Tailandia: Pequenio escrito ilustrado

Ahhh Tailandia. Ha sido como un viaje de sanacion, un constante masaje.

Llegar en medio de una tormenta electrica a reir empapada bajo pequenias techumbres callejeras, junto a otros transeuntes.
Limpieza de agua.

Descubrir muy pocas de las infinitas capas que parecen conformar Bangkok.
Los budas, gigantes, miniaturizados, casi siempre dorados. De pie, recostados, sentados. Moviendo las palmas en pacificas seniales misteriosas, como senializando el camino a los turistas frustrados y jocosos montados en tuk tuks que se niegan a seguir un rumbo determinado
Los mercados. Galpones sombreados donde se acuclillan los pacientes trabajadores pelando toneladas de ajos. Olor a lemongrass, a gengibre, galangal, hojas de kafir, arroz al vapor que surge en cada esquina.
Senioras con sombreros como platos de fruta vendiendo flores y pescados desde sus puestos flotantes. Mercados en barquito a traves de los vecindarios de canales donde las casas acumulan todo tipo de cosas. No hay espacio vacio, y a la vez se puede respirar tanto.
Mercados enormes, acertijos de ropa linda, telas coloridas, adornos, estatuillas,bolsas.
Y el mercado nocturno. Insectos fritos. Acrobatas vaginales...

Emprender camino serpenteando el tren hacia el norte, mas selvatico y tranquilo.
Chiang Mai. Ciudad vieja llena de templos blancos, dorados. Elefantes y monos arrodillados en forenda a budas ecuanimes. Escaleras escondiendo horizontes espirituales, demarcadas por serpientes, que escupen otras serpientes, de siete cabezas.
A jugar en las cascadas con Raul. Descubriendo rincones ergonomicos, rocas lijadas perfectas para masajear el cuerpo entero con el agua que corre.

Y mas lejos. A Pai. Pequenio pueblo turistico-hippie, en temporada baja, con una terraza entera para mi que mira al valle con sus plantaciones de soja ya amarillas y las montanias altas que se esconden timidas tras los faldones de nubes.
Explorando bosques de piedra y vertientes calidas con Manosh, el eterno flautista hippie que toma shots de pasto de desayuno.

Y mas adentro en la selva, al tan esperado monasterio, Wat Tam Wua. Donde te reciben con una sonrisa y rapido te sumas al mundo monastico, con la ropa blanca, las campanas que marcan el tiempo.
Desayuno a las 7, almuerzo a las 11. Arroz y curry y coco y frutas maravillosas y refrescantes.
Meditar, sentados, caminando, recostados. Desafiar la concepcion del ego mientras mas de un mosquito te chupa la sangre.
Respirar profundo dentro de las cuevas profundas que replican (o es uno el que replica?) los latidos del corazon.
Conversaciones pausadas y risuenias con tantas buenas gentes que van de mundo en mundo buscando sanar y amar.

Respirar. Al fin.

Thailand in a short time and a few words

20 days in Thailand that turn me into a new person. Breathing calmly.

Arrive under the merciless stormy sky of Bangkok. Wet, from head to toes. Laughing nervously as thunder strikes the city. Waiting, as everyone waits, under a tiny roof in the street, for the rain that never ceases.

Explore a few of the million fabrics that envelop this amazing city.
Buddhas everywhere. In little shrines on the street, hanging from the necks of people. Enormous, lying down in a beautiful temple, surrounded by ancient cartoons.
Signalling the path with their mysterious hand gestures.
Standing. Sitting.
Surrounded by monkeys and elephants.
With lovely Dennis and Lucy.

Discover markets. Large dark spaces where food and spices accumulate in big bags while silent people calmly peel garlics.
The smell of steamed rice and lemongrass hits you in every corner.
Floating markets, where the ladies hide their faces under broad bamboo hats. Selling flowers and fish from the boat. All is floating in the neighborhoods full of poetic canals where orchids grow wild on top of the power lines.
Huge maze-like markets with all kinds of clothing styles and fabrics and furniture and food and oils and...
And night markets, where fried insects cease to creep under neon lights announcing "ping pong", only one of the many acrobatics that some women learn in Thailand.

After a few days I head to Chiang Mai, up here in the north. All city surrounded by a square wall, full of ancient temples.
Playing in the waterfalls with Raul, discovering ergonomic stones to get a massage from the everflowing.

And further up north to touristy-hippie-beautiful Pai. Where all conversations revolve around healing and cleansing and meditating and kambucha and wheatgrass shots.
Low season. Ahuge big deck just for me overlooking the yellowing soy fields and the huge mountains hiding and showing through the clouds.
Riding the bicycle to discover stone forests and hot springs with Manosh, the eternal flute player who hates all mechanical sounds and get his inspiration from the frogs.

And further into the jungle towards the temple, Wat Tam Wua. The abbot welcomes you with his clear radiant smile. And quickly you become part of the monastic life, in your little hut in the forest, with the set of white clothing.
The bell or the drum calls.
Wake up 5 am, meditation. Breaksfast 6.30. 8 am meditation. Lunch 11.30 (last meal of the day). 1 pm meditation. 6.30 pm meditation.
Mindfulness. Breathing. Healing. Trying to let go of the ego walking slowly under the trees, while tiny mosquitoes try to get into your eyes.
Trying to focus on the breathing while ants become fixated on climbing to the top of your nose.
Breathing slowly inside a cave, replicating the mountain with the heartbeat.

Beautiful monastery between the high and steep mountains that open up in caves where images of Buddha rest introduces by long stairs framed by snakes that breathe other snakes. Seven heads.
Beautiful vegan food. Coconut, tofu, sticky rice.
Great people that make it hard to be silent because there is so much to share.

Now leaving. For India.
Still breathing.