Arrived. Arrived, it has. The monsoon

"The monsoon has set in Kerala" father said with a great deal of excitement in his voice.

Talking about rain and water is very much a part of life among my people in the old country.  I suspect that I, too, was "drenched" in that culture and, thus, with genuine interest I participate in that conversation.

"Even the falls in Courtallam have begun" he added.

Ah, the wonderful waterfalls by grandmother's place.

No wonder I feel so much at home in this part of Oregon, with all the rains and waterfalls.  And, of course, even when I travel, whether it was Costa Rica or Ecuador.

The monsoon drives India's life.  And culture.  An old story is that Vasco da Gama, who charted the maritime route from the Iberian Peninsula to the land of (black) pepper, requested the local king's permission to take a couple of pepper plants with him.  The king apparently replied that he can take all the plants he wanted but would not be able to take the monsoon to Europe.

The Hindi (Sanskrit? Arabic?) word, mausam, became monsoon to Europeans, who decided to colonize the lands of spices, from India to Indonesia.  Can't blame them; if you eat bland food day after day after day, pretty soon you too will want to go beat the crap out of somebody who has some really tasty food! As long as everybody has tasty food and plenty of it, well, peace shall prevail.

The monsoon arrives, editorializes The Hindu:

For Keralites, it is Edavapathi, the rains that come in the middle of the Malayalam month of Edavam. The arrival of the southwest monsoon over this southern State is an event greeted with unalloyed joy and relief right across the country. The rain-bearing clouds will, in due course, make their way north, bringing to an end the unremitting heat of summer. There is hope too that the rains will lead to a bountiful harvest, thus lending an extra bounce to the economy.

The intense heat and dust with which the British had a love-hate relationship will yield to the invading monsoon wind and rain.  But not in all of India--the eastern side where father was talking from, which is leeward, will, for the most part, continue to be one hot and humid place.

"Even we had thunder and lightning and the summer rains here" father noted.  The rains from the near-equatorial conditions.  Not to be confused with the monsoon, for which it will be a long wait.

May it rain--not too much, not too little, and just right. I wish the old country a Goldilocks monsoon.

La Paz ( the peace) waterfalls eased my worries

"The best part is yet to come" said Alberto, the guide for the package tour.  "The waterfalls are the best."

I figured there is always a little bit of an exaggeration in everything any tour guide says and, thus, I discounted his assertion.

It was a pleasant walk through the cloudforest to reach the waterfalls.  A peaceful walk, indeed.

By now, we strangers on the tour bus were a lot more comfortable with each other.  We talked a lot more.  A whole lot of interesting small talk. With the Colombian-American about fried bananas. About goulash with the Hungarian-American. About California and life with the couple from the Sierras.

And then I heard.  The sound of water.

I love waterfalls.  After all, right from my toddler days, I have been to the falls at Courtallam, which was only a couple of miles away from grandmother's home.  We could never have enough of the falls though--we had to return to Neyveli and get back to school.

As the sound of water started getting louder and louder, the more excited I became.  And then, there it was!

Alberto was there to remind me that if this looked fabulous, then I would be blown away with the next one.  I started thinking that he might not be exaggerating, after all.  Perhaps no hyperbole in his guide talk.  Maybe he is one of those rare, honest guides.  I felt a tad guilty that I had hastily dismissed his earlier comments on "the best part is yet to come."

I chatted with Roberto the most.  "The girls in Costa Rica are beautiful" he said. I agreed with him.  "Here and in Cuba, too.  Latin bodies with a European flavor" he added.  I suppose if I were his age, I too would be analyzing women like that.  With age, everything takes on a different perspective.  Beauty is in the age of the beholder.

From the bend, I could see many of my tour group travelers appreciating the waterfalls from the observation deck.  I still had no idea what was in store for me.

And then I reached that deck.

It was magnificent. Awesome. Nope, all those are terrible understatements.

No photo of mine can ever capture what I saw and experienced there.

"Be careful if you want to go down there" Alberto warned us.  I removed my glasses and placed them in a pocket of my cargo shorts. And climbed down.

With every step, the spray from the falls increased.  It was delightful. Soothing. Comforting. Welcoming. Peaceful. I was overjoyed.

I reached the railing at the end. I could feel a lot of the spray. I felt the waterfalls washing away my pain. My disappointments. My problems. My worries. I stood there with my arms stretched outwards on the sides.  I remember feeling one with the waterfalls. There was a strange sense of oneness with the world.

Perhaps that is what the faithful feel when they go for a holy dip in the Ganges. The river washes away the problems if they feel that oneness. Oneness with the water. With the world.

I had always speculated, tongue-in-cheek, that most of my travels are my own versions of pilgrimages. In this case, it seemed so much to be the case.  It was bliss as I stood there getting damp from the spray from the falls.

But, of course, all good things come to an end, eventually. I walked up to Alberto. "Muy bueno" I told him. "Gracias."  If only I knew the Spanish word for "awesome."

It was mostly a silent bus as we drove back to San Jose.  Perhaps it was the exhaustion for some.  Not for me. I felt exhilarated. Re-energized. Revitalized. I reviewed some of the photos I had clicked. I could not believe I had been to all those places and experienced all those that I did.

I am an incredibly lucky guy.  I hope my lucky streak will continue. For a very long time.

Why Peguche in Ecuador felt familiar. It is Courtallam in the Andes

Ivan, the tour guide, and Oscar, the driver, made quite a team.  They seemed to be of the same age, about 25, and were part-time students at a local university in Quito.  Ivan was chatty, while Oscar was mostly quiet.  And, whenever he was not driving, Oscar seemed to be more interested in texting than in anything else.

"Is it a girlfriend you are always texting with?" I asked Oscar. I can't help but chat with drivers and tour-guides; in addition to my innate curiosities, it helps me understand the country and its peoples that much more.

"No, I don't have a girlfriend. No time for that. I am texting my primos--I don't know the English word."

"Help me out, amigo. Can you explain what primos means?"

Oscar laughed and after a lot of ers and ums, said "uncle's sons"

"Oh, cousins!"

We had stopped at a place from which we had to walk for ten minutes to get to the waterfalls that Ivan said was a gorgeous sight.  It was a few miles off the main highway between Quito and Otavalo.  There was no other vehicle where we stopped.  A couple of old men were chatting. Ivan pointed to the wall and the arch and started walking.

A typical hacienda style, I thought to myself, as I looked at the wall and the arch.

At the same time, the arch--along with the pleasant temperature and a light breeze--reminded me of the arch at Sengottai.  Not a Spanish hacienda arch, but not that different either.

We started walking. A few feet on the other side of the arch was the board that explained to tourists where we were:

Ivan was talking with the only other tour participant that day--a Chinese-Canadian, who is a theoretical physicist at the University of Toronto.  Oscar, of course, was busy texting and walking.  We paused for a brief while at the interpretation center, where Ivan translated for us that there would be big time celebrations near the falls to mark the summer solstice. 

A few kids passed us playing improvised games that kids are so capable of inventing. Otherwise, it was only us on the cobblestone-path.

And then I heard it. The sound of water rushing. As much as I am a mountain man, I love the flowing water too. More so when it is a waterfall. It is not Oregon's cascades that have spoilt me thus, but those warm and wonderful waterfalls at Courtallam.  Going to the falls was practically an annual event during my childhood days when we regularly visited Sengottai, which is less than five miles away from Courtallam.

I was excited.  The sound of cascading water got louder and louder with every step. And then, there it was.

  Bueno! Magnifico!

It is amazing how much a waterfall can make the heart feel so happy and content. Yet again, I had to remind myself that this was not Oregon, and not Courtallam, but Ecuador. "I am in Ecuador!"

A young couple, obviously in love, walked hand-in-hand towards us and the falls. Oh to be in love when young!

A middle-aged local materialized out of nowhere all of a sudden. I then realized that there was a path among the vegetation. He started speaking to me in Spanish.  My brown skin and appearance meant that most people assumed that I am a Spanish-speaker.  This was my experience in Venezuela a couple of decades earlier, as was the case in Ecuador.  He too, like others, sported a confused expression when I said "no comprendo. no espanol."  He continued to talk to me pointing his hand at the path from where he emerged. I shrugged my shoulder and repeated "no comprendo."

I noticed an observation deck a little higher up from the bridge.  Though Oscar was standing next to me, there was no point asking him as he was texting his primos. So, I turned to Ivan. "Is it safe to walk up there?"

"Of course. But be careful."

It was a little slippery and steep at times. But, was well worth it.  I paused for the love-birds to come down to earth, but quietly took a photo before they could notice me coming up. The young couple in love and the waterfalls together more than doubled the pleasure.

I could have spent an entire day there, walking around and watching the falls. But, to paraphrase Robert Frost, we have to get going in life!  And so we did.

Courtallam in the Andes started fading away in the distance, and soon there was no sight or sound of it.

We were back at the arch, on the way to the van. The comforting thought was that we were off to yet another beautiful place.