Dorf to Dorf in the Wienerwald - Aug 29, 2001

The Viennese Dragon

Silly Sophie says, "I ain't scared of no dragon!"

St. George Church

Vineyards above Kahlenbergerdorf

No trips for Daktari this month. Instead I'll take you through time and space to Vienna in 2001. My wife Rena and I are traveling with out neighbor Bernadette Lucas, who is presenting our paper on African Salt at the International Congress of Nutrition.

While Bernie goes postering, at the I.N.C. convention hall, Rena and I take the “D” Tram from the K + K Hotel to Nussdorf. We trek through the 'dorf" (or village) until we come to the lower slopes of Mount Kahlenberg, all covered with vineyards. The grapes are ripe and I surreptitiously sample a few on the way. After leaving the dorf, we are in the Wienerwald, which contrary to American popular belief is not hot-dog country. It is a nice forested park which completely encircles the city of Vienna. There are two largish hills in the Wienerwald which overlook the Danube (the Kahlenberg and the Leopoldberg). These are the last two peaks of the European Alps. At 480 and 510 meters, they are also the world’s smallest Alps. Unlike most Alps, they have Kaffeehaus’s and Bierstube’s at the top of each. Hike then drink coffee; hike again and drink beer. We can see all Vienna through binoculars from the top. There is even shopping at the top of the Kahlenberg - we buy tee shirts and a book of photos of Vienna.

HAPSBURGS 1, TURKS 0
The top of the Leopoldberg is where the Austrians under King Leopold, the Hapsburg Emperor, turned back the last invading Turkish army from the gates of Vienna in 1683. This set the borders of Europe at the Bosporus. To celebrate, a young Viennese named Joachim Schwenig looted some odd looking beans from the Turkish camp, boiled them up and that is how coffee came to Vienna. Unfortunately, three more centuries were to pass before Franz Sacher, a 19 year old pastry chef apprentice concocted his first Sacher Torte, thus completing the Viennese “hat trick” of Coffee, Schlagobers, and Sacher Torte. This won young Sacher the 1903 Nobel Prize for pastry. Schlagobers is German for whipped cream - the special floaty kind that sits up on top of your cup and sticks to your mustache. It is said that another famous Viennese - Dr. Sigmund Freud - used to dip the end of his cigar in his Schlagobers and lick it off. Analyze that!

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DORF
From the top of the Kahlenberg, the way down is steep through a forest of very interesting, tall, smooth deciduous trees of 30-40 meters height. At the bottom, tucked between the “berg” and the Danube is a cute little dorf called (what else?) Kahlenbergerdorf. The small church in Khalenbergerdorf dates from the 10th century but of the original structure, only the doorstop remains. The church was burned twice by the Turks and once by a monk smoking in bed after lights out. Shame on him. It’s last resurrection was accomplished in 1723 and the church is aptly named after St. George - an early opponent of smoking, particularly by dragons. The altar is backed by a gory painting of the patron saint slaying said dragon. The caption reads (I think) - “Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires” but my rudimentary German may have failed me here. The doorstop may also be a mis-translation, come to think of it.

The artist spent a lot more time on rendering the Dragon than he did on St. George. The result is quite terrifying. It must have served to put the fear of God into generations of illiterate Kahlenberger Kinder. The Churchyard is small, well-tended and features a variety of especially sweet-smelling roses. Delicious!

At the Danube we buy a glass of Mineralwasser mit Gas and lunch on bread, cheese, Greek sugar cookies and Toblerone. This finishes off the last of the emergency supplies as well as all that we had stolen from the K+K breakfast buffet. Tomorrow we visit Hundertswasser Haus.

Some useful phrases in German for hiking in the Wienerwald:

Your mountains take my breath away! Ihre Berge sind atemberaubend.

Or perhaps it is the lack of oxygen. Oder vielleicht ist es der Mangel an Sauerstoff.

I sighted several trees. Ehrspahte ich mehrere Baume.

We are lost. Haben wir uns verlaufen!

Oh Calcutta VII - Raghuviira's Guru: The Final Incarnation

Will the Real Guru Please Stand Up?

The trip home from Calcutta to Amesbury was long but uneventful. I remember an interesting conversation with my seatmate – a woman obstetrician who grew up in India but now practices in Wales, U.K. We debated the virtues of arranged marriage versus marrying for love. Her opinion was that love is blind whereas parents know their child so well they are more likely to identify a good match. Hmmmm.

I arrive home jet lagged by 10 hours and in need of a shower. The next day at breakfast (about 2 PM local time) I finally am alert enough to talk coherently.

“So how was the meeting with your Guru?” asks Rena.

“Indescribable,” I reply. “but I’ll try.”

As I go through the recital of my contact with Shri Anandamurti (a.k.a. P.R. Sarkar), I become increasingly enthusiastic. I re-experience that mixture of awe and weirdness that comes from meeting another human being who has achieved his Calcutta ‘all-in-one’ moment with the entire known universe. As I tell about the pinnacle of personal contact, my face lights up.

“. . . and then the Guru gave me a new spiritual name.”
“A new name – what is it?” asks my wife.
“Rhaguviira,” I enthuse.
“Hmm – you mean Ragu, like the spaghetti sauce?” she inquires skeptically.
“At the time, I was actually thinking of Carmine, the Big Ragu, from Laverne and Shirley,” I remember. “But I didn’t say anything to him.”

Patiently, I explain to my doubting spouse about King Rhaghu, the warrior king who was the grandfather of Rama, etc. (see Oh Calcutta VI for details)

“Well, I understand,” says Rena. “But practically speaking, if you tell anyone around here your new name, they’re going to think spaghetti sauce. So then what happened?”

I feel a spritzel of figurative cold water dampening the unalloyed enthusiasm I take in my new spiritual name. However, I soldier on:

“So then,” I continue, “the guru gave me a special blessing – personal spiritual advice which I am to remember for the rest of my life.”
“Wow,” says my adoring, if somewhat down-to-earth wife. “What did he tell you.”
“Actually he whispered it to me. Do you want me to whisper it to you?”
“No, just spit it out.”
”Ok, here’s the short version: Baba says that I should ‘always try to be myself and nobody else.’”

“Somebody else says that, too,” Rena says musingly. “If I’m not mistaken, I think it’s Mr. Rogers on T.V.”

I am rocked back on my spiritual heels. By golly she’s right. Mr. Rogers does say that!
All this time and expense to go to Calcutta and I could have received the same advice from my childrens’ favorite TV show. Rena and I look at each other and start to giggle – then we bust out laughing.

“You win,” I say. “My spiritual life is changed forever. From now on I’m going to eat spaghetti and red-sauce while watching Fred Rogers on Channel 2 with Ali and Dan. I’ll be the one in the lotus pose.”

“Onward and upward,” chortles Rena.

“Imagine that,” I think to myself. “I have met the Guru and he is Fred!

Nevertheless, I wouldn’t trade my pilgrimage adventures in India for anything. As with many spiritual adventures, the enlightenment you seek in unlikely and exotic places is often in plain sight, waiting for you in your own backyard.
As my new Guru says, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” We should all be more appreciative of that simple fact!

Oh Calcutta VI - The Guru Speaks!

Guru Anandamurti

Pratik

This is it! Personal contact with my guru.
I awake early and bathe in a basin of water, but take no food.
Fasting keeps the mind sharp. I repeat my mantra over and over- I am ready.

About 3 PM, I am led to a small, quiet room. It is cool (relatively speaking), dim, and smells of sandalwood incense. In a few minutes an orange-robed sanyasin (monk) conducts me from the antechamber into the inner sanctum. I nervously rub my ‘pratik’ for good luck. The pratik is a brass disk engraved with the Star of David. Inside the star is a rising sun and inside that is a swastika. I wear it around my neck.

The ‘pratik’ works on many levels. Combining three powerful religious symbols sops up tons of bad karma. Rubbing it calms my chakras. Wearing it protects against the stink-eye. Other lesser effects of pratik-wearing are: 1.) the brass turns my chest green and 2.) the swastika drives my Jewish mother-in-law crazy.

The Guru is in! Shri Shri Anandamurti, all in white, sits cross-legged on an orange cushion. He is garlanded with matching orange marigolds. Incense burns in a rough clay bowl and Baba’s thick eyeglasses rimmed in heavy black plastic reflect the light of candles. For a moment, I flash on superman’s alter ego- Clark Kent. Different clothes – same glasses. I wonder, “Are the glasses for my protection more than for the guru’s vision?”

“Namascar,” I bring my hands together in prayer and touch the thumbs to my forehead.
Then I kneel and bow my head to the floor with hands outstretched toward the master in the asana called “The Child’s Pose”. I actually feel like a child.

“Arise, boy.” The Guru has a very mild voice and speaks perfect unaccented English.
We gaze into each other’s eyes. I am grinning like a monkey. I feel very young and foolish.

“I’m glad to see you,” says Baba.
The feeling is mutual. We do the eye thing some more.
“Do you know who King Raghu was?” he asks.
I feel tempted to mention Carmine, the Big Ragu, on 'Laverne and Shirley' but I’m not quite that foolish (yet).
“No Baba, I don’t.”

“You should know more because henceforth you will carry his name,” says Anandamurtiji.
“From now on your Sanskrit name will be Raghuviira which means follower of Raghu. Raghu was the King of all India and he had to prevail as a warrior against many enemies. He was also the great-grandfather of Rama.”

I feel my chest swell! I now have my Sanskrit name.

“Raghuviira is a very powerful name for a small boy, don’t you think?” asks the Guru.

“Yes, Baba,” I say.
I am pretty tongue-tied by this point and regressing rapidly. I have to curb a tendency to switch to baby-talk.

“Well it is a powerful name,” he pauses and his eyes close and then slowly open again. “Like Raghu you will struggle against many enemies but each time you will prevail, even to that point where you will achieve spiritual victory.”

“The word Raghu is made up of ‘Ra’ or light plus ‘ghu’ or moving,” he continues. ”So you are ‘moving light’ or ‘light moving’. They say King Raghu was a very fast chariot driver.” Baba eyes me again. “ Maybe you are a very quick student.”

“I try,” I say.

“Well, when you try you must promise me one thing,” Baba demands.
“What is that babaji,” I ask.
“You will remember what I say now, eh boy?” he queries from behind his thick, thick spectacles.
“Oh, yes Baba.”

“OK remember this,” Baba pauses and leans forward. “When you try, you must always try as yourself – and you must not try to imitate any others.” He leans back again.
“Do you understand,” he looks at me and smiles.

“Yes, Baba,” I respond. “ I will only try as myself and not anyone else.”

With that I bow and touch the feet of the Master. He gives me Namaste – and nods to me. “Go now, Rhaghuviira, but remember – try only to be yourself, no one else.”
Still facing the Guru, I back out of the room.

Personal contact is ended. I now bear the name of the great King Raghu, but on the mundane level I still must try to be myself. This is going to take some thought!