushkar.

Pushkar, 03-03-1995. Pushkar being a holy hindu village, it is small wonder that the place is highly popular among young couples about to wed. The idea is that the bridegroom will fetch his bride from her parents house sitting on his high mount and all dressed up in his best clothes. Mucisians have been hired to accompany him and people to carry these rediculous TL tubes vertically on top of their heads. A small boy will usually walk along side the horse carrying a ventilator that give some relief to the bridegroom from the intense rajastan heat. His relatives will en masse walk along as well and at the very end of this weird procession a noisy generator is dragged behing on a wooden cart to supply the electricity for the ventilator and the Tl tubes. That people don`t trip over all the electric wiring that goes hither and tither between the TL tubes and the generator is an amazing feat in itself... Just outside the village the young couples and their friends and relatives wait in the dozens for their turn. Puskkar`s small and already congested streets will have to put up with about 20/30 wedding processions every day.

Processions in Pushkar.

Pushkar, 02-03-1995. Just outside my hotel is a hindu temple dedicated to whatever god in the hindu panthenon of gods and deities. From the balconey of my room I watch, a bangh lassie down my throat and as spliff hanging from the left corner of my mouth, how the local vistors to Pushkar hire some of the numerous musicians that wait just outside Pushkar for customers, and under the accompaniment of extreme out of tune music set off for this temple. They pass underneath my balconey and I watch how their women folk dance in front of the temple while their men encourage them on. After the dancing they all enter including the musicians and their continuing out of tune music, lots of chanting sounds from the inside and the heavy odour of indian insence coming out of the temple in smoky walms invades my nostrils. Eventually it is all over, they all come out, the musicians get their pay and wander off in search of new customers while the devotees head off for the chai shop at the end of the street. This sort of processions go on all over Pushkar, at all the numerous hindu temples in Pushkar.

A bangh lassie in Pushkar.

Pushkar, 01-03-1995. The first thing I did last night after dinner was going back to my favourite chai shop on Pushkar`s main square and have a bangh lassie, a joghurt drink mixed with a heavy dose of mariuana. The bangh lassie quite nearly wiped me out but I kept enough grip on the situation, mentally as well as physically, to survive the experience. Staggering home after my bangh lassie I discovered quite a few familiar faces in the evening twilight of Pushkar`s colorfull streets, fellow travellers seen before on the Lonely Planet road in south/east Asia. Most of them seem to recognise me as well but being in a mental state quite similar to my own, we merely nod our heads at each other in mutual recognition....further conversation will have to wait untill another day, untill the time we have come down enough to chat and exchange our latest travel stories.

might is right on the indian roads.

Pushkar, 28-02-1995. Pushkar is one of these many holy cities in India, A jewel of exquisite beauty in the colorfull state of Rajastan. Leaving red haired Rona from far away Scotland to do her Vipassa meditattion course in Jaipur for the next couple of days, I set out alone this morning for Pushkar where at Hotel Surya - Surya being the sun god in hindu mythology - I got a huge room for only 40 Rp. The short distance from Jaipur to Ajmer offered me the sight of 4 busses tipped over on the side of the road, their drivers sleeping peacefully in the shade of their busses, waiting for help no doubt. I presume the passengers of those busses must have decided to walk the rest of the way since they were nowhere to be seen. Plus the sight of what looked like a major accident between two trucks. Might is right on the indian roads and trucks are the mightiest!!!

Jaipur`s fake gem industry.

Jaipur, 27-02-1995. We took the superdeluxe bus to Jaipur but it took as long as the odinary bus which costs only half of what we paid. An expensive hotel at 200 bloody Rp. but it is our last night together. Lots of filth, beggars, people sleeping in the streets and local shitheads trying to get the western tourist to come along to a gem shop. Jaipur is reknowned for the fake gem industry. Some local, usually well dressed and speaks good civilised english will try to befriend himself with you and invite you for a chai. It might take only a few hours or maybe a few days but eventually your new friend will start talking about this aquintance of his who happens to have a gem shop and contacts in the west where you can sell your gems with a major profit etc etc. I am sure you start to get the general idea.....if you do not you will soon be in the possession of some beautifull pieces of glass that has cost you your complete holiday budget and are worthless back home. If you meet these people and say no to them they will try to work on your conscience with remarks like "why you not like talk to indians'? "you`re too proud to our people"? "why you come to India when you don`t like to talk to us"?
and more of the same shit...

Stray cats in India.

Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary, 26-02-1995. With Rona off to the nearby city on a shopping spree, looking for souvenirs for her many friends back in Scotland, I have the day to myself. Having the day to myself means I can also be more adventurous and explore the more remote areas of the sanctuary, the areas where most visitors never go. The reason most foreigners and indian holiday makers never go there is because they nearly always like to take a guide and the guides can`t be bother to go to all the trouble. Show the visitor the nearby lakes and some birds, the sand snake that lives near the park entrance and "Oh, look ,sir, a wild cat". Probably a stray cat from the city that decided life for a cat can be much more tranquil in the sanctuary than in a dusty and chaotic indian city where the crazy motorised traffic is major indian-stray-cat-killer!!! I`m lucky today and spot a magnificient brown fish eagle.

Birds everywhere.

Keoladeo Bird Sanctaury, 25-02-1995. We still wander around the sanctuary using the crappy rusty bicycles from our hotel. The binoculars they rent out are in no better condition and look as though they were already in use by the english colonial army, luckily I`ve taken my own pair of binos along on this trip. We see wren sitting quietly on a branch just above the water waiting for their dinner. With their blue/orange-red colored plumage and big long beak they are easy to spot. Once they spot a fish they dive in and spear it with their long sharp beaks, coming out of the water and landing again on their branch fish clamped tightly in the beak. The3 whole process takes only a few short seconds, the poor victim fish never really has got the slightest idea what has happened. Apart from dozens and dozens of different bird species, the bird sanctuary also abounds in stray dogs and cats, mongoose and jackal are plentifull. The gracious black ducks can be seen in flocks of hunderts either flying overhead or paddling on the numerous lakes. The screaks of the rose banded parakeets compete with the sounds of babblers, shrikes and asorted water fowl, mynas are present wherever I dare to look. One more day here and we`ll be off. If I wanna see birds then it will have to be wild city birds, Rona told me this morning.

Paper money in India.

Keoladeo, same day. Since we`ve started to talk about banks in India, let us not forget the india rupee....Now money is dirty and I mean that literally being passed from one hand to the next etc. But I`ve to as yet find a country where the local paper money is as dirty as the indian rupee. The rupee seems to last much longer as our own...notes that would have been taken out of circulation back home will still change hands many times each day in the streets of India. Needless to say that indian money can feel a bit sticky and look tatty. However dirty it might be, everybody will accept it as legel tender unless it is ripped. Even the slightest rip and you could as well use it as toilet paper. Never mind when a Rp. note has a whole in it the size of you fist, pas de problem. They staple the notes together at the bank and rip them loose again when the need arises.

Banks in India.

Keoladeo, 24-02-1995. After nearly a whole week together full time we spent some time apart today because Rona had to change money at one of the banks in the nearby town. Now banks in India can be a tricky thing. The are usually two guards around in the lobby, dressed in a colonial looking cacky colored uniforms, epaulletes and all that, armed with enormous ancient looking muskets. They seem to spend most of their working time sitting around smoking beedies non-stop and drinking chai. The office itself is stacked bottom to ceiling with files and paper work, the law of dust rules in these places!!! A bank might be a bank but In Indian banks it is not all that unusual they tell you to come back later because the bank is out of money. A bank in McLeod Ganj told me to come before 11.30 h. in the morning otherwise they would have run out of money....And even when they have money and no other customers, you still might have to wait a considerable amount of time before they find it. If these musket armed guards don`t scare off possible bank robbers, then the total lack of booty surely will.

HER SCENT.

Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary, 23-02-1995. HER SCENT LINGERS IN THE AIR AFTER SHE IS GONE AND MY BED IS COVERED WITH HER HAIR, DRIED SPOTS IN THE LINEN ARE A CERTAIN PROOF OF OUR NIGHTLY SEXUAL CONTACT. Still half asleep I try to figure out where the hell she is. Ha, I can hear singing softly while taking a shower. Like last year the abundance of bird life in the sanctuary is astounding, birds everywhere, bold jackals crossing the road in front of our bikes, mongoose, swamp deer and nilgai. Water turtles sunbathing on dead wood sticking out the water. We see the heads of two baby owls curiously eyeing us from the safety of a tree burrow. We see herons fishing in the numerous lakes and a bewoldered sand snake surrounded by hordes of park visitors, flash light bulbs going off like mad and I can only feel sorry for this poor creature.

A luandry wallah stealing Rona`s underwear.

Keoladeo Bird Santuary, 22-02-1995. Like last year when I was in Keoladeo, the abundance of birdlife is astounding. Especially so to Rona who has not yet before been here. I also introduce her to the bird watcher`s parlance. The hotel rents out bicycles but warns us to be craefull with rickshaw wallahs, they get less income because the hotels rent out bikes and will therefore sometimes puncture the tires of parked bicycles. They forgot to warn us about there very own laundry wallah who early this morning stole Rona`s knickers that were drying on the washing line outside our room. maybe they should warn us too about the new cook they have in their restaurant`s kitchen....the stupid idiot served me an egg dish for breakfast with milk coffee. He had first boiled the egg and then tried to fry the hard boiled egg.......needless to say I send that dish back to the kitchen. The milk coffee was good though.

Rona`s promise......

Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary, 21-02-1995. Though our train to chittogarh was sort of in time - that is always a surprise in India - it just went into the wrong direction and we ended up in Jaipur instaed of Chittogarh. According to the railway personel on duty in Jaipur, the engine-driver of our train was new on this stretch so......well we are in India after all...Fortunately it`s only a "4 hr" by bus to Keoladeo, as they told us. I felt like kicking some indian railway personel ass but Rona`s sunny look on things - and her promise if i keep my temper under control, we`ll have a quicky in the room before dinner - saved the day and we eventually got to the bird sanctuary late afternoon. There are several tourist hotels near the sanctuary, all with a garden and restaurant. Keeping things simple we took the very first hotel we saw, Hotel Pelican for 120 Rp. for a double. The moment I locked the door Rona took off all her clothes and made good on her promise, I did keep my temper under control, kicked no indian railway personel asses and didn`t complain about the 4 hr. dusty bus trip to Keoladeo.

Bed bugs and a crazy monkey.,

Kota, 20-02-1995. Kota is just a small city but convenient to pass the night before moving on to Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary. The town even has got a small zoo, big enough to while away the hours untill darkness will decend upon the indian sub-continent. At the zoo we watch in amazement how a wild monkey keeps jumping on the back of chital deer and trying to ride them. Whenever the chital goes wild and throws the monkey off, he`ll disappaer in the tress just to repeat the attempt. Despite the hefty 250 Rp. we pay for our room we soon after retiring, find out the bed is alife with bed bugs. Following up on some old chinese advice I picked up in Malaysia we leave the light on and sleep with a T-shirt wrapped around our eyes, apperently the light keeps the bed bugs from coming out of the matress. It worked!!!

Happy Rona.

Ujjain, 18-02-1995. Though Ujjain is one of India`s holy towns, no way you compare it with the status a town like Varanasi has got on the must-do list of many foreign travellers. Yeah, by no stretch of the imagination is Ujjain anything like Varanasi at all...still the place has got charm and after the night of GREAT sex me and Rona had last night, we feel like we walk on clouds, no matter the numerous questions like "where you from"? "are you married"? How old you"?.....we ignore it all and make a day excursion to the Kaliaday Palce just 8 km. out of town with a ungainly and overcrowded tempo. The dust is everywhere and we wear charves to protect our faces. However a small hill just before Kaliaday Palace was too much for our poor tempo so we all had to get out and do the last 2 km. uphill by foot. Considering things between me and Rona are all like Numero uno and can only go better, rona keeps in good spirits probably remembering/reliving our night of sharing pleasures.....even the constant attention begging of the indian males that were with us on the bus, can`t keep her from being happy and cocntent!!!!!

Peepholes and fried children.

Indore, later same day. The cheeky hotel boys just grin when I point out the big peepholes in the door of our room. "No problem, sir. Good for ventilation" waggling their heads the way only indians can do. while I wonder whether to wring these waggling bloody heads through those holes or just knock their teeth out, Rona turn to me smiling and whispering in my ear "don`t worry, we`ll make passionate love tonight but with the lights out". Fair enough, we take the room. Not that the rest of Indore is much friendlier....we have dinner at a nearby restaurant and order fried chicken which is named on the dirty menu as "fried children". After 15 min. we see a boy rushing into the restaurant and on into the kitchen carrying a life chicken in his hands, our fried chicken? Or was it fried children, the boy???>??? Anyway, at least it is fresh for sure. After dinner we go over to the bus terminal, we wanna know about the bus tomorrow to Ujjain. the wallah at the information desk totally ignores us and when, after 10 min. of trying to get his attention, bang the desk window, he points at a sign above him I hadn`t yet seen. Handwritten it says "chai brek, officiel not on duity". I get the idea and we wait for him to finish his chai, we do nothing neither does the "officiel on chai brek", he just looks at us and ocassionally sip from his cup of chai and we, we just look at him and wait for him to finish the bloody chai. Eventually we get our information.

A bus trip with thin shit.

Indore, 17-02-1995. A long and boring bus trip through dusty country side and with frequent stops because at least half the passeggers aboard including the driver suffer of heavy attacks of the shits, they need to relieve themselves which means right next to the bus at the side of the road, in full view of whoever wants to have a peak. But this India where these things are really quite normal. While the thin yelowish colored shit spurts out of sick indian asses, those lucky enough to be healthy have a smoke. Beedies for those who are poor, a rolled up tabbaco leaf that has to be conctantly lighted and is bound together with a thin thread. Some have a quick sapati, the indian version of a pancake/slice of bread. Some stray dogs from the nearby village wander over and have a good snif at the heap of human faeces left behind. Everybody aboard and off we are untill, twenty minutes later the whole process repaets itself.

Begging kids dressed in dirty rags.

Ajanta Caves, 15-02-1995. Yes, these Ajanta Caves are fun and surely worth the time we invested visiting them. We took a Tempo - a sort of small truck converted to a bus - from Fardapur to the caves, passing small little settlements with huts made out of grass and boughs. I couldn`t see any electricity or running water for that matter. How these people survive out there in the middle of nowhere..I`ve no idea. The parking space at the caves is full with indian tour busses unloading well dressed middle class indian families, no western tourists around so we`re instantly in the middle of their attention. The souvenir wallahs at the entrance do a thriving business selling quarz stones but when we climb up the hills behind the caves we find these stones by the hunderts just lying around....Local children follow us up the hills, by the dirty rags they wear I judge them as not to belong to those middle class tourists, probably from one of these hamlets we passed on the way. Persistent little buggers they are demanding Paisa each and scaring off the rich birdlife with their rowdy demands.

Crazy waiters.

Fardapur, 14-02-1995. Fardapur is just a small hamlet with one main street and a few dusty paths between old wooden houses with corrugated roofs, stray chicken and semi-wild dogs populate the place and the locals seem to survive by selling chai and bananas to the passengers of passing busses. However, Fardapur is also the nearest habited village with a hotel, to the famous Ajanta Caves. Arriving late afternoon we - that is miss Rona from Scotland and me - take a room in the hotel and disappear in the hotel`s dining-room. The waiter lingers around our table obviously hoping for a tip. It seems a bit of a competetive thing among the waiters in this dump, the other two waiters hang around in the background too, who is gonna be the first to rush over when I ask for the bill and will thereby get his dirty hands on my tip. We`re the only customers....we chat amicably and I gesture to the waiter to come over telling him to bring the used dishes to the kitchen. Big disappointment on his face and with the used dishes in his hands he storms over to the kitchen. I gesture again and inmediately the other two rush over pushing each other out of the way And the empty bottle of KHAZANA super strong lager beer of the table. While they`re busy trying to figure out who is responsible for the broken bottle I leave some smelly indian Rp. notes on the table and we leave the place trying hard not to burst out laughing........

Rona, a redhead from Scotland.

Aurangabad, 13-02-1995. Rasta-Hair-John left today, pity he was a nice travel companion though with him out of the way I can concentrate on this scottish lady we met the other day and is still hanging around the area. Rona, a redhead with a hard body and a nice personality...GOOD combination!!! Once John was on his bus I took a rickshaw to the Ellora Caves some km. out of town. These caves are cut out of bare rock hunderts of years ago by people who obviously knew what they were doing considering the primitive tools they had at that time. Not that the quality of indian tools has gone up much since them, or maybe better put: the locals lack the cash to buy good tools in this country. Anyway the Ellora Caves are built in respect to Buddhism, Hinduism and Jainism. Nice to see that three different religions can peacefully co-exist....

The inner workings of the Osho Ashram.

Aurangabad, Before we left Pune Rasta-Hair-John decided to take one of the many discourses at the Osho Ashram in order to associate himself a bit with what goes on their. He took an introduction at the Osho International Comune and joined their meditative dancing. "Funny monkey sounds they make" he said when we met later on in the day. Apperently 21 people are in commant of the Ashram and all the expensive courses done by volunteers who get no pay, the aids test fee plus the 20 Rp. a day to get inside the Ashram. All this money goes to these 21 people..... Whatever happens to this money is an open question that nobody can answer and is kept in big secrecy. All sort of intrique seems to be going on. People who have convinced themselves that they are very happy and benefit greatly from what they learn from these costly discourses. Whenever I have contact with them I can`t but wonder about this intense tangible feeling of self-deceit that radiates from this facade that hovers around them, and around this whole damned Ashram!!! I dutch sanyassin I met in Colombo told me he got expelled from the Ashram for beating up his korean girlfriend. The poor chap goes around on crutches and is in such a bad physical state he can barely lift his arms. His korean lady is now romantically involved with one of the infamous 21 sanctum sanctorum group.

Stoned cockroaches.

Aurangabad, 12-02-1995. Since Rasta-Hair-John was getting low on charas, it was my turn to make a score. Not all that difficult in Pune. Whatever these sanyassins might be, they do have a keen business mind....We found an aged sanyassin hanging around the Osho Ahsram who toke us back to his place, a dirty and dingy hotel room, smelly like hell because nobody had bothered to clean his toilet for the last 100 years or so. Sitting down on his bed, the only furniture in the room and with a single blanket full with jumping bedbugs, we had ourselves a little chilam party checking out the quality of his dope before buying a tola. Having to put up with arrogant cockroaches was ineveitable, these little bugs were so bold they shamelessly scurried over our feet and even jumpen into our laps. Maybe it were the abundant charas fumes that got to their little bug minds, got them stoned out of their insect brians, made them brave like a sioux warrior about ready to attact general Custer and his army of Blue Bellies. I decided to let these little critters get away with it instead of swatting them to a bloody pulp.

KARMA!!!

Pune, 11-02-1995. Walking into the railway station this morning to have breakfast in the station`s refreshment room, we saw a local - or what was left of him - who had the nasty "luck" to have been hit by a train lying on a strecher blood dripping on the ground underneath. No sheet covered this mutilated body, cut in several different body pieces, eyes wide open in horror. And nobody passing it gave it as much as a second glance - if they looked at it at all. KARMA!!! All this before we had our breakfast.

Important sanyassins.

Pune, same day. We wander around the Osho Ashram and I wonder about all these folks dressed in long purple colored robes. Apperently they belong to some sort of brotherhood dedicated to something or other. They look funny in their long purple robes though they try hard to look important. One after the other they enter the Ashram late afternoon to discus matter muy importante, or so they tell us. We have a look at the Osho statue inside the Ashram - a stone Osho himself sitting on a rock and life size, black colored - many sanyassins tell us how they have recently "seen" Osho. They too revel in self-importance and we slowly get the idea we don`t belong here. Wait a minute, was that not the reason I left Pune five years ago? Despite these sex crazed female sanyassins from all over the place!!! Osho here and Osho there, even while we had sex they were still talking about this Shit

Osho, a shrewt businessman.

Pune , 10-02-1995. Back in Pune. I was here five years ago when Osho was still alive and giving his nightly discourses at his Ashram. However, Osho has left this world and his body soon after I left. Not that I had any special love for Osho or any bad feelings for that matter. I did come to his discourses but the contents did not mean much to me. I remember how they taped the discourse each night and sold the tapes at the Ashram the next day and popular they were....While I was there Osho decided to enter his next period of silence - he would never talk again in his life since he died soon after - . Not that that stopped him from giving his nightly discourses. He would sit there on stage and look at all his sanyassins and they would look at him in awe. They taped these discourses too and sold the tapes the next day, tapes with the ocassional cough and that sort of stuff. Really funny, shrewt businessman that Osho!!!

A piss outside the police office.

Solapur, 09-02-1995. When John tried to pay for our room this morning the receptionist told him "already paid, sir". So we shalood off to the railway station and sitting in a chai shop nearby waited for him to realise his mistake and come after us. We didn`t have to wait for long, a very nervous and hyper active receptionist on a rusty old indian bicycle soon showed up, parked his crappy bike in front of the station and hurried inside not realising that we were watching his every move from across the street. We let him search the railway station for us while finishing our chai before we took our packs and went inside ourselves. We found him on the platform and though we had his money already in our hands, he went bazooka angry threatening to go to the police and demonstratively marched off to the railway police office with us in hot pursuit hoping for more free entertainment. Instead of going inside the police office he had a pee outside - no wildplassen fees in India where people often even have a crap in public - We eventually gave him his money but not after we hassled him a bit more. We were fully aware - as was he - that had he really gone to the police, they would have listened to his story, asked us the western tourist, politely to pay the man his money and then - as soon as we would be out of earshot - hassled him for some baksheesh.

wrinkled and sagging old tits.

Bijaspur, 08-02-1995. We are still not done exploring Bijaspur and surroundings. Though Bijaspur is apart from the Golgumbaz mosque a pretty dull city as chaotic as any other indian city. Being mostly a muslim city I have noticed one thing I noticed before in other indian cities with a muslim majority. In cities where the hindus predominate it is not all that unusual to see old women with their saris dropped to their waist, two wrinkled and sagging old tits daggling on their chest. By the amount of dirt on these women and the worn-out quality of their saris I would guess these women to be homeless or at the very least poor as a churh mouse. The reason they walk around half naked...maybe the intence heat of the Indian plains. In muslim dominated cities I have to as yet see this, I presume the muslims are a bit to touchy about this subject, too preservative on matters of the naked body in public.

The Golgumbaz Mosque.

Bijaspur, 07-01-1995. Bijaspur is mostly a muslim city with the gigantic Golgumbaz mosque as its main attraction for tourists. It has one of the largest domes in the world plus the Wispering Gallery. To get to the Wispering Gallery one has got to go up a small winding staircase that ends at the galley at the top of the dome. The echos of the gallery have to be heard to be believed. Unfortunately whole busloads of local tourists and their children scream at the top of their voices hence the nickname "The Bedlam Gallery". A cultural music festival set among temple ruins and taking place at night, offers free and interesting entertainment. We hired a treewheeler rickshaw to get there and found a quiet place on top of a wall with great views of what was happening on stage. The joint we smoked up there got us in a relaxed mood and made the whole experience even more intence.

For railway personel on duty only.

Bijaspur. 05-02-1995. Leaving Badami by rail we - that is me and Rasta-Hair-John - saw a sign on a bench on the platform; "for railway personel on duty only". On the bench an indian - was he a railway employee? - was fast asleep. Hahahahaha. That short of shit makes for beautiful photo shots!!! Half an hour after the train left with us aboard, John went to the toilet and came back 15 min. later with a crazy grin on his face pushing a half empty sigarette pack in my hand and wispering in my ear to smoke in the toilet. After having kicked the indian off the toilet where he was having a nap - believe it or not, this is the "real India", remember!!! - I smoked the nice little joint that was inside the sigarette pack. Needless to say, I returned a bit later - leaving the toilet to the patiently waiting indian outside to continue his nap - bearing the same stupid grin and enjoying the rest of the train trip in a VERY relaxed and shanty mood.

grass smoking sessions.

Badami, 04-02-1995. The mosquito clans were out en masse last night in my room so I ddin`t get much in the way of sleep. Still I woke up feeling pretty well and to the persistent knocking on my door. My neighbor in the hotel, the bloke I smoked a joint with last night, John from Whales, rasta hair to his hips and working as a garderner back home, living with a woman 5 years his senior who has two young kids from a former boyfriend. He also told me he has been coming to India for several years now. We took a local bus to Aihole, yet more hindu temples and statues of hindu gods. A flemish couple joined us but seemed incapable to tolerate the locals`constant selling technics. We left them to the indian businessmen, maybe they will eventually be able to sell them a huge and useless carpet or else the plastic junk the indians themselves seem so keen on. Returning to Badami for dinner and more grass smoking sessions in my room.

Badami.

Badami, same day. Badami is quite a nice little city with cave temples just outside town, full with stone sculptures - needless to say these scupltures are depictions of the endless array of Hindu gods - and ancient temples set in a breath taking landscape, sandstone hills and farmlands all around. Not many western tourists around but an english bloke I met at the cave temples turned out to stay at the same hotel as me and invited me to come over to his room tonight for a joint of good indian grass.

The "Beer and Wine Shop".

Badami, 03-02-1995. Being back in the "real India" means no more bars and all night extacy parties, no more chai shops with a "Big B. Juice" on the menu, just over-sweetened indian chai. So in order to get myself a beer at night in my room, I need to go to the infamous "Beer and Wine Shop". They are not all that difficult to find though you need to have a bit of experience knowing what to look for...the biggest problem with these places is that you always get ripped off. They know you want your beer and that you never know thew price, therefore you are fair game. Very irritating. Still these places can be fun. Even though there are hardly any bars in the real India - everybody is in bed by 21.00 h. and people hardly have the dough to be able to affort to pay for a beer! - the locals tend to hang around these places probably hoping for a few free swigs from a customer who can affort it. Also the incredible amount of different beer names can be amuzing, I keep a beer list and it seems that every "Beer and Wine Shop" has its own brews. The beer also comes with different alcohol contends sub-divided in fancy names like MEGA STRONG and SUPER MEGA STRONG or MEGA MEGA STRONG, well I`m sure you get the idea.

The shoe shine wallah.

Hubli, 02-02-1995. After all the partying, drugs, sex and King Fishers in Goa, I`m finally moving again and experiencing the real India one more time. Not that I was in a particular good mood today. Not an easy task having to face the chaoticness of India when you are in a foul mood. Persistent street sellers and rickshah wallahs that, with a cronic lack of customers, have nothing better to do than try to persuade you need their rickshaw. They don`t mind following you around either, not else to do for them after all...Hubli is basically a place to change busses and I`ll only stay here overnight. Hotel Ajanta is a huge building where I pay 60 Rp. for a dirty single. Like always in these indian hotels they gave me - the western tourist - a room on the highest floor. "other rooms not available, sir", they tell me waggling their heads like only an indian can do. You know they lie but there is nada to do about it. Luckily this hotel has an elevator and naturally the elevator has an elevator attentant and for sure I`ll wake up early to the noice of the shoe shine wallah "polish, POOOOOOLISH'!!!!! Like I said; the real India.

My last visit to Anjuna.

Panjim, 01-02-1995. My last visit to the Anjuna flea market where every race in India seems to have its own place. The war in Kashmir has driven most kashmiri business men down to the indian plains where they compete heavily with the local sellers. Their distinct features single them out in the crowd. Like last week when I was here, I had a chai with Kristoff and his charming sister, a bit of a goodbye chai really because tomorrow I`ll be on the bus to.....havèn`t really decided on that one. Kristoff starts to smell as much as his crazy Bumbu monkey and I have no idea how his sister can stand the stink and, off course like always, his darned monkey is all over the chai shop looking for foot to steal from other customers. We all ignore it.

A depressed austrian freak.

Panjim, 31-01-1995. Panjim is a nice and tranquil small city with a strong portuguese feel to it. Small surprise considering the amount of time the portuguese colonisators spent here. Hotel Republica is very centrally located and the hotel were I lodged 5 years ago when I was last in Goa. I had no complains then so it seemed a good idea to lodge there again now. A 100 Rp. for a big room with attached bathroom, the cockroaches come free of charge I believe. An austrian freak and his spaced out lady occupy the room next to mine and invited me over for a chilam party in their room. However, when the hotel boys knocked on his door demanding payment for the rent, he panicked believing it was the police and dropped his beautiful chilam on the floor and the bloody thing broke in three pieces. The result; a very depressed austrian freak....The Holy Chilam is the most prised possession in the life of a charas smoker and they all have the quiet hope that theirs has been blessed by Lord Shiva himself. They will carry their Holy Chilam everywere they go, always have it near them, within eye distance so to speak. So you might understand why the poor chap was so depressed.

Pondering and remembering.

Vagator Beach, 30-01-1995. After I got half a tola of charas - no money asked - from Nico yesterday, I had to stay on and smoke it. One whole day in the chai shop on the beach took care of that problem!!! Well, that gives me some time to ponder on my time here in Goa, the nightly acid- and extacy parties i went to, meeting Electra and Kristoff and his sister again after Kutly Beach. Ha, it will be difficult to forget Kristoff, his sexy sister and that darned crazy Bumbu Monkey, that is for sure. The beautiful sunsets of Goa will also be hard to forget, whiling away in the beach chai shop late afternoon with a spliff and a "Big B. Juice", - a cold Kingfisher beer, remember? - in my hand waiting for the sun to set over a beautifully blue indian ocean. Just have to hope there won`t be any fat bellied rowdy german tourists around to spoil it. Someone told me that a girl I met in Chapora a few days ago and who appeared quite strange, flipped out on acid and is still trying to come down. Like I hadnot figured that out for myself already.

A clever monkey.

Vagator Beach, 29-01-1995. Another big and nice party on the beach. Set among the coconut palms and under an opale moon I dance the night away on this heavy stuff TECHNO music and when dawn appaers I can, sweaty and exhausted, recognise faces. A french freak I met in Vashisht last year, I too regocnise, as flipped out he might have appaered then, he has become a lot weirder since. Now that I`ve been here a good while and have made a fair number of amigos I spend more time sitting down on these reed mats provided by the impromptu chai shop people, smoking the Holy Chilam and spliffs and drinking expensive foul tasting coffee instead of dancing even longer on this steady TECHNO rithm. I can see the sun`s slow rise up in the orange sky while Kristoff is making the next mix and is sister is busy chatting me up, wispering in my ears what she is gonna do to me back at the house. Wonder if I still will have the energy to give her what she wants. The Bumbu monkey is already well asleep at Kristoff`s side, clever animal....

The Primrose.

Vagator Beach, nighttime. Managed to contact the norwegians and told them the story of the spaced out lady I met this morning in Chapora. Nice blokes who invited me in for a cup of chai and told me some horor stories about other braincell-burned-away cases. Seems to happen more often than I would have guessed. Apperently the israeli authorities airlift them out by the planefull - only there own people off course. Ever since my arrival in Goa I`ve heart good stories about the Primrose, a hang-out place for foreign freaks and other alternative characters from the rich west. Heavy Techno music and Tsiang Tiao beer from China. I have not drunk that beer since ny relationship with Patricia in Paris many years ago. Drinking this chinese beer made it seem only yesterday despite Kristoff blattering away all night about his plans for the chinese in Tibet and his Bumbu monkey constantly raiding the tables of other customers for food.

A spaced out lady.

Chapora, 28-01-1995. Nice little village Chapora. Sitting here under this huge tree with a hot and sweet chai I really can feel how much I enjoy this trip, already well over a year on the road. Now, I`ve heart stories about people who completely lost it all up their in the head because of O.Ding on the acid extacy. Basically speaking: all braincells have burned away, nada left, probably what happened to Kristoff with his Alien stories and his ragtag gang of pot smokers he wants to take up to Tibet to throw out the occupying chinese army. I`ve a pretty strong suspicion it`s what has happened to this pretty lady sitting opposite me pulking away at a massive hole in the sole of her foot. She doesn`t seem to feel any pain but she does have a pretty spaced out expression, a bit like she is far away, on a life time mental trip. Too bad about her foot, blood and green puss mixed with dirt from the always dusty indian streets flowing out of it. I heart a rumour that some blokes from Norway have a shelter for these people and try to contact embassies and all. Maybe I should give them a hint.

Locals and tooth brushes.

Vagator Beach, 27-01-1995. It took me two days to recover from my latest acid beach party two nights ago. GREAT, really with dancing on TECHNO music well into the first rays of the indian sun. When we left at 10 o`clock people were still dancing. When the first rays of the early dawn broke through the locals who inhabit the area of the party, watched the absolute madness with tooth brush in mouth. Kristoff dragged me off to the house of a finnish lady for a joint. Leaving her house several hours later and well under the "ïnfluence" he took me back to his sister`s place in Anjuna for yet more joints. His sister finally brought me home on the back of her Rajdoot - indian motor cycle - and when a bumb in the road pushed my pelvis area into her lower back area, she laughed about it. When late at night I walk down the road to Primrose together with Nico and Babsi a local says "hello" to Nico and wants to shake hands with him. "Do I know you?" asks Nico, "no" he replies. "Then fuck off, man!" says Nico and we walk on. Not really polite behaviour to a local in whose country we are mere guests but I decide not to interfere

The Bumbu monkey.

Vagator Beach, 25-01-1995. Visiting the Anjuna market this morning I ran into Kristoff and his sister. I was hanging out with Kristoff and his sister back at Kutly Beach a few short weeks ago. Having A King Fisher beer - even in Anjuna it`s named on the menu as a "Big B. Juice" - with them at a nearby chai shop Kristoff told me he had found back his Bumbu monkey. I seem to recall him telling me back at Kutly Beach, he lost that monkey about 8 months ago. As always the flea market at Anjuna was a spectacular affair full with european holiday makers and kashmiri carpet sellers. I watch with admiration how these shrewd kashmiri business people manage to talk all these office pricks from Europe into buying carpets the size of a soccer field - I might exaggerate a bit here but still....quite an accomplishment!!! Late at night when I try to sleep and ignore the mad barking of stray dogs i can hera a voice sceaming "shut the fuck up, you fucking dogs" I silently agree.

A "Big B. Juice" on the menu.

Vagator Beach, 24-01-1995. A lazy day on the beach reading and playing volley-ball. A local lady - a beauty really, who lived in the States and nowadays works as a waitress in one of the chai shops on the beach - wanted to go for a swim and asked me to chaperone. When she took off her dress to reveal a magnificent body clad in a undersized bikini, 20 heads belonging to well dressed indian holiday makers, turned all at once. I can now understand why she wanted me to chaperone her...The police raided the chai shops on the beach this morning because they sell beer without a license - that probably means they don`t pay baksheesh to the cops - so a beer on the bill was referred to as "Big B. Juice". While I chaperone the chai shop lady, I`ve a distinct feeling someone is keeping an eye on me...turning around I see a big and ugly black crom sitting one of the horns of a stray cow - they consider these cows holy here - and has its eyes fixed on me. Not a nice feeling.

A Lord Shiva quest.

Vagator Beach, 23-01-1995. Still trying to get my head together from last night`s acid party ans smack Boom Chankar I`m back at the next one. Yeah, have not even gotten over my unexpected run-in and consequent night-together with Electra, and there I am....back at the next acid party and trying hard to chat up this vasque lady called Beatrice. Let`s hope I wore out miss Electra well and good when we arrived at her hotel, let`s hope she is still asleep and not on here way to this all night party and finding me here busy with miss Vasque. I seem to remember she does have a jealous streak, was that not the reason I dumped her then. All of a sudden I can hear a voice "Hello Hans, how are you? How is Elektra?". Shit and shit again I have never seen this chap before in my life, who is he? One of Elektra`s amigos? Quite possible...Totally confused I ask him to join us but he politely refuses. While desperately trying to search my mind for a recolection still working hard on this vasque lady Beatrice, he disappaers as though he was never there. My drug induced mind is getting more paranoid by the day, I have even started to question my own sanity. What happened to all that control that I had before I started on this Lord Shiva quest?????

Electra.

Vagator Beach, 22-01-1995. Electra was her name and we used to date together but that was many years ago. I look across the crowd in amazement but, YES, it really is her....Now I`m not on some far out trip despite my presence on this acid beach party. It might be 4.30 o`clock in the morning and I might have been dancing on this crap for nothing TECHNO music but I`ve been sober all night. Not like the rest of this crowd, mostly israeli people who have recently finished their three year stint in the Israeli army shooting unarmed palastinians, the english all drunk and stoned out of their collective minds, are also heavily present here. I move through this crowd of weirdos charas smoke invading my nostrils - what is the point of smoking when the air is so pregnant with marijuana fumes, just a waste of money. She sees my face way before I reach her and the look of recognition in her eyes is obvious. When first light chases away the dark of the night I find myself on the back of her motorbike, around us hunderts of exhausted people are trying to make it home on their motorbikes. Rumour has it the indian police will only stop israelies for grass checks so we`ll be safe from that little bit of inconvenience.

English titties....

Vagator Beach, 21-01-1995. Took a bus today to Calagute with the intention to return by foot along the beach. Upon arrival at Calagute i decided to first have breakie before setting out on this not so massive beach walk. The chai shop where i took my X-fast was full with english people having just returned from an allnight acid party, it showed....they were rowdy and rough looking but hospitable inviting me over to there table. Within no time I had an english blond on my lap while I was busy trying to wolf down my breakfast. The darned woman placed her not-too-bad-an-ass on my lap and asked/demanded I gave her back a rub with the sun lotion she had conveniently in her bag. Naturally I obliged and - much to her satisfaction - gave her tits a rub as well. The beach of Baga was full with semi-nude, milky white european skin so I didn`t hang around for too long.

A holy cow on the beach.

Vagator Beach, 20-01-1995. Fucked out of my head on cheap booze and pot I said goodbye to the spanish amigos I made last night at the acid party and took back to my house - it is not like I lack the space there to put up with some overnight guests. I left them the house and the old woman to clear the whole rent thing with and with my head full with espanyol, my pack on back I wandered off to Vagator Beach running into a holy cow on the beach in semi-darkness - Shit, for how long have I been wandering around on this beach, must have been hours and I`m still not in Vagator Beach. Feel like I `m getting crazier by the day, it was only late morning when I left my spanish amigos behind on the "trek" to Vagator Beach and now it`s already nightfall, can`t remember the "trek" but whatever.....I made it to Vagator Beach eventually and found myself a room with a local family for only 60 Rp. a day. They made me promise to stay at least 5 days though. They must have noticed the state I was in considering they brought me a free meal 30 min. after I checked in.

Nightly beach parties.

Anjuna, 19-01-1995. A full moon is shining down on all the madness below. A 24 h. beach parties with acid, speed or coke - you name it - doped up people asking around for a chilam with a ready-to-smoke mix in their hands, their eyes have the desperate look like it is impossible to find a chilam in this crowd!!! Blond hardbodies scarcely dressed in thight fitting clothes soaked by their sweat from all the dancing they have done tonight. Techno music is loud in the air and must easily be audible in the village several km. further on, joints go around non-stop. The sfeer around here is probably not bad but the crowd seems to be mostly israeli. Difficult people to get to know unless you`re of the same nationality or at least jewish. I`m slowly kicking the Chilam/Charas habit and try to stick to myself in order to clear my haed of the notorious charas fog!!!

A spider big enough to eat.

Anjuna, night time. My house has no electricity either I found out when I return home well after darkness. Lighting a candle I discover a spider scrurrying around on my sleepingbag big enough to kill, cook and eat it, a decent meal for a hungry traveller like me. Thanks be to Lord Shiva for the chai shop just a mere 30 meters from my house. The place is just a wooden shack but they make food and have an electric lightbulb that even works - that can be consider a small miracle in India. I can eat, read my books and even write and draw in my scrapbooks. I meet a young couple at the chai shop that come from England that lodge here because they`re low on cash. I invite for a few hits from my chilam. When I return home the enormous spider is still around, no big surprise there. Now I even have a pet in this house.

The Anjuna market.

Anjuna, later the same day. The imfamous Arjuna flea market has obviously been taken over by the Kashmiris nowadays. I remember the days when only hippies and alternatives tried to sell their hand made ware at this markets. Now the beach is parked up and down with vans, Kashmiri people unloading carpet after carpet. Locals selling fruit and fish, It`s all pretty chaotic with tour busses in their hunderts, their drivers desperately trying to find a free parking space. Unloading thousands of western tourists, fat, ugly and rowdy, loaded with withexpensive camara- and video gear. Their favourite pasttime...gawking at all what is going on, pointing their camaras and videos at all and everything while drinking the not-so-cheap-anymore Goa beer. I watch it all wondering at what has happened to the old Shanty-Shanty Anjuna flea market with its easy does it hippies and chilam smokers from times past.

An old house.

Anjuna, 18-01-1995. I decided that Benaulim and my shitty room there, were decidedly uncool so together with my Cilam smoking partners from last night I took a bus to Anjuna. It`s only a mere 50 km. from Benaulim to Anjuna but it took us four bus changes before we got there, remember this is India, Magic Land and all that. Leaving whatever it is they call a bus terminal here in Anjuna, I got approaches by an old local woman, weather beaten face all wrinkled and not a single tooth left in her mounth, who offered me a whole house right on the beach for a mere 100 Rp. The place is huge but has no furniture, no toilet and no running water. It does have an old fashioned draw-well in the back and a garden that is empty of plant life. It does have GREAT views of the sea, though!!! Needless to say, I took it.

Fat bellied germans toasted a bloody red.

Benaulim, 17-01-1995. Golva has changed beyond my imagination since I was here last. So pack on back I walked the two km. to the nearby village of Benaulim watching the locals work the few rice paddies in Goa. I suppose the locals have mostly turned to the more provitable tourism industry. I have heard stories that you can nowadays board a plane back in Europe and fly straight to Goa, don`t even have to change planes anymore in Dehli or Mumbaz. Is probably why the beaches here in Goa are packed these days with fat bellied germans toasted a bloody red by the indian sun. A bloody 100 Rp. for a dirty room where even the hotel boys are unfriendly, will have to do something serious about that soon....I met a young couple from England I invited back to this shitty hotel for a decent smoke and the usual exchange of travel stories.

Heavily sedated.

Kutly Beach, 16-01-1995. I ended up at a GREAT party last night at the Shiva Restaurant - just a wooden shack on the beach really, don`t get carried away by a name here in India. The place got unsuccessfully raided by the police a few night ago - did they forget to pay their baksheesh or what? - , you wouldn`t tell from all the people who - paranoia free - smoked the Holy Chilam there last night. For me it was also a bit of a goodbye party since I`ll be on the 08.00 o`clock bus to Goa tommorow. So I kissed Susanna goodbye - as well as Kate`s very pretty sister who has turned up yesterday morning after having been missed mysteriously for the last couple of months. I ate the last of my grass and charras - I don`t like to travel with the stuff - and went to bed heavily sedated!!!