And now for some gory details. . .

Brothers Sharing The Seat

The trip south began on a Saturday morning early in February, 2019. The roads were clear and the temperature was 32 degrees. It was extremely foggy from Nilnilchik to Soldotna. A Toyota called Lander was loaded with 4 snoring cocker spaniels asleep in the backseat, and RockDog assuming his passenger position in the front. They had no idea their life was about to change. This wasn’t just another joy ride to Anchorage. This trip would span days on end causing them stress from their broken routine, resulting in mega emergency stops for the trots that were non-stop amongst them for the next 8 days. But now I’m getting ahead of the story. 

It Wasn't Me!

The plan was to spend the night in Wasilla with family before beginning the marathon ride to Phoenix. That said, early the next morning my first clue of the trip to come was in the kitchen. A spot of diarrhea on the floor and the question was: whodunit? And, no one was talking or in this case barking. The yard was filled with fresh snow with a thick layer of ice underneath. Keep in mind that the dogs are not used to leashes. They are free to go outside in Homer when they want, and are trained to stay near the house—including Anne. However, this trip was going to be different. They were all sporting new color-coordinated harnesses and leashes for their journey south, but were adamantly rejecting the idea. I stopped at the local pet store to buy a retractable leash for the dog pulling me the most—Anne. Her revenge was to twist and turn around me as much as she could so that my legs were bound. The smirk on her lips said it all—leash me if you must, but I will get even. That said, this morning I decided to let Anne off leash (my bad) with the others because her pulling and yanking was killing my knee after having surgery only two weeks ago. 

Four dogs found a spot over the hill in the snow to relieve themselves. I elected to stand on the solid ground in the driveway and ponder the question of who really had diarrhea on the kitchen floor, and not having a clue. All four dogs rushed back to the house, only the lone cocker spaniel with the blonde mop-top was still out. When the dogs went over the hill, Anne went in the opposite direction as usual. So now, to find the wandering one. . . 

Mop-Top

It was 6 AM and no one in the house was awake except me and five dogs. I climbed into the frozen car and waited for the windows to thaw—looking for any movement in the darkness. Anne escaped here once before and was found at the apartment house across the street rummaging around for any scrapes available for the starving dog that she is NOT. I knew she wasn’t in the deep snow so she had to be in a cleared area. I drove to the apartment parking lot. She was not there—why was I not surprised? A trip down the highway to the gas station resulted thankfully, in still no mop-top. Running on the road could have been a disaster. I returned to the house, grabbed a couple dogs and set out to drive the neighborhood yet again. As we lingered past the apartment house I saw some movement in the shadows. We slowed the car down and turned in to find her with her nose to the ground thoroughly engrossed in the act of snooping. I opened the drivers door and she jumped in without a word from me. But, the look she gave me said, “WHAT” with her eyebrows raised. She can indeed be exasperating.

We enjoyed a nice family breakfast before setting off for our first leg, only to Tok, Alaska. Going any further would have meant total darkness for hours before getting anywhere near a motel for the night. The first 3 numbers of the odometer read 884. Ironically that was my phone number as a young child, you know when the operator would ask you what number you wanted? Well, maybe you don’t know. In any event, four is my lucky number so I took that reading as a good luck symbol, and in hindsight it truly was. Did I mention the temperature is now minus in double digits?

She finally got it!

The road to Glennallen can be windy and treacherous through the mountains. Bunny was panting non-stop so I eased barely off the narrow road to give her a bowl of water thinking she was thirsty. We continued on and her panting increased along with non-stop pacing in the back seat. The light bulb finally illuminated in my brain like a slap in the face.  OMG,  she is the one! I frantically found a small space on a steep, curvy turn to pull off the road just in time for the eruption that occurred once she hit the ground. So desperate to squat she immediately assumed the position, poor girl. She was so relieved and so was I that I finally ‘got’ it before the shit hit the seat, literally! An ominous start to the adventure south as we pull into our Tok motel. The temperature read -12 at 7:30 PM. 

Stay tuned as the journey takes us further down the desolate Alaska Highway. . .

Another Trip South

Am I suffering from writer’s block? I left Alaska over a month ago and have yet to write a blog. Another trip south and lots of diarrhea—the dogs, not me. What’s to say about that other than it’s a shitty deal? And, it made for a long, exasperating 8 days to Phoenix. Not to mention the ice and snow that followed us until we got there. So much for inspiration but then again, maybe this is what writer’s block truly is; no desire to put words on paper. After making excuses, this is an attempt to do just that.

Our last jaunt south was with 6 dogs, 3 have crossed over the Rainbow Bridge since 2012 and we have 2 new ones. So, if you do the math you know this trip includes 5 dogs, all cocker spaniels. Why does it seem so much harder than the previous trips south? Maybe because the players are different. Or perhaps this player has a knee that has yet to feel better after surgery. Being jerked around on leashes has been difficult at best especially when I slipped on the ice in my Birkenstocks, landing so hard on my ass that my teeth rattled. There is a point of no return when you are out of control moving toward the earth. In a split second you can recover and right yourself, but if that passes you are on your way down and there is nothing that can be done. Once I realized that’s where I was I just let it rip, didn’t even try to stop, thinking I had enough padding back there to see me through. My tailbone ached for over a week, and even now,  if I sit a particular way I am once again reminded of Bette Birk walking on the ice in her sandals, and the scary point of no return. It was a blessing to do nothing but drive while my butt slowly healed.

Along with driving 12-hours a day, I stopped multiple times for potty breaks (particularly with diarrhea being passed between the troops). One day in particular on the Alaska highway, we had 3 accidents in the back seat where there was absolutely no place to pull over, and the bomb could not be contained. This may be way TMI, sorry. Much farther south in Idaho, I was forced to pull off the freeway in a snowstorm landing us in a wide open field just in time to get out of the car for yet another blowout. Once it was over I needed to scrape snow off the windows to find the freeway. The wind was howling. Somehow, we managed and survived the shitstorms with humor. We exhausted the diarrhea and probiotic pills that we left Alaska with and bought yogurt until we could order more once we arrived at destination #1, Phoenix.

And then lastly, to find a hotel that would take us. Sometimes I neglected to even mention the dogs, fearing a rejection and being so spent that was not an option. I would have been reduced to a blubbering idiot had that been the case. Fortunately most hotels were okay with a pet; we never specified the number 5, just in case. Getting unloaded and into our room quietly was an ordeal followed by the feeding frenzy and another walk. At some point, can’t remember the city, we checked into a Motel 6 (always dog friendly) only to find we had to walk past the front desk, there was no outside entrance. And, the only place to walk the dogs was on concrete near the four-lane highway. Never mind the smokers milling around the front door, and the sirens. The windows were barred, DUH. That was our first clue this might not be the best neighborhood to spend the night. We got our money back and reluctantly moved on—to a much nicer Motel 6 on the other side of the tracks.

The dogs slept most of the time, day after day—such good travelers. The downside being, when we stopped at night they were ready for some action and I was ready to relax; I needed to RELAX!  By the time we were unloaded, fed and walked, I found myself collapsing into bed without dinner. It was just too much trouble. I survived many days with a protein cookie provided by one of my gracious clients, chips and a soda. I did manage to take a few bubble baths to soothe my aching ass. No booze on the marathon drive, I didn’t want to relax that much for fear of not wanting to move forward. We were up and at it by 7:15 each morning. 

More details to follow. . .

Wanderlust Spirit

And so it continued . . .

Graduation Bliss

Finishing the final week at Yoga Teacher Training in Rishikesh, and realizing it had been four whole weeks. When I first arrived the days and weeks stretched out before me endlessly, a long time to be away from my family and the life I know. I had jumped feet-first into the luring fire of passion to pursue a path of yoga, self-discovery and eastern teachings. I was swallowed up and swept away to another time, another place, another culture. Now the Universe is ready to spit me back out on the other side—back into my comfortable womb of existence—to practice what I have learned; to apply the asanas and pranayamas to everyday life. Exhausted—I have never worked this hard for this long, physically or mentally—yet I am unharmed, sated and full of new ways of thinking, new ways of being, and still more questions. I have changed, but realize life is constantly changing minute by minute. I have grown during the process of this journey, and have evolved further by embracing the fear that lead me to an unforgettable adventure of the body, mind and spirit. 

My Bed for a Time

Time is always a mystery, the days and weeks meld together and now there is only a 22-hour flight to get back where I came from, a place where all of this will feel like a dream. I have adjusted to life at the Ashram, it only takes 21-days to change a habit and by the time I get home it will be closer to 30. My life as I know will appear the same, but I am different inside. Eating meat is questionable, but again after 21-days home I can’t say for sure how I will feel. I could never eat meat here in India, the animals are too close. I buy produce and feed the cows daily. I take cow-bags from restaurants and sometimes share with the dogs. The monkeys grab food from anyone they can, and run like hell. They are so mischievous and funny, and the people accept their behavior as it is. There have been some hilarious tales about various experiences with them that I will share later in a blog post called monkey business. 

Waiting for Me

I am thrilled at the thought of once again seeing, touching, hearing and smelling my own dogs. The sound of the mooing cows will soon be replaced with the unforgettable DoDog howl. Stepping back into the routine I left behind will be easy, and after a few days this experience will seem like a dream. That’s how it goes with travel. Being present in the environment that I know so well will slowly move this experience into the archives of amazing, unreal memories. But, I will never forget. The mind has been activated both mentally and physically here, and a full body awareness has been realized. Cultivating the eight limbs of yoga as a way to exist peacefully. Gazing into the flame of a candle without blinking for 10-15 minutes each day. Taking time to be still in a hectic world; turning inward to find peace, clarity and nothingness is the way to enlightenment, and requires a daily practice of being present, forever. I will not accept, I will not reject, I will simply observe, and hold on to (thank you again, Roshen). I know that everything is already perfect and whatever happens to me is for my own good. To find the positive in all things, and know the Universe always takes care of me in the way that is best for my own personal growth. Giving gratitude for those I love, my place in the Universe and the many blessings present in my life.

Magical Clouds

India has taught me things beyond yoga. She has shown me a peaceful way of existence and how to cohabitate with all creatures around me. She has taught me an understanding of all life and just how much animals, plants and humans depend upon each other for survival. She has taught me to respect and covet that connection. I am grateful for this amazing journey and am humbled by the beauty surrounding me daily, no matter where I wake up. 

All of this IS Yoga.

Happy to be Going Home

Sad to be Leaving This Magical Place

Bittersweet. . . 

A Room With A View

Goodbye to Rishikesh room #106 with a view and private bath. I will miss this space and all the wonderful people that shared this experience with me, as well as the ones that provided it. Thanks to the asana gurus: Jeez (“Your legs and arms are going this way, where are YOU going?”), Abby (“Everyone okay? I’m okay, too”), Guru lecturers: Arpit, Deepa (“I love you”) and Roshen (Please do not accept what I say, please do not reject it. . .”). Thanks to all the kitchen staff that fed us exceptional vegetarian food each day, and the front desk guys that always fixed whatever was wrong. Miss all of you already, you rock and I will be back!

Namasté

“Yoga is not to be performed, Yoga is to be lived. . .”

—Ahmber Nichole

Fearless Living

The group scheduled a rafting adventure down the Ganges. I was hoping for a guided trip with someone else paddling so I could sit back, take photographs and enjoy the sun. But, it was not to be. All arms on deck needed to be functional to paddle their way down the holy river, and that left me out for the moment. Another reason to plan a trip back. . . 

No beef, no pork, no chicken, no fish, no soda, no booze and limited caffeine for the last 4-weeks. Just a bum arm—but it is temporary.  Surprisingly I have not missed anything during my time here but feel a bit nervous about returning to life as I know it. Being in the presence of the cows and feeling their peaceful energy around me, makes me wonder how I can possibly eat another steak. 

Hangin' On

I decided to see a doctor about my arm. I was going to wait until I got home and then the light bulb went off. . . In India, surrounded by the traditional ancient medical practice of Ayurveda—a more natural approach—why wait? Transportation arrangements were made by the front desk. This early morning ride on the back of a scooter was simply going to add to the experience of being in Rishikesh, and living like a local. It is the mode of transportation here. We raced through the streets weaving in and out of people, scooters, bikes, trucks, graders, dogs, cows and monkeys—the driver was a pro. If driving was laid back here, no one would get anywhere. The horn was blaring and we managed to miss everything in our path, although sometimes it appeared doubtful. After a 20-minute ride across the bridge and through the market place, we arrived safely at the clinic. “Where did you learn to drive like that,” I asked the driver; he only smiled. A video of this incredible ride is posted on my Facebook page.

Good Morning

There were 3 other people waiting outside. Dr. Das came out and greeted us, taking me as the first patient. The driver was content to read the newspaper and wait. I was escorted back to his office for a consultation, and told him that my arm was tingling, had little strength and hurt when I tried to rotate it back. “Ahhh,” he said, “the rotator cuff.” He came around the desk and tested my rotation and pressed on my arm to confirm his diagnosis, adding, “But, it’s no problem.” 

Waiting Room

“Surgery?” I wondered, after hearing several horror stories about rotator cuff problems from friends. He shook his head,  “This is only inflammation, not a tear. If it were a tear, your shoulder would be drooping.” Whew, that was a relief! His remedy was RICE. My thought? I’m already eating it 3 times a day! Dr. Das explained further—Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation, and no asanas for at least two weeks! I finally relaxed. He is an orthopedic surgeon that practices Ayurveda medicine, explaining in detail how the herbs in our individual surroundings are there to heal us. Since I am from Alaska all the herbs I need are there for me.

The Herbal Pack

There are obviously no Alaska herbs in India, so he took me to another room and had his assistant mix up some local herbs and pack the warm mixture on the afflicted area of my arm, leaving it to penetrate for 10 minutes. It was delicious. They then made a sling for me and sent me on my way. The bill was 600 rupees: not even $10.  And, the fact that I can’t do asanas is okay. We are going into the final week of training and it will consist of individual teaching time, not practice. The timing was perfect for rotator cuff inflammation. We returned to the scooter for the ride back to the Ashram. I could now only use one arm to hold on, but I was able to lean with the bike from side-to-side without even a flinch. 

Sporting My Hand-Made Sling

Dr. Das recently spent three months in Alaska researching spiders that live in the far north region surviving the extreme cold, and scientists cannot figure out how that is possible. “The XNA project, X factor stands for: we don’t know yet,” he said. He was in awe of the natural beauty of Alaska, and I am equally taken with his country. He described India perfectly to me: chaos on the outside with a deep serenity just beneath the surface.

I have adjusted to the rhythm of life here where being fearless is the norm. On our list of recommended reading is a book called: “Fearless Living, Yoga and Faith,” by Swami Rama. A must read for anyone struggling with fear issues. Most of us have at one time or another and reading this book helps put things in perspective. 

I remain in awe of this magical place. The locals notice my sling and immediately ask what happened and if I am okay. They approach me from all directions—on the street, at the Ashram, in the restaurant, in the shops—they are genuinely concerned. One of the instructors offered me acupressure during class. An Panchakarma treatment would be amazing but it takes 21-days, preferably 45-days with an Ayurveda practitioner nearby administering the treatment. Next time—I must come back to India, there is so much more to see and do—after all, it is eight-times larger than Alaska and should be a continent!

https://sites.google.com/a/panchangnaturopathy.com/panchangnaturopathy/arurvedic-panchkram

A thought to ponder. . .

Prosperity:

Uncomfortably comfortable (have nots)

Comfortably uncomfortable (haves)

Namasté

One Pranayama at a Time. . .

No! No! No! Please, not another Warrior II Flow, as she kicked and screamed her way up 4 flights of stairs to the studio. I can't do it!

"Ahh," said the 20-year old guru. "Use your mind. Control your mind. Asanas are 10% body and 90% mind.”

And so it was. . . Another day closer to graduation. 🙏🏻

After beating myself up for over a week, I finally gave up. The first week of class I was working with a short strap, pulling it overhead and down the back with straight arms. The strap was apparently too short and I heard my right arm make a popping sound before I adjusted it to a larger width. I didn’t really notice any pain because it happened during Saturday evening asana class, and Sunday was our day off. 

Monday morning the arm was aching but I continued on with practice. As the week progressed, the pain got worse and the instructor offered some acupressure that was indeed painful on the forearm pressure points, but nevertheless seemed to help—onward and upward was the plan. The teacher training is rigorous with 4.5 hours of daily asana classes, spilt into two sessions. Some days were better than others for me, depending on the required poses but the catarunga flow transition was a killer but I continued, often skipping over that part—feeling like a wimp. My theory was if I ignored the pain, it would go away. I refused to acknowledge it although it would often wake me up at night if I laid in a particular position.

Yesterday in early morning astanga class my arm totally gave out, screaming at me: NO MORE! I had no choice but to acknowledge the tingling feeling followed by a weakness of barely being able to raise my arm. Shit, I can’t believe this, was my first thought. How can I be at yoga training and have an arm injury that will keep me from doing most poses? The message here was loud and clear, but I had been denying it for nearly 10 days: Pay Attention to Your Body—the mantra stressed daily in our training. 

And then it occurred to me, our discussion in philosophy class—remain impartial and merely observe a situation without judgment. I had been feeling inadequate as a yogi and had ignored what my body was telling me. I had been reacting with my ego and the pain was not going away, it was getting worse. By impartially observing and accepting it as what is, I was able to understand that my body had been sending me a message but, I was not listening so it was speaking louder. It was time to honor this unique body and rest the arm. Accepting without a judgement of being a weaker or lesser person, was a lesson learned.  

Understanding came at a time it was needed. I took the night off, explaining to my instructor that I may wish to see a doctor, and it was okay. I have spent the day attending my philosophy, anatomy and teaching methodology classes, and resting my body, guilt-free, during asana classes. My arm is feeling much better but still can’t be rotated without pain. I understand that rest needs to continue for a few days, and I may see a doctor for an evaluation or healing treatments. Once I acknowledged this, I am once again feeling good. 

The training is a flow of peaks and valleys—one day of feeling great and the next day feeling totally inadequate. This is all part of the transformational process. Again, it is important to view situations from an impartial place. “Please don’t accept what I say, please don’t reject what I say. Hold on to it, Observe it,” a mantra from philosophy class that is now a part of me. This truly incredible journey is transforming my life forever—one pranayama at a time. 

"Real knowledge is found not in knowing, but rather in being!”

Namasté

What Is Yoga?

The union between you and you—what you think you are, and what you really are.

Yoga is the journey from misunderstanding to understanding.

Understanding is an exact evaluation. 

Misunderstanding is an over/under evaluation, or an opposite.

Yoga is the optimum function of a human organism.

Monkey Family

My body and mind are totally exhausted but I feel internal peace. Every muscle in my body has an acute awareness; a reminder of being alive. Life is always moving, changing, evolving. This training offers so much information both physically and mentally, that it is not possible to understand it all at the moment. This experience will take time to evaluate—the ideas, the philosophy, the anatomy, and the strenuous asanas—some more difficult than others; all taught with a gentle understanding. All bodies are different and it is important to let go of ego when trying to get my body to response, knowing that I may not look like the next person and that is okay. Yoga is personal, it is not about how far, how long, or how limber you are, or how you compare to another yogi. It’s about knowing your limits and going beyond them as best you can. 

I briefly thought about skipping class tonight but drug my tired butt up the three flights of stairs to the studio in spite of myself, wondering if it was even worth the attempt being as tired as I felt. Jeez informed the class that it was a full moon and not a healthy time to do strenuous asanas, so we were blessed with a restorative practice. It was still tougher than my own restorative class, but a much needed break from the usual Astanga flow. Talking to my spirit guides each night, asking for guidance, strength and perseverance to get me through this month has definitely helped.

I am humbled by how little I know about the science of yoga. I am also aware I have not been teaching yoga, but rather asana class. It would take years of studying the science to actually teach it. When I leave here I will  definitely teach a better asana class with some added  knowledge, but will still question the title ‘yoga teacher.' Yoga is so much more than performing postures—philosophy, anatomy, breathing, and a conscious approach to healthy living are equally important. Yoga is a way of being, it is pure consciousness, it is understanding, it is questioning, it is examining life. To quote the philosophy instructor: “Please don’t accept what I am saying, please do not reject what I am saying. Hold on to it. Remain impartial, investigate, meditate and reach your own conclusion.” We have all the answers inside ourselves; by meditating we can access everything we need to evolve in this life. 

Sharing Lunch

Besides having this in-depth training, being in this magical country where life flows to the rhythm of the natural cycle, is humbling. We are walking with the cows, dogs, and monkeys on the village streets. I went to pet a calf today but the momma cow was having none of it. She bowed her head and ever so gently pushed her horns into me to let me know it was not okay. At that precise moment we spoke a universal language without exchanging any words.

I hand-wash my clothes in a large bucket in the bathroom with organic, chemical free soap and rinse them in water scented with lime essential oil. The oils are made at a local herb farm. I had a stuffy nose and was prescribed turmeric oil by the herbalist, one drop on the tongue every 4 days. Like magic, my nose is clear. I leave my clothes to dry in the sun and hope the monkeys don’t decide to take off with a shirt, sock or whatever strikes their fancy. They usually drop their treasure after the escape, unless it is food. I was missing my favorite out-of-shape sweater, my walking-the-dog wool one that is so old and really should be thrown away, but I can’t bear to part with it yet.  I found it in a palm tree in front of the Ashram. I saw a monkey at the market jump out of a tree onto a fruit stand, grabbing a banana and running back up the tree. This is normal, and no one reacts. Living close to the earth with the animals is just the way of life in India, and it feels natural. Life is simple with few distractions. I have not listened to the world news, and refuse to read the political posts on Facebook—it took a week to ween myself. I am taking a break and bet when I return to the US not much will have changed, just more negative rhetoric that we allow our minds to consume daily. It is the norm I know, and am seriously questioning. I have been introduced to a much more peaceful way of existence.

Dancing in the Streets

My shower is a bucket of steaming water and a cup with a spout used for scooping up the water and pouring it over my body in the tiled bathroom. The drain is under the sink and there is a squeegee to dry the floor. I purchased a bar of natural soap at the herbal store for less than 60¢. There is no TV anywhere and it is common to hear dogs barking and cows mooing into the night, along with spiritual music. All of this is the accepted norm in Rishikesh. I am eating a vegetarian diet of mung beans, lentils, spinach, rice, peas, potatoes, and fresh fruit. I haven’t missed life as I know it. We went out for a cheese pizza last night and I now understand why we are fed what we are at the Ashram. The pizza was too heavy and left me feeling bloated, something I haven’t felt on the vegetarian diet.

After beating myself up for being so exhausted today, I learned that the younger students are feeling the same. The training is demanding and strenuous. So many people are sick with colds and flu like symptoms. My immune system has been exposed to so much in my years on this planet, that I am happy to say nothing has effected me other than sheer exhaustion. We are approaching the end of our second week, the half-way mark, and instead of morning asana class tomorrow we are going for a hike, and instead of lectures we are seeing a movie called “The History of Yoga.” Sunday is our day of rest and we have a scheduled trip to the new Ashram that will serve as a retreat for Living Yoga in the coming months. After 14-years, Yog Peeth is closing their doors to yoga teacher training in March. We will be one of the last graduating classes. 

Little Babe

I am reading the Alchemist and find it to be like our philosophy lessons, all rolled into a book. My mind is spinning with so much to think about. This incredible place called Rishikesh is considered a holy city in India. I am blessed to be here and know this is a life-altering experience. We are constantly changing and evolving in this Universe, and this experience is an intregal part of my own personal journey.

Learn to Listen to The Language of Your Soul

Peace & Love, Namasté

El Toro

Bridge Traffic

The bridge connecting Rajajula with Rishikesh is narrow and packed with people, cows, dogs and scooters. Walking back over it from a shopping trip, I was stuck behind an interesting four-legged couple. The procession continued onto the street once we exited the bridge. She was a gentle brown lady with a soft-white nose; he was a black, shiny and stout bull—the epitome of masculinity. They were obviously together sashaying side by side with her in the lead. As we rounded the corner to a hill that was going straight up, I heard people yelling commands at the couple, but I was oblivious from my position close behind their back sides. I did notice other cows on the left, coming down the hill. 

The Couple

Abruptly the black bull stopped and assumed the posture I recognize from my dog experience—head up, stiff body, bristling coat—high alert, usually not a good thing. I may not be a cow whisperer but some behavior is easy to spot in any animal. A smaller bull approached and sniffed the black male, then continued down the hill without incident. Another male approached and sniffed the female, obviously not a good move. People were scattering and yelling at the animals to move on. I reluctantly followed their lead and scampered down the hill and behind the rock wall just as the fight erupted! I was hoping for up-close photographs but that was not to be. 

Locked Horns

They locked horns even before I got behind the wall. The female stood by quietly and observed, looking bored with the entire situation. The black bull quickly got the smaller one into a lock down on the rock wall, and it looked as if he was going to topple over it. He somehow found the strength to break away and hightail it up the hill, defeated. At this point people jumped between them so the black bull could not chase after the smaller one. Wow! I have now witnessed my first bull fight in the streets. It was quick, thank goodness. The moral to the story: pay attention to the locals and when they start running for cover, do the same!

El Toro!

The next day I saw El Toro roaming the streets proudly, head up, chest out. He was King of the Village, at least until another bull is brave enough to challenge his position. 

Namasté