Post-hermitage

Ten days silent meditation did do me the world of good but if someone had opened a portal to anywhere in the world at almost any point on the way through, I would have leapt through it. There were mango and banana and tamarind trees everywhere, all sorts of interesting geckos and lizards and tropical flowers, a mountain range topped by stupas in the background… and yet I was sending loud mental messages to my sisters, the only people who had any chance of contacting me, to call and somehow bail me out. My notebook is full of loud complaints and what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here musings, but now that they are in the past, the process doesn’t seem quite so onerous. Let’s say that I felt extremely deprived of many things precious to me (eating after noon, talking, caffeine, protein, dairy, reading, sugar, alcohol, gluten, hot water, mattress, music, eye contact with other people, shared cultural inhibitions about burping, farting and spitting) although not unaware that I had voluntarily submitted to these deprivations and would have to endure them only temporarily. I also felt more conspicuous than I ever have in my entire life, being the only foreigner amongst 150 meditators, the only non-Burmese speaker and hence the only person who benefited from the English language teachings, the only person not wearing a skirt or baring ankles (everyone else was properly attired in a floor-length longhyi), the only one to get an extra banana at meals (the staff were adamant that I needed the extra calories), and, for the first time in my life, much taller than everyone else in the room. Anyway, after all this, when the talking stared, people were extraordinarily kind and curious and welcoming and very excited by the fact of a westerner practising Buddhist meditation. A few of the younger women spoke a little bit of English and helped me interact with other people. I met people from little villages who had never met a foreigner and old ladies and school students and all sorts in between. People were touching my hair and skin and passing around the few family photos I’ve carried with me. I reckon the Pike sisters could make it big in this country. It was pretty overwhelming. Under other circumstances, I’d be a little unnerved by lots of people I’d never met before taking my hand and telling me to be happy but it seemed less strange in this environment.

And what else? I did discover that I have a grot threshold, news which my family and perhaps those who have been fortunate enough to share dwellings with me will no doubt rejoice in. After thirty years, I have reached a point where I ardently wished to return from filth. My clothes were filthy and rank washing water left the body wearing them even filthier. The fans and aircon in the meditation hall in which I spent 12 hours daily conked out pretty regularly making for a pretty stinky environment. Previously, I’ve maintained a homeopathic attitude to grot – good for the immune system – and argued that too much attention to cleaning can stimulate OCD and other pathological behaviours. Domesticity is anti-feminist, cleaning agents are environmentally unsound, hygiene obsessiveness speaks of an alienation from the body… After all this, I actually had visions of a super-clean bathroom with a big bath in the middle of it, thick fluffy towels and endless hot water. This has never happened to me in my entire life. I’m confident I’ll get over it.

Although vipassana meditation is supposed to liberate you from cravings, I found myself dreaming lurid dreams about food. My food cravings are generally pretty consistent, pretty weighted towards the salty and acidic: olives, pickled sardines and anchovies, feety blue cheese with a gritty ammoniac bite, tom yam, taramasalata, lemon juice, salsa verde, poached eggs… the regulars. To my surprise, I was hurled into an entirely new galaxy of culinary desire. I would have exchanged a kidney for a good baguette with some salty French butter and fig jam and a large bowl of sweet milky coffee. Scrambled eggs. Ginger beer. Bread and butter pudding. Gelato. Bratwurst and sauerkraut and mustard. Cold-weather European comfort food, I suppose. The people at the meditation centre were lovely. The people cooking the food were also lovely and I almost cried when a yummy eggplant curry was served for lunch. That said, I’ll be avoiding lentil stodge for some time. I never want to know what is in Burmese cordial. This was all I consumed after midday each day (until I realised on Day 6 that I was also eligible for a lump of palm sugar) and tasted like a supersweet medicinal mouthwash. I’ve really been enjoying the Myanmar Lager since I left. It’s a nice drop and I believe it’s brewed here in Mandalay.