Osho Day 1

Day 1

The first morning was something of a surprise and shock. From a meditation centre I was expecting calm relaxed people with a laissez fair attitude to life and organisation. Instead we were met with Indian Beaurocracy with a gaunt unshaven German face in the form of Herman the German organiser. Here was the deal. The information meeting started at 9.30 am. Without the information meeting you couldn’t participate and basically had to stay in your room until the next information meeting. There was only one information meeting a day. You had to register before the information meeting and registration opened at 9.00 am. Within the 30 minutes, the group of 35 people (including us) who were from a variety of countries had to

Change money.
Register their details on the system
Take an aids test.
Get the results of the aids test
Pay for the information meeting
Buy vouchers as cash wasn’t handled.
Go across the road and buy a robe.

The sequence had to be done in the correct order. There was no formal guidance prior or during the process and it had to be completed within 30 minutes or we would be spending the next 24 hours doing nothing.

The stress built up steadily as the minutes ticked away and the standard scenes of unstoppable objects (American Tourists) hitting immovable objects (German Organisers) was unfolding. “I just need to check-in to the hotel” said the America. “I will be back in 15 minutes”. This was met with “If you leave zee building, you vill ave to vate until tomorrow for yor tour”.

“But”, said the American. “No buts”, said Herman. “Zeez are zee rules”

We were taken around the resort by a Belgian girl and her female Taiwanese Tonto complete with plated pigtails. Dressed in our burgundy robes, we were were led around. The campus was attractive: a combination of colonial, traditional low rise office buildings and new age pyramids. It was nice but not in the same league of say a deluxe holiday resort. The best description I could give of the surroundings was a down market club med that had recently been renovated. I had expected quiet and isolation. It was quiet but not isolated. It was partly overlooked by low rise residential buildings and higher rise office blocks. Basically you went to the bottom of Pune high street and turned left and you were at Osho.

Then there was our introduction. This included what I dreaded most – group exercises. People were called up to the front of the room according to Nationality. “Ah, you are from Germany. You will dance like German people and everybody else in the room will copy you”. The Germans slapped there ankles and thighs and danced around. The Israelis were called up. Hava Nagila I thought, but no they got Arabic music. Not what they were expecting but fine. The Indians got Punjabi music everybody copied them well. Then there was the call I dreaded “anyone from England.” Me and Joel walked to the front. “You are from England” they confirmed?. “Yes we are” we replied. “Good”, Tonto looked up from the CD case “We have some Irish music that you can dance to”. After a momentary pause while we considered whether there was any point discussing this issue, off we went. Joel and I dressed in our burgundy robes, doing our best Michael Flatley impersonations copied by the on looking group of Germans, Israelis, Indians and the American. If I only I had a photograph. Ah but photographs are not permitted at Osho.

We then did group dancing with masks and were shown an introduction into dynamic meditation.

We sat outside with Sabena and Tonto. Sabena told us of her problems and why she had come to Osho which essentially was a difficult relationship with her parents.

After lunch of vegetarian Indian food, I went to book some one on one activities, NLP hypnotism, core stability training, ayeveda massage. The costs were mounting up. I went to sort out some more cash. Cash was king at Osho. Like a car with a big engine burning petrol, Osho burned cash.

I went to the multiversity booking centre were you booked your courses or sessions. Behind the desk was a Californian called Jim. He was in his late fifties had a good tan and closely cropped grey hair. His sign burns were shaved at angle like captain Kirk and he wore a stylish antique Rolex on his wrist.

“I want the core integration yoga massage, please”.

“OK” said Jim who starting taping into his computer terminal. “We have availability with Mahindra, he is excellent,. Oh here, he is”. I turned round expecting to see a wiry little Indian man. Instead, in front of me stood a huge Scandinavian. He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s. His wild hair and long beard were completely white. He was dressed from head to feet in black robes with a white sash. I had one thought “Osho’s converted Santa to the dark side”.

Mahindra had no bookings for when I wanted. So Jim fixed me up with Devan “she is also excellent”. Jim obviously knew all the staffs’ abilities OR he was over from Osho’s LA sales office and he was demonstrating a standard US sales technique.

I met up with Joel who had booked his self hypnosis course. “I have got a really good instructor sorted for tomorrow”.” How do you know he’s good?” I asked him. “The guy behind the desk told me he is excellent! “

I went back to my room. Joel who had been doing his own thing knocked on my door. He was off to the 4.15 session of kundalini Meditation session. At 4.25 there was a knock at my door. It was Joel.

“That was quick, what happened?” I asked.
“Well, I arrived 2 minutes late, just as they were closing the doors. Apparently he and the group of other people with him were told they were disrespectors and were instructed to leave immediately. “

Twenty four hours hadn’t yet passed and Joel had been branded a “direspector.” I was the brother of the “disrespector.” This could have consequences.

I had spent most my day people watching. Despite the uniformity of the maroon robes, you could still differentiate between various groups of people.

There were the obvious Indian yogis. These were small wiry men with long beards which varied from dark black to shining silver grey.

There were the top “big issue” sales people. Not your average straight corner sellers but, your hard core high volume movers who had won the right to be here. Despite the standard robes - the woolly hats, unkempt beards and dodgy shoes gave them away. These were rarely seen.

There were the Japanese, small dark haired. But their distinguishing feature was the Nike or Adidas logo on the maroon techno fleece gillets or jackets worn over there maroon robes.

There were the Germans who combined socks and sandals.

Then there were the Italians. Their robes were different from everyone else. Perfectly pressed, a slightly different shade of maroon, coordinated with the right shoes and sunglasses, jewellery and bags. Somehow the robes just looked better on them. “Hold on one minute their robes were different”. There were no silk or linen robes or coordinating linen trousers in the Osho shop. They had there robes made for them.

Finally there were the backpackers – flip-flops or no shoes.

I understood the idea of the robes - uniformity, removing materialism from the campus. But it didn’t work for me. Why ? Jewellery, Sunglasses (see the paragraph about the Italians) shoes, (ditto the previous point). There was plenty of Channel, Cartier, Gucci and Prada on display even before 8.00 pm when the robes came off.

I had only been at Osho for 24 hours but I was already forming a view of the experience.

Joel told me I had to suspend my natural scepticism in order to get something out of Osho. He was right of course, but I was already struggling. None of the 3 osho people I had met that day had given any reason to believe otherwise. It hadn’t taken the German out of Herman. He was still as uptight as any of his countrymen. The Belgium and Tonto had both folded under easy questioning during the Welcome meeting. “One of the Israelis had asked for explanation and instruction into the mediation.” The response he got was to be pointed to where he could buy Osho books, CD’s and magazines about meditation.

This was not what I was expecting. Some of my friends had been reborn into the Judaism. They were won over people by philosophical debate, reasoned discussion and by a hard sell from experts; men who had studied their stuff over decades. Not an emotional troubled ex-Sabena stewardess who lacked the ability to answer the simplest of questions. There was no history, no context, and no debate. There was simply activity followed by inactivity.

Osho allied itself with many crank therapies that were on offer as paid courses. Reiki, constellation training, cranial biodynamic, post reichan therapy, tarot, colour therapy. All of these were available as paid courses within Osho

There were a lot of Israelis staying and working at Osho. What had happened on Yom Kippur I wondered?

Joel talked to me about changing my mental state. “You know when you are doing something and you are not concentrating on anything in particularly. Your mind is blank then a thought just pops into your head…..” I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

This was an extremely important comment that gave me an insight into Joel and the differences in our mental processes. Joel’s mind was always completely prepared for inactivity.

I on the other hand I was always thinking something, well to exact always worrying about something…things I had to do, work tasks, plans, ideas chores. I always did at least two things at once. I watched TV while working on the computer, I read books while listening to music, I ate lunch while reading or walking.

I couldn’t think of a time when my mind was idol. Joel was permanently relaxed and I was neurotic.

Osho My Time in Pune

The Virgin stewardess had introduced herself and taken us through the menu. Glasses of champagne and canapes had been served.

In front of us were piled our complimentary Oswald Boteng amenity kits, bags of Virgin cosmetics, duvets, water bottles, blankets and virgin sleep suits. Our chairs were ready to transform into beds at the push of a button. But still 45 minutes into the flight the penny hadn’t dropped with Joel.

All the signs were there: The subtle change of boarding pass at the gate, the attentive service, the seat that changed into a bed, the champagne, the duvets, the offer of a massage on the plane.

“Lucky we got upgraded ay, Joel”. “Upgrade, what upgrade?” came the reply.

We journeyed through the night arriving in Mumbai the following morning. We had a 4 hour wait until our connection, so we sat at the Leela Kempinski hotel until it was time to catch our connection.

My suppliers in India had told me how much the country had changed and developed. I was expecting a change of the magnitude of what I had seen in Shanghai last year.
The airport, roads and Leela hotel were all exactly as I remembered them. Mumbai still ranks alongside Dhaka for the title of worlds most awful international airport (excluding Gatwick of course).

The domestic terminal was a whole different kettle of fish. It was new, modern, light, cool, clean and airy. This definitely was not the India I had seen before.We took our Jet airlines flight and arrived in Pune 45 minutes later.

Pune airport was great. A large concrete ramshackle hut of an airport You got off the plane and stood with all the other passengers by the wing of the plane we had just arrived on. Another plane turned around 100 feet away. It was moving by the force of its engines and as it turned its engines sent a gust of hot wind which blew away the cobwebs, as well as hats and newspapers. We collected our luggage and walked through airport.

The weather in Pune was very mild sweater wearing weather.

Joel having travelled round India the previous year was ready to offer his expert advice.

“Don’t hire the tax from those guys they will rip you off”.

“What do you want to do?” I replied.

“We will get a taxi outside” said Joel. I suspended my natural urge to argue and followed. Joel had done India last year as a backpacker and was now the self appointed India expert.

He strided off towards a motorised Rickshaw.

“Sorry Joel, I am getting a taxi”, I walked off to negotiate with the rip off merchant at the taxi rank. Joel may have done Rajastan, but I had been travelling to Indian for 15 years and I wasn’t spending 15 seconds in an Indian rickshaw

“How much to Osho ?” I asked.

“250 rupees (£3.00) for non air-conditioned and 350 rupees (£4.25) for an air-conditioned car. Sir”.

“See I told you,” piped up a voice behind me”, I have stayed in Hotels in India that cost more than that” he continued.

My week with my brother was going to be a learning experience. I had to suspend my desire to immediately reject his opinions and be more sympathetic to his ways. I would be conciliatory and non confrontational, but how? I had already vetoed his proposal of the rickshaw. Then it came to me. I would order the cab without air-conditioning. That way I could compromise with him.

“No air conditioning please”, came out of my mouth .

Then another thought immediately came into my mind. Why was I was worry about spending an additionally £1.25 because of Joel’s comment? He wasn’t even paying for the taxi.

“Change that, I will have the air-conditioned car”. We jumped in the 1960’s Morris Ambassador and off we went.

” Air con please” I shouted. It wasn’t hot. Actually it was a bit chilly but I was going to prove to my brother that I knew how to get my moneys worth in India.

We got to Osho.

Outside was a hive of activity. A scrum of Caucasians in maroon robes were milling around the entrance.

Here I was. I had travelled 3000 miles and now I was about to join the ranks of the “nutters in schmuters”. What was I doing ?

We approached the Welcome Desk. “We have reservations for 2 under the name of ……….”. Having checked his records the response came straight back at us with standard Indian effiency. “NO”. No ifs, no buts, no perhaps, no rechecking of the register Just “NO”.

Eventually we were granted a temporary pass to the guest house where we staying. I was surprised – it was not what I was expecting. The inside was well styled. It was all white and minimalist. There with white marble floors, dark wood doors and contemporary looking Italian furniture. On the walls were bright abstract paintings. I was sure the rooms would be a let down.

As far as I was concerned from my travels over the last 20 years, even 5 star Indian hotel rooms consisted of badly made mock reproduction furniture and smelt of damp, mothballs and disinfectant.

I was wrong. India had changed. I entered my room. Again more white walls dark wood doors and wardrobes. The dark wood bed frame was built into a unit which was attached to wall, complete with head board and side tables. There was a natural coloured linen roller blind which covered the window and plenty of good lighting. A reading light straight out of a habitat catalogue and a caramel coloured leather chair completed the look. The bathroom was equally impressive. There was a wet room style shower, sink and toilet. The styling was so close to be being perfect except for one thing - the tiling. The floor tiles which covered the floor of the bedroom and bathroom were a puce colour. It looked the contractor screwed up and rather than wait for the correct tiles to arrive they laid them down anyway.

We unpacked and made our way out of the guest house. The campus was deserted.

A sole person was walking towards us. She told us very politely that the evening meeting was in progress and during that time, the gates were locked and as weren’t in the evening meeting we had to stay in our rooms. She escorted us back and very politely told the counter staff not to let anyone else out.

It was Osho lock down and we couldn’t escape. We couldn’t say we were kidnapped. We had volunteered to join and now we were locked in

We waited for the evening meeting to end. We got dinner and then walked across the road. We bluffed our way into the main part of the campus which we weren’t supposed to enter as we hadnt registered. We walked towards the outside plaza. Here there was a group therapy session which was being hosted by a Swiss version of “Frazier”. Watching were hundreds of people.

“Vot question vood you like to ask?” Frazier said very softly through a microphone to the man sat next to him.

“Well”, came the reply. “I want to know why since my divorce I cannot maintain a relationship”.

Frazier then asked a series questions about the man’s life. One of his daughters had died and subsequently his marriage had broken down. As far as I was concerned – game over. The man’s question had been answered. But no….. wait!

Frazier went to the audience selected people at random who represented the man himself, his wife and his children including his dead daughter. The bereaved man then positioned the characters as if on a chess board. Then Frazier would ask him questions about the people assembled before him. He would then ask the assembled people about how they were feeling. The man with the deceased daughter would then move the people around in front of him and Frazier.
“How do you veel ? “ He asked the woman representing the mans wife. “I feel very sad in my chest”, “Exaaaactly” said Frazier. And so the questions went on getting more and more personal and cringful. If this was a TV program you would have watched it from behind a sofa with a pained expression on your face.

Frazier continued asking questions to each of the assembled people. After every response he would knowingly reply “Exaaaaactly” as if he knew telepathically exactly what was going to be said before the words were uttered.

This was Car crash therapy, the worst excesses of Trisha or Kilroy played out live in front of 100’s of people.

I was starting to worry…….

Joel went off to bed. I walked around the resort and read the information provided. The was a wide schedule of activities which included Zennis ( yes Seriously - a cross between Tennis and Zen Buddhism) it involved music, was played while dressed in full length maroon robes, perhaps without a ball !

Ulpotha Day 3

I woke up at dawn. I had slept well but needed to use the loo. I walked to my nearest bathroom. Number ones could normally be dealt with at my hut. When I say normally, let me explain. My hut was in the middle of nowhere but amazingly no matter what time a day or night I needed to relive myself some Sri Lankan would pop up out of nowhere, in clear sight of me. In fact one afternoon a whole family appeared, perhaps word of the strange white man had spread through the village.

Anyway back to my morning call. As I got close to the toilet hut, I heard a voice. I realised it was Trish's voice. If she sensitive about her yoga mat, how was she going to feel about me doing a number 2 within arms reach of her tooth brush. I couldn't face that sort of confrontation that early in the morning. I turned around trekked barefoot for 20 minutes to the house and sorted my self out there.

As I was walking I was trying to think of what this village reminded me of. It was a bit like a really down market Club Med but that wasn't what it reminded me of.....

I made it to yoga as the class.

Sting was at the front of the room on the left hand side next to Trish warming up. Marco was also at the yoga class with Christina.

The class started as normal but then Jane went into some more complicated moves.

"If it is the first or second day of menstruation its probably better not to try this". I looked at Sting for guidance, but he was focused and didn't bat an eyelid. I thought to myself "Its probably safe for me to try this one." Here I had a clear biological advantage and I was going to do an advanced move. I was psyched. I lay on my stomach and moved forward resting my weight on my arms.

"No Michael ! you do cow". No I wasn’t allowed to try the advanced move. "Thanks Jane", I thought. I know who the cow is and it’s not me. The class continued.

"I have had a special request", said Jane " Pair up everyone, we are now going to do head stands and hand stands" Yeerrr Right Jane !!!!. You might be doing handstands but I am happy being a cow. At this point I decided to stop. Watching these women trying to do handstands wasn't particularly funny, until, Trish's over enthusiastically tried to through her feet in the air over balanced and nearly knocked Susana unconscious.

Things could be worse I hadn't humiliated or injured myself and the classes could only get better I thought. "Tonight instead of the evening yoga class we are having a dance workshop". What the hell was this. A dance workshop…... Where did it say this on the notes. There was no mention of this on the web site. Yoga twice a day it said. Sting had left the building was last seen running towards Colombo chased by Trisha. I decided instantaneously I wasn't going anywhere near the dance workshop. The only thing left to do was book every conceivable treatment to try fill the rest of the day, paying particular attention to ensure that one of my treatments clashed with the dance workshop.

I had breakfast. Jane hadn't slept very well because of the monkeys fighting on her roof, It was 9 o'clock in the morning and I already knew what I would be worried about when I went to bed. I walked into the house and noticed two large guestbooks that dated back to 2000. The guest books were full of glowing praise for Ulpotha. Peace tranquillity, beauty....... page after page of eulogies written by apparently educated, affluent English people. I didn't get it. I looked for the entries from Derren Brown and Paul Mckenna. How could these people be duped into believing this. Perhaps the subtle reconditioning would eventually affect me.

Yes it was peaceful. There was no obnoxious America tourists abusing the staff behind the reception desk. As

a. there were no Americans
b. there was no reception desk
c there was no staff.

Why should there be any staff ?, No room service, no cleaning, no hovering, no cases to carry, ....This was no Sandi Lane or Dusit Thani, but page after page of the guest book was filled with these glowing references. "Can't wait to come back, I was so sad to leave, Wonderful". Even the Sunday Times and Daily Telegraph had written about this place in glowing terms.

Now I was onto something........., could this be a concept I could sell to some major hotel group. Hear me out. You take a dilapidated no star hotel in a stinking hot country, cut off the electricity and water supply, fire all the staff, do no maintenance or repairs. Import a yoga instructor, an Italian with a guitar, his body guard and a kiwi helper.....and wait for people to arrive. Could this be my path to early retirement?

I booked my treatments, changed into my sarong and started straight away.

I had the consultation with the Aryvadic doctor. We sat in his little shack. The walls had small framed pictures of Hindu deities separated by knives, spearheads, spoons. I assumed these were probably surgical instruments. On the floor there were various jam jars and old milk bottles filled with powders and potions. He told me about the three forces. The pitta, the patta and something else I can't remember. He took my blood pressure, asked me about my bowels and asked a few other questions. Then he really got to work.

"I notice you are sweating" he was clearly onto something.

"Yes"

"Do you sweat in your own country"

"Only when its hot" I replied

"You are sweating now" He was definitely onto something.

"Its hot ?" It was 90 degrees, I was in a small airless hut in the jungle and I was definitely sweating. This guy was sharp. He could spot a sweating white guy from 12 inches away. He wouldn't let the "sweating thing" go.

He carried on about my sweating problem which was apparently due to problems with my pitta and patta. I told him about my asthma and he told me to keep taking my inhaler.

Then he delivered another critical piece of health advice "Don't eat pineapple." However, the impact had been lessened as I knew he had given this same piece of advice to everyone else he had seen. Perhaps pineapples are evil or perhaps he had a bad experience with one when he was child.

He then started telling me about his teacher.

"My teacher lives in..........."

Where I thought ............out in the Jungle, China, Tibet, India.

"My teacher lives in Camden"

If this was the disciple, how could one conceive of the masters power. So powerful and yet so local to North London.

I finished the consultation and went for the first treatment. I had the hot oiled poured on my forehead which felt just like having hot oiled poured on your forehead.

Next, was the the steam bath. This looked like a wicker sarcophagus. I was laying inside when the steam hit my back. This was really hot steam that made me jump. I felt like a giant piece of dim sum being cooked inside a wicker coffin. There was no choice I had to get out. But no, there were western voices outsides. It was Ginny and Susanna who had recommended I try the steam bath. If they could tolerate the heat, what would they think of me jumping out saying it was too hot. They may have seen this as a sign of weakness and force me to the dance workshop. This steam was really HOT. Maybe the Doctor was right and I had pitta patta problems or maybe he had told them to crank up the steam to prove his theory. In true James Bond fashion, in the darkness of the steam bath I rearranged my sarong to rest between my back and the wicker platform I was lying on. In that way I was able to survive.

I had Gian Luca's chiropractic something or other which was unremarkable. He swung my limbs and around and clicked some of my joints. He told me my back was fine and that my legs were of equal length. Gian Luca lived in Chiswick.

Finally I had the "relaxing" arevyda all over massage which felt like being oiled with something that smelled like rancid linseed oil and was the colour of iodine. I was rubbed down by a Sri Lankan guy who had wiry fingers and hands like course sandpaper He gave me a head massage that was much less pleasurable than having a hair wash at Toni and Guy. As the minutes slowly ticked by during the massage all I could think was how get the rancid oil off my body and out of my hair. I finished my treatment and walked off stinking, looking for a shower. I scrubbed and rubbed. Stupidly I hadn't brought soap or shampoo. I had to use the local organic soap which looked like soap but adding water to it or rubbing it didn't change its appearance in any way. I cleaned myself as best I could and walked back to my PCH to change.

What did this place remind me of middle aged English, educated, affluent women, making inane conversations telling each other how well they were doing. The sweating, limping and singing in the evenings to past the time. The tropical conditions, the complete absence of comfort..... TENKO. Yes the 70's TV program about English women in a Japanese prisoner of war camp. That's what Ulpotha reminded me of.

Dinner was subdued. All the women in the camp were affected by Gian luca's sadness. He had been separated from pasta for nearly two weeks and he was going cold turkey. All the women tried to comfort him but he couldn't be helped. He described the contents of each terracotta pot, but instead of being filled with vegetable curry they were filled with different fresh pasta sauces, Bolognese, carbonara,...........

Gian luca wasn't playing his guitar. This was a truly sad occasion. Gian Luca's weakness was seen as opportunity by the women who started working out how to get him pasta which they eventually did. A car was due to carry one of the guests to Kandy the following day. The driver was to be given a list and the address of a shop which stocked fresh Italian parmesan, olive oil and of course pasta. After dropping off the guest the driver would return with provisions and Gian Luca would be happy again. This wasn't right. There were surely more serious issues here to be addressed, like where was Steve (Cindy's partner). I had been in Ulpotha 3 days and I hadn't once seen Steve. For all I knew he could have been carried off by monkeys or lost in the Jungle. But no one was interested in Steve. Gian Luca needed pasta and these women were ready to hire a helicopter.

Gian Luca's pasta dependency spread of melancholy round the camp. No one smiled. This was no music that night and very little talking. Occasionally Jane would quote the Dalai Lama " Selfish compassion is better than no compassion."

I spent the evening playing backgammon with Sean. He had a slight advantage. My pieces were brown and the board was predominantly brown which in the darkness became virtually invisible.

Then Trish walked over to me.

"Michael do you have a particularly loud voice ?".

"Why ?" I asked.

"Ginny has got my torch and I want here to bring it back, so I would like you to stand over there and shout for her to bring back my torch"

"I don't think my voice is any louder than yours" I replied. Which I didn't think was an unreasonable response.

"I don't know what you are implying Michael ?" said Trish before she walked off.

With no music the guest faded away.

This was my last night I walked to my PCH, hid from the Monkeys and went to sleep.

I slept soundly every night despite the noise of the crickets, birds,snakes and monkeys and Trish. My chest complaint that I had been nursing for two weeks dramatically improved. My unhealthy symbiotic relationship with my lap top was temporarily terminated and I genuinely look back at the experience happily and positively and I would even consider going back, but not in the foreseeable future.

As for the SAS weekend that Joel got me as a 40th birthday present. Bring it on

Ulpotha Day 2

"Michael". I jumped up.

I wasn't expecting to see anyone at 7.00 in the morning.

It was Cindy. "Yoga starts in half an hour".

"OK great, see you there", I replied almost without knowing what I was saying. Cindy told me there was a shortcut to the Yoga and I arranged to meet her in 10 minutes.

I walked with Cindy to the yoga. I had given up on wearing shoes.

"There is nothing here dangerous here I could step on is there?".

"Oh No............., except the snakes, you are out in the Jungle here". Great - snakes !

Morning yoga was 2 hours long. This was the serious session. There I sat in the PCYH (partially completed yoga hut) and flicked the caterpillars away from me. I was cornered by Trish and her counterparts. This time I was careful not to take Trish's yoga mat.

Where was my soul bother ? Where was Sting ? The new man, toned, bronzed, healthy devoting his time to acquire eastern knowledge and powers that would improve his health and longevity.

Then the yoga started, I got into my downward dog, warrior, dolphin, cobra.

Trish my evil nemesis stood at the front, directly in front of Jane. Now this was clearly Jane, the yoga teacher's turf. No one was going to argue with Jane here

"To the right Trish, your hips" said Jane.

"I am learning to the right" says Trish. What was this, Trish was questioning the yoga guru. No one had questioned Jane.

"No the other way" said Jane.

"No, you said right" replied Trish.

If Trish swivelled her head left or right to see what other people were doing, which I would have thought was the automatic reaction in this situation, Trish would have seen everyone else was pointing in the opposite direction. But Trish didn't flinch or turn. She looked straight at Jane, reversed her position and then added "But, you said right".

Trish was a Rotweiller of a women. If you messed with her she was liable to attack. She was travelling on her own. Presumably because she had bitten most of her friends. .After Ulpotha she was off to the Maldives on her own to go Scuba Diving.

The class continued

Ginny stumbled while trying a one legged move and ended up half way across the room. "Oh Sorry" came out of her mouth in enunciated tones.

Susanna couldn't do various positions because she had a bad leg,arm,foot,finger,toe,ankle,ear or elbow.

The 2 hour class only seemed like an hour and fifty minutes.

The yoga class was coming to the end. "Right everybody, in a circle". What was this - Oh No.

Chanting !!! everyone was given a photocopied sheet from the Yoga Instructors Manual.

"Pramamberan, Travangerma, Disamberam, Om, Om, Om" -
"Miverangram, Pertuberangnam, Merangeram, Om Om, Om"
"Spangramam, Trisvisham, Eataaaspam, Om, Om, Om"

Five minutes of chanting and mediation and at last it was over.

I walked back towards my hut and this time found the toilet and bathroom. This time I noticed tooth brushes by the sink. Some one had already laid claim to my toilet.

It was now time for breakfast which consisted of pineapple, papaya, tea and pancakes formed out of cold vermicelli filled with sweat chutney.

"Tambeele, please” the gang of 4 from NW4 were saying to one of the natives. "Tambeele Michael ?". "What the fuck was tamvbeele", I thought to myself. Tambeele I discovered was coconut. The gang of 4 were acquiring linguistic skills that would greatly help them in the future. They would return home safe in the knowledge that if they ever got lost in the Sri Lankan jungle, they could ask for a coconut.

"So Cindy, what is there to do here apart from the Yoga and the treatments" I asked.

"Plenty", she replied. "

""You can take a bicycle and ride around the tracks here" -No.

"You can take a bicycle and ride to the village which is about 2 kilometres away" - No.

"You can walk up to the temple in the hills". This sounded interesting.

"Where is it." I asked.

"It is a couple of hours walk over there" She pointed loosely in the direction of a large hill where I could see the white spire and dome of a Buddhist temple.

"How do I get there ?" I asked.

"You just follow the tracks". Bear in mind without Cindy I couldn't find the Yoga Hut. Here was a Temple out in the jungle. No signposts, no map, no compass, mobile phones didn't work here. I had visions of being lost in the jungle as night fell. This was sounding less and less attractive.

"You can grab Gian Luca, he walked up there yesterday."

Gian Luca I discovered, spent every conceivable minute when not playing his guitar or giving his treatments, sunning himself on a rock. Was Gian Luca really going to repeat yesterdays trek again today ?

That was it there was no alternative for me reading (during daylight hours), treatments and yoga

After breakfast I had my treatment with Sean. Sean spoke very slowly and very deliberately in a very relaxed semi hypnotic way.

He spent an hour and half giving me "charbuti" massage where he used his feet to massage my body. After I got over the initial "Why I am letting this big bloke rub his feet on me" I really enjoyed the massage. It was excellent. Using his feet he could apply pressure deeply and more evenly than a regular massage.

I had lunch, ate more curry and pineapple and went to read my book before evening yoga.

Then dinner, more curry and pineapple.

We sat around after dinner Gian Luca the chiropractor got his guitar out.

"Play the beetles" shouted Susanna

"Leeedit Beeaaa Ohhhhh Leeeedit Beea", came out of Gian Luca's mouth as he strummed his guitar. Then out came Cindy

"Don't worry every one I have photocopied the words of all the Beatles songs" she said triumphantly. I prayed the stack of paper would be incinerated by a bolt of lightning.

It was an evening of Gian Luca playing, Beatles, Radiohead and Coldplay on his guitar.

"What song is that" said Trish.

"Radioooahead" said Gian Luca

"Oh I recognise it" said Trish.

"Dis isa very uncommon song, you know it".

"Of course said Trish"

Gian luca played the songs he liked repeatedly.

As it got darker the women moved closer and to Gian Luca vying with each other to hold a torch so that he could see the music, or turn a page of his song book, or rub his shoulders, in fact anything to be near Gian Luca.

Hours after hour he played and then it happened.

"Oh aaa I brokaaa string". The music would be ended, no more of Sussana's terrible voice ringing in my ears.

"Do you have any spare strings" Asked one of the gang of 4.

"Noaaa" came the response.

It was over, but then......

"I will avaaa toooa gettaaa my oddaa guitar".

Gian Luca had schlepped not one, but two guitars out to the jungle.

It started again "Inaaa times of zoro, mudda nature talka to me"

Eventually the music dyed away and I walked back to my PCH.I looked up and got a shock. I hadn't noticed, the sky on the night before. It was pitch black but full of bright, bright stars. It was like thousands of ubber torches pointing down straight at me.

This time I crawled under my mosquito net worried about snakes instead of evil spirits. Who was I going to call if a snake crawled into my hut?