Walking the Talk ...

... in one of the wildest place on earth…

When I say wild... I mean the Crocodile dundee stuff, Indiana Jones adventures...

Crocodiles everywhere: tracks of crocks or a big turtles laying a eggs??

The stories of that american guy eaten up 3 years ago by a sea crock in Havelock dont help to quieten your mind when you paddle... at the end of the day to get out... at low tide... and each rock popping out... piece of reef... looks like a bloddy crock...
Which went from fantasy to reality when I saw a small one walking to the Falls inland!
I could not help thinking about his "Mummy"!
And those sea crocks are very fast, quite ferocious!

If you add to that sun-flies which cover your entire body with bites in the first days, that later can get infected...
I ended up with a huge anaphylactic shock when arriving back in France, a week of hard core fever, left leg swallowing... strong antibiotics...

But when I arrived in Andaman what shocked me once again was... waste... every where and especially in our resort, Blue View: “nobody comes to collect plastic or glass bottles…I love this place... I want to make it best place for my guests..."



Just like this loud australian surfer going on and on a bout systems to take money from tourists, do this and that... "wra, wra, wra...bla bla bla" whom I never saw picking up anything while I was there.

So after a few days I thought I would try and DO something.

I started to plant trees, to suggest a little composting area.

But there again you cannot force people. The very well spoken tenant, had more ideas to attract tourists and make them believe in Eco Camps than the will to respect and protect this beautiful unique ecosystem.

All the waste from his resort ended up behind a big tree, waiting for irregular pick ups from the municipality, ending up in burning and burying.

It shocked me and his reaction as well, completely fake care... pissed me of.

I wanted to do something to start the wheel movement.

Every time I was going to one of our heaven spots, I was bringing some plastic bottles, alcohol glass ones that I would drop back in some of Hut Bay's cement bins.

Following the plan of the thesis I am writing as well as implementation objectives I have set, bottom up, for poor communities I started the following process:

Collection of segregated waste on the beach:




 


TBC

The Gift of ... Waves!!!

I have been taking a few people surfing lately, putting them on a surfboard for the first time...

and it is weird...

I was feeling having gifted them... the power of the waves... the sacred strength of the sea!…here in Serenity beach, or in Varkala or even before in Anglet, Biarritz…and invariably the same ecstatic reactions, joyful explosions, gratitude after a few waves. It seems like the snow foam, the cold and yet exhausting exercise, paramounting in an experience of speed, of gentle (at the beginning only) power of the sea acts like liberation. 

Especially when they were screaming out of joy after their first ride!

 A liberation allowing the ones who try to reach the shore safely free then from the fears experienced out there, when series could have broken the trespasser at any time!

A cry combining “I am alive”, and “I made it”… “I rode a wave”…

Well …she only took you, allowed you to ride her.

And every time the joy get more and more ecstatic when the trainee surfing finally tries to stand, one knee after the other, rising on the board. Awkwardly finding its balance and slowly adjusting to the permanent movements of the sea.

Surfing waves have always attracted kings and mavericks.

We cannot completely trace where it comes from, Hawaii or some tribes in Peru on their bamboo little boats, in Easter Island on peace of wood, or even in the 18^th, 19^th century farmers in Les Landes south of France riding half trunks…

Always the same fascination of being able to ride, to slide on the sea…

And by hearing my friends shouting, new to it, I realize how grateful I am, should be… to have been born in a place where waves are Gods, where those who ride them are magicians…

That life from the beginning gave me that magical gift of…. Waves.

A surf trip in India, almost invariably starts with a KCTRC bus ride and a rickshaw trip to the airport, at least for me.

In my case I took both from Serenity beach to Chennai international airport. Aiming at Port Blair in the middle of the archipelago of Andaman islands.

One day there to experience of bit of  Holly times, powder spread every where as purification, a way to “bless” people around you… or simply a kind of ethylic carnival…

Then the stress of not being sure of getting a ticket on the one boat per day reaching little Andaman, my goal destination. Getting up at 4am, to line up for tickets at 5am… witness the crooked systems of a few people buying all the tickets to sell them back double price!

I have so far managed to refuse always to pay extra money, ‘propina’, and bribery…

This time as well but… I ended up embarking really the last one… having to jump on my own on the deck, the boat having started to manoeuvre.

A 6 hours journey, quite enjoyable, to quiet for me, not enough swell, which is what I am going there for.

 A beautiful arrival along the main beach of Little Andaman, just before Hut Bay, maybe 30 kilometers long.

The first day, just enough waves to swim in front of the resort, bodysurf in an amazing pure sea, shore break breaking on an immaculate white sanding beach going on forever.

A sense of freedom… to take out its short boards and swim naked.

The next days gathering tips from earlier arrivals, I found the way to reach Butler’s bay, left ride, one of the most beautiful wave on the island.

And the beginning of a love story.

A smooth take off, a perfect section at low tide, and quite long left ride.

Just a few days to get back in shape, readjust the reflex of backside surfing.

Days of surfing in perfect conditions, in theses islands that accept very few tourists, that have been rarely surfed, that half are forbidden to visit, tribal areas being preserved from tourism and even Indian influence.

All the wildness of these islands in the living conditions: signs of crocodiles everywhere, not really reassuring when you hear the stories of surfers having seen some in the water, surfing… or the story of that American guy who got eaten alive in Havelock, the honey moon resort, where some sea crocks operate, fast and ruthlessly!

In 3 weeks in Little Andaman I only saw one crocodile, a small one, on my way to the falls, deep in land!

After having paid my respect to the elephants here.

Yet I could not help thinking that big brothers, mothers were all around, as the legend has it.

So those 2 days when we sneaked out to go and surf, the amazing wave of Kumary point I felt petrified the whole night, sleeping on my board bag outside, hearing every shell moving…

Yet the spectacle of the majestic right awakening at low tide coming up was worth any sleepless night…

The fun to share such a trip with friends met on the road! And that road of 2 hours along the beach driving our motorbikes towards THE wave!

Not very environmentally correct, but there are no other way to reach that wave, besides taking a boat.

2 days of dream surf, getting into the cavern of the almighty Kumary rolling point, 6 to 8 foot. Only speedy Francisco made it out. He broke one of his boards too.

After a day of burning sun and repeated cuts on the shallow reef I decided to head back to the safe and comfy room in my resort.

Well the local cops had been told by our last lodger, Baba from Blue View that we had disappeared. So when I reappeared alone they came straight to my room, to ask me where we were, where my friends were…

A proper start of … Midnight Oil movie!

I did not want to give my friends up but ended up reporting for hours the next morning at 9am at the Police station, and seeing my passport taken away, having to go and search for them!

All ended in good laughs, but realising once more how heavy the whole police/admin system heavy is here.

Fortunately some new swells erased the bad feelings that had risen up from this close-to-jail experience.

And more beautiful waves and magical colours, splendid bays like I had never seen before: Buttlers cooking!

Auroville, dream…utopia…sustainable?

Last year when I arrived for the first time in this garden of Eden, that green bowel... a few kilometers north of Pondicherry I really thought I had reached a dreamland, a bit like an Eldorado for environmentalists and free souls.

This year the permaculture garden we planted with sweat and pain, was almost back to bushes... the people met seemed more aggressive...

Stolen seeds to make individual gardens instead of community efforts...
People not really engaged in sustainable solutions, more concerned about building their own houses...
 Still nice celebrations around Matrimandir....

 And this great hut, suspended in the trees, in front of Serenity Beach

But the greatest things of all I must say remained: a possibility to learn from everything, everywhere: people from all around the world, eager to learn... to share... amazing workshops in so many different fields...
I started a Tomatis training using sounds, especially Mozart to train your internal ear in more focus, raise listening capacities, music, self positioning...

One thing that stroke me this time though: a real aggressivity of some of the children... of Auroville...
Not the fathers, the ones that built it ... but the ones that were born in it.
Weird feeling: they seem to have had it all: beautiful surrounding to grow up, tropical gardens to play, alternative learning schools, advanced green and farming technologies, pioneers to show them the way...
But few of them seem to take over and further the spiritual message, the projects, the community itself!
They seem stuck in something too small for them, in envy and incapacity to bring new ideas from outside again, or even just to welcome new people in...and not really capable to further the dream... endangering the whole concept... and the peace of land itself, getting strangled by indian building constructed all around Auroville trying to grab the tourism attraction... the people themselves kept in fear of villagers gangs...
But that young guy who got ballistic when I was speaking about financing the cleaning of Andaman with a touristic eco tax really made me realize that the community spirit that once made Auroville, the fraternity, conviviality, solidarity, was long gone... The one that build his parents, gave them a great life style, for some, amazing life conditions with luxury house... for some the Auroville tax helping them to build their own business and the back of others efforts... was not passing generations...
( I payed myself 200 Rs per day of Auroville tax which redistributed to keep this place clean, safe and sustainable...)

How can you speak about being on a budget when you have your own company built on such a tax, in some proportion… and being unable to share positively values, hopes, changes…!

This negativity, aggressivity between/by sons of Auroville… worried me.

As much as the great creativity and party ambiance, great workshops will always an attraction to me, the dream of Auroville has faded away!

Not really a dream any more!

TBC