as good as it gets.

since purchasing the prowler, my cute new/old 18.5 foot fifth-wheel camping trailer, i've been wondering where to go. obviously, i should go somewhere. otherwise, why did i buy the thing (?) that would be crazy. i've become an expert in setting the camper up, packing it up, hooking it up. so yesterday, finally, i set out.

first, i needed a stop at the pharmacy, which included one jumped curb and a near miss of one of those fancy lamp-posts along the way, to procure a perscription refill. while waiting, i talked with a lady about the upcoming election. she was rocking a baby in a cradle with one foot while holding a toddler in her ample loving arms. afterward, i trundled off to the general store, always like a social outing for me, to get some supplies. of course then i needed a coffee. so i parked the rig at the community centre and waved to a couple of drivers as i walked along 'ch. valley' (or whatever its name is) to the coffee shop for a double-shot americano. i sat on the porch and looked out over the river.

finally, i was all tanked up and raring to go. but, i realized it really doesn't get better than that. so i drove home. the people are super friendly around here, the views are world-class. it was a perfect trip, only next time i must bring a camera.

the thief who stole our hearts.

driving all the way to fort colonge to get my new/old camping trailer safety-checked may have seemed odd to many. to me, it made perfect sense. it was a chance to get the rig out on the road, view a few places i'd never seen while avoiding the big city.

waiting for the camper to be checked out, i found a great lunch spot. i absolutely recommend the restaurant to any other hard-core vegetarians who happen to be passing through fort colonge. it's called 'the steak house.' it's a steak house called 'the steak house.' that's like calling a whore house 'the whore house.' you can be pretty sure what's being offered there. that being said, you may be wondering why i would recommend 'the steak house' to vegetarians. well, i learned by escorting my dad to his favourite restaurants that steak houses really know how to make baked potatoes. besides, it's the only restaurant in town. i had a wonderful baked potato experience, with butter and sour cream, along with a perfectly adequate chef's salad.

the safety inspection went well, but as i drove out of the yard i realized i'd been robbed. my ipad was gone. it was not in my truck and there was no doubt about it. i've been robbed many times in my life so i am very familiar with the feeling. i know when i've been robbed.

in india, thieves were a problem at the ashram. as westerners, we were considered wealthy, which was largely true by comparison, of course, but not always. i was, for example, one of those who arrived poor as a church-mouse. i assume church-mice really are poor. nevertheless, one of my jobs there over time became a kind of night-watchman.

there was one thief, i recall well, who presented quite a challenge. he was plaguing the ashram, very elusive, and i spent several nights patrolling. it almost felt like he was taunting me. nothing of tremendous value was taken: a shawl, a pair of pants, a book or two. a simple candle-holder was stolen even though it had been sitting right beside a nice western camera. it was a mystery.

in the middle of the third night i went home for a cup of tea, lay down for a minute and nearly fell asleep. i realized i'd lose the whole rest of the night if i didn't get up immediately to continue my search. so i patrolled until early morning. but, as soon as i returned home i saw that my place had been broken into. i had been robbed while out looking for the thief. the only thing missing was my basketball shoes, which actually i treasured.

during the very next night a man was spotted climbing out of somebody's window and i ran down to the road. everyone was yelling: "he went this way!" "no, he went that way!" one of the indian guys kept insisting that the thief had just run down to the river. i was about to head off down the hill when i happened to notice the guy was wearing my shoes. i grabbed him, but he was quick, ran like the dickens in my 'nikes'. he was driving me nuts.

we caught him two nights later, cowering under a table in guruji's kitchen. i threw the table over and grabbed the man. i was marching him to the door when one of guruji's daughters asked me to wait. pointing out that the fellow looked petrified, cold and hungry, she insisted he eat first. i tried to point out that it was inappropriate, only i was outnumbered. her two sisters and one brother all agreed that the thief needed food. it was surreal to watch the thief being served vegetable-curry and rice with chai and then sweet gulab-jamans for desert. he seemed to grow more comfortable with each mouth-full, smiling over at me and thanking everyone again and again. afterward, we just let him go.

he turned up the very next night, carrying a large sack. in front of the meditation hall, he emptied it, producing shawls, shirts, books, some cutlery, my shoes, even a couple of pots. those of us who were there at the time were spell-bound as he presented each item as though it was a gift. we laughed at the theatrical way he saluted as he walked down the steps in the end. and we never saw him again.

in fort colonge, at the precise moment that i realized i'd been robbed, a mountain of a man came running out of the office of the garage. he was hollering 'arret! arret!' while waving my ipad above his head. apparently, i'd left it in the waiting room.

out of the cabin and into the camper.

near the end of last week's meditation session i launched into a dissertation about desire. there is a tendency, i explained somewhat patronizingly, to latch onto material possessions in a futile attempt to fill a void, a hole, a lack of fulfillment within oneself. there is an on-going attempt, i pontificated, to distract oneself with toys, gadgets, booze, drugs, even relations, from a sense of emptiness, a sense of need. that's when my new camping trailer arrived. awkward.

what the heck has happened to me? i used to be as poor as any of the local indian folks i lived with and just as happy. 'simple living and higher thinking' was my motto. i walked the hills and swam in the rivers. i meditated on the essential life-force permeating all, that makes no distinction between rich or poor. it's just life, pure and free. i eventually built a house with the help of my friend, the land-owner, out of stone and mud with dirt floor and slate roof. the first night i slept in it was also the first night of that summer monsoon and one wall caved in. i lay in bed in the early morning with a wide-open view of the mountains, water cascading down around me. i got up, made a cup of tea and, together with my friend, worked all that day in the pouring rain to fix it up.

a terribly aristocratic british lord showed up at the ashram in india one day, so many years ago now, and we met by chance at a chai-shop during his visit. sir richard and i entered into a discussion about whether money could would should make one happy. predictably, he was arguing that wealth did not make one happy. i recall how hypocritical i found it that that smug bathdurd, who knew absolutely nothing of poverty, was so sure. i also recall how good it felt to get in the last word. sir richard asserted in his imperious manner: "i'm surprised that you don't know that rich people also have problems." to which i cleverly replied: "well, i'm surprised you don't know that rich people can dwell on their terrible problems while sipping cold coffees in air-conditioned five-star hotels."

on the other hand, there's the example of the leppers i used to pass regularly on my way to akaara bazaar. their hands and feet were swathed in cloth and they carried begging bowls, but they were always smiling. i never really talked to them, but the one thing i often noticed was their smiles.

one time, after giving a few rupees to a beggar with withered legs in a make-shift wheel-chair, he had the audacity to ask for my shirt. "you want to take the shirt off my back?," i asked incredulously. "even if i gave it to you, you'd still have bent and useless legs." i immediately realized it was a harsh thing to say. without missing a beat, however, he responded with a huge grin and with no rancour whatsoever: "i'm not asking for your pants, sir. i'm asking for your shirt." he was tremendously pleased, as he wheeled himself away, proudly wearing his new western shirt.

there was a group of kids i used to watch, who lived in tattered tent-like dwellings behind the bazaar in a massive slum area. they were dressed in the meanest of rags. but they played all day, laughing, shouting, running, jumping. they didn't know they were poor.

ok, so it turns out sir richard may have had a valid point. epictetus, a stoic philosopher born a slave, once wrote: "wealth consists not in having great possessions but in having few wants." and that's certainly what i said during last week's session, as my new camper was being backed into the laneway. of course, i was quick to point out that, ultimately, desireless-ness is a state of mind.