July 4, 2009

Venables Valley is near Ashcroft, which is near Cache Creek, which is about an hour away from Kamloops if you drive fast; in other words it’s "middle of nowhere" BC. Venables Valley is the official name, but the 48 residents call it Saranagati, the Sanskrit word for "surrender", as in "surrender" to God. It’s a big ass place for only 48 people; it takes about twenty minutes at 60km/hr to drive from one end of the valley to the other and that’s without any traffic other than the occasional cow on the road. The funny thing is that this place has traffic signs, "street" names and a "downtown", composed of three homes that are only about half a kilometre apart instead of a few.

It’s is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, but I will not bore anyone with romantic descriptions of mountains, lakes and the smell of cow manure. A few funny things happened to me while I was there, well, I’m easily amused. I think these moments are worth remembering if only to bring them up in the future when conversation dries up and I’ll need something to chuckle over.

I was visiting a friend and she took me to the temple. I got to wear a beautiful sari: 5 metres of fabric that magically transformed into a dress; I thought it was the coolest thing! The temple is just a house that has a big enough room for 48 people and guests, should they all happen to show up. I should mention that this being "middle of nowhere" BC, septic tanks are rare and outhouses, crawling with spiders, aplenty.

Inside the temple was hot and smelled of incense. Nature called and even if I don’t like sitting with my naked butt over a breezy, stinky hole in the ground that is crawling with god knows what, I did what I had to do and went outside to the outhouse. At times like these, I wish I were a man. Outside the outhouse was a big metal container with a spout. "How lovely, there’s water to wash my hands", I thought. True enough, when I turned on the spout, liquid came out, but the smell didn’t reach me till my hand was already under the stream. It wasn’t water, but kerosene. So there I was outside the temple, in the middle of nowhere, wearing a beautiful sari, with a hand smelling of kerosene, starting to burn and nothing to wipe it on. I didn’t have a choice but to go back inside the temple.

I waved to my friend from the entrance. As she walked towards me I saw other heads turning and looking at me at the door. We went outside on the porch and I showed her my hand and in a hushed voice I explained what happened.

"That's what smelled! It's you!" she laughed.

She pulled me back inside and I instantly knew why everybody’s head had turned. Inside the temple was hot and smelled of incense and kerosene. We walked between all the women and near the men’s side to better spread the smell of kerosene around to reach the kitchen and wash my hand. It took a lot of soap, but eventually it was good enough and I went to sit near my friend again.

In a short time my hand turned white and burned even more. I lifted it up in front of my friend’s face. Again, we walked among the women and by the men’s side to the kitchen. She found a jar that contained some white substance that smelled like dirty socks. I think it might have been butter that retired a long time ago. Anyway, it was the only bit of grease she was able to find, so she spread it over my hand that was very happy to be receiving any kind of ointment, my nose had a different opinion. As we walked back to our spots, heads turned again. At the end of the service there’s always a meal. Inside the temple was hot and smelled of incense, kerosene and dirty socks. "Smells lovely, let’s eat" I smiled to myself.

This is the drawing I did while I was there and the first portrait of this year. She is my friend's daughter. Those eyes are pretty big, I know.

Lila