Although I knew I’d yet to regain all my strength, there never seemed to be a shortage of energy when it came to foraging. Whether it would be walking several kilometers a day with a knapsack full of the day’s catch, climbing guava trees, or poking papayas down from sometimes twenty foot trees with a bamboo pole, I was undoubtedly ‘there’, in the fullest sense of the word. I couldn’t believe how such gifts of opportunity had been bestowed upon me. How I’d been plucked and flown across the Pacific Ocean in a metal bird to be dropped off on a fantasy island such as Maui, with its vast array of fruit trees, swaying coconut palms, gorgeous beaches, and flowers that filled the air with such a wonderful aroma, was something I never would have imagined possible. I could feel the power of life’s spiral of positive energy. Great things seemed to be manifesting one after the other.

After about a week at my new place I was really feeling good. Those wonderful, ‘hug my body’ sensations kept coming and coming throughout Yoga and the rest of the day. A warm glow emanating from my Heart outwards. After meals I was beginning once again, to feel really smooth as I had experienced In The Beginning, after eating spinach in the kitchen on St. Denis Street. This was something that had quietly left me as my strength diminished and weakness set in.

I’d done two twenty-four hour fasts since moving to my new place, both of which had much to offer. Although getting going early in the morning was tough on both occasions, once I set myself in motion the energy I experienced was phenomenal. I worked the entire day on both occasions, either foraging for food or blazing a new trail, the latter being a thrill I would never have imagined. I couldn’t believe the excitement of creating a path. Charting my own course through the mish mash of trees, bushes, and vines. Absolutely dynamic. Finding freshly fallen passionfruit on the trail the next morning was icing on the cake.

Throughout my first two weeks living on the mountainside it rained on and off, I would say, all day and everyday. The gentle showers at Sunrise were a special delight. The yellow gold rays lit up the rain as it fell upon the grass clearing in front of my home. This was it. This was beautiful.

However, as it pounded down on the tarps with tremendous force on some occasions it was downright terrifying. I imagined the outcome should one or more of the ropes or grommets give way. I’d be soaked in the middle of the night desperately trying to repair the situation. And with very little Sun light during the day throughout this period, how would anything possibly dry?

Although I was at least about fifteen meters away from a practically dry stream, my fears again had the best of me as I envisioned a flash flood from higher up in the mountain turning my campsite into a river. Considering the isolated nature of the showers, there was really no way of knowing how much or how long it had been raining at any given location.

But all fears were in vain, and I suffered neither of the catastrophes I had imagined.

One night however, while writing in my journal during yet another heavy rain shower, I felt the seat of my pants becoming wet. I turned around to see that the pathway that led to the outhouse, which was situated on slightly higher ground had become a canal of sorts and was now channeling the rainwater right into my home. With lightning speed I began digging small run off ditches along the pathway. This quickly solved the problem. There’s no such thing as laziness when something has to be done, is there?

Concerning my back, nothing much happened over the next few days. But a bit after Christmas, on my way to third period, I took a pee. Nothing out of the ordinary. After the usual introductory ritual at the beginning of class I sat down in my chair to flip through the day’s lesson. Oh Heavenly Goodness Glory That Be. The most incredible sensation of Love came over me. I was enveloped in Beauty. Everything felt so right. The class was a roar of incredible enthusiasm. Mine was a face of delight. Rather than attempt to conduct the class on my own, I quickly asked the yet to be nicknamed, StarLight Wonder Girl, who was a student I felt to have an incredibly special energy about her, to come to the front of the class and ask the other students some of the questions from the text. She jumped at the opportunity. The vibration in the room was that of Super Light. As the StarLight Wonder Girl held the fort with a smile a mile wide, I sat in my chair in a state of euphoria practically rocking back and forth with my arms wrapped around my upper body. As the students were on a high themselves and paying closer attention to the temporary substitute teacher than to me, my movements, I assumed went unnoticed. The words ‘Oh, I Love myself’, ran through my head. This was it. This was the Garden of Eden like I’d never experienced it before. There I was dressed up in a tie, holding down a job in of all places, a school – a situation that I would normally have avoided like a plague. Yet at this moment living just felt so good. It didn’t matter where I was. This was the Kingdom of Heaven.

After covering what seemed like roughly four K’s, which included a very steep incline at which point my left knee began to speak to me, I spoke with a woman who was walking by the road in the middle of an area that most people would liken to ‘nowhere’. She assured me that the beach lay ahead. Just follow the road for another ten to fifteen minutes. That’s odd, I thought. The book had said it was a half-hour’s walk from Betul. I was beginning to think that perhaps I’d missed the beach that the book had written of and was being directed to another. Oh well. I continued riding on what felt like a raised plateau. I eagerly awaited the drop in altitude that would take me down to the Sea.

Finally it came. I descended into a more humid and jungle-like atmosphere. The beach couldn’t be far now. Unfortunately, the road began to climb back up. The outside of my left knee was really beginning to act up, forcing me to walk the bike. After a painful uphill hike I found myself on the plateau once again. No beach. The landscape was burnt and dry. I was feeling more like I was in Spain than in India. Onward I biked. After riding for at least another ten minutes I stopped to speak with a woman who was waiting at a bus stop. Like the first person, she assured me that the beach lay ahead. Just keep biking in the same direction, she motioned.

With the Sun climbing ever so close to its peak in the sky, across the parched plateau I continued. Now my knee was hurting all the time. But on the flat the pain was minimal so I just cycled at an easy gentle pace, all the while telling myself that the pain was not real, or at the very least, that it was insignificant. I believed that the time I had was as good or bad as I would make it. The knee situation could be made irrelevant by the right frame of mind.

Five minutes further the road began to drop. This must be it, I hoped. Although the poor quality of the brakes made down hilling a little stressful, not to mention cramp inducing for the hands, it was nice to coast effortlessly. It made my rather heavy knapsack feel weightless and the created breeze was most welcome. But before long I was headed back uphill once again. I was getting a little frustrated now. Negative thoughts ran rampant. Couldn’t they judge time or distance a little more accurately? I ranted silently. Couldn’t they see that I was on a bicycle?

I quickly calmed myself, attempting to make the journey part of the fun rather than waiting solely for the reward (the beach) that I had already decided would be the day’s good time. After all, outside from the knee, I felt terrific. I was never short of breath on the hills, never really even close to being too hot, and had what felt like endless energy. It was actually quite phenomenal. As well, I had a bag full of great food. A good thing, for by this point I was getting quite hungry.

Continuing around a bend, all the while still gaining altitude, I noticed the incline continued into the distance. At the same time I saw a young cashew nut orchard offering some nice shade and grassy undergrowth; a perfect place for a snack.

Oh! Did sitting down feel good? Folding my legs beneath me made all the discomfort vanish. The taste and texture of the papaya ran a close second. Exquisite.

Fully rejuvenated I mounted the bike and tackled the incline. After ten minutes or so of biking on a road cut into the side of a steep mountain, I came across another road that lead deep into the valley below. That must be it. That’s got to be the beach road. I asked two women who were coming up the valley road. Yes, this was the road to the beach.

Brake levers fully squeezed, I glided into the shade of the valley. Only a couple of minutes passed before the road began to rise up. Frustration returned.

Now back up on yet another parched plateau I could see the Ocean with its swaying beachside coconut palms approaching, albeit at a lower altitude. A few more minutes and I began to feel the road was bypassing the Sea altogether. Although the drop to the Ocean was not far at my right, the pavement was taking me away and leading up into the mountains again. At this point I noticed a parked motorcycle by the road. I looked around for its owner. It was a tourist walking towards the cliff who I speculated must have been on his way to the beach. He informed me that he wasn’t but that he had been there a few times and so told my eagerly awaiting ears how to get there. A couple of minutes back in the direction from which I’d just come, there was a gravel lane that passed through a stone gate. Following this would lead me to the path down to the beach. Joy!!

Adhering to his instructions, I found myself descending a natural stone and red earth trail that dropped down to the Sea. It was all so beautiful. A five-hundred meter stretch of white sand with a fresh water river feeding the Ocean at one end. At both ends were hundreds of coconut palms growing out of gigantic rocky headlands. The palms provided plenty of shade for a relaxing dinner of greens. But before lunch was possible, I had a much-needed swim in the fresh water. Since arriving in India I’d yet to experience this pleasure. In fact I hadn’t done so since Thailand. Glorious!

Not long into my bathing a most disturbing question arose in my mind. Are there crocodiles in India? Oh. And here I was at the mouth of a freshwater river leading into the salty Sea. Isn’t this where crocs like to hang out? I’d never heard of crocodiles in India but that didn’t mean that there weren’t any. Surely there would have been a sign or something, I figured, but then I realized where I was. Public safety wasn’t necessarily a pre-occupation here. I decided not to worry and to enjoy my swim. It was so nice to have my hair totally encompassed by the cool waters.

Finding a nice shady spot under the palms, I sat down for a lunch of red leaf vegetable, tomatoes and coriander. With the ominous return bicycle trip on my mind I was unable to catch that leafy vegetable high that I had actually been looking forward to. Regardless, after a brief period of rest, off I went. All the while figuring I might be able to flag down a bus that would take my bike and I to Betul. As I ventured up my first incline my knee immediately rejected the idea. There would be no uphill cycling; I’d have to walk. There was no bus in sight.

Into the valleys I coasted and out of them I struggled, my knee causing considerable pain both cycling and walking. Across the hot plateaus, pedaling slowly, I periodically looked over my shoulder for a bus. Nothing. But the odds were in my favour. If I just kept going, however slowly, I would inevitably get back home. Before long I came upon a sign indicating distances to various cities. Only two and a half kilometers to Betul. I knew from memory that there would be no more uphill runs between this point and the guesthouse. Yay!

As per the instruction of the first ferryman, I continued along the fishing docks toward another ferry that would cross the river much closer to Benaulim. The docks went on and on. I saw no ferry. As I reached the end of the docks I asked directions from a man relaxing on his veranda. He pointed to continue on a road that seemed to lead away from the river. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. Onward I biked, all the while heading further and further into rice paddies. But the scenery was beautiful and hunger called, so I pulled over under the shade of a tree and finished the last of my papaya. Moments later I was back at it again. I had definitely abused myself that afternoon and now my leg muscles in general were getting sore. But I believe physical ills only come when a wrong decision is made. Where did I go wrong? I felt my desires were honorable. I was in search of a simple beach. I had never intended to cycle so far, but I felt continually lured by every person I asked along the way who repeated, “Not much further.”

It’s kind of hard to turn and go back home when you’re told it’s only one or two kilometers away. Considering that at least half the ride out was spent on a very trafficked and polluted highway, I just couldn’t accept the idea of not getting to the beach, or something equally as fulfilling. As I ranted and attempted to justify my ‘never give up attitude’, the answer to my original question, “Where did I go wrong?” seemed to present itself. The response came in two parts:

First, I didn’t know ‘when’ to turn around. Knowing ‘when’ seemed to elude me completely. It didn’t even seem like an option. Secondly, I realized that this was because the time prior to that had not been properly enjoyed. Regardless of the supposed unpleasantness of the journey, I had not been living in the ‘now’.

A third possible answer vaguely presented itself, as well. How real was the physical pain after all?

Now cycling through tiny roads lined with cute little Portuguese-style homes sitting behind stonewalls, I really began to feel that I was not on a road that led to any ferryboat river crossing. As well, I felt I was still heading away from the river. I stopped and asked directions. But yes, indeed, I was on the right road after all. Shortly, I reached a dead end. I couldn’t believe it. A man standing one hundred feet or so away saw my confusion and pointed to a tiny footpath which led out of the cul-de-sac.

OK. Whatever. Off I went. Suddenly I was pulled in the direction of the river. But what if I had a car? How would I get there? What kind of a river crossing was this?

Five minutes or so on this track, which had since widened to street size, I asked two bewildered looking Indian women if this road headed to the ferry boat. They didn’t understand me. Suddenly a man whisked by on a motorcycle gesturing for me to continue in the same direction. He waited for me at a T-junction a minute away from where he first passed me and pointed to the right. I obliged. I could see the flowing water. I was getting somewhere.

The wind was blowing hard off the river now, and as I pedaled passed a young coconut palm playing host to some rather thin-necked black birds, a couple of blobs of bird poo came soaring at me out of the tree, one hitting me on the chest and the other on my new, purple cotton pants. It had come out of the tree directly at me like a missile. Fuck. But then I remembered that getting pooped on by a bird meant good luck! People will say anything though. Immediately following I looked up and there it was, yes, the ferry. It was headed towards my side of the river, too!

Myself, a local person, and two other tourists boarded. It left right away.

Finally, I was now on familiar territory. Only the act of cycling lay between home and me. I knew where I was! The main road to Benaulim lay only five minutes ahead.

Once on the primary highway not only was my knee feeling thick and painful, my bum was really beginning to hurt, too! Perhaps the perpetual honking, the sounds of the engines and their fumes were bringing it all out. I could hardly sit properly on the bike seat. I had to move from side to side, alternating bum cheeks. Every minute that passed seemed to bring an increase in pain. As every large vehicle passed I would drop off the pavement onto the dirt shoulder, each time bringing a renewed awareness of my bodily aches. Onward I rode knowing I would inevitably be there soon. Continually holding my hat from blowing off as each bus or truck passed seemed to add to the agony of it all. Kilometer after kilometer passed. Where the fuck was Benaulim? However, my attitude remained positive. This was a test – but just knowing where I was brought about a certain comfort.

As my buttocks were extremely sore by now, I was biking at a slow pace. Everything looked familiar, but again I asked myself, where is Benaulim?!

I was beginning to feel like I was reaching the end of the rope. So close to the finale of the journey was I. I’ve often wondered why time and time again, just when I feel I’ve had enough, I arrive at the destination. Is it some kind of subconscious knowledge of knowing the trip is almost over which allows my body to break down? Whereas if I still had ten kilometers to go I simply could not just shut off with such a distance still remaining.

Sure enough the intersection that signaled Benaulim came into view. Yes! I stopped at the vegetable stand at the crossroads to buy some spinach. Oh boy! Did it feel good to get off the bike? Such a relief for my bum. I hid my agony from the public by walking slowly – trying to look super relaxed.

Now I had only to return the bike and I would be free of it. Rather than getting back on it, I decided to walk to the rental shop, only a minute away. Walking felt really good. I mean really good.

The huge boulders that decorated the cove in front of my hut offered a front row center seat for watching the setting Sun. As if I’d not been dazzled enough for one day, the Sun threw out its brilliant colours of wine, red and purple as it dropped out of sight. I was loving India!

The next two days were spent exploring the surrounding area. It’s beaches, rivers, hills and sandy flat-lands were all so special and easily accessible with footpaths leading everywhere. So much more so than in any of the other countries I’d seen, walking was a popular form of transport in India. Tens and tens of people could be seen doing the three-kilometer walk from the village to the town market every day.

On the morning of the Full Moon I awoke with a trip to the toilet much needed. This had been the case for the last two days as well. But what left me that day dwarfed the others by comparison. Much bigger than any BM that came first thing upon rising, before the daily watermelon flush.

I laid back in bed for Pranayama. It felt so good and I waited several minutes before beginning my breathing routine. I felt such Light.

After Yoga I decided to have breakfast on the beach. Upon finishing, the toilet called once again. Although not very sizable, this release was rather foul smelling. Immediately it was obvious something of significance had left me. I felt very good.

Finishing up I headed into my hut. That’s when it hit. The feeling was tremendous. I felt to do nothing but pick up a sarong and sit by the Sea. I sat cross-legged feeling super. I don’t know if I could say that my body had ever felt so good. Description is difficult. When I was very young my favorite little toy was a small stuffed rabbit. In hindsight, that morning I think I felt similar to how it felt to touch and hold this bunny in my hands. So beautiful was this sensation that I felt that morning. Warm and soft. Gentle to the touch.

It occurred to me during my time under this tree that India was in fact a forgotten Dream come true. When I was but a wee lad I was so intrigued by India. Then as I grew older, I wanted to travel there. That desire remained until the Hawaii/Thailand voyage of just a year ago, at which point it all but vanished. But now, in a surprising turn of events, I was here in India sitting under a tree in the middle of such a picturesque pasture with fruit trees, some abundant with buds, scattered about. Not only that, but I was now a Yogi. Yoga had been somewhat of a turn-off for me throughout most of my life, something that looked boring – a limp pastel blue. Well things had certainly come together I would say.

Since I first sat down under that tree, I’d had my eye on some succulent-looking little green leaves that were springing up at random around me. They looked a lot like taro plants so I figured if the leaves of this plant, which is a well-known tropical root vegetable, were edible, I would probably have heard of it by now. Regardless, I decided to try one. The first moment or two of chewing brought no discernible taste, then all of a sudden, W H A M !! Instantly it felt as though my mouth was full of thumbtacks. It really hurt! The half-chewed leaf flew from my mouth like a toad escaping the jaws of a snake. I needed to rinse my mouth badly, but had no water. I did however, have a cucumber. I yanked it from my bag and peeled frantically. I chewed up a chunk then spit it out. I repeated this procedure until the cucumber was gone. A mild pain remained but gradually diminished over the next twenty minutes or so. I learned that enduring a less than desirable taste was not the only thing that could happen when sampling leaves. Sometimes Mother Nature ensures that no mistakes be made under no uncertain terms…!

I was very thankful to realize that I could still move my limbs freely, but the pain was heavy. It made walking difficult, but I would not be slowed down. I had a mission. Nothing could come between myself…and a fruit hunt. So off I hobbled out to the road.

I remember seeing wild guava growing by the roadside on my many trips back and forth the day before but as far as I could remember it would have been too long a walk. Considering I’d yet to see a car at such an early hour, hitchhiking wasn’t an option, so I searched the immediate area more thoroughly.

It wasn’t long before I spotted a papaya tree by the road with a nicely ripened fruit suspended from it. It hung way up high so I tried the tree shaking method and the fruit was immediately freed from its moorings and came zinging down at me. A perfect catch. What good fortune. I Loved Hawaii.

I ate the scrumptious tasting fruit immediately. Eating freshly picked fruit beneath the tree from which it came was an absolute thrill for me at this point in my life with which little could compare.

Pleased with the fruits of my labour, I returned to the beach to find that the one of the group from the night before who had also slept at Red Sand, had saved me half his coconut. Considering I’d just piled in the entire papaya, which really wasn’t that big by the way, I kind of felt a little guilty. I’d never eaten fresh coconut before and I found the taste to be rather appealing and unlike anything I’d previously indulged in.

After chatting for a while in this picturesque setting with the Sun quickly climbing into the sky and making the Seawater sparkle, I packed up my gear and headed for the highway again…

Tye told me how good it was, now that he was following a relatively mucous-free diet, to be able to go through the cold winter months without having to deal with snots pouring out of his nose and into his moustache and beard. As he had never shaved in his life, he had an abundance of both.

Having switched to a vegan diet a little less than a year ago and thinking that my choice of food was at least almost as good as it could be, I was a wee bit defensive. And since my discovery of vitamin C pills, I led a relatively snot-free life anyway, winter or summer. But I quickly chose not to reveal my challenged state and muttered a very weak and no doubt unconvincing, “I see, I see.”

So that was the end of it for then anyway. I continued on doing the dishes, content with my presumably ‘ideal’ diet of pasta, oats, soymilk, spices, fresh fruit and vegetables, seaweed rolls, sprouts and rice, most of which was inorganic, all mixed together, and a fair amount of the time cooked to death. I did however, continue to ponder the idea of giving up soymilk. But simply thinking it was bad for my body, or even Rachel’s remark about the sugar content, didn’t seem to be enough to deter me.

Soon enough though, I found myself in a conversation with Tye about soymilk. He recounted his days of eating incredible amounts of dried fruit, followed by downing two liters of soymilk and then lying on his bed completely incapacitated. He went on to say that somebody had once told him that when you fill your body with mucous-forming foods like soymilk, which Tye referred to as “pasty mucous forming glop”, it prevents you from talking with the Angels. These words spoke loudly and clearly to me and left a solid impression. I had been more and more connected to and in communication with some greater force as of late and I wanted absolutely nothing to disrupt this.

Three days later, after a period of weaning, I’d cut soymilk completely out of my diet…