Author: Simon Grenier

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N.25 The Enigma of Return

And so it goes, my grand travel adventure comes to a conclusion amidst a peculiar temporal fluidity. As if I’d never left, I find myself in the same places being a whole other man.

My vision is fresh and my choices are now imbued with a freedom from ancient concepts.

I’m rediscovering the daily.

The same drop of water from my old apartment’s water faucet taps to the same rhythm, the endless roadworks and the same passerbys with fleeing eyes at the sight of my huge smile.

I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done for this but I am coming back to Montréal in an ocean of love. I am welcomed as a great guest and I’m getting seduced to get back into the city’s thriving cultural life.

The friendships that bloom in my existence are one of the grandest riches that a man can ever be given. I am truly moved.

I am back in town only to find a large garden. I do not recall planting so many flowers.
Maybe they’ve sowed themselves?

It’s quite unique to roam around in the city’s streets in the fall to imbibe the atmosphere. I’m playing the game of smile, salute and look in the eyes.

The people seem tired and thrown off by a stranger’s smile.
I have hopes to find reciprocity of joy in the coming days.

And so, I find myself in my town, back in Québec’s culture, tango dancing with the mysteries of what shall present itself as a new life. I have so many friends to see, it’ll take me at least a month to get through them all.

My travels have brought me this trait that I now choose joy in my heart irrespective of what’s happening outside of me.

We have the freedom to create our internal environment and to ascribe meaning or not to the events of our lives.

The human experience is a malleable clay. By our actions, we can mold it the way we choose.

With this newfound freedom, I’m writing on the balcony warmed by the morning sun.
Here I am, back into Quebec’s day to day.

I take a deep breath and I tell myself:

‘’It’s good to be alive’’

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n.24 Came in as a beggar, left as a King


This all seems surreal.
In my experience, I left no more than five weeks ago but it’s been 7 months already.

Today marks the day of my departure from the land of India. I am now heading home for the autumn season with a renewed sense of enthusiasm and gratitude.

Last night, I caught myself laughing profusely. Somehow, none of it makes any dog on sense. Like a passing dream, I am waking up wondering what the hell just happened.

A snap of the finger and boom: 7 months have vanished into thin air.
Just the other day, it seems I was hitting the stage in my hometown of Montréal to play feverish funk music with my friends.

Just the other day, I was in my twenties, hitting up jam sessions all around town like an addict.

Just the other day, I was playing in the woods with my childhood friends.

Just the other day, I was 8 years old with a mind full of dreams and the naïve heart of a child.

As strange as it may seem, I can’t truly remember how I got here in the first place.
All of it went by so fast.

My godamn life passed in a blink of an eye. In a moment, I’ll be 50. In another, 80 and grey haired. Then I’ll be gone: adventure finished, going back to the cosmos.

While in Pachaloor, in Kerala, something I can’t truly explain happened.
As I was sitting on the roof, filled with thoughts, a voice came over and said:
‘’aren’t you sick and tired of all the petty stories?’’

I couldn’t help but go silent.
All the ceaseless crap going on in my mind had no relevance whatsoever to living Life.
All the stories just vanished and I was left with a quiet nothingness.

From then on, days went by in seconds, weeks into hours and a full three months just poofed in the air. As I am now here in an hotel room waiting for my flight, I can’t help but go back to that place of ‘’what the hell just happened?’’

How can time be so slippery?

This trip has been the death of me. I buried myself in India. The old Simon is gone and I am here being both profoundly lost and filled with a deep sense of clarity.

All of it seems too hard to explain.
Words can only point the way and I find myself in a pathless meadow.

This journey has been such a strong cup of humility and surprises. I thought I would be helping people but I am the one who’s been given everything without asking.
I’ve made lifelong friends with the locals and boy what an adventure this all has been.

I came out here as a beggar, thinking the world to be his.
I am leaving as a king, knowing to own nothing but himself.

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N.23 ”A new Life”


As my time in Kerala comes to a close, I breathe in the moment.
Perched atop my home for the last three months, surrounded by jungle, blanketed by the bright blue sky above and the sounds of the sea in the distance, here I am once more.

Oh, how a place can change you.
I come here every morning and evening these days. There’s a silence here that nourishes me deeply. Somehow, the grandiosity of my surroundings helps me gain a fresh perspective.

I could never have known or planned my stay here. It seems to have happened by virtue of fate. When Life mingles with your affairs and sets a course tailored just for you, it may be the right time to throw away your petty plans and hop on that ride.

Who knows who you shall be coming out the other end?

As for myself, my old stories are now dead. My old self has been buried in Kerala. From my experience, there is no mistaking it: a new life’s beginning.

It’s hard to put into words what is so intimate and visceral. Birthed out of silence, I am left wordless in the face of the immensity of living.

I’ve had the privilege to make lifelong friendships. I now breathe more deeply and my walk is tall and proud. I’ve found great dignity in the company of my new brother Abdul. Both the poorest and the richest man I’ve ever encountered.

The sometimes confusing ways of Indian culture has left me more accepting of what is. I do not feel the need to label things anymore. It all seems so petty to try to catch a morsel of the river of life going full throttle in order to give it a name, therefore feeling safe in return.

In a short time, I’ll be on a plane bound for Sri Lanka. I’ve been longing to swim in the sea ever since my stay in Mexico, a few months back.

Now’s the time to satisfy that desire.

I do not know where this adventure will bring me but here I am, firmly rooted in the present with an open heart and mind.

Let’s see what happens next, shall we?

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N.22 Onam with the Locals


Engulfed in a sea of Keralites, the procession seems to be neverending. Dancing kalari warriors, old ladies with painted faces, muscled up teenagers, 12 feet tall puppets, marching bands, electric cars carrying a whole array of paper constructions on their backs, military personnel and the occasional guy that looks as if he’s just here for the money: he’s tired and waiting for his check so he can go home.

In Thiruvananthapuram, the whole avenue from Kankakounè palace to the east port is blocked by authorities. There’s thousands upon thousands of people of all ages on the side of the street. They are all here to celebrate the closing ceremony of the ten day Onam festival.

Traditionally, it is a celebration of the harvest season, when the food is plentiful and the sun is shining high for all.

Historically, the festival began a long time ago, when king Mavelli ruled over Kerala. It is believed to have been a time of peace and prosperity for everyone. In these times, there was no cast system and everyone lived together as one with great joy.

When the king died, the keralites decided to honor him once a year with the the famous Onam festival. It is believed that the soul of Mavelli comes back to Kerala every year to check up on his people. Therefore, in homage to him, the locals come together to build flower arrangements, dress up in style and prepare special meals to share with the whole family. It is a time a well awaited celebration for the citizens.

A local told me that even if you are poor, even if you are miserable, you owe it to yourself that at least one day in a year, you walk on this earth as a king. That’s what Onam is all about.

For my first time in India, I’ve been very fortunate to make friends amongst the local people. What was supposed to be a three weeks stay in Kerala turned into three months.

I’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon Abdul, a man of many surprising talents, early on in my travels. As an old ayurvédic doctor, he made me experience the Karkala month the ayurveda way: a 30 days of thorough cleansing. Ideally coming out the other end stronger and more vital.

Once Onam came, he offered me my very own Onam dress. I then became an official Kerala man. Having learned many Malayalam words, I can now confidently express myself shakily in the local language. As always, the ‘’thank you’s,’ and the ‘’how are you’s’’ are the first to be used.

I have been welcomed as a brother. I have been added to the family as one of their own. I am a fortunate man in a land filled with kind and generous people. Being out here in Kerala has truly been a lesson on the art of welcoming. My three months here raised the bar on what it means to be a graceful host.

The first Onam day, the flower arranging begins. Groups of guys pool their resources and buy as much flower as they can afford and then go on building flower altars. You can walk around the village and see for yourself.

As each day passes, the altar grows bigger and more splendid, ultimately reaching its zenith on the 10th day. Then, a ritual takes place where the whole creation is ripped apart by a man possessed by a spirit entranced in the loud music that’s being blasted full force out of the six 4 by 4 speakers sitting in the back.

During Onam, the special meal is named Sadhya. Traditionally served on a banana leaf, there is an array of curries served with rice. Many stages uncover themselves over the course of the meal, leaving you with a belly full of delicious food and a strong desire for a nap.

As it seems to be ‘’the way life is’’ in my case, I am invited to the best place in the neighborhood to enjoy a sadhya meal: The Oyster Marris Homestay.

Not only is the food worthy of a five stars rating but the hosts also teach you about the history and cultural ways of the keralites. The place is truly a must for those passing by the Thiruvananthapuram area.

Going for a walk after a meal fit for an overweight king, I keep stumbling over my dhoti, the traditional cloth worn around the waist by the people of Kerala. Although the style is like no other, as a westerner, I am more fit to wear pants.

As my time in Kerala comes to a close, I give thanks for all the gifts that came my way, all the friends I’ve made and all the adventures that have happened.

This year has been my first Onam with the locals and If I get a say in the matter,
it won’t be my last.

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N.21 My Own Legend

Out here in Kerala, the Onam festival is in full swing. There are lights everywhere, it feels like Christmas, floral arrangements adorn every street corner, and it’s the perfect opportunity to go into town and buy yourself a new dress.

In my case, I invited my friend and his children to go to the circus.
“The Great Bombay Circus,” as they say.

It was like stepping back in time to the carnivals of yesteryear: clowns who weren’t very funny, dwarfs who clearly just wanted to go outside and smoke cigarettes, some really cool acrobatics, and aggressive marketing on the food and drink side.

A real business lesson for the whole family!

The other day, I had a profound realization. I’ll try to put it into words for you, my dear reader.

It’s morning. I’ve just finished my yoga session on the roof of the house where I’ve chosen to live. The view is breathtaking. You can see the sea at the bottom of the mountain, and I’m surrounded by coconut trees and birds flying overhead. The sky envelops everything brilliantly.

I open my eyes and in front of me is a brown plastic chair.
I start thinking, “Damn, that chair ruins the view,” and I feel slightly frustrated.

And then suddenly, in a split second, I realize how absurd the situation is: I am in a paradise, the wind is caressing my body, and the smell of the sea is filling my nostrils. It is completely absurd to think that a simple plastic chair could “spoil” the experience.

The apparent absurdity of concluding that the view is diminished because of a chair suddenly makes me laugh out loud.

I realize that imposing a story on the reality of the moment is a personal choice, and that I have chosen the mediocre story of the chair spoiling the magnificent experience of being alive in paradise. I laugh at the pettiness of my mind.

Life follows its course. The story we attribute to it is 100% optional.

Basically, my journey has been a reconsideration of the story I tell myself at every moment.
I stumbled upon some old, dusty tales that needed cleaning up, so I’m rewriting my own legend in a more conscious way.

In any case, my friend, I hope your legend is beautiful and surprising!

See you soon!

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N.20 Money!

Money can’t buy happiness, as they say.

There is some truth in the saying: a rich man can be just as miserable, if not more so, than a poor man. Happiness is a choice we make every moment.
Happiness is hiding in the little gifts of life that await us at every turn.

Throwing a thousand dollars in the air won’t make happiness fall into our laps.

That being said, with money, you can buy a birthday cake for a 12-year-old girl who is sad because she can’t invite her friends to her party since she doesn’t have a cake to offer them.

“I’ll buy you your cake, damn it!”

I said to her, in a more appropriate language

Seeing the girl’s face light up with joy as she busily called her friends was a real emanation of joy. And all for 12 bucks.

Money can’t buy happiness, but with $10, you can pay for a 15-year-old’s gym membership so he can work out with his friends.

Money can’t buy happiness, not directly.

But with 22 bucks, you can pay your friend and his family’s electric bill.
Tomorrow there will be light in the hallway when you go over to spend the evening.

Money can’t buy happiness, but for $10 you can get a haircut, buy groceries for the week, a few extra chocolates, and take a taxi home.

Okay, this example is typically Indian because in Quebec, for $10 you get a coffee and a napkin.

Money can’t buy happiness but with a few handfuls of it you can take a plane to the other side of the world in a culture very far from your own and slowly release your own sense of how things should be. You can take your time to redefine yourself day by day because food and shelter are no more an issue for you.

Money can’t buy happiness but it facilitates travelling.

Adventures filled with ‘’what the fuck’’ moments, of impromptu tears of melancholy and strange meetings with wonderful people.

Money can’t buy happiness, but for 10 rupees you can get a chaï tea, sit down and digest all the experiences you’ve been having for the last 6 months while watching the birds flying up above. If that’s not happiness, then I don’t know what is.

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n.19 ”The surprising virtues of a poor muslim man with the heart bigger than the indian ocean”


We met at a street corner quite by accident about two months ago. So many circumstances had to come together for the stars to align for us to be at the same place, at the same time. Chance had nothing to do with it.

It was destiny. I am sure of it.

Our friendship deepens each day that passes. In his company, I agin in dignity and personal sovereignty. Abdul, an old ayurvédic doctor as poor as an old rusty nail at the bottom of a drawer but such richness emanates from this man, I am perpetually taken aback by it.

A smile going up all the way to his eyes. Constantly benevolent there’s no other like him.

Everyone from around here knows him. They all say he’s an honorable man with a good heart. Always happy to be of service. A mala in hand, prayer is never far from his lips. He’s got such a devotion towards his god, it’s contagious.

We throw at each other an endless amount of ‘’Inshallah’’ and ‘’Devam anygrèykète at each occasion. (To the rhythm of God and God bless you)

Last week, he showed me around the neighborhood. The first day, we walked for 7 hours straight. At last some exercise worth mentioning. I’ve been waiting for that one.

Once at Kovalam beach, a prayer of mine got answered: a true double espresso.
It’s hard to describe the effect of a double espresso in a body that hasn’t seen any real coffee in over 3 months. It’s as if my body and mind fused perfectly whilst being jolted by 35 000 volts of lightning.

I could not hold myself. I whipped out my banjo and played ravenously for an hour and a half straight without stopping. All that in front of a magnificent beach, tenderly cradled by sea winds and the sound of waves.

Paradise.

Abdul’s sister, Fatima, is the owner of a house on a mountain overlooking the ocean. It never got finished due to lack of funding and left to itself. Me and Abdul we’ll build a bathroom, a shower and a bedroom. The house shall be mine for my time here.

There are encounters that change us, that won’t allow us to remain the old and pushes us towards another level of personal freedom. My meeting with Abdul is one of those.

The kindness, generosity and unconditional love is contagious. I am now infected and for sure will propagate this fever to all those who cross my path.

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N.18 Hospitality. The Indian way.

In India, the hospitality is such that they will invite you to their homes to meet the whole family, offer you a chair to sit on and feed you till your belly becomes round.
If everyone gets two portions, you get four.

You may have to learn to say no at some point. Three dosas are enough but they bring you two more and another fried fish. You can say no. That you are full and satisfied but this does not always work. When in doubt, say yes and eat the whole damn thing.

They will serve you tea.
Yes, it’s caffeinated.
Yes, it’s 9pm on a Tuesday and you usually go to bed by 10pm.
Yes, you will have trouble sleeping.
Just say thank you and drink the whole damn thing.

They will invite you to hang out the next day.
You are in India.
You are here to discover the cultures and immerse yourself in all its ways.
Just say yes.
Show up the day after. Eat more. Learn a few words. Imbibe the cultural intricacies.
Have a few laughs and share your humanity.

As you may have already deciphered, it is now 10pm on a Tuesday. I’ve just eaten for two and drank so much tea. I doubt sleep will be kind tonight.

Tomorrow, Karti will show me how to wear the traditional cotton wrapped around the waist, the Tamil way. I am sorry for not knowing the name of it yet. I usually go about it this way:

I say yes. I have an experience. Then, I learn the names of things.

Flash forward two days later.

The name is longui. I have been taught many Tamil and Malayalam words. Even a few in Indie. I laughed so much these last few days with my adoptive Tamil family, the side of my mouth hurts and my eyes are wrinkled. They sure know how to have a proper hang out!

I went fishing for the first time in ages. Armed with a bamboo stick and flour paste as bait on a lake so dirty I did not dare to put in my feet.
I already hear you asking: did you catch any fish? Yes we did. And yes, we ate them.
Still haven’t gotten sick so far. God willing, I never will.

And so, another day concludes itself in the glorious lands of Tamil Nadu, south India.
I am now aiming northward. I have heard about the musicians and dancers in Rajasthan.
I want to meet, mingle and play. I’ve been here one month so far and still haven’t quenched my thirst for jamming.
I shall keep looking outward,
rooted inward,
banjo in hand and ready to play.
Bobcat on the lookout!

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N.17 Cold rain and Snow


Two grown men and a goat pass by on a motorcycle. But who drives?

Today marks my one month in India. I am now a grown ass man with a belly filled with dosas and aching teeth from all the sugar everywhere, all the time. So many people told me about the culture shock. How India is a crazy place and to brace for impact.

Once again folks, an old lesson rings true:
Don’t listen to anybody and go check it out for yourself.

Prior to India, I spent a month and a half in Mexico. Both have so much in common I was surprised by it.

Replace cheese with sugar
Replace tortillas with dosas
Replace spanish with an unknown (to me) Indian language and Voilà:
Same shit, different continent.

I’ve got to say though, the Mexican arts and culture we’re more present, at least from my minimal experience of a month. Out here in southern India, I haven’t found music nor art, outside of the temple decorations and masterful craftsmanship that is.

I will keep looking for my kin.
I’ll let you know when I find them.

On the food and beverage side of life, both have many similarities. There are food stands everywhere filled to the brink with carbs. For a cheap price you can eat like a king, a.k.a ‘’way too much’’.

On the coffee side of town, Mexico wins by very very very far. By that, I mean, if there ever was a contest between the two countries to decipher who had the best coffee, India would’ve overslept, missed the whole ordeal and lost.

I know, I keep writing about coffee and all. You know, my writing is usually half inspiration and half caffeine. Takes a minute to get used to it, forgive me.

Back to the real issue at hand.
Man number one was driving, the goat was in the middle and man number two in the back.
Pure science. I love how crazy the driving is around here. It truly is a sight to wonder upon.

It can get so freakin’ hot out here this time of year. One night, as I was watching a movie, a scene came up. The scene was this: cold, wet mid-december heavy snow in a city.

I had a proverbial hard on
For snow
For cold
For icy roads that make you dance shakily
I truly am a man of the north.

Consider me melting. In southern India. In the hottest months of the year.
Bobcat reporting for duty!

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N.16 ‘’Black hole coffee’’

I’ve finally found it!
The one drink up to the task of raising the dead. I found it at a tiny street corner shop.
Finally a beverage that delivers a true kick in the face. I’m not sure the exact mixture but it bears the name ‘’ginger tea’’.

Pretty common, right?
Ah! How wrong I was.
Just a defenseless little ginger tea I thought. That’ll be a good digestive after supper.
That night I could not fall asleep.

I tried again the next day. At 2 pm.
That gives me ample time to digest it fully and fall asleep peacefully come night time.
Wrong again!
At last, a true contender.

I had been told, before coming here, South India is home of some of the best coffee on the planet. I had high hopes. They all came crashing down. Until now, I’ve only come across instant coffee or a mixture of 50/50 chicory and coffee. Disappointing to say the least.

With the English language, I can communicate with most people and be understood.
But for some reason, when I say: ‘’strong black coffee, no extra water, no milk, no sugar, please’’ It seems to go right by and I get an instant sugary abomination.

And so, I gave up trying.

You see, I don’t really drink ‘’coffee’’. I drink motor oil.
I enjoy my coffee so strong it makes the nearby flies die of heart attacks just by the smell of it. Come to think of it, there was one instance where I found satisfaction.

After visiting a temple with my friend Javi, we went to a nearby restaurant.
I went with my usual routine. ‘’strong black coffee, no extra water. no sugar, no milk, please’’

The waiter came back giggling.
They don’t get that sort of madness often I think.
He looks at me with huge eyes and says ‘’strong black coffee’’ while handing me the one thing I had been longing for: Motor oil.

A coffee so black, time disappears in it. My god, what a grand moment!
It’s the little things in Life, my friend.
It’s the little things.