SORE IN MYSORE

Wednesday, January 21st at 10:17

Kevin:

It has been a while since the blog community has heard from us, and with good reason. In spite of the fact that the only thing that has to be done on a daily basis is Idalis' two hours of yoga practice, we have been pretty busy. It is amazing how short thirty days can actually be. Our one month lease is up in less than two weeks and we leave Mysore on Monday, February 2nd, at 4:30 in the morning, no doubt, en route to Bangalore where we will catch a plane to New Delhi where we will begin our north India tour. Traveling in India is never short of surprises, inconveniences and early hour departures.

So, you ask, what has been keeping us so busy? Well, I am happy to tell you. Upon first arrival in the small suburb of Mysore known as Gokulam, we were nobodies, although at that time we did not know that we were nobodies. Gokulam is famous for the role that it and the Shri K. Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga Yoga Institute has played in the yoga community for several generations. We may have said this before, but people come from far and wide to spend one, two, even six months here studying under the tutelage of the family. Shri K. Pattabhi Jois is now 94 years old and has not taught yoga himself for a couple of years. He has entrusted the shala and its operations to his grandson Sharath and his daughter Saraswati. Together, they host hundreds of students a month that pour through these doors looking for anything from a good physical workout to spiritual enlightenment. Either way, we have, for whatever reason, become absorbed by the “Mysore Scene”. And, what a scene it is.

There are the local Indians who live here, most of which are from well-to-do middle and upper middle class families. Many are retired doctors and even have their own area of the neighborhood known as “Doctor's Row”. Many of the yoga students spend their time in the clinics attached to the houses of these doctors receiving ayurvedic treatments, homeopathic health care, colonics and every other type of medical procedure that they think will assist them in their pursuit of perfection in body, mind and soul. There is also the rest of the local Indian population which essentially cater to the richer in the community by providing various services and running street stalls and shops that carry anything that you could possibly need, some even providing at your door service with a stocked cart and early morning howls advertising the daily specials. Interestingly enough, each stall specializes in a group of products and the remaining stalls will typically not carry the same products which eliminates a fair bit of competition. The reason behind this is not as romantic as it may seem, but because the job that an Indian has is based on his position in the caste system which is represented by his last name. So, usually small towns will have only one or two of the same caste members conducting the same business. But, with more than a billion people living in the sub-continent, you can be sure that there is no shortage of demand.

Next, you have the tourists, better known locally as the “yogis”. This group is even far more diverse than the local Indian population. There are students, uh, um, yogis, from everywhere; Japan, Taiwan, Korea, Australia, Belgium, Germany, Sweden, Spain, Brazil and of course, America. The Americans tend to stick out pretty well. Some are self absorbed and use words such as “like” and “totally”. Most of them have quit their “jobs” in search of enlightenment and the fittest, meanest body in Mysore. There are of course some incredibly nice and humble American “yogis”, and we have befriended many of them, as have we befriended the nice and humble yogis from all countries. As an outsider, I have had the opportunity for constant amusement and interest as I watch the posturing, jockeying and parading that seems to be synonymous with Mysore. Most of which either happens at the “coconut stand” or on the deck surrounding the pool at the five star Southern Star Hotel. As an observer you can be privy to some of the most divine vanity. In many ways, I see this experience as being akin to summer camp or perhaps high school. I don't want to be misinterpreted as being judgmental, I am just trying to paint a picture of what I see from my comfortable position outside of “the loop”. I actually respect the teachings that originate from the yoga shala and applaud those who are actually willing to travel such a great distance to further advance their understanding of the yogic arts and hopefully apply them in their own teachings and in their life once they return to their respective homes.

So, as you can see, a good portion of our time has been spent with some of our new friends, learning about their lives and listening to their fascinating stories over a plate of incredible Indian food which is plentiful and cheap. People like Becca, from Australia, and Gabriel, from Belgium, Renata from Brazil, Julia from Washington D.C., Mo from the Phillipines, Tanja from Germany, Maria from Switzerland, Christina from Spain, Andy and Karen from Canada, Marisol, J,D and Kevin from New York and our neighbors Mr. Joseph, a long time transplant originally from Oregon, Chris from Alaska,, Steve, a fellow Floridian from Orlando, and Mia, Jane and Paul from England. However, chatting over some hot chai is not the only activity that our Gokulam life consisted of.

Upon our arrival, we decided to drop our names into the volunteer hat at the shala. We were contacted the next day by Nancy, the volunteer coordinator for the Shri K. Pattabhi Jois Charitable Trust (http://www.kpjtrust.org/), and the one responsible for helping Idalis enroll into the Ashtanga Institute in spite of not turning her application in on time. Nancy is in one word, incredible. She is a little stick of dynamite, who, quite possibly, single handedly runs the Trust and even most of the administrative duties of the Ashtanga Institute. Nancy comes from a long line of volunteers and activists and her Taiwanese parents have served as role models and, quite obviously, conscientious and objective care givers. Nancy is also the one who doled out our volunteer assignments. Idalis was tasked the responsibility of translating the web site and some promotional material into Spanish and I was tasked to assess the needs of the elderly population in Mysore. So, like that, we were on it! Excited about the opportunity and interested in the possibility of giving something back to this local community that had served as such a wonderful host. Idalis reviewed, translated and proofed her documents as I conducted a series of interviews and some research. This past Monday night, we met Nancy for dinner and turned in our assignments. Nancy will be leaving for a vacation, including some surfing (lucky girl!), in South Africa and we will be well into northern India by the time she returns. So, we are both hopeful that our contributions will be instrumental in assisting the Trust with the great work that it, and so many other organizations, are doing in Mysore.

As we have recently traversed the hump of our four week stay, we look forward to transporting ourselves back into the Coorg Mountains to spend a long weekend with our friends Rajeev and Shruti, whom you will probably remember from a previous post where they were originally introduced. They are a young and fabulous Indian couple that have invited us to stay with them in their house in Wellington. We look forward to learning to cook some Indian specialties and doing some more trekking. Be assured that a post will follow chronicling our experience with them. It will be a nice reprieve from the “Mysore Scene”.





Idalis:

Ever since I started practicing yoga about seven years ago, I had heard of this place called “Mysore,” in India. It is where Shri K. Pattabhi Jois, respectfully known as “Guruji”, created and taught his system of yoga, called Ashtanga. I fell in love with Ashtanga yoga the first time I tried it, a sequence of poses linked with the breath. I found it both physically and mentally challenging, and felt that it was a way to work on both the inside and outside of my body, a kind of “moving meditation.” Although I can't claim that yoga has “changed my life,” I do think that for me, it has complemented my goal of continuously trying to lead a more balanced life. I haven't always done it consistently, and once we started traveling, it became even harder to have a routine. But I knew that when we came to India, Mysore was definitely a place I wanted to visit and possibly practice yoga in. I had always been curious about this Indian town, the birthplace of Ashtanga and for many, the Mecca for all things yoga.

Mysore is an enjoyable town, and such a respite from the rest of what can be crazy India. Gokulam, the suburb that we're in, has leafy palm trees, smiling people and SIDEWALKS! We love buying fresh fruits and vegetables from the colorful cart at the end of the street, and love paying 20 cents for a ripe papaya! We chat with the little kids in our neighborhood about school and cricket, and they invariably ask us for a “country coin.” The housewives give us the biggest smiles, and we watch them drawing kolams – geometric symbols of good luck and protection – with chalk dust on the ground in front of their homes. The area surrounding the shala is very pleasant, but poverty is never far away in India. Every morning on my way to yoga class I walk by a small slum, the odor of feces hitting you before you can see it. This morning I passed by a little naked girl defecating on the street while watching two dogs humping. With a pang of guilt, I couldn't help but think how my one month of tuition at the shala could probably feed her family for a year.

We arrived in Mysore and were able to stay, as Kevin so eloquently said, “on a wing and a prayer.” I feel very blessed to be here, and am learning a lot. At the shala, we have one “led” class a week, when the instructor calls out the poses and everyone does them together at the same time, following the breath. It is quite a sight to behold, hundreds of people breathing and moving together at the same time. But you mostly work on your poses at your own pace, and get physical adjustments when needed. This is known as Mysore practice. People are working on different levels of asanas (postures), at different times of the day, trying to further their practice, and the studio is always packed! Most are like me, working on the first, or Primary Series, which are challenging on their own! But there are also quite a few who have continued to the Intermediate, or Advanced Series of postures, after many years of dedication. They are very strict about this, and you are only allowed to continue to the next pose if you've mastered the one before it. They will kindly, but firmly, shout from across the room at someone,“You stop now! Do back bends and finishing series!” The first few days, my teacher Saraswati (Guruji's daughter) told me to stop early, as I cannot bind in Marichyasana D, the bane of my existence. In the evenings, I would lie in bed and wonder if I REALLY needed to pee, given my aching body and the seemingly long walk to the bathroom. I am now allowed to finish the whole series, though I continue to have difficulty with the previously mentioned pose. Every day, Saraswati comes to my mat, looks at me with the kind eyes of a person who has devoted their life to helping others, and proceeds to yank my arms behind my back!

Instead of focusing on such lofty (and impossible) objectives such as trying to get both legs behind my head, I have tried to set up more manageable goals for myself every week:

Week 1 – To be able to finish all the poses of Primary Series in the right order and not get yelled at.

Week 2 – To focus on my breath and not look around or compare myself to others while I'm practicing. This was VERY HARD during the first week as David Swenson, America's most famous Ashtanga teacher (and a very nice person), was practicing right next to me! I kept losing my concentration as I'd look over and think, “Look where he has his legs now!”

Week 3 – To practice with a smile on my face. Yoga does not have to be so serious.

Week 4 – To carry the feeling of peace and contentment I have at the end of my practice with me off my mat. I start out with good intentions, but as I walk home and get honked at by the thirteenth rickshaw driver, I begin to lose my resolve.

There is another side to yoga which I was aware of, but did not expect to be so prevalent here in Mysore. It seems that some have forgotten (or maybe never learned) the true intent of yoga, which is to bring together in union the mind, body, breath, and spirit. Some self-proclaimed yogis are obsessed with the physical aspect of yoga, and brag about the poses they can do and what series they're on. They have forgotten to continue yoga “off their mat” and treat their fellow human beings with kindness and compassion. There seems to be quite a bit of competition and cliques, things I thought I had left behind in high school. Instead of the usual, “What's your name?” or “Where are you from?” an introductory question may be “What pose are you on?” Not everyone is this way, probably not most, but sometimes the negative experiences for me are the ones that stick, unfortunately, and my overall impression is affected. We were surprised to find out that many of the yogis who come here (some for many years) have never traveled around India, much less done anything for the local community which has given them so much. Some seem to spend hours at the coconut stand or at the Southern Star pool (the local hangouts), comparing notes on their yoga practice, flexing their well-toned bodies, or ruminating on their next bowel movement (I am not kidding).

Having said that, we have met many wonderful people here, people who just truly love yoga and practice it in their every day lives. I love Becca, our neighbor from Australia, who has such a great way of expressing herself. She could talk about doing her tax returns and I'd be enraptured by that Aussie accent! She's helping a local woman with the pictures for her cookbook, whose proceeds will go to charity. There's Andy, from Vancouver, who doles out generous smiles to everyone and brings sweet-smelling flowers to the shala that he's grown himself. Mia, from London, is the embodiment of peace and goodwill, and does work for the environment. And Nancy, the manager of the charitable trust, who works tirelessly to help those in need. There are many, many others, and to all of you who have crossed paths with us: You have set a great example of kindness and balance. Thank you for enriching our time here!

Yoga in India is quite different from what we're used to in the West. The first time I took a yoga class was in Goa, in a stuffy shack with mosquitoes biting my legs. I thought, “Where's the incense? The hardwood floors? Deva Premal's latest CD in the background?” For us back home, yoga is a whole package experience: peaceful surroundings, a soft, encouraging voice, and a few words of wisdom . It's a good, sweaty workout with a dash of spirituality thrown in for good measure. I was surprised to learn that most Indians don't even have an asana practice with yoga postures. Before I came to India, I thought there would be Indians doing yoga everywhere! But for them, yoga is a very unremarkable thing – some breathing, meditation, and maybe a few postures, which they do in the privacy of their own home with little formality. They tend to focus on the other “limbs” of yoga which include doing selfless acts for others, practicing love and devotion, and achieving spiritual awareness. Our narrow focus on the physical postures perplexes them and would explain why 99% of the people in the classes I've taken are Westerners like me!

Regardless, I am a Westerner, and I love the physical aspect of yoga, too. I am feeling so much stronger and Kevin has noticed the things on my arms previously known as bumps actually turning into muscle. I no longer get so sore from practice that I feel like I've been run over by a train. I'm also working on “being in the moment,” and find that my mind is wandering less and less to other things while I'm practicing. I will continue to work on my goals and hope that this month here will encourage me to continue practicing once I leave Mysore, even though it's been harder to do it while on the road. Tomorrow morning, I will unroll my purple sticky mat, stand at the front, and dedicate my practice to all those I love (that includes you!) and try to continue that feeling of gratitude off my mat. Namaste!

A WING AND A PRAYER

Monday, January 5th at 19:32

Within the period of twenty four hours we may have accomplished more than we have this entire journey. We left the small town, known as Viru, where we stayed, which is immediately adjacent to Hampi, which was the town that was explored in our last post, at around 16:00 (or 4pm for those of you who have not been forced to adjust to the twenty-four hour clock, or military time as it is known in the States). We took the small, shaky, severely overloaded ferry across the river to Hampi town and stopped to have dinner at a place called the Mango Tree Cafe, overlooking an incredible scene of boulder strewn mountains, a relatively clear river and loads of banana and palm trees. After yet another wonderful Indian meal, it was in a rickshaw and off to the adjacent town of Hospet, about 15 kilometers away, to catch a 19:50 train that did not actually arrive until about 20:30. We boarded the three tiered, air conditioned sleeper car and settled into our top bunks where we read until we fell asleep. We bounced, jarred and swayed somewhere in between sleep and partially awake for about nine and one half hours until we reached the terminal end at Bangalore city, the place we had recently enjoyed a wonderful Christmas in our “deluxe” suite with Peter and Julia, and where we would have a five hour layover until our next train to Mysore. We walked around downtown Bangalore at the crack of dawn, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the waking city as well as our new found confidence for traveling in India and handling crazy travel schedules. After walking up an appetite, we stepped into a hotel just a stones throw from the train station and proceeded to do what no Indians ever do, have a two and one half hour breakfast talking about our plans, our expectations and our incredibly good fortune before heading back to catch the Shatabdi Express to Mysore. Two and one half more hours in our air conditioned chair coach and we had arrived. To what, we were not quite sure...yet. We knew that K. Pattabhi Jois oversaw his Ashtanga Yoga Institute, we knew that Idalis wanted to attend and we knew it was somewhere in Mysore. A quick stop into the tourist information office yielded a decent map and directions to the closest internet cafe. We checked email, checked the blog (of course) and checked to see if Idalis had been accepted to the institute. No message pertaining to the preceding was found. So, “on a wing and a prayer” we set out in a rickshaw to find this place, which even the rickshaw driver had to get instructions to. The Ashtanga Yoga Institute is located in a small town, adjacent to Mysore, known as Gokulam. He dropped us off right in front of the institute at 14:15. We noticed a sing that said registration was to take place from 15:30 to 17:00. So, without a clue, we sat and waited as more and more people showed up to secure their spot in this most prestigious and desirable institutions for the acquisition of knowledge pertaining to the art of Ashtanga yoga.

By the time the office opened there were at least twenty-five people waiting to register. I commented to Idalis that I wonder if these practitioners of the yogic arts would assure that everyone would maintain the order of which they had arrived, meaning we would have been third, instead of second to last as we were once they all bum rushed the door while we labored with gathering our back packs and moving inside. Nonetheless, we made it in, walked around the shala and admired the photographs, posters and memorabilia as we nervously awaited a response to whether Idalis would be accepted without having actually made the deadline of having her application in “no less than” sixty days in advance.

We nervously shuffled until Nancy, a young Asian girl, approached us and asked our names. I made sure to tell her that I was not on the list and had not submitted an application knowing full well there was no way I could perform “Marichyasana D” (a complicated yoga position). I did, however, explain that Idalis had submitted an application and that it took two weeks just for them to get it and that the way we were traveling posed so many complications that it was impossible to give exact dates and meet the entry requirements of the shala. It made no difference, as she was quick to tell us that the shala was full and the drop in tourism, due to the Mumbai attacks, had no bearing on their receipt of numerous applications. Shortly after hanging our heads in defeat, she proffered a solution. Instead of being instructed by Pattabhi Jois' son Sarnath, seeing as 92 year old Pattabhi Jois no longer gives instruction, she could join Pattahbi Jois' daughter's class, Saraswati, who had been teaching for over thirty years. In addition, instead of having to attend classes at 4:30 in the morning, she could attend at 9:30 and for far less rupees than if she were excepted into the main class. We looked at each other and agreed this was a win, win situation. I immediately ran to the closest bank and wrestled with the ATM until I could pull out the funds needed to pay tuition. Now, that was done, all we had to do was find a place to live for a month!

First, it was off to the house across the street, where a man by the name of Shiva lived. He was said to run many home stays, and in fact showed us a couple of rooms. They were small rooms with shared bathrooms and kitchens. More or less, what we had become accustomed to. We decided not to commit and see what else was available. We were then referred to Murthy, another gentlemen who was said to have home stays. We could not find him. So, on one last lead, we found the local tailor, known as Swami, who drove me around to several places on his moped. Each one had already been filled by traveling students who had recently arrived for the new year yoga sessions that would begin in two days. At last, we arrived at a brand new building a few blocks from the ashram and sat and waited, and waited, and waited (an Indian ten minutes), until Dinesh showed up to unlock the door to what would be our beautiful, quaint, little efficiency on the top floor of the building. After seeing the inside and confirming that there was twenty-four hour hot water, a ceiling fan, a refrigerator and a mosquito net, we moved in, and signed a lease for a month, and all for the price of 5000 rupees, which is the equivalent of 100 US dollars.

As I write this we are now on our third day and life is getting better by the moment. Our efficiency apartment is fantastic, though very small. It is brand new and barely has any sings of use. We have decorated it with the few pictures of friends and family that we have. We have stocked it with essentials and even went out to do a bit of grocery shopping today so that we can make some food, that will not have curry in it! We have walked the neighborhood to meet our neighbors, find the local restaurants and cafes and see where the best shopping is. The efficiency currently smells of fusillini pasta, tomato, eggplant, onion and paneer (cheese), as Idalis has whipped up an incredible meal with a hot plate and a Leatherman knife!

Life in Gokulam is great. This suburb of Mysore is unusually clean, loaded with new and ultra modern homes and even has sidewalks. It appears to be a neighborhood that consists of middle and upper class people, but retains a small village feel with its shops and stalls. There are expatriates and yoga students scattered around and the locals are incredibly friendly and accommodating. It is the most wonderful feeling to walk down the streets and be able to smile at people and have them return a bright, happy and sincere smile back at you. Most of the neighbors in our ten unit building are practicing yoga students, with the exception of our neighbor Joseph who came here to practice at the Ashtanga Institute sixteen years ago and never left. I think we can fully understand why as we are rapidly falling in love with our new, temporary home.

We spent our first weekend as tourists and did some sightseeing in Mysore. We did our best to make it to the western breakfast buffet, seriously craving a piece of bacon, at the Tiger Tail restaurant in the Metropole Hotel. However, we got there too late, which actually turned out to be a blessing as we made full advantage of the buffet lunch. After sitting around in the beautiful courtyard of this uber expensive hotel and enjoying an all you can eat buffet, it was off to the Mysore Palace. A palace whose construction was initiated by Maharani Vanivilas Sannidhan in 1897 and occupied first by the reigning king of Mysore, Krishnaraja Wodeyar IV. It stands at 145 feet tall, cost 4.14 million to construct and was completed in 1912. And, lucky for us, they illuminate it every Sunday evening with over 97,000 individual light bulbs. It is a spectacle to behold both inside and out. It is lavishly decorated and meticulously preserved. It is, thus far, one of the most impressive historical monuments that we have visited in India.

With so much time on our hands and an overwhelming satisfaction with being able to just stay put for a while, we are excited at the prospect of actually getting to know a place. We have lots of plans, lots that we want to see. Idalis will continue with her Ashtanga yoga courses, I have signed up to do some volunteer work with the Institute and once again the forces of nature have conspired to be in our favor.

"HAMPI" NEW YEAR!

Saturday, January 3, 2008 10:00 AM

Idalis:

Kevin and I spent the week between Christmas and New Year's in Hampi, a beautiful city in the state of Karnataka, surrounded by golden-brown boulders, green banana fields, and large, abandoned temples. It was a place highly recommended to us by other travelers, and we're definitely happy to have taken their advice.

We chose to stay opposite of Hampi proper, on the other side of the Tungabhadra River, which divides restrictive and chaotic Hampi from more laid back Viru. We crossed the river in a tiny, crowded, metal hulled boat, trying not to choke on the stinky fumes or get wet, since the weight in the shaky raft had sunken the rails to almost water level! After getting off at the muddy bank, we made our way up to the guest houses on the main dirt road in Viru, trying to find accommodations. After inquiring at four different places (“Sorry, all full! Many people for New Year!) we began to get nervous, thinking we should have made reservations ahead of time. While walking down the road we met Mark, a friendly Canadian who was going to a guest house to cancel his reservation, as he had found accommodations elsewhere. We quickly took the little bungalow and thanked our lucky stars for having met him! Although our room turned out to be less than perfect (broken toilet and science experiment growing in the sink), we were happy to have somewhere to lay our heads down after the long trip from Bangalore.

That afternoon, Kevin and I hiked up some of the outlying boulders with signs warning us to watch out for muggers, observed novice rock climbers try to ascend without gear (“Trust your foot, man!”), and watched the sun set until the sky was filled with pink, purple, and orange.

We spent some of our time in Hampi visiting a few of the famous temples there. Virupaksha temple, at the end of the bazaar, was quite an experience. Crowds pushed their way through to get a glimpse of their favorite deity's statue, placing garlands of flowers or coconuts before them as offerings to the gods. The smell inside was a mixture of incense, oil, flowers, and poop. Whether the last came from Lakshmi, the temple elephant who will bless you if you put a rupee in her trunk, or from the cows, I don't know. Kevin and I would not have lingered too much longer, but everyone was whistled out of the temple by guards with big mustaches in safari suits anyway. We recovered our shoes at the entrance and made our way (exhaustively) through the bazaar saying “No, thank you” every three seconds (“Yessssss? Rickshaw? Map of Hampi? Postcards? Hashish? Good stuff, clean. Fruit? Madam, come look my shop!”) We made it past all the touts to the end of the road and gazed at Nandi temple with its large bull, where an older British tourist quipped, “My wife is staring at the bull's backside. It's well-endowed.” Outside of a small shrine, we met three young German and Swiss visitors who are doing volunteer work in India for a year. We were so impressed by their youth, intelligence, and commitment despite it being so tough here. We climbed up Matanga Hill (well, at least Kevin went to the top) and got a beautiful view of Hampi.

The next day, Kevin and I went to a small neighboring village, Anegondi. We loved our quiet walk and admired the tall rice paddies and leafy banana trees along the way. We walked up the 600 steps to Hanuman temple, a tribute to the monkey god, and got another great view of Hampi. When leaving, we had an old man yell at us for not giving him money to “watch our shoes” while he slept (“Baba! Baksheesh!”), and tried to dodge the mischievous red-assed monkeys, known for stealing food from your hands and leaping over your head. We crossed the river in a coracle, a circular basket boat. We had to haggle for the price, since the punter wanted us to pay more than three times what the Indian family who had just gotten off paid. We walked to Vitthala Temple, a World Heritage Sight, but just admired it from the outside, as we felt that the 250 rupee “foreigner entrance fee” wasn't worth it.

After the previous day's conversation with the young, positive volunteers and the beautiful vistas of the last two days, Kevin and I vowed to open our hearts more and complain less while in India. Unfortunately, I broke my promise on the way back when the thousandth rickshaw driver asked me if I wanted a ride and I lost my temper.

We spent the rest of our time in Hampi eating, reading, and trying to find a quiet spot not overrun with the Israeli stoner scene. We had to chuckle quietly in disbelief while one morning at breakfast, a young Israeli gentleman rolled up a joint in front of a sign that said “Drugs strictly prohibited.”

On New Year's Eve, we bought a small bottle of “Old Monk” and I commented to Kevin that the bottle looked unsealed. Without missing a beat, he said, “I guess that's what I get for buying rum at a chicken coop stall.” Only in India.

We rung in the New Year in a tepee, with a mixed crowd of drunk Indian musicians that couldn't handle their liquor and tourists from around the world. It was a bittersweet night. We had a really nice conversation with two girls from France and Holland, the music from the drums was exhilarating, and Kevin and I kissed and hugged tightly when midnight struck and the fireworks began. But we did feel a little bit sad. We missed our friends and family at that moment, and the campground fire was missing one of Erik's famous blazing Christmas trees.



We miss all of you very much! We wish each and every one of you a prosperous and joyful new year! May 2009 bring you all many blessings!