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N.15 ‘’ Indian Traffic King’’

Klonks, klanks, screeches, vroom and horns blaring.
That’s the sound of Indian traffic.

Out here, downtown India in a small village by the name of Padmanabhapuram, at the crossover of streets, right in front of an historical building, here lies the action. Ginger tea in my hand I observe the chaotic beauty.

It’s so hot I probably sweat a third of my bodyweight daily. People keep telling me it’s only getting higher until the rainy season hits, June or july.

I am the only foreigner out here in these parts at this time of year.
No one’s crazy enough for those scorching hot and sweaty weather.

Forget the saunas. Come to South India in May.
You’ll get your money’s worth. No refunds.
Getting played by taxi drivers included.
The perfect getaway vacation!

First time I saw Indian traffic, I was baffled.
They cross lanes all the time. Buses pass you by, barely face fronting your life away. there’s no streetlights and the walkers get in on the action too. It’s a wonderful mess to be part of.

One day, as I was enjoying a mango juice in Kerala’s capital, directly in front of traffic, something hit me. Despite the thousands of cars, buses, motorcycles and trucks flowing by, I did not feel stressed at all. Not one bit.

Back home in Montréal, I avoid traffic at all costs.
There’s a pressure and tension present that I do not like.
Out here, downtown Kiruvananthapuram, the traffic did not bother at all.

As I was wondering why, I came to a possible explanation.

Contrary to Canadian traffic which is filled with frustration, anger, despair and suffering, Indian traffic is so overwhelmingly wild, the only way to survive is to play.

To be playful. To approach it as a game. Or else you hesitate and die.
By all standards, it’s a total neverending crisis.
You have to find the opportunity and without any second thoughts: seize it.

Who would have thought that traffic could teach such a profound life lesson.
When everything is in flux, victory comes to those who take action with clarity and decisiveness

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N.14 ‘’The Abdul encounter’’


We have been schooled in the art of generosity.
Out of nowhere, an angel came and offered us what could never be bought.

As we were sitting in the shades of a closed tea stall. Playing music to pass time while keeping a high spirit, There comes Abdul in his desert nomad style of clothing. Only his shining eyes were visible. He listened to us intently for a moment and went away. Reappearing with hot chai meant for us.
And so, our friendship began.

The English being quite limited, we communicated with the heart.
In the evening we ended up at his house with the whole family.
They fed us profusely and we gave our music in return.
Such gratefulness oozing out of these people, the music flowed unobstructed.

At first glance, one may be tempted to call them poor but, in truth, I’ve rarely encountered such richness. A humble home filled with love and smiles trumps everything else.

-‘’God is Giving’’ repeated Abdul.
Eyes shining brightly. Adorned with a true smile.
One hand on his heart and the other to the sky.

-‘’Your happiness is my happiness, brother’’
He’d say while offering us drinks

A true life lesson in kindness.
I am deeply moved by the unconditionality of it.
My perspective of generosity is forever altered.

One of his daughters sparked up by the sight of my banjo and was eager to try it.
A musician in the making!

Javi and I decided to push things a little and give a guitar to the family.
Who knows, we may come back in a few years only to find master musicians.
‘’God willing!’’

It’s important, I find, learning to receive gracefully and give unconditionally. Two sides of the same coin. The coin may have been soiled by our capitalist background: everything becomes a market place. I may be foolhardy but I believe the grandest of riches can never be bought or sold. Life cannot be equated to transactions of commerce.

We come with empty hands and leave just the same.
How grand a journey we create is entirely up to us.

I doubt I’ll remember the dollars I’ve gathered along the way.
Instead, smiles like the ones of Abdul saying ‘’God is giving’’ while handling us freshly cooked fish, that will remain forever in my heart.

God willing, brother, our friendship is only beginning!

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N.13 The beard keeps growing. The adventures keep rolling!


And so,
when my new momentary roommate Pedro asked me if I wanted to go to church for ‘’pasas’’,
I said Yes!
No idea what that meant but hey, adventure time it is!

I vaguely understood it was about food. I had just eaten but so what;
An opportunity to learn is a yes from me.

Turns out ‘’pasas’’ are potatoes. French fries, if you will.
Filled with mayonnaise and fake cheese.
A delicious disaster.

So much joy comes from embracing imperfections.
Those little crooked bends on the road.
Momentous change of plans
Quirky moments of misunderstanding
The grandiose crashing down of fantasy

Or the best one yet: Coming to the end of the line only to realize you have absolutely no idea where you are and what you want to do next.

All hail imperfections!

As I have mentioned before, it’s the simple things in Life that makes all the difference.

Once again, I’ve been welcomed as a friend.
I’ve been offered food, shelter and kinship.
Doing the dishes afterwards seemed like the thing to do.

Life flows easily when acceptance, warm heartedness and clear communication team up to foster an environment suited for growth and freedom.

Been pondering lots about my choices.
About what I believe to be possible for myself.
The environments I gravitate around

One thing I realized yesterday night: I’m never coming back.
This adventurous journey will forever change who I am.
The process of change is already swift and fluid.
All the more powerful now that I am unattached to my home in Montréal.

No one knows me
No one expects anything of me
I can reinvent myself at any moment without causing any disturbance
I like this newfound freedom.

In a new town, meeting new friends, with more beard on my face,
The same Spanish language and a whole new kind of heat.

Here I am in San Agustin Etla and the journey keeps going.

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N.12 Of arts, coffee and longings


Just arrived in Oaxaca city yesterday around 4pm. Found my hostel and went for a stroll into town. I have easily seen more visual art in my evening walk than a whole month in Montréal.

This is a thriving culture. I’ve been told so many times before.
World famous for its food and art. My Mexican friend told me the roots of this place are warrior culture. The inhabitants are fervent towards demonstrations and protests.
I can attest by the sound of a marching band at 8 in the morning, coming from the park nearby.

And so, an ignorant man’s sight seeing begins. I’m slowly going farther and farther away, trying to remember the way back. If I get my cell phone out for the map, I lose.
That’s the game I play.

If I lose, I owe the winner a coffee.
If I win, I get a coffee.

It’s a geographical awareness adventure that usually ends with grinding teeth.
(you know… the coffee…)

I’m in a good mood so I’ll go to a park near where there are lots of passersby and whip out yé ol’ banjo. Bobcat is gon’ try to make some friends. Wish me luck!

One afternoon later…

Ok, so, even though this city is clearly one of a kind, it somehow feels like all other tourist places. The recipe changes but the dish remains the same.

I long for silence and space.
I’m at this point in my life where I want the profundity of quietness to engulf me in her arms.

I long for a fire under the stars
I long to play harmonica in the woods
I long for rivers and mountains

Keep your fancy restaurants and parties.
I’ll grab a few nuts, 2 bananas and head out to the valleys
where the sky and the earth make love daily

I long to be in tune with the rhythms of nature, not the city’s tempo.

Now, that’s my own personal point of view at the moment.
If you dig art and gorgeous food, you’ve got to come to Oaxaca city.
You will not regret it.

As for myself, you’ll find me somewhere in the desert gazing at the galaxies, burning a few twigs and dried grass.

To each his/her own adventure!

P.s: Later that night, I came upon a concert by a master musician by the name of Hector Diaz. A guitarist like no other. I was glued to my chair for 3 hours straight, mesmerized by the sheer grandiosity. That’s one thing cities tend to have in common: Great Musicians.

Gotta give her that
Gotta give her that

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N.11 Of Dogs, Friendships and Goodbyes

Today, I went on an adventure with Sombra, a black dog from around here.
She led me down the mountain to the river, up the other mountain and finally back to the river again. We played in the water. I sang while Sombra was digging up roots.

We were speaking the same language.

A very intelligent dog. Always aware of where I was and coming back to get me when we were far apart. The best guide in town! A true leader.

Her fee was one dried fish and four eggs. Fair deal.
We are now best of friends.

On the next morning, the time had come to leave this paradise.
Head on down the road to another town
To other adventures and new friends.

It’s funny how life arranges things.
How each goodbyes are unique.

Right out of the tortilla shop, the bus arrives and one kiss on the cheek later we part.
Just like that.
A chapter comes to a close and the other begins.

Makes my heart tender and grateful.
One last hug to my friend Lula
One last tamales for my friends Sombra and Wapo
One last look at San Mateo on the way out.


Los Vemos!

I’ve been welcomed as a friend.
I’ve been cradled in this town’s silence for a week.
Ate lots of tortillas made by an 80 years old grandma from down the street
Played with dogs. Made fires and jammed fiercely on the banjo.

I am grateful and savor each moment.
I love Life and I suspect, by the way things arrange themselves, Life loves me too.

So long, friends!

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N.10 Dream Town


This place feels like a dream.
As if slowly getting lulled into a dreamstate.
There’s a sense of space here. Very wide and vaporous.

I’m slower and sleep like a stone. Time flies swiftly.
I now understand the people I’ve met telling me they didn’t experience time passing.
Akin to a long peaceful rest, one wakes up months later without much recollection of the duration.

I’ve had the strangest of dreams out here.
No wonder this is mushroom medicine country, I almost feel their spirit beckoning me within and slowly roasting me into a receptive state. Although my days of soul searching through psychedelics are long gone, I understand why people do it here.

It feels like I have one leg in the world and one leg in dreamtime, simply by being here.

There’s also a redneck attitude that I appreciate. They burn stuff, raise animals and build houses. An honest and simple life. Everybody greets each other without being overly friendly and possesses a good sense of personal space. Reminds me of the backcountry I grew up in.

I like it here.

As the music of Alpha Mist cradles me into chills in a local art café, I ponder upon my choices. Examining my relationship towards intimacy. It’s been on my mind a lot lately and I want to change my experience of it.

You see, I’m a pretty open and welcoming guy but for some reason, when it comes time for intimacy, I tend to hesitate. I lose touch with my desires and find myself at a loss as to what I really want and what to do about it.

Maybe an old semi-conscious response coming out of too many heartbreaks or some sort of fear of rejection takes over. Doesn’t make much sense to wall myself out of the human experience of intimacy now does it?

And so I consider my life from the point of view of empowerment and humor.
I take responsibility for my actions. Ready to adjust and realign.
I approach it with the lightness of being.

I believe our human experience to be a perfectly imperfect dance.
There’s always room for improvement as the backdrop of perfection never leaves.
Both dancing hand in hand towards a profound acceptance of the nature of change

It’s all play.
Nothing to be too serious about.

And so, as I finish my second espresso, I am wired as a power plant and ready to move.
Time for me to find myself a bike and go for a ride. Let’s get intimate with this town.

Hasta la proxima, amigos!

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N.9 Thread Hunters

N.9 ‘’Thread Hunters’’

Writing is like getting schooled. The teacher kind of suddenly appears out of silence, imparts a lesson, then vanishes back into the void.
At least that’s what it feels like for me.

I approach writing as I do music. I enter a state of presence with curiosity and openness. Then I search and wait for the first thread to come into light. Once in sight, I pull.

I’ve read a saying in a book named ‘’The Lion tracker’s guide to Life’’ that goes like this:
‘’I have no idea where I’m going but I know exactly how to get there’’
I believe this illustrates the point quite clearly.

I remember years ago, composing music with my friend Alex, going into a state of creative frenzy playing the song again and again, adjusting and adding parts. Following the thread fearlessly. The adventure could be quite fast and very, very fun!

At the root of the process, there is the capacity for attention.
The more attention one can pay and sustain, the stronger the current we can hold.

To put it another way, the deeper one can see, feel, hear, touch, smell and experience,
the more information is then available for one’s usage.

Have you ever been in a situation where you could not figure out something, only to share your struggles with a friend who finds the answer within seconds of seeing the problem?

The obvious seems hidden to a momentary obtuse mind.

Art makes me wander back to Life and Life to Art.
It makes me wonder how to apply creative concepts acquired by experience back into my daily life. To put it in simple terms: How to follow the thread

I have been experimenting with this. Although I do not possess the same bravado in life as I do in Music, there definitely is a presence there very similar to art.

I only need to familiarize myself with the language a bit more, take actions, be unafraid to fail, learn as much as possible and, most of all, be playful.

That’s got me to the level of being able to improvise music for hours.
I’m pretty sure this’ll work out just fine in daily life too.

Let’s find out!

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N.8 Rusty Old Newspaper

N.8 ‘’Rusty old newspaper’’


I’m almost too afraid to admit it.
I was dormant for such a long while, I had forgotten the feeling.
As if wrapped in an old newspaper and left to gather dust in an obscure corner.

My god, why?
Why didn’t I do this before?

I hear you.
What the hell are you babbling about, Simon?

Having a fucking party!
By myself, for myself.
Letting it loose. Smiling and fooling around.
Man, that feels good!

Ok, so here goes.
I had just hit the public gym and stuffed my belly with 2 dobladas.
It was night time
I was filled to the brink and wired
No way I could sleep in this condition

So I hit the beach. Swam under the stars then it hit me.
Let’s get the banjo, stroll along the shore and sing my heart out like there’s no tomorrow.

Oh boy, did I!

I hadn’t felt so free in years.
After that episode, I did what all people overflowing with happiness do;
I wanted to share.

So I hit the streets, found a corner and played my heart out.
Passerbys smiled.
Some danced and played.

It’s the simple things
It’s the simple things that make all the difference in one’s life.

The most beautiful woman smiled at me with a cheshire cat grin.
I smiled back.
A woman danced to the sound of my raga, we exchanged a few moves and notes.
The guy from the gym earlier gave me a thumbs up while passing by.

It’s the simple things.

Little gifts from ife nudging you forward into a life of joy.
Akin to signposts showing you the right path, we receive smiles and tokens of appreciation when the going is good.

It’s up to us to keep at it and see where it’ll go.

For damn sure I’ve bought my ticket going all the way.
Let’s find out what Life shall bring!

Are you with me?

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N.7 A Very Jazzy Fever

Ain’t nothing better than the sound of jazz to get the blood flowing.
I’ve got fever and it ain’t food related, I’ve got the chills all over as the band gets it going.

Simple and straight ahead.
No fuss, no buss.
Right out of the jar with dirty hands.
Like stealing a cookie before supper, Jazz makes me a kid again.

Wired on a glass of juice, I sit beside the fire in a fish restaurant.

Another night that I go out to experience what this town has to offer and all I do is frantically scribble on my notepad and chastise myself for having forgotten my camera, yet again.

I’m still learning this whole blogging thing. I assure you, I’m getting better everyday.

In all honesty, nothing compares to great music.
At least for me, it’s the one medium that makes me feel like an explosion of life overflowing with joy. I sincerely hope you’ve got something like that in your life too.

The crisp sizzle of a ride cymbal during a feverish saxophone solo.
The wild untamed loudness of rock ‘n roll riffs
The tender surrender of a south indian voice chanting her devotion to God.
The guttural and primal raucousness of mongolian throat singing.

I could go on forever

To celebrate life, for me, nothing compares to music from the heart.
Although, maybe silence is a close contender.

But, when both silence and music go into symbiosis, I tell you,
That’s when the going gets real good!!

Try it!

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N.6 The Cowboy Monk

I ain’t here to reinvent the wheel.
When my friend told me ‘’let’s go the naked beach’’,
I said yes.

The dude abides as they say. The dude abides.

So here I am, butt naked in hot sands.
Never before have I seen so many balls.
Oh well, and so is life!

Now that I put my glasses on, there’s about 40 people on the beach, 37 of them are men.
So much for ‘’fair representation’’, this beach could’ve been called ‘’The land of cock and balls’’

Or better yet, ‘’Of Mice and Men’’

Ok, enough with the schlong jokes. We both got better things to do.

Flash forward 3 hours later.
We are at an ecstatic dance party in a hostel.
There’s a jacuzzi, a sauna, loud music and beautiful people.

We got in ye old broke cowboy way.
Walk fast, act as if you own the place and voilà!

Free party.

As I take a look around, I see the same people in different bodies from back home.
Sure, everyone has its unique flavor but the dish is the same.

I guess we can’t reinvent the wheel; people want to dance, laugh and fuck.

I get that.

Although I’ve had my moments, my years of parties are long gone.
I’ve always been more of a monk than a rockstar anyways.
I’d rather share a cup of coffee with a friend in the afternoon and look at the stars at night.

There’s a silence. From inside it grows.
I don’t know where it’ll take me.
Since we’re friends, I’ll be fully transparent and honest with you:

It kinda scares me.
I do not know the way back

Have you ever been to a place where there’s no color,
no judgment,
no preference,
no thoughts?

Since no description applies, I couldn’t even call it ‘’beautiful’’.

That place calls me.

I don’t know why. Maybe the freedom of it, maybe I’m just curious.

When I stay there for a time, everyone becomes the same. It’s hard to put into words but I’ll try to paint a picture; The beautiful woman and the lowdown bum on the street; I love them equally. My mom or a stranger? I don’t see any difference: they both are as deserving of love and respect as the other.

Truthfully, I think I’ve hit the road to dive into that place. To see where it’ll go.

Anyways, excuse me, I got carried away a little.

I’m currently hunched over my notebook at a party.
Maybe it’s time to go and sprinkle a dab of rockstar on that monk to even things out.

So long, friends!