Ok, so I got stuff to write

I know I said I'd update today... and I am, see? But not only am i uaing this crazy french computer, but I'm also still a wuss and not up for more earnest writing.

I don't even know what to do with é,ö and ä.

So, back to the last few days. Well, let's jump back in time to Hampi, which I should cover briefly thusly:

I saw stones and old towers and a market place (ancient) that looked straight out of rome, spent large portions of 2 days on my back resting from back pain, argued furiously with cheating indians who claimed that they could add extra money to the PRINTED MAXIMUM RETAIL ORICE OF DRINKS because of 'cooling charges' (ie, refrigeration, in case some idiot savant just... sorry, idiot savànt [they are smart like that] just wandered here). Best 'cooling charge' scam? The one where they argued that the refrigeration of ICE CREAM had a COOLING CHARGE. Say what?

And super thanks to a really nice Austrian called Sylvia who made sure I was ok most times during this... no, I don't yet know how to exclaim on this thing. But I would have, just then.

Tomorrow, dear readers, I'll give you an insight into an ashram, what appears to be very much a personality cult, a hypocritical teacher, and how I planned to Escape(exclamation mark) from the ashram... up until I realised I could just, y'know, walk out of the damn place. They don't make these places like they used to.

Actually, tomorrow is today (i mean, it always is, in a weird philosophical way, but right now it's more that i wrote the above yesterday):

So, taken with the eagerness of a kid doing a 'what i did on my holidays' report, here is my 'what i did with monks' report:

Arrived at 5am. Yep, the bus from Hampi (which was NOT comfy) drops me in B'lore at 5 in the morning, and after a LONG tuk tuk ride, I get to the foundation HQ at 6 or so. Did I say this place was big? Because it is MAMMOTH. It is something like 260 acres, this yogi man is not suffering for a cause here. Anyway, I register, am given my own room (shower, toilet, beds, its ok) and then go and get some food.
The canteen hall is pretty busy, as it is brekkie time, and there are all sorts of devotees wanting food for their meditational powers. Food is a mix of yellow and, umm, other colors that don't lend well to eating, and it tastes like it was cooked in a giant pot by a large indian who doesn't care how long carrots, broccoli, rice or water take to cook. He just cooks them.
I look forward to meeting that indian, we both have similar cooking styles.

So - i go to class. The meditational class is all about a few things:
1. The bleeding obvious, such as
a) you are responsible for all your actions (AND your inactions, but I thought better of pointing out to the teacher that my inactions were really actions anyway. She's not the intellect-discourse type)
2. Breathing to cure back pain, hepatitis, madness and other which
a) didn't help my backpain.
3. Live for... the moment(em)
a) which I already know as I have seen Antony Robbins on T.V. But it's not a bad message.

So it was a good start. The teacher we had used a mixture of intimidation, bullying and lying to get people to do things and make us all comply, which was a nice touch, i thought. She looked like she was going to have an egg (as in, lay one, not casually order one. Because you can't, as the place is vegan) everytime anyone did anything that wasn't 100% part of the plan. Turning up 5 minutes late would get you a stern rebuking, not performing 'sabbaddy blabbady' (whatever) (it's when you clean up the pans, or sweep the floor, pretty much work as a paying servant... sorry, when you become 'responsible' for the centre, and so learn more from it) would get a sterner one, and not turning up to the weird cult-following sing-along at the end of the night would get you totally blasted by our teacher (exclamation mark).
Christ, how do french type passionately without an exclamation mark key?

The thing was, she never did ANY of these herself. When she was late we were just meant to take it, and she had the GALL to get angry at one poor girl (who later quit) for not going to the sing along when teacher herself hadn't gone to it(em). Normally I would have pointed this one out to her, but seeing as *I* hadn't gone along, I didn't know. I just wasn't so crazy as to honestly tell a sincerely deranged woman I hadn't spent 2 hours singing the previous night.

Aside from my teacher, the rest of the class were really really nice people, who were just trying to get by with their lives. I talked to most of them and, well, they were by and large just wanting to get a calmer life and enjoy themselves more. Other people I met at the centre seemed, generally, sane, and one was even a trained osteopath who took the time to give me a great 40 min massage, free(em)

OH HOLY MOOMOO THANK GOD I FOUND THE EXCLAMATION MARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, let's start cooking with a little something I call... gasoleeeeeeeene, eh?

So! (feels so so good) first up - typing? With no '!'? It's pretty hard. Secondly, I totally took the teacher to task a few times (when she answered her mobile phone in class, for exsample, when before she would confiscate a student's mobile if it went off), and BOY! She was not one with the world, or ether, or whatever.
I believe the term is minging, manky, or maybe even snarky... in oz, we'd say bonzo (I think. I don't know, I never said it, but maybe YOU have). Whatever it was, our teacher needed anger management therapy.

Anyway, the exciting things that happened were me making elaborate plans to flee only to
a) be offered a free massage, so decided to stay one more day for it and
b) realising I just could walk away. No laser beams, no nothing. Pffft.

Ummmm, and today? Well! There are plans to buy some indian jewellery, but i'm finding that indians think i'm a goon and want to charge me lots for their b-grade stuff. Also, they lie CONSTANTLY to me about caring about quality, and how much they want me to be happy, all the while charging 3, 4, 5 times more!
Which I know, because I am not a total goon. But more on that later!

God, I've missed you mr exclamation mark! Don't leave me again.