I was going to camp in the National Forest tonight, because it's free. And I like forests (and because there is, actually, a National Forest in southeast Texas and I find that thrilling). Was going to camp in my tent, or sleep in the backseat of my car, one of the two. But the sun went down on me in College Station and I do so hate rolling into an unfamiliar area in the dark. If I could just slip into my backseat, that would be one thing, but it is full of all my living gear and I have to get it out and move it all to the front. With a tent, I have to turn on my headlights and set it up. Long story short: I am a girl and that's not a good thing in the dark, alone, in unknown territory when people can see me, and I can't tell who, if anyone, is around.
Plus, I really needed a shower.
So I started considering hotels and drove slowly down an avenue here, looking at signs. Most were either particularly skanky, or particularly expensive. Or had cars that looked very run down... or very roughneck. After the many hotel parking lots I've slept in, I guess I've gotten picky about the actual establishments. Then I passed by one named "Holiday Plaza Motel."
There was no price listed, but a phone number on the sign. So I circled along the inside of the property to get a better sense of it and see if the number was posted on the door. The cars were almost all nicer than mine, the motel doors were all hand painted a dark green (quaint-ish), and there was a laundry area, something else I really needed. I called and an Indian man told me a single bed was $50. I said, "Okay" hung up and rolled out. Others before boasted $45. But wait... did he mean before taxes?
Drove another 2 miles and only saw a couple of other choices. And couldn't get this place out of my head. Was it the hand painted doors? My draw to all things Indian? The curiosity as to whether the $50 was before or after tax? I don't know, but I gave into the urge and busted a U-ey.
First impressions were grim. The door was locked and he gestured for me to go to night window where he mumbled for my ID. He went to the desk to run it on his computer before returning. Maybe he pegged me as a prostitute? He was thin and had a face that reminded me of Indonesia. I thought perhaps I got his nationality wrong from the phone and was going to ask. Then he opened the door and India, in all its distinct glory, poured out. Incense, curry and this other je ne said quoi that you smell all over that country hit me in the face.
A calendar hung on the wall, dedicated to a swami, and I read about compassion as my host organized the paperwork. Other than asking for my phone number, he didn't say anything to me. His wife peaked through the door and he shoed her away. I was much too excited about the swami and all these powerful smells to stay quiet and asked where he was from in India. He mentioned a village name I didn't recognize, and said it was near Bombay. I lit up and told him how badly I had wanted to visit Bombay/ Mumbai but the monsoons had caused a big flood and we couldn't get in. People were pushing their bicycles through the streets, chest-deep in water.
HE lit up and told me about how hard it rains and for how long and we started talked about different parts of the country. The conversation dipped towards religion and I told him I chant the Gayatri every morning. Then things got really good.
He opened the door behind him and gestured to his son, about my age to come out. They exchanged something in Hindi and the son said his father told him I knew about the meditations. His father nodded and smiled and looked a little flustered. He opened the door again and called to his wife. As she was making her way to us, he asked if I had ever seen a particular temple in Houston. I couldn't catch the name- it was so fast and so Sanskrit. She came through the door and he told her about me in Hindi. Her English was much easier to understand. Between the two of them, I learned that he was an accountant in India before moving here, and that he used to be a yoga teacher. He tried to open a yoga studio with a man here in town, but it fell through. They are fans of a big man in India named Shree Baba Ramdevji, someone who advocates yoga and herbal medicine as a way of curing everything, including cancer.
They brought out his book, all in Hindi, and showed me the pictures, then gave me the address for a bookstore in Houston where I could buy it in English. Then I got the name and address of the temple- Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, and I am definitely visiting on Saturday before going back to Austin. I could use an extra shot of peace. It looks stunning (and there's a festival this weekend!)
I don't know what will happen if I follow these leads, but it feels like there was some reason I was called to come here and meet these folks. At the very least, I got the chance to remember why I love travel so much, following intuition and being treated to something joyful. The room, yeah, well, I'd be better off sleeping in my tent on the little patch of grass by the laundry room. The carpet is frighteningly varied in its colors and it reeks of cigarette smoke. I pulled off the cigarette-burned comforter and grabbed my blankets and pillows from the car. But as long as the shower is hot, and even if it's not, this was totally worth it. Tomorrow, I'll get to the National Forest before 5pm and get set up for a sweet night in nature with fresh smells.
This is going to be a good week.
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