Teal and Imelda’s Adventures

Sioux falls SD, and headed for Nothern Cali by way of Cody WY, Crestone CO, and Goblin Vally, UT. In that order. Why didn’t anyone mention what a silly route this is? Why didn’t I notice that myself?

Why? Because I didn’t think to even closely look at a map before embarking on this journey. To even think about the specifics of it two weeks ago was a daunting look into the future, and the future included much closer on the horizon the gruesome task of moving out of our cottage on Sunset Lake Rd. I was aware on a just-conscious level of the strife this would cause me, and preferred not to acknowledge it at all.

So here I am in South Dakota, in the “Whirlpool Suite” of a Best Western in a complex of equally shoddy accommodations trying to regroup and figure out why I decided to drive all the extra miles, driving the Northern Route along I-90 to NW Wyoming, then back south and a bit east down to Crestone, West to arches and Goblin Valley, and then somehow awkwardly across the desert to the Pacific Coast and north toward Eureka. I could have driven I-70 to CO and UT first, then up to Cody and straight to N Cali thereafter. Would have saved a bunch of miles and days, and the latter feel very scarce to me right now.

I was bumming about this choice across Minnesota today, after about 24 straight hours of driving since Piermont NY yesterday afternoon. Here I am, finally on the road, my stuff in storage, driving an excellent car loaded with gear, Imelda at my side, cash in my pocket, with two weeks to get to Cali and already halfway there — and I’m kicking myself for being so damn stupid. I needed to feel better so I looked up the only Japanese restaurant in Sioux Falls, blithely selected a hotel near it, called them up and asked them for something “fancier” than a normal room. The Whirlpool Suite is an extra $60. I’ll take it.

Of course, the “incredible one-room [whirlpool] suite” turns out to be just a regular room with a whirlpool tub crammed into it. Again the inner critic slaps me. Why a fucking Best Western anyway? South Dakota Sushi? You idiot…

I drop my stuff, run hot water into the tub, smoke and muse: “Today’s lesson is about accepting the choices you’ve made, and being happy anyway.” Inside me is a hideously brutal critic who strikes me with near-equal blows whether I’ve made a big mistake or a little one, whether I’m flogging myself for not living up to my true potential or have just ordered the wrong side dish with my breakfast, whether I’ve just damaged a friendship or turned the wrong way off an off-ramp. YOU STUPID FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT my critic yells YOU WORTHLESS BRAINLESS RETARDED FUCK.

If you’re thinking that’s harsh treatment for something as insignificant as having just accidentally gotten off the wrong highway exit, I think I have to agree. Imagine what my girlfriend goes through. This inner critic needs to learn a thing or two about proportional response. Perhaps he just needs to shut the fuck up permanently. Because today’s lesson is about living with the choices I have made. And looking around at the choices I’ve made, with the Whirlpool churning in the corner and Imelda naked in it, I find that despite my incredible worthlessness and stupidity, I’m doing just fine.

I have only the time for a hasty goodbye. The taxi comes to pick us up in half an hour, and there are things to do before that. What a time we have had here! There is so much more to relate about Auroville than we could find time to share during our adventure here, so this is certainly not the end. We will learn to do this increasingly better and better, don’t you worry. This is only the beginning, the first baby step of Teal and Imelda’s Adventure of Consciousness, and we feel very positive about it.

Yesterday before sunrise we attended the bonfire at the Amphitheater to celebrate Auroville’s 39th birthday, an experience which could could only strengthen and deepen the sense that people here are working on something truly important and special.

What a great way for our own impossible dream to begin!

Keep in touch everyone. Love, Teal and Imelda

mail@adventureofconsciousness.com

It’s been a busy couple of days. Saturday we took the Auroville bus into Pondicherry (hereafter simply “Pondy”), mostly with the intent to find gifts for our Aquarian friends whose birthdays we have missed while adventuring (and a couple of Pisceans too). It was a crowded ride in, leaving at shortly past eight in the morning to get us into town by nine. The bus was to leave Pondy at twelve, and three short hours seemed insufficient to give us proper time for exploration. Pondy is a very difficult place to navigate without having a specific shopping itinerary in mind, which we didn’t really have, so we allowed ourselves to wander aimlessly. Sensory overload kicked in pretty rapidly though, and the near-constant haranguing from shop proprietors became made casual browsing quite fatiguing:

“Hello Sir! Hello madam! What you want? Come in, come in. Hello sir, hello madam…” (repeat until it becomes a dull drone).

Pondy has become so expensive! It used to be that a westerner could arrive in India poor and suddenly feel quite wealthy. Those days are gone, at least when it comes to the kinds of things tourists like to buy as gifts and mementos. Carved boxes, cast bronze Shivas, stone Ganeshas, silk-screened tapestries – all these distinctly Indian trinkets that used to be a steal are now fetching near-American retail prices. A small carving that would have run 90 rupees ($2) five years ago now costs rs.700 or more. Honestly, in many cases I could do better at Adivasi, out beloved Indian import store back in Brattleboro.

The sharp increase in prices was readily acknowledged by one very kind and articulate clerk, who told us that the price of raw silver had gone from 8 rupees a gram last year to 22 rupees this year. He was quick to point out that this near-threefold increase far outpaced a perhaps 5% increase in wages for most workers. India’s economy has exploded in the last decade, especially in the high-tech and manufacturing industries, and this has created a whole new well-to-do economic class with money to spend on nonessential goods. Food, while certainly pricier than I remember, seems to still be relatively tied to the income of an average worker (perhaps 65-125 rupees per day), but many items appear to be rapidly normalizing to the First World marketplace. More so even than elsewhere in the world, the gap between rich and poor is blatant and rapidly increasing.

We didn’t come away empty handed, but our gifts will be less lavish than we might have liked. It’s hard to complain coming as we do from such obvious privilege.

We missed the bus home. I should have known better, but I foolishly expected it to pick us up in the same place that it dropped us off (in front of the Sri Aurobindo ashram). No, it has always left Pondy from the same place on the return journey, and I just spaced it out. It has been awhile. Anyway, we had been feeling a bit too rushed anyway, so to suddenly have an open-ended itinerary was a welcome thing. I’d have to figure out how to arrange a taxi to take us back, but wasn’t too worried about it.

We had a snack at the rooftop garden of Hotel Aristo on Nehru street, and I sprung for a “special tea.” This is a large bottle of beer served in a teapot, which has been an Aristo specialty for decades. Legend has always been that they don’t have a liquor license and that this is a hush-hush secret for people in the know, though I have since been told by a knowledgeable source that they do in fact have a license, and the charade is tongue-in-cheek acknowledgement of the Hotel’s Muslim ownership. Either way, it’s a great way to serve a beer at 100% markup, and I was happy to introduce Imelda (and you) to the little secret.

[as I look for a picture to show you, I realize that I’ve lost all my pictures from Saturday. I do recall that there was some interruption while I was pulling them from the camera. I thought I had them all, but I was wrong. Bummer…]

After seven hours in Pondy, the return to Auroville was a breath of cool fresh air. Even as our taxi entered Kuilapalayam, a Tamil village “in” Auroville that has grown significantly since I was last here, the vibe was distinctly calmer than that of surrounding India.

That evening we attended a dance performance at the Matrimandir amphitheater, an Aurovillian mélange of ballet and contemporary styles. I believe this was the first such performance in Auroville’s history to take place at that venue, which I have known only in the context of sunrise mediations and bonfires on the Mother’s birthday (February 21^st), Auroville’s birthday (Feb 28^th) and New Years. It was a really stunning place for such a show. The acoustics are eerie and wonderful, and the ever-present Matrimandir — its gold disks bathed in solar-powered floodlight — lent a certain majesty and significance to the whole affair.

After the show, Imelda and I met up with a crowd of my old friends, which was great fun for us both and a walk down memory lane for me. Many of my old cohorts had left Auroville as I did, and I never expected to find that so many had returned. Kumbha, Miro, Amrit, Yajna, Aurore, Bobby, Emma, Shakti – ten years older but essentially unchanged.

The night ended at Himal’s place at Ami, where there was loud music, pizza, and hilarious rides on Himal’s merry-go-rounds made of decrepit motorbikes. Good times…

There’s more I’d like to relate, but its one am and I’m supposed to be up at 5:30 for a “Dreamcatcher Meeting,” so I’ll leave you here.

As our time here ticks down, there is an increasing sense of urgency to see and experience as much as we possibly can each day. I was concerned at first that this would feel frantic or stressful, however, this has not been the case at all. Instead, our days have been full of wonderful, inspiring, events and interactions. Auroville is composted it seems almost entirely of interesting pockets of visionary ideas, goals, happenings and people. It would be impossible to recount all of the events of a single day here – especially since it will soon be time to go out and being this days adventure—but I would like to share some of the highlights of yesterday here.

One of our first stop offs yesterday was the “Laboratory of Evolution.” This Laboratory is a comprehensive multi-media library filled with books, recordings and videos on a vast range of “new-age” topics, as-well-as a public meeting space for talks and events relating to the conscious evolution of humankind. It is the sort of place that both Teal and I can spend hours browsing though, but with a full day of events and places to this would not be possible today.

We next visited the Tibetan Pavilion to see a new installation of paintings created by two Tibetan refugees living in Northern India. The artwork was stunning visually and very powerful on the spiritual and emotional levels. The artists were there and we spent awhile talking with them both about their work.

Teal’s favorite painting and the Artist

For lunch we decided to return to the “Offerings Café” next door to the Tibetan Pavilion in Baharat Nivias. The Offerings Café is a wonderful food venue that strikes a deep cord with both Teal and I and the Aurovillian ideal. There is no set price for food at the Offerings Café. Instead patrons donate what ever amount they feel is justified or that they can afford for their meal. It is a relatively new venture but apparently has been doing very well here. People eating here that can afford to do so, give larger offerings for their food than what the standard price might be, while those who have little or no money make smaller offerings. In short, everyone is happy and fed. The décor and seating accommodations are simple, but clean. The atmosphere in the eating area is fantastic.

Our next destination is the Medicinal Garden in the Community of Pitchandikulam. The medicinal Garden is more than a complex collection of foreign and native flora species. It is the location of an Auroville flora seed bank – including the seeds planted for food in the entire over 100 Auroville micro-community gardens. But, one of its main functions is that as an educational, living, natural history museum of local folk-medicine.

India has an immensely rich folk-medicine history. The staff and community members of Pitchandikulam have been working for over 20 years to document it. Deforestation and erosion is a devastating problem in much of India. Tamil Nadu is no exception to this rule. At the time the medicinal Gardens at Pitchandikulam began many of the over 400 plant species used local folk remedies had been almost disappeared in much of Tamil Nadu. Without the help of the seed and living plant stores of this botanical garden/museum the folk medicine practices and health of the surrounding villages here would be at serious risk of extinction itself. Slate slabs label each medicinal species and in give information in English and Tamil about the traditional medicinal uses of each plant species. The winding pathways are punctuated by larger beautifully painted renderings of the endemic fauna of South India, as well as, other information on the history and composition of the natural bio-region of Tamil Nadu. In short, I am totally blown away, awed and amazed.

There are so many things I could write about Auroville. This place is an experiment in human unity, a laboratory of evolution, a land reclamation project, a glaring hypocrisy. The some two-thousand Aurovillians are here for reasons to numerous to recount, but all have some vision of a human future in which they can be conscious participants rather than helpless subjects being swept downstream.

So why did we choose this place to kick off several years of conscious adventuring? There are obvious reasons: I lived here ten years ago, so I have some context. My mother lives here still, and I owed her a visit. Imelda had heard much about Auroville, but hadn’t yet seen it. But beyond these easy justifications, Auroville is an excellent choice for the symbolic start of a literal and metaphoric journey. It is, to be sure, a place for daring ideas to take root.

Here I should be more explicit about the daring idea of which I speak. Here I am vulnerable because this idea is not yet formed, and yet I want to share it with you.

Imelda and I intend to travel the world, going to amazing places, meeting amazing people, and introducing them to you. When we can’t afford to travel physically, we will seek these things out virtually, intellectually, metaphysically. We will share our dreams and intentions with you, and value your feedback about them. If you know of a place we should go, we will go there. If you write us a question about something we see or someone we meet, we will make it our goal to answer it for you. And if we get stranded along the way, we will ask you for help.

You who are reading this now are witnessing the birth of this project. A more professional presentation awaits those who come later, but you will see us struggle as our ideas are formed. If you care to join us at this early stage of our adventure you will see our mistakes and miscalculations, and if you want to, you get to help us solidify our vision. It’s all out there on the table folks.

As I write this, I sit in a strange place on the other side of the world from my usual home. I only just barely know how to post words and pictures to this blog (Imelda now knows this too), and there are several technical details yet to iron out. We have hours of video footage on mini-DVDs, which we must learn to edit into bite-sized pieces to share with you, and we have audio recordings too. We need to set up an autoresponder so that, if you choose, you can receive emails when there is something new to see. We need a donation system so that we can receive financial assistance from those who want to give it. We need a gallery of images because there are so many more than we can put on our blog, and we don’t want it to take forever to load for those of you on dialup connections.

All of these things will be coming very shortly. In the mean time, please feel free to send us an email with questions about where we are and what we’re seeing, suggestions on how to structure our project, or words of encouragement, to mail@adventureofconsciousness.com, or you can contact either of us individually at teal@adventureofconsciousness.com or imelda@adventureofconsciousness.com.

The Mother’s Birthday
February 21st 2007

Teal and I awoke at 5:00 AM this morning, an hour and some before dawn, to join the Aurovillian community celebration of the Mother’s Birthday. The community gathered in the Amphitheater, in front of the Matramandir, in silence under the still star filled pre-dawn sky. The amphitheater was beautifully illuminated by a spiral of 2007 white paper lotuses that had hundreds of candles dispersed though their paper petals. The effect is breathtakingly beautiful. Teal and I sit down on the cool sand stone surface of the Amphitheater steps above the lotus spiral, with the Matramandir in full sight to our side and the bows of the Sacred Banyan Tree in front of us.

At 5:45 AM, as the sky began to lighten with the first rays of day, the haunting sounds of a worn accordion playing a beautiful but melancholic French song from the last century, filled the space. As the vibrant colors of dawn fill the sky, a recording of the Mother’s voice, reading from Sir Aurobindo’s writings on the essence of the Divine Mother, surrounds us. The Mother’s voice fads out as the sun brakes over the horizon on the Matramandir. The energy and feeling emanating from those gathered is palpable. And I feel very lucky to be part of it.

Some Notes and Meaningful Quotes on Auroville:

“Earth needs a place where men can live away from national rivalries, social conventions, self-contradictory moralities and contending religions, a place where human beings, freed from all slavery to the past, can devote themselves wholly to the discovery and practice of the divine consciousness that is seeking to manifest itself. Auroville wants to be this place and offers itself to all who aspire to live the Truth of tomorrow.”
– The Mother

The Auroville Charter

1.) Auroville belongs to nobody in particular. Auroville belongs to humanity as a whole. But to live in Auroville one must be a willing servitor of the Divine Consciousness.

2.) Auroville will be the place of an unending education, of constant progress and a youth that never ages.

3.) Auroville wants to be the bridge between past and future. Taking advantage of all the discoveries from without and within, Auroville will boldly spring towards future realizations.

4.) Auroville will be the site of material and spiritual researches for a living embodiment of an actual Human Unity.
– The Mother (28th of February 1968)

“Only a transparent sincerity in man and among nations can usher in a transformed world. Auroville is the first attempt in this experiment.”
–The Mother

That’s right folks first there was the not so block-buster movie, “Snakes in a Plane” and now I bring you “Snakes in a Capsule” — live from South India.

Wait a minute, it occurs to me that neither Teal or myself have explained what a capsule is yet. A capsule is the term for a semi-permanent bamboo and keet-palm thatched dwelling, usually up on stone or concrete pillars, that is movable. Capsules are a very common living abode in Auroville and Teal and I are currently staying in “Joy” Capsule.
Now where were we?
Right,

Snake(s) in a capsule…

No kidding. There really is a snake in our capsule. It is large (over a meter and a half), feisty and brown. According to the local guys working next door they have heard and seen several people staying in this capsule come running out yelling about the snake. In my case I would have loved to run out but the snake was blocking me in.

Yes, that’s right the lunch bell has just rung and as I moved towards the capsule lock-trunk to re-secure our steal able goods I startle a very large snake that had been sunning itself on our front capsule flap. The snake reared up, hissed and gave a quick open mouthed lunge in my direction. I am already quickly moving backwards keeping my eye on the rapidly moving-towards-me snake. The snake lands half over the open metal lock trunk causing the lid to bang closed, Now the snake is even more angry and alarmed and is hissing angrily. I jump on the bed and frantically tuck the mosquito netting in around it.
The snake darts under the bed. Wonderful, I think what know? I sort of start hoping on the mattress on my knees to scare it out of there — a strategy that is moderately successful except that upon emerging the snake proceeds to curl itself up around my pocketbook and capsule key on the floor between me and the capsule trapdoor. “Is this really happening?” I think. The answer to this question is of course yes, and it looks like I am not going to lunch.

I am not usually afraid of snakes at all. In fact I love reptiles and amphibians and don’t think there is any thing gross or scary about them. There are also very few poisonous snakes in the US and, to my knowledge, none in Vermont. There are many different species of snake in India and a good number of them are poisonous. So, I spend an hour? 45 minutes essentially hiding on top of the bed under the mosquito screen feeling ridiculous; but not ridiculous enough to wrestle my bad and key away from the largest snake I’ve ever seen out side of captivity and head for the trap door.

I would like to take a moment here, while reflecting on our capsule, Auroville and general food for thought, the welcome note left for us in our capsule upon our arrival here:

To our Capsule Dwellers:
To deepen your appreciation of Joy (our capsule name), a quote from Sri Aurobindo’s Savitri, Canto I, The Symbol Dawn:

Intervening in a mindless universe,
Its message crept through the reluctant hush
Calling the adventure of consciousness and joy
And, conquering Nature’s disillusioned breast,
Compelled renewed consent to see and feel.

With love,
Verite Community

I looked on this note again and decided not to be too disillusioned by my up close and snake-y- experience. India does indeed continue to be quite the adventure.

Anyway, its late and we are going to a 5:30 AM meditation at the Amphitheater in honor of the Mother’s birthday in the morning. So, good night and don’t forget to check under the bed. Because you never know…

It has been deplorably long since you received a post from us. We’ll do our best to see to it that we don’t leave you hanging this long again.

Much has happened since our last update, including several days of adventuring in New Zealand, eight hours in the Bangkok airport, and the colossal crash of my computer our first day in India (explaining our prolonged absence). But if we took the time to tell you all of these things in great detail, we’d only fall farther behind on keeping you current with the wonderland that is Auroville, so if you want the whole story you’ll just have to read our book (coming soon!).

We landed in Chennai, on the south east coast of India, on Thursday the 15th of February. Stepping off the plane I had the sinking realization that I hadn’t padlocked our suitcase shut, which used to be an absolute necessity when landing at that airport with American luggage tags. Time was half of your belongings would magically vaporize between the plane and the conveyor belt inside, but my fears were not realized and our arrival was smooth and theft-free.
My mother was there to meet us as we were corralled out the door, having brought a taxi from Auroville, some two hours to the south.

Imelda sat up front and got a firsthand introduction to the perpetual game of chicken that is driving in India. On the way we stopped for a snack and ordered paper dosai, a thin pancake made from rice flour and served with coconut chutney. Dosai are typically a little smaller than a dinner plate, paper dosai half again larger. Not at this place, where giant dosai must have been a house specialty:

These were as wide as my arm is long, and served on what must have been custom-constructed platters. Easily the largest my mother had seen in her 11 years in India, was had to downgrade our order from three to two, and still didn’t finish it all. Yummy!

The larger community of Auroville is divided into smaller sub-communities of a few to a few hundred people. There is great variation in the degree of “communalness” with which the communities approach living together: some are more like neighborhoods in which people live in their own houses, cook their own meals and generally do their own thing, whereas others have more centralized structure with meals taken together in a common dining area and people are generally more involved in each others lives. Verite, where my mother lives, is of the latter bent. Some of the community’s income (a very complicated subject) comes from housing guests, and this is this is the busiest season, so the place was to be full on the day that we arrived and my mother had made arrangements for us to stay elsewhere.

And a very nice elsewhere is was. We stayed for the first two days at Sri Ma, on the beach, as guests of Daniel (who is a very interesting character we intend to introduce you to later). A sweet spot to land after 24 hours in the air and airports:

As soon as we woke up on Friday we were itching to make a post for you guys and share our first impressions of finally being here, but…. Again disaster! My computer was completely corrupted, couldn’t find my user profile, wouldn’t display any of my files or settings. Not good at all, but a classic reminder of the perpetual exercize in surrender that is living in India. Whether I picked up some nasty virus in Bangkok (imagine that!) or simply had hibernated my computer one too many times I’ll never know. I ran Norton from Safe mode, but knew that this was grasping at straws. No help there. Computer work was out until I could find someone in Auroville to help me.

I rode with my mother to pick up a motorbike our old friend Abby was kind enough to lend us for the duration of our stay in Auroville. Incidentally, Abby is from Brattleboro, though I met her here in Auroville eleven years ago, many years before I set foot in Vermont. A small world indeed.

I rode back to Sri Ma, my Indian motorcycling skills returning quickly, and picked up Imelda, who had been collecting flowers for the alter at Daniel’s. We rode together back up the from the beach, taking the back way over the sandy roads of the Green Belt to Verite. We found my mother at her house:

And then went out to take care of some “arriving at Auroville” paperwork etc. The Indian government has become significantly more picky about this kind of thing since the last time I was here. At the Visitor’s Center Imelda photographed this copy of the Auroville Charter:

And then we went to the Matrimandir!

This central structure is the soul of Auroville, and we’ll be talking a lot about it during our time here. But now I need to go have some experiences instead of writing about them….

Tuesday, February 13

Paihia, New Zealand

Editor’s note (Teal):

It has been such a whirlwind. What has gone on since our last update? My head spins. It has been only two days and I feel so far behind. Challenges that must be faced: I expected to have unfettered internet access while in NZ, but it has not turned out this way at all. The last post was speedily uploaded in a Starbucks, for which I had to pay $10 NZ dollars for an hour that was cut short by a crash of group blood sugar and morale. This is not how I had envisioned it. We have some video footage of our adventures thus far, and I hope to get a chance edit, compress and upload some of it before it goes stale… But as I must constantly remind myself, this is practice anyway. We’re lucky if there is anyone out there reading this. For those who are, please excuse the slapdash prose and hastily chosen photographs….

Twelve hours in Tahiti

Hot wind in our faces as we descended the stairs and stepped out onto the tarmac. 7:30pm and the thermometer read 84 degrees F. We were overdressed in blue jeans, and I wore a wool blazer, not so much as a garment but an important-documents-carrying device.

We had had no specific plan for our time there. By the time we cleared the passport check, there were only nine hours before we’d check in for our next flight at five in the morning, and it hardly seemed worthwhile to check into a hotel (not to mention that out emergency-lodging budget was already a little strained). Imelda had the idea to find a storage locker for our baggage for the night, so that we could wander around unencumbered. Outside the airport entrance was a structure that looked like it ought to be a visitor’s center, the kind of place with walls covered in glossy brochures, but the buildings only purpose was to house giant tubs of flowers and the old women who turned them into garlands for tourists who arrive as part of package tours. No garlands for us. Around back was the storage room, where I spent 2000 Polynesian francs (about $24) to house our bags for the evening.

Tahiti is not the slick, glamorous tropical resort my mind had conjured up. It felt very much like I remembered South India: the very close, almost oppressive stickiness of the air, the hum of insects, the roadside vendors offering fried things in newspaper, the roaming dogs (and chickens), the brick and stucco buildings coated in worn whitewash, half removed movie posters and graffiti, the ever-present tinge of urine or worse. But the expense is more like downtown Tokyo: $12-$15 for a food item from a vendor, $4 for a bottle of water, $8.50 for a [cheap] beer.

At the storage room we met Loni (short for Yolanda) who was in the same boat as Imelda and I. She would be our comrade for the remainder of the night. She’s from Michigan, living in DC, and on a journey to NZ for a kayaking trip before heading to do volunteer work in south Asian destinations as yet unknown.

Loni

The three of us set off together for the downtown area on foot, feeling that the $3 per passenger quote we had received from a minibus driver was a rip-off. We underestimated the distance, however, and the sketchiness of the walk through dark and foreboding sections of the road. At one point very drunk local man veered toward me, his companion trying to steer him away, his eyes much more steady than his gait and focused on mine. Everything about him said that if he had reached me he would have led with a fist. We took the next bus that came by.

Friday night is the night that all the cruise ships dock in Papeete, the Tahitian islands primary city. Three huge boats dominated the scene, two civilian cruisers and one that was covered with massive satellite dishes, emblazoned with soviet-style red stars, and looked uncannily like a set for a James Bond villain death-ray satellite command center. A paved square immediately onshore was very brightly lit and covered with vendors of food and drink for the tourists who set foot ashore. Beyond this the waterfront road boasted a few various restaurants, bars and nightclubs, all rather seedy and extraordinarily expensive. A basic cocktail ran f1250 (about $15US).

Perhaps it was just basic wary-traveler paranoia, but the immediate vibe was none too friendly. The other white folks were largely French and mainly sneering. I walked calmly with my female companions, attempting not to look indecisive and very much on my on guard. In the alleyways leading back from the main strip, men drinking beer and leaning against walls watched us as we passed. We walked from one end to the other, and then back, just looking for a place that seemed comfortable enough to sit down and regroup, perhaps spring for a beer and decide how to spend a few hours before finding our way back to the airport. We had no idea how late the busses ran, and were beginning to understand that going the two miles by taxi would cost us as much as a hotel room at LAX. We wanted to shoot video and take pictures, but were afraid to flash the valuables.

We sat for a time in the by the cruise ships and chatted, then found an ATM where I withdrew f4000 from my Visa card, hoping that it might at least get us back to the airport somehow, then found a seat outside a café-bar a half-block off the strip. I ventured inside and bought a two-liter pitcher of local brew for $2000 francs (what the hell) and by the time I’d brought it back out, Imelda and Loni had attracted the attention of a man who moments earlier had been plucking a gut-bucket with a couple few other boisterous musicians outside the bar. His demeanor was generally friendly, but he seemed a few marbles light. He had kneeled down very close to Imelda and was trying to communicate something to her in a Tahitian-French hybrid, repeatedly putting his index finger across his lips and shushing conspiratorially. As I approached he took a step back, searched for words and then said “I’m sorry,” which struck me not so much as an apology but as the only English phrase he could bring to mind. He offered his hand and I shook it, then shushed again, turned away and returned to his animated gut-bucket plucking. This same routine would be completed every couple of minutes.

(That’s Gut-Bucket Man on the Right)

It felt good to be seated with a glass of beer in front of me. Instantly I was more part of the scene rather than outside of it. The music was lively, the people around us mostly good natured (still some characters on the periphery glancing our way from time to time).

(new narrator…)

Alloh! Teal has been doing a lot of the trip narration thus far and I realize that it combined with the general whirlwind pace of the last several– days…? Weeks…? Anyway, the hectic pace and resulting feeling of not having enough time to note our adventures is certainly beginning to add to his stress. So, I thought I’d jump in for a bit.

So, now where were we?

Ah, yes the gut bucket man and our lively local café experience… with a pitcher of local beer and genuine (if bemused) smiles on our faces we began to feel slightly less out of place and if not accepted exactly by those around us at least given a better chance than most of the swarming tourists status. This is not to say that we relaxed or let down our guard really at all, but we began to be able to enjoy the mini- adventure we were having.

A group of local females sitting at an adjacent table had been observing us for awhile. I had noticed this and did not mind there looks and interest in us seemed far more curious and perhaps optimistic than sketchy. After building my courage for a few minutes, I finally caught their eye and smiled… They immediately smiled back and attempted to engage Loni and I in conversation (Teal had stepped away from the table for a moment). I introduced my self to them and tried to catch their names. Jen (or Jenny) stood out among them– and it would be with Jenny that the most genuine bond would form—the names of the others, although “normal” enough, I knew as I heard them were not going to stick for long. They motioned for me and Loni to come over and sit with them which, still feeling paranoid, I did not do at first. It was not long though until all three of us had shuffled our table next to theirs. For the most part we could not verbally understand one another at all. One woman – Jenny’s cousin?—could speak English quite well and such became our translator while she was there. The other women could understand and speak a few English words and phrases, as well as, a limited but broad selection of several other languages but for the most part conversation became a lively game of charades.

The girls/women told us that they came to this same local hang-out spot every Friday night and hung out for a few hours before heading out to a friends dance club. We exchanged email and address information with jenny before they headed out to the club. She also gave us here contact info. And told us to please call and stay with her if we were ever in Tahiti again. Jenny is traveling to the U.S. in May on her own month long travel adventure and it will be interesting to see if she does make contact with us. Even if Vermont is to off the beaten track for her itinerary I hope she does call or write

We could not get a strait answer from any of the people we talked to in Papette on the matter of how late the town bus service ran. Some said that it definitely ran all night while others claimed to know that it did not. Missing another flight for ANY REASON was an especially gruesome – still raw fear. So, we set off — as our local company moved on to their regular dance spot– to find our way back to the airport. It was around 1:45am (TAHITI STANDARD TIME).

Both, the Tahiti Airport- Luggage-Storage Office and the ‘check-in’ post for our, long awaited, flight to Auckland (N.Z.) would open. After my passport debacle in LAX we were in no mood to take any chances in making it back to the airport well before this time.

We (Loni, Teal and I) banter on our way to the bus stop about finding a free (safe) ride back to the airport. Minutes after stopping at the last down-town bus route stop a silver pick-up truck pulls over and asks us if we need a ride to the air port. None of us feel remotely uncomfortable about accepting a ride from this man. So, we accept his offer –gladly– and are on our way. Our ride lives on the beautiful neighboring island of Tohammas and also is outraged at the cost of EVERYTHING in Tahiti. He is a pearl wholesale dealer // trader in Tahiti on business. Despite the mutual frustration on behalf of all parties involved (once again) at the somewhat debilitating language barrier, the ride and interaction goes smoothly and is a good experience for all of us.

So, sooner than expected, we find ourselves back at the Tahiti National Airport with 3hours left until we can collect our luggage and check-in to our flight.

ENTER VIDEO FOOTAGE AT THE TAHITI AIRPORT MOTEL (W/ TEAL) HERE!!!!

After a brief walk-about the airport and stop-off at the 24 hr. airport food court we decide to attempt to sleep or rest somewhere until our check-in time. However, neither Teal nor I can actually bring ourselves to bring our bodies into contact with any of the Air Port surfaces without more of a barrier than we have on us.

We decide to rest/sleep on one of the grassy, lit, slopes across from the airport until we can collect our luggage and check-in.

(BY THE TIME WE HAVE COLLECTED OUR BAGS AND WALKED TO THE CHECK-IN COUNTER IT IS 5:05 AM).

By 5:06 AM the check-in line for our flight has filled-up the Tahiti Nui Area and looped itself all the way around the airport. The check-in line is so long by 5:35 AM it does not seem possible for that many people to fit on any one plane. There was only one and then two check-in stations opened at the time.

OUR FLIGHT IS DELAYED. LISTED (NEW TIME)…

By 7:50 (rather than 7:15) all passengers are boarded and be are (REALLY, TRULY, FINALLY) on our way to New Zealand!

From seat 41E on Air Tahiti Nui Flight 101, 40 minutes outside LA and headed for Tahiti:

Welcome everyone! Thanks for coming to check us out. This is Teal Pulsifer typing, and seated to my left is my lovely traveling companion Imelda Reilly. We’re getting ourselves settled in for an easy 9 hour flight to Tahiti, where we’ll spend the night and head for Auckland in the early AM. I’ve got my comfy polar fleece traveling PJ’s on, and find myself actually looking forward to a few hours when there’s no question of what to do…

So let’s recap the last few days: We left Vermont at about 7:00 pm on Tuesday the 6th, and headed for Boston where we spent the night at the South Boston Courtyard Marriott. They have a “park, sleep n’ fly” package for $149 that allows you to park a car for up to three weeks. A shuttle takes you to the airport, and picks you up on your return. This plan carries our definite endorsement, as they hit you for $96 a week to park a car in long-term parking at Logan anyway. And it saved us the stressful two-and-a-half hour haul from Vermont in the wee hours of the morning, with the hassle of parking the car in the boondocks of Logan’s long-term parking. A good way to go.

Our itinerary took us from Boston to Phoenix aboard America West/ United, where we had an easy two hour layover and a drink before continuing to LA. Met a cool fellow named Mike on the flight, who works for an environmental cleanup company dredging silt out of marinas and waterways around north and south America. He spends about 300 days a year living in hotels and working twelve hour days. Asked if he was doing what he wanted to be doing, he replied “hell no, but it pays the bills.” A pretty cool guy though, a young Canadian. I didn’t get a proper picture of him, which a regret, and ideally I’d have recorded some conversation so that I could quote him verbatim. I didn’t manage to obtain a voice recorder before leaving, but intend to track one down in Auckland.

In LA, disaster strikes….

Or rather, we learn that it had struck few hours before in Phoenix. Sitting down to Pizza and salad from the California Pizza kitchen at LAX (which Kyle, Tellman and Johnny will remember from our trip through there some weeks back) Imelda discovers that her pouch containing passport and cash is missing. It is the ultimate realization of the world-traveler’s nightmare, the number one no-no: Do not drop your passport on the ground! You wouldn’t think I’d have to state that, but there we are.

Frantic searching and disbelief gives way to the realization that this is actually happening. The passport is gone, last seen as Imelda went to smoke in a bar in the Phoenix airport, and our flight to NZ is scheduled to leave in two hours. We talk to a policeman who directs us to talk to America West personelle at one of the gates, who in turn sends us to the baggage claim service, where a very kind and somewhat absent minded man named Otis digs around through stacks of papers and his computer terminal to find out how to contact lost and found in Phoenix. Imelda is beside herself, and I am at this point am fairly unsympathetic. I have my life savings into these tickets, and then some, and they are non-transferable, non-refundable, use it or lose it tickets.

Otis produces three numbers, all of which lead to answering machines. No good. Then we find a number to connect us directly to the gate we left Phoenix through. There is no one there, but I do find a person at the end of the line at an adjacent gate. I explain to her that we had been at the restaurant just to her left, and she agrees to ask there and at the surrounding departure gates. I hold for five minutes, and she comes back to the line. no good. Nothing. I strain to remember which gate we arrive in Phoenix at, and Otis makes the call, handing the phone to me when he gets someone: a flight attendant named Matt, who goes off to search in the vicinity of THAT gate, including the Margarita bar where Imelda had a smoke before we departed, and where she may or may not have actually seen the critical pouch. She had removed it from her waist and put it in her purse, finding it awkward to reach into it repeatedly for her passport (I agree. I never call attention to my under-clothes money belt in public. An inside breast pocket is just the thing for passport and boarding pass when it will be called for repeatedly).

After a long time, Matt’s superior Stephanie comes on the line, asking me to repeat my request. She has the passport, thank god. Can she put it on the next flight to LAX? Yes, it should arrive at 6:00 pm, a half hour before our flight to Auckland is scheduled to depart. This is going to be close! I give the phone to Otis, who make the arrangements to have it brought to him at Baggage claim. Perhaps we can get ourselves to the international terminal, get as far through the check-in process as we can without a passport, and then run back and collect it from Otis in the nick of time. Perhaps. The international terminal is three-quarters of a mile away, on the opposite side of sprawling LAX. We book it on foot, find the counter for Air Tahiti, and make our case to our second Stephanie of the evening.

Without Imelda’s passport, we get nowhere. Stephanie disappears for awhile. The ticket counter will close at 6:00, which is the earliest possible time that the passport might materialize (at the other end of the airport). If we need to go in person to get it, there is no way this will work. But if we can find someone to get it from Otis and bring it to the counter post-haste, they will allow us to get as far as the departure gate and will allow us on the plane if it arrives in time. It’s now 5:00, and time is running out. Imelda parks herself on a bench with our luggage, and I sprint back to Otis, my hand on my heart to maintain constant contact with my own passport in my inside pocket.

Otis is busy, of course, having a job to do not involving foolish redheaded passengers. When I manage to interrupt, he calls Matt back to see if the package is away. It is not. Because there was cash in the pouch (a mere $130) Stephanie decided she couldn’t be liable for sending it as it was, and had decided to have a check made out for the money instead. Why she didn’t mention this previously, Matt can’t say. It will arrive at 8:50 pm. I turn on my heels and powerwalk back to Imelda. “we’re fucked,” I say.

Back at the Air Tahiti counter, Stephanie #2 tells us that there is another flight on Friday, and gives us the number to call for reservations. She hasn’t noted, as I have, that these tickets cannot be exchanged. She makes some calls for us and finds us a room at the Hacienda nearby, at a slightly discounted rate. We find our way to the curbside pickup point for the Hacienda shuttle. We’d return for the passport in the morning. I have no reservations about showing Imelda some irritation, because she deserves it, but I am not panicked. Rules will be bent. Our journey will continue. We will miss the wedding of Mark Joyner to Sujan Hong in Auckland, which is most regrettable, but what are you going to do?

The Air Tahiti reservation department is closed until 6:00 am. Imelda will be up before then to work some magic and reverse this disastrous mistake. We check ourselves into the Hacienda for two nights at $89 each, and I go for a walk to survey the urban surroundings. Kitty-corner from the hotel is a mini-mall, in which I notice a storefront that reads “Imelda’s Shooz” seems auspicious somehow.

At Ralph’s supermarket I buy bread and cheese, beer, chocolate, apples, a bunch of spinach and a quart each of blueberry Kefir yogurt and Tropicana. I return victorious from the hunt. At least we won’t be at the mercy of room service. On an episode of south park, “Imelda” is mentioned again (in reference to Ms. Marcos and shopping). We take this and my story of the shoe store as evidence that the universe has not entirely forsaken her.

Thursday morning and Imelda is up at 5:30 without an alarm, starts calling Air Tahiti before anyone has arrived at the office. She speaks to Tracy. Things don’t look good. There is no flexibility in the company policy. Imelda can call back and speak to the supervisor at 7:30, but we already know what the answer will be. Imelda is suitably distraught, and begins search for alternate flights to New Zealand. It is coming home to her that she has made a $2000 mistake.

As the appointed time rolls around, I advise Imelda to save her considerable emotion to use to her advantage, and leave the room. Our fate rests in her ability to convince the supervisor to break the rules for us. Imelda talks to Tracy again first, who asks her if she is feeling better. The whole office has been talking about her, Tracy says. Imelda is not feeling better. She speaks next to Michelle, who may or may not have been the aforementioned supervisor, but seems to have the power to help us out in any case. They will help us, fine us for missing our flight and again for transferring the tickets, but they will help us. We’ll have to come in person to their office, which after a few minutes of awkward Latin-boulevard-pronunciation, proves to be just two blocks away. We stop at Ralph’s to buy flowers for the ladies of Air Tahiti on the way.

As we rush to cross the street, I point out the sign for “Imelda’s Shooz,” but a building in the foreground obscures Imelda’s view before she sees it. We agree to return there later and take a picture of her beneath the sign. En route to the reservations office, we realize that the LA suburb we’re in is El Segundo, prompting a mantra to be repeated often throughout the day: she “left her passport in El Segundo.”

At the Air Tahiti office, all went well. Guy (the “magic man”) gives us new tickets for Friday’s flight. It costs us $400. Hugs are exchanged with Tracy and Michelle. Returning to the Hacienda, we hop the shuttle back to the airport, where we find Otis and Imelda’s passport, as advertised. Life is good. That afternoon, we walked two miles to the edge of the Pacific Ocean, and strained our eyes through the fog, but couldn’t see New Zealand. We will though, soon.

As we walked back to the hotel, we stopped off to get our picture of “Imelda’s Shooz” only to find that it was gone. Nothing but a completely empty storefront, without sign or marking of any kind. A clerk at the store next door told us that it had gone out of business some weeks ago, and that they had come for the sign earlier in the day.

Imelda had left the building. We would soon be on our way.