from the hills of kerala

8-29

Yesterday, I had one of those days that every traveler eventually faces: the day where, due to every possible eventuality, travel that should have taken 3 hrs, ended up taking 12. I left Kalady at near 9 in the morning, setting out for the rail station, and then on to the kurismula ashram. At the rail station, I found that all trains for my onward journey on to goa and then Bombay are full. There is a great thing in India, called the tourist quota, where there are a number of seats reserved on each train for tourists with foreign passports. I was told that there are still some of those left, but this station was too small to sell them. I would have to go to ernakulum, one hour in the wrong direction. Are they sold at Kottayam, i asked? I don't know the man replied. It was at this point that I should have realized that I don't know often means no, and that I should take the tried and true path, rather than throwing chance to the wind and heading on. I then decided to catch a bus to kottayam, which was more or less in the direction of my final destination. What I thought would only take an hour and a half, however, stretched into 2 and 1/2. To top it all off, i found out at kottayam, that only 2 cities in kerala can sell the tourist quota tickets: Ernakalum and the capital Thir... in the south. I should take the train, leaving within a half hour, to ernakalum and I can get my ticket there. What should I do at this point? Should I go the 1 hr to ernakalum, knowing it would add at least 2 and a half hours to my journey, but then ensure that I have my ticket to reach Bombay in time for my flight, or should I continue on to the ashram, hoping those tickets would still be available 5 days later when I reached ernakalum again. This time, i took the sure route, and purchased a ticket for the city, and waited.... and waited.. and waited. The train arrived an hour and a half late, no small delay when there is a 9 pm curfew at the cistercian ashram. I reach there and after an hour of shuffling through lines, i was able to get my onward tickets. The next hurdle was to find my way back in the opposite direction to the ashram. It was already 5pm, the time I was supposed to reach the Ashram, but with 7 hrs of traveling already in the bank that day, what would another 4 hurt? I phoned the monks who suggested that if I can't arrive before 9, i should book a hotel on the way and come in the morning. Sound advice, but everything along the way encouraged me to go on. Course, I should have remembered when I was told that it was only 30 mins from Erratapur to kurismula, the town the first bus dropped me at that aside from Indian standard time, IST often also means Indian stretchable time. I arrived at the foot of the hill leading up to the ashram at 9 pm, and was reminded of the time I was turned away from the monastery in france to sleep in a mountain refuge (where i contracted a skin illness caused by bug bites), and had romantic visions of sleeping at the gate of the monastery. I was also burdened with now 3 times the books than I had brought down from calcutta with me, having amassed at least 80 lbs of texts at this point. On an empty stomach, and a day of taxis, buses and trains behind me, each step felt certain to be the last. The fog set in around me, limiting my field of vision to 3 feet ahead. Trusting only the tarmac beneath my feet, i trudged on.
It was almost a perfect arrival for such a long day when the now illuminated mist blew away, and the ashram buildings emerged like a firefighter through a smokey door. There the guest master greeted me, welcoming me to the ashram, healing any internal scar of monastic rejection felt from my visit in france 4 years prior. While I didn't have the courage to rise for the 3:30am vespers, the mass this morning perfectly set the tone for my stay here. Foreign and yet contemplatively comfortable, the mass took the community prayerfully through the whole history of salvation. The rich, green peaks surrounding us and the intermittent rain evoked healthy memories of home in Oregon and home in Normandy. The ashram despite feeling wholly local, also, with its rock cobbled roads, overcast sky, rocky peeks and grazing cattle, has a distinctly medieval European feel. I have been hoping that the monastic treats of Europe: freshly made cheese, local jellies and honey, chocolate (!) or a nice liquor would somehow appear in their bookshop. That, however, would be anything but local. Still, the freshly baked bread and the abundance of ashram grown vegetables are a blessing beyond compare. Furthermore, despite (because of?) its simplicity, the silence of the community, echoed by the sacredness of the space are far better conveniences than any luxury hotel can provide. 
I am joined, besides my constant traveling companions of authors from time past, by another American who studied religion in America. I am happy to find a conversation partner who shares as much passion for the questions of Christianity on the ground as I do.
Michael Le Chevallier
MDiv candidate 2011
University of Chicago
email/skype: mike.lechevallier@gmail.com
Cell: (+91)9790889074