“I’m down to my last few hundred dollars” Asha said. I didn’t say anything. By this time all I had was an old camera someone had given me, which I was trying to sell on M.G. Road.

“There’s a guy coming up from Goa to see me“ she went on. “He wants me to do a run. I’m not sure, but I think it’s a false-bottomed suitcase to Canada.”

I could hear the nervousness in her voice…But when the ‘scammer’ as she called him arrived, far from being the oily gangster I had imagined, he turned out to be a sun tanned young Dutchman – alert, humorous and quick-witted.

I’ll call him H. He had brought the suitcase for Asha to examine, and it was expertly made. There were two and a half kilos of Manali in the false bottom, and two and a half in the false top, and the only thing you could feel was that the lid was a bit too heavy. But then the lid had those criss-crossing straps so that you could pack things there too. We started to talk and quickly found we had a lot in common. We all loved India, and had no desire to go back to the West. H. as it soon became clear was into smuggling as much for the adventure as for the money…

To cut a long story short, we decided that Asha and I would do the run together;- and soon afterwards we found ourselves checked into a Bombay hotel, with our tickets to Brussels. The plan was that I take the suitcase to Brussels where Asha was to get a new passport with no trace of India on it, and then take the case on to Montreal. The first thing was that I, unkempt and dressed in crazy orange clothes, be made to look normal. There was a tailor’s shop, Paradise Tailors, right by the hotel where we were staying – little more than a shifty old Indian with a Singer sitting under some wooden stairs, but he measured me up and said he’d have some Western-style trousers ready in time for the flight. I had an expensive haircut, then back at the hotel I tried on the navy blue blazer with brass buttons H. had lent me. I put on a pair of glasses I had but never wore (“makes you look intellectual” H. had said) and through which I could not see properly. What I did see looked eerily like a successful dentist.

Worse followed. I went back to Paradise Tailors, but when I tried to put the trousers on I found I couldn’t get my foot into them. At first I thought I must be trying to get my foot into the pocket, so I turned them this way and that – but no, he had made the legs so narrow I could not get my feet into them at all. My self control snapped.

“Paradise, you arsehole!“ I screamed. I was like The Imperialist in revolutionary propaganda. Paradise leapt to his feet and flapped round his broom closet like a frightened hen. Finally he fished round under the spot where he had been sitting and, muttering viciously to himself in Mahratti, produced the rest of the cloth I had bought and with which he, like an Indian tailor in a panto, had hoped to abscond. Finally he fitted panels, large diamond-shaped panels with malevolently crude stitching, into the sides of the trousers. They looked insane.

Check-in was at two in the morning.

Going through Emigration I was pulled out and told to wait. I sat down on a bench with two Africans. They looked guilty as hell. I tried not to think. Asha drifted past, looking dead cool. “Oh, are you on this flight?” she said sweetly. “Well, I’ll see you in transit then.” I could have murdered her. Then Emigration gave me my passport back again.

Finally we boarded. The cabin was monstrously hot and full of what were apparently Korean businessmen. They were all dressed the same and didn’t move. It was like Zen at its worst. After a long delay the plane taxied off to what by now I was sure was certain doom in Brussels.

Neither of us could sleep. There was one trippy bit where we seemed to be caught in a loop, flying round and round over Mount Ararat in a bald and ghastly dawn. Asha and I had a furious whispered row up there. At last the airline served some breakfast and mercifully we both passed out until just before landing.

Coming through Immigration in Brussels a muscle in the side of my neck started to twitch. I had not known muscles could do anything like that. It was as though I had some small animal inside my shirt collar. I’ll never get away with this, I thought…Then the bag didn’t show up on the carrousel. There were lots of dark blue ones, but each time I thought I had spotted mine it turned out to be somebody else’s. (“Don’t look around. Don’t make eye contact,” H. had said. “Whatever you do, don’t look alert – that’s what they’re watching for.”) Another flight was starting to come through, and still no suitcase…That first run was the only one I got frightened on. I don’t mean that later I developed nerves of steel; but while the run was actually happening I didn’t get scared. That was one thing I did learn from drug-running: real physical danger does not produce fear. On the contrary real danger produces fearlessness…

Suddenly the suitcase was there. I picked it up and headed for the exit. “Rien, merci.” I said to someone in blue, in my best schoolboy French. He made a chalk mark on the side of the bag and I was sailing towards the glass doors…and through them…

Asha was there, looking wonderful, with a bunch of roses. So was our contact, another young Dutchman. “I came through in that blazer a month ago” he laughed, as he ushered us out of the airport. I couldn’t believe it. Sunlight, autumn in Europe, thousands of dollars. “You looked really straight” he said, as he opened the doors of a beat-up old VW.
“You could have been a dentist.”

Pari

One especially grey day in January, I received a post card of a sun drenched beach with scenery to die for. The card said, you really should visit Pacha Mama at least one time in this life, its really a kind of paradise here. The card was from a close friend, that I made music with when I lived in Germany, who has been living at Pacha Mama since its beginning, around 8 years ago.

It took me around 4 years before I went. I wasn’t at all keen on visiting a community headed up by Tyohar and run by a bunch of young Israelis, but I completely trusted my friend and knew I would go there one day. So it was two years ago that I first I visited. Pacha Mama is a community village in the jungle referred to as the forest to those who live there. It’s in the Nosara region of Costa Rica. And I have to say, it is amazing! It is such a beautiful place. People there are very sweet and human. And after my second visit, I can say it is just one of the best places on this earth to visit right now. The nature in Costa Rica is stunning. I especially loved the coloured birds of all shapes and varieties.

The Pacha Mama project left me in awe, the people, the place, nature, energy, music and the intention for the place are amazing. One night Tyohar ran a disco. I have been running Shamanic Trance Dance for quite some time and this was really resonating with me. There is something about the way he chooses the music and creates an atmosphere which is very magical.

This year, when I returned, towards the end of my stay there was a full moon party with Tyohar as DJ. I’m stuck for words to describe how good it was – I would never have imagined myself to have such a good time – dancing for hours on end. It was really a Pow-Wow. I have had bad knees and foot for a while and probably the longest I’ve danced in the last 3 years is around 2 hours in one go. I would not have thought I could do it and in the blazing hot sun too. Tyohar really is a Cosmic DJ. He leads people into a mystical trance space in such an expert way. For me (and many others of course) on the Shamanic level, Pacha Mama and the parties with Tyohar, really hit the spot.

And on a healing level, it’s probably one of the healthiest spaces in the world to be. The food is delicious. There is a restaurant there where the food is mostly organic and a lot of raw food is available. They also have a café called Wild Treats where they make raw snacks, sweets and drinks, all at very reasonable prices which are simply scrumptious. Instead of coffee in the morning, you can order a Cacao Shot made from Cacao beans (raw chocolate), tasting very chocolaty and delicious but with the added bonus of being tremendously good for you whilst waking you up! Both years I have done a Noni Juice Cleanse which has helped me loose weight and stay healthy. This year I also did a Raw Food and Yoga workshop plus a Tibetan Buddhist Vipassana Retreat, after which the party was very welcome! There’s also a sweat lodge where they have regular ceremonies.

The people who have been there since the beginning have built beautiful houses – the aesthetics of the place is very high. There is such a natural grace there – people really living in tune with nature.

Osho is also honored there which I found very refreshing as many “enlightened” teachers who have been with Osho before seem to disown him. Not so at Pacha Mama where they have built a huge marble hall called the Osho Hall where most of the daily meditations take place. Every evening there is an hour of silence where many people meet to sit in the hall and meditate. Osho’s enlightenment day and birthday are celebrated.

Music is another feature high on the list of priorities there and my friends, Kabir and Gitama who I had gone to visit, have made a music studio and produced a Pacha Mama C.D. which is very beautiful. They also run singing groups where many people have found a new confidence in singing and new creative projects have happened through Kabir and Gitama’s enthusiasm and patience.

Accommodation for guests is mostly in spacious wooden huts called Casitas and you can be on your own to enjoy the nature. There is plenty of space.

An idyllic beach is nearby. They arrange transport for guests in the “beach bus”.

This year Tyohar has stopped giving satsangs and is generally having a break, though I understand he is still doing a few full moon parties

If you want to visit, I would recommend a look at their website first to see when you want to go and what kind of activities are on offer. The rainy season is in our summer but there is also a few weeks in August when it is dry.

Ma Deva Archan

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