Follow the Sun

From the intro (written by Natalie J McCarthy) of She Took Her Own Picture..

There are approximately 3.3 billion women in the world, all of whom doubtlessly live a split existence: the person viewed by others, molded according to culture, and created for display to the rest of the world, and the true self, the woman who exists in, of, and for herself. When Laurel Fiszer started posting her photos on flickr.com a few years ago, she certainly did not imagine plunging into an existential debate. Instead, she noticed that female self-portrait photographers were often seen as narcissistic princesses who had to defend their work against an onslaught of criticism—most of which was not directed toward the photograph’s technical merits. When Laurel founded the Female Self Portrait Artists’ Support Group, her primary goal was to create a place online where female photographers could share self-portraits and receive constructive criticism in a supportive, encouraging, and non-judgmental environment.

Since its founding, the Group has grown to include hundreds of women from all over the globe–all of whom share a passion for interpreting, inventing and reinventing themselves through pictures. Despite this commonality, the artists come from different countries and cultures, demonstrate diverse worldviews in their photos, and have distinct artistic motivations. Members of the Group hail from Latin America, Europe, North America, Oceania, and the Caribbean. Some within the Group are professional photographers with an accomplished body of work; others only recently picked up a camera and are working out their own sense of focus, light, and composition. Moreover, not every artist is catapulted into self-portraiture for the same reason. Many do it for lack of other models. Other women appreciate the creative control that self-portraiture affords them, and some embark on a self-portrait series as a form of therapy, self-discovery, or self-empowerment. Still more women photograph themselves as a feminist statement; for them, self-portraiture is a way of removing themselves from a male-artist/female-object paradigm. These cultural, geographic, and artistic differences do more than add to the diversity of the Group; they more importantly highlight the diversity and complexity of all women, not just photographers, and not just women with access to computers, internet connections, and digital cameras. The Group’s photographic campaigns about women’s issues, such as domestic abuse and mental health, highlight each photographer’s quest to portray not only herself, but also her place within the world’s collective of women.

This overarching female experience is evident in group members’ common need to defend their work. The artists in this collection have stood up against all-too-common misconceptions of self-portraiture: Only an egomaniac would photograph themselves! You’re so self-absorbed! On the other side of the critical spectrum, female self-portrait artists often hear that photos of pretty girls are not art; rather, they are magazine ads, fashion spreads, pornography or eye candy. These criticisms present female self-portrait artists with an exciting and powerful opportunity: the chance to categorically refute antiquated notions of the woman’s role as an art object, and to create a new, empowered vision of the female model.

She Took Her Own Picture is certainly constructed upon this feminist foundation. However, while this book brings to light women’s own empowered visions of self, it also presents a collection of first-rate photography. At the end of the day, the Female Self Portrait Artists’ Support Group is a collective of women photographers who strengthen their friendship by sharing inspired, artistic, and well-executed photographs. With She Took Her Own Picture they bring you into their circle of friends and share their art with you.

This is not the front cover, this is merely an advertisement, a little sampler of what you will see in the finished product. Stay tuned.

Darjeeling:

After finally getting the new visa I headed back to India. Since I didn’t really care to sit on a bus for 18 hours for the ride from Kathmandu to the border I cheated and got a cheap flight. On the bus ride from the terminal to the plane I met 2 lovely girls from Colorado and then on the plane I met a really nice family on their way to Darjeeling for some cool mountain air. The six of us decided to share a taxi to Siliguri (three hours from Darjeeling) and on the way we (the girls and I) had to go through border control. The family waited on both sides and even bought us a soda (they were very kind).

By the time the girls and I got to Darjeeling it was late and we were tired…but we still had to carry our packs up a very steep hill to our guesthouse. In case you didn’t know Darjeeling is an old English hill station from colonial days.

We spent about a week here and during that time visited some beautiful Buddhist monasteries and the Tibetan Refugee Self Help Center. The place is amazing and I spent the entire time on the verge of tears. It’s wonderful that this place exists but it’s horrible that it has to.

On our way back from the Center we stopped at Kunga, a Tibetan rest. for lunch. While eating the owners started to close the metal gate that covers the door. I was so out of it from the long walk and emotional drain that I thought it was to keep the hot sun out. It wasn’t until we got outside that I realized the whole town was shutting down. As we walked up the street we saw all of the shops closing and the market booths were being packed up in a hurry. We kept trying to ask what was going on but no one would tell us. It wasn’t until we got to Sonam’s Kitchen (fantastic little place with amazing food) that we found out. Sonam told us that there had been a march for a free Gorkhaland that day and when they got to Siliguri violence broke out…a call had come for a strike that would last the rest of that day and the next in solidarity. The people of this area want their own state much like Sikkim…they want self rule. Darjeeling and the rest of the hill towns are a part of West Bengal…they are taxed heavily but have very little resources…there is a water scarcity in Darjeeling that has lasted for the past few years.

The next day was pretty eerie. The whole town was shut down and during the afternoon there was a huge march that went through the streets that lasted over an hour with shouts of “WE WANT JUSTICE, GORKHALAND GORKHALAND!!”

We were all supposed to leave on that day, me to Sikkim and the girls to Kolkata to catch a flight to Thailand. I walked with them down to the police station where they were to wait for information about emergency transport out of town and the air was incredibly tense. On one side you had the police with their huge rifles and tear gas guns (with more and more arriving) and on the other you had a huge gathering of men behind a Gorkhaland sign. Every now and then I caught the faint smell of alcohol and you could just feel that one stupid move and violence would break out. Fortunately that didn’t happen. The march went on without violence and everything opened up the next day with plans for future strikes.

Sikkim:

So I was able to get in a share jeep for Sikkim the next day and I headed to Gangtok, the capitol. I had no idea what I wanted to do there but it seemed like a good place to start. Since I started planning this trip to India Sikkim has been on the top of my list. The mountains here are stunning!

When I arrived in Gangtok I went to the New Modern Central Lodge. After checking into my room I went downstairs to the rest. to have some tea. As soon as I sat down some people were talking about getting a group together to head up to northern Sikkim, where foreigners can’t go without an extra permit. 7 of us set out 2 days later for Yumthang Valley, aka the Valley of Flowers. We stayed in the village of Lachung on the mountainside in a wood cabin surrounded by snow covered peaks…words really can’t describe how beautiful it was…eventually I’ll post photos on flickr.

After we got back took a day to myself and then 4 of us took another trip to an extra permit area, Changu Lake near the Tibet border…beautiful again.

On Sat. night a bunch of got together at Little Italy for some great food, live music and dancing. It was here that Sarah, Kristy and I got the nickname of Charlie’s Angels. You see, about 12 years or so ago and Englishman came to Sikkim to trek with a guide named Subash and they have remained friends and kept in touch over the years and Subash has gone to visit his family in England and gone on adventures with him in Scotland. Well, now this Englishman’s 19 year old son, Charlie, is here for a visit.

Let me back up a bit…Kristy is a hairdresser, among other things and she had been working out of Chuny’s salon. Subash and Chuny are friends from childhood and Subash brought Charlie in to the salon. Kristy, Sarah and I met on the trip to the Valley…

So, back to Little Italy. That night was full of merry making. We drank, danced, got hit on by Momo man and I even got up to sing…in front of everyone…on a mic…with a back-up band. I can’t even begin to tell you how nervous I was.

After we closed the place Subash, Charlie, Kristy, Sarah and I went back to Chuny’s place to crash for the night. The next day was spent nursing hangovers and taking my turn of getting my hair cut by Kristy (still long, just better…it’s fabulous if I do say so myself).

That evening we had dinner at Songma and Jimgee’s house (they own the guesthouse we were staying in). They had invited us up for dinner on our last night. Songma had spent all day working on a traditional Tibetan porridge that was fantastic. Unfortunately all of us were so tired that we were pretty much dead for conversation…and that’s where Mauro comes in (he’s an Italian we met on the trip to the Valley that is a fantastic photographer and can talk for hours). From what I can gather he, Jimgee and Kristy were having a very interesting conversation but I have no idea what it was about because I fell asleep on the couch, drool and all.

The next day Kristy, Sarah and I left for West Sikkim, wher you don’t need a permit. Our first stop wash Tashiding where we spent a very strange night in a very strange guesthouse. The next day we visited a monastery that is considered to be the center of the Buddhist universe…and it doesn’t disappoint.

After Tashiding we headed to Yuksom…another small village where we visited a couple monasteries, one if which is the oldest in Sikkim, and even spent some time in a classroom with a bunch of young monks. After 3 days there we decided to walk to Keochopari Lake…a sacred lake sorrounded by prayer flags and where birds remove any leaf that falls on it.

The walk there was amazing…even if I did get three leaches sucking the blood from my feet.

I tell ya, the mountains here are so amazing!! It’s wildflower season and the greens are so vivid.

We only spent one night at the lake, but it was enough. The next day we hitched a ride with a West Bengali family to Pelling. They sang folk songs the whole way and even asked us to sing a song in english…we chose “California Dreamin'”

In Pelling we visited the 2nd oldest monastery in Sikkim and the ruins of the old city.

At some point in time on this journey through the west we decided to head back to Gangtok for another night out before heading to Darjeeling for a couple of days.

We ended up at this girls 25th birthday party and then at a disco for some dancing. We seemed to have tapped into the young, rich single crowd of Gangtok.

2 days later the 3 of us headed to Darjeeling to see Subash and Charlie. Charlie, Sarah and Kristy are headed to Nepal for the Everest Base Camp trek and Subash is headed there to see his family.

On our last night together we went to this tiny little rest. that only locals know about and had one fantastic meal and Sarah and Kristy gave me a card and some stars :-)The next day we made our way to Siliguri where I said goodbye to those wonderful people and am now just waiting for my bus to Patna where I will catch another bus to Gaya and then an autorickshaw to Bodhgaya, which is where the Buddha found enlightenment under a Bodhi tree.

2 days after I returned from the kayaking trip I headed out on an 8 day trek to the Annapurna Base Camp (4130 mtrs.)  There were 6 that started, but 2 had to drop out due to illness.  I was trekking with the people that I shared a taxi with from the Nepal border to Pokhara; Sarah Kate and Rachel from Ireland, Doron, Michael and Dan from Israel.

To say the trek was breathtaking would be an understatement (to see some photos go to my flickr).  8 days of hiking up and down mountains, through villages so remote that supplies are brought in by porters carrying large baskets on their backs with a strap around their foreheads, through moss covered jungles, past countless waterfalls, over many rivers (or maybe it was the same river and we crossed it many times), through avalanche risk areas (where we had to run) and finally through a snow storm for the last leg to ABC.  On the way back we stopped in a little village for some hotspring action.  During the tough parts of the trek I kept hearing Mom and Isaac’s voices in my head…Mom: slow and steady wins the race, Isaac: keep pickin’ ’em up and puttin’ ’em down.  As Isaac has always said, the hardest part is coming back down and boy were my knees feeling it and those days were the only ones where I felt sore the next day.  I am quite proud of myself though, I was able to keep up with people 10 years younger than me…guess I’m in better shape than I thought.

After the trek we returned to Pokhara for a few days to rest and recover and the 6 of us made our way to Kathmandu…me to renew my Indian visa and for them as the easiest way to get back to India.

I satrted the visa renewal process this past Monday…5 hours of waiting in line to turn in a teletex form and then pay 300 Nepali rupees, all to return 3 days later to submit the visa application and then return again in the afternoon to pick it up.  Unfortunately I was only able to get another 3 months.  In the past three days they were unable to get the clearance from the Indian embassy in Houston, TX that I have to apply through…I’ll take it.  Do not want to go through that process again.

I spent a week or so town hopping in Himachal Pradesh and I’ll admit that what I loved best was just riding the buses from town to town taking in the beautiful scenery.  We went through some high mountain passes where only pine trees grow and I kept singing “In the Pines” over and over in my head.  The buses also followed along some rushing rivers.  These bus journeys reminded me of all the times the family and I would just drive through the mountains enjoying the views.

After I left HM I basically made a mad dash for the border…4 trains, 2 buses and 1 taxi ride in 3 days to make it to Pokhara, Nepal.  I LOVE NEPAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  It doesn’t have the hassle that India has.  The people are friendlier, the landscape is cleaner and there are mountain views wherever you look.

On my second day here I signed up for a 4 day kayak clinic with Paddle Nepal.  When I arrived at the office on the first day I was given the boat I would be using…as soon as I saw it I knew this was going to be a really good time.  Written on the back of the boat was the email address of a friend that I met in Mysore, Colin from Scotland.  The first day was spent on Phewa Tal (lake) learning different paddle strokes, self rescue, T rescue, 90 degree roll (which I never got), high brace and low brace.  The 2^nd through 4^th days were spent on the lower Seti River with 2 nights of camping.  So far that trip has been the biggest highlite of this entire adventure.  I only capsized twice, both on the second day.

Tomorrow I leave for a trek, the Annapurna Base Camp trek.  It’s kn own as a teahouse trek because there is no need to camp along the way.  You stay with families in guesthouses.

So I spent a few days in Delhi, which I really don’t recommend…unless you like noisy, polluted cities.  I was there awaiting the train that would take me north to Pathankot where I would board a bus for Dharamsala.  I mostly spent my time reading and staying away from the noise and crowds as much as possible.  I’ve discovered that being in all that mess just puts me in a foul mood.  However, Delhi did end on a somewhat positive note.  As I was walking into a store (on my way to buy snacks for the train) a man grabs me from behind and he was about to get an elbow to chest when I turned around and saw that it was Gurpreet, a friend I met in Hampi.  We had a chai and a beer and then he walked me to the train station.

Lluckily the train was delayed or I may not have made it…and then it continued to be delayed (for about 3 more hours) where  I had the (mis)fortune of watching a guy abuse a couple of dogs trying to get them to fight (this was after G and I saw another group of guys outside of the station kicking another dog and laughing their asses off about it)…so of course I had to say something.

The population of India just doesn’t seem to know how to treat dogs…the cow may be sacred, but the dogs are less than animals.

The train ride was pretty uneventful but let me ask you guys something.  Do you think that at midnight on a sleeper train is the appropriate time to try and pick a new ringtone?  Or that 5am is the appropriate time to play loud music without the aid of headphones?  Or is 6am an even better time to try to find that ringtone?  I woke up cranky and with a stuffy nose.

So my train finally made it into Pathankot where I was promptly put on a bus for Dharamsala…or so I thought.  Before I got on the bus I must have asked atleast 5 different people if this was the bus to Dharamsala, all said yes.  When the bus was moving and I paid my fare I told the guy I was going to Dharamsala…he didn’t even bat an eyelash and handed me the ticket.  Well, about halfway through the journey (after napping b/c there seemed to be a cold coming on) I started to notice that the town we were going through had the same name as a town I passed on the train.  I get out the guidebook, look at the map and realize that I’m on the road to Amritsar…about 3 & 1/2 hours in the direction I had just come by train and 30km from the Pakistan border…atleast 6 hours by bus to Dharamsala .

SoI get off the bus in Amritsar and start to get the usual from the rickshaw wallahs and such (and mind you, I was not in the mood)…so I walk over to the clearest spot I see, sit down on my bag and burst out crying (it was one of those releases that just needed to happen) but of course that attracted the attention from every man that was standing around…which at first just started to piss me off…but they were just concerned for my welfare and after speaking to them they directed me to a guest house  and told me about the state bus that leave at noon the next day for Dharamsala.  I must have looked like some sort of lunatic…crying because I got on the wrong bus!

So the next morning I have breakfast and then get myself to the bus station.  I had about 20 minutes to wait.  When I sat down I noticed that there was a man that seemed to be paying me a bit too much attention.  At first there was someone sitting between us on the bench but once he got up this particular creepy man kept inching ever so slowly closer to me… I could smell the booze wafting in my direction.  When I closed my book he tried to grab it from me.  I got up and walked to another bench.  He kept staring and then started to make his way to my new bench which is when I walked over to the ticket booth to ask for help…the dude was seriously creeping me out.  It took about 5 times to explain the situation and when I looked up to point the guy out he was right there at the ticket booth.  He was promptly escorted off the premises.

So I get on the bus for a 6 1/2 hour ride up to the mountains on my way to the Dalai Lama.  The bus ride was uneventful…except for one magnificent series of moments.  I got to see the full moon rise over the snow capped peaks of the Himalayas!!!

Once in Dharamsala I found a decent guest house and almost immediately passed out.  The next day I was planning on heading to McLeod Ganj (the residence of the Tibetan Govt. in exile and the Dalai Lama) to register for the teachings, unfortunately when I awoke I was not feeling well at all.  I was bedridden for a few days with an aweful cold…so I missed the registration and have not been able to see or hear the  Dalai Lama or his teaching.   It’s a bit of a disappointment considering all I went through to get up here…but hey, I got to see the full moon rise over the snow capped peaks of the Himalayas, that in itself was worth the trouble.

I seriously think I’m allergic to air pollution.  The only other time I’ve had a bad cold in India was after spending a week in Hyderabad, another noisy, polluted city.

I’ll leave here in a couple days and head to Manikaran, another mountain town, famous for it’s healing hot springs.  Then I’ll have a couple weeks to start my journey to Nepal to spend a couple of weeks or so, renew my Indian visa and come back for more.

Ok folks, sit back, relax, and pour yourself your favorite caffeinated beverage…this is going to be a long one (not to mention long overdue as well).

Last I left off I was still in Mysore…where I remained until the 24th of January.  My days in Mysore were spent waking up at 6am to make the early morning walk to a 7am practice.  On the way there the streets would be empty and covered in a light fog…after class I would get to see the street vendors setting up their carts filled with fruits, vegetables, pots, pans and just about anything else you can imagine that can be sold from a cart.

I would return home (had a decent apartment), hose down (shower, who has a shower?) and walk up to the Mandala for a big bowl of fruit, a pot of chai and conversation.  While there a plan may formulate for the day that might involve some sort of adventure or we (the other yoga students around) would just hang out there or drift to someone’s house to do the same (hard life, I know).  Other times the day would be filled with running errands or with other classes. 

My second month in Mysore was spent with morning practice, breakfast, Thai massage class (I’m now certified in southern style…what else?), and then straight to a backbending course (I’m so close to a drop back I can taste it)  which meant that that fruit bowl had to last until dinner.

Evenings in Mysore depended on the day of the week.  Fridays usually involved a party (no class on Sat.) and Saturday nights were reserved for chantings at one of the yoga shalas.  Most other evenings were spent either eating dinner at someone’s house or at Mahesh Prasad (a fantastic cheap rest.)

It was a really nice life there but my feet started to itch and it was time to move on.  And move I did…to Hampi where I spent the past 12 days.  Mainly I was hanging out with other travellers and helping out a new friend that had the misfortune to catch malaria.

Hampi is one strange place.  It’s a toursit spot in the middle of a very small village that is sorounded by huge ass boulders and a lot of old temples.  There are 2 sides to Hampi and I stayed on the side across the river from the main town.  When I arrived there were all sorts of rumors going around that the president of India was coming for a visit so all of the tourists had to vacate the main town and the boat across the river wouldn’t be running.  These rumors persisted for days (which is why I was there for 12).  She finally arrived, stayed a few hours and left.  The only good that I could see that it did the town was that there was power for the entire day she was there (there is never power for a full day).

On one of the days that we were stuck on our side of the river I rented a scooter and spent hours driving around the rice paddies and banana trees and ended up at the Hanuman Temple for sunset.  You have to climb about 300 steps up the boulders to get there and when you do there are monkeys everywhere!  FYI, Hanuman is the monkey god, for those who do not know. 

The next day I went on the scooter again, this time with Anne (pronounced Ana, from Holland…he was the one with malaria), and we drove to the reservoir for some swimming (thanks to all of the Astanga my bathing suit bottoms no longer fit so the group of Indian men sitting on the rocks above got a nice view of my hiney as I dove into the water and the suit went to my knees…oh well, what to do?) and then back to the temple to see the sun go down.

While we were on our way to the reservoir the key fell out of the ignition.  We didn’t notice until we got there because the scooter kept running…aren’t they supposed to stop when the key is taken away?  You would think so.  Well, it didn’t stop and we kept driving.  Luckily the scooter did stop whenever we put on the breaks which meant we had to start it again in motion.  I tell ya, ya just had to be there.

I realize that I’m rambling now so I’ll end it with the fact that I am now back at the beach for a few days and then I’ll make my way north to McLeod Ganj for the Dalai Lama’s annual 10 day teachings.  Some other day I’ll tell you about the hellish night bus I took to get here, but in the meantime…

Om Shanthi

I do apologize for not updating this as often as I should…but how can I describe in any detail that will help you understand what it’s like to be here? A friend of mine described being in India as being stoned 24/7…she isn’t far off base; there was a pony that trotted down the middle of the street to the middle of the 4 way, relieved his bowels and then turned around and trotted right back where he came from, the other morning in the rain there were 5 older gentlemen in dhotis, walking down the street holding hands and wearing little plastic shopping bags on their heads, 2 men carrying a live sheep that’s painted yellow on a motorcycle, the trucks laden with so many dried coconut husks that their bulk is larger than the truck, the little 2 year old relieving his bowels off the curb of a busy street in Bangalore, the homeless family that seems to rotate and change that live on the vacant spot behind the bus stop, watching a road appear out of sheer will (when I arrived in Mysore there was what seemed to be the remnants of a road, crowded on both sides with stalls and piled with dirt and gravel in the middle with one small path worn through…it’s been trampled on by wheels and feet so much that it’s now a road), being able to touch my chin and knees to the ground (with help) in badakanasana…

It’s hard to put in words how grateful I am to be here and for all of the people I’ve met along the way and the situations that have lead me where I am in my life…exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Happy holidays.

After spending a week hanging out in the city center I moved yesterday into a house in the Laxmipuram district (in the city but not so busy) rent is around $90 for the month.  Today I had the good fortune of renting a bicycle for the month ($9 ).

There are about 4-5 different yoga schools in this area and at the moment I’m signed up for a month of classes at Shtalam8 with Ajay Kumar.  He’s young (23) but seems very good.  He gives gentle hands on adjustments.  I’ve only been to 2 classes so far and my body feels like it’s been through the ringer…EVERY SINGLE MUSCLE ACHES!!!  It’s like the first few days of the yoga teacher training.  In about a week I’ll probably start checking out the other schools in the area. 

I’ve posted pictures to my flickr site…just click the link on the right of your screen.

To pick up where I left off…I left Candolim for Anjuna.  At first I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the place but it soon turned around.  I ended up staying at a place called the Ocean Pearl…right on the beach with a fantastic sunset view.  As I was sitting on the wall looking out at the ocean a woman walks up from the beach all smiles and says, “Hello.”  Her name is Ida and she was on a 2 week holiday from Sweden with her boyfriend Fredrik and his brother Peter.  The trip was Peter’s 25th birthday present from Fredrik.  We spent the next week hanging out together (along with others that were staying at OP…Sebastien, a German teaching German and cello in Rajasthan, Jen a sex columnist from LA, 2 Danish girls, Steena another Swede, and Tina and Heinrich (I think) from Finland).

At the beach in Anjuna (as with most of the beaches in Goa) there were women who walked up and down the beach all day selling fruit (bananas, watermelon, papya, passion fruit, pineapples) from a huge heavy basket carried on their heads.  Our particular fruit seller was Susie.  She had the brightest spirit around, always laughing, always smiling.  During the tourist season she sells fruit on the beach and during the monsoons she works in the rice paddys in order to send her kids to school so they could get better jobs.  “This job not important…they’ll get important jobs.”

Towards the beginning of the following week we (the Swedish trio and I) decided to head down to south Goa to Palolem Beach (which took 4 buses and an autorickshaw ride).  It was beautiful!  We played in the water like we were kids and even went out at night to body surf and what Peter and I dubbed the washing machine (crouching down in the water where the waves broke and holding on to your toes just letting the ocean do with you what it wanted…we swallowed a lot of sea water that way).

On our second day there we went explored the south end of the beach and the cliffs.  We came across a little cove with beach huts and a restaraunt looked after by men from Nepal who come down to work for the season.  It was so peaceful I never wanted to leave and we ended up booking a couple of huts for our last night.

I parted ways with the Swedes (by that time the guts were almost like brothers to me)back in Candolim where I stopped for a few days while I figured out my next move…I felt my time in Goa was coming to an end and I was ready to get to Mysore for a month long Astanga course.  I decided to head up to Arambol before I left…spent one night there and then came to Calangute.  I left Arambol for 2 reason.  #1 I found the other travellers there quite rude (one guy telling a local boy to fuck off…very loudly) and #2 Calangute would be a better place to make onward travel plans.  I’ve spent about a week here and leave later today.  Most of my time here has been spent reading (finally got around to reading ‘Cold Mountain’ which made me miss biscuits and the mountains of western NC)…in all I think I’ve read through 7 or 8 books (what else is there to do at the beach and when the dreaded Delhi Belly finally hits?)

I’ve been ready to leave Goa for over a week now so, onto to Mysore and Astanga Yoga.