To get from my room to write to you, I have to hike down a hillside trail frequented by cows and then walk past many clothing stands, and then duck down a set of stairs behind the Eyes of Buddha restaurant, kick off my flip-flops and wade across a small stream, walk along the shoreline - usually getting hit by a wave and wetted from the knees down - and then cut across the beach and up a road lined with motor scooters and plenty of "Taxi, madam?" calls, and peer into shop windows until I find a vacancy at one of a half-dozen internet cafes.
I'm starting to feel like a part of the community as I become witness to the rhythms of life in this seaside town: the man who dances down the beach with his ipod every morning, the students from the nearby yoga school practicing their asanas on sandy blankets, the restaurateurs putting out plates of rice for the beach dogs, the fisherman who are always up before me, the too-cool Euro tourists with their endless chatter and cigarettes, the lizard who crawls alongside my bed eating bugs every morning, the cows heading past my door into the misty morning hills. Needless to say, I really love it here.
But that hasn't always been the case. Once I got out of Mumbai and survival mode, it hit me that I am way the ^*£$& out here on the other side of the world with no local friends. Intellectually, I knew I was surrounded by stunning ocean views and mind-expanding culture and exotic food, but my spacious seaside room at Sunny Guesthouse suddenly felt like it was down at the end of Lonely Street.
I moped around, barely noticing the sunlight on the waves or the little boys flying homemade kites or the women in saris balancing big baskets of fruit on their heads. I was too busy listening to the monologue in my head about how I should be better at making friends and why aren't I more outgoing and I'm too old for this kind of travel and no one's going to talk to me and blah, blah, blah, blah.
After two days of crying into my ginger tea and wondering why I came, I decided to implement some of that Eastern wisdom everyone's hunting for over here and see if I could meditate my way out of my depression. I went down to the beach by myself and just sat with my loneliness, like a grumpy friend who refused to be cheered. We sat there all day, feeling blue, passing the sunscreen and taking small comfort in each others' company.
After awhile, being with lonely stopped hurting so much and just felt normal. And then, it occurred to me: Loneliness is just a feeling. It's not going to kill me. It's not even as dangerous as that paneer I ate last week that gave me indigestion. Loneliness is not even a problem I have to do something about. It just comes and goes whether I want it to or not. In the meantime, I'm in India! And I can spend my whole trip wishing for different feelings or better company, or I can just get out there and make the most of it, no matter how I feel.
Loneliness seemed skeptical about my breakthrough, but I felt light and happy. I took us out for vegetarian thali at the Blue Sea Horse bar, where they show movies every night. That night, it was I am Legend. Nothing like a movie about the last man on earth to put loneliness in perspective. The bar was pretty crowded, but my table still had a seat open. A few minutes into the movie, a waiter sat someone at my table, who leaned over and asked, "So why is everyone on earth dead?"
"They made a cure for cancer, but it backfired," I explained, and within a few minutes, I had my first Arambol friend.
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