Пауло Коэльо - Hippie

For her, Paulo was merely the right person at the right time. She had no plans to transform her trip to Nepal into a nightmare—constantly fending off other men’s proposals. She was going because doing so seemed to her the craziest thing she could do, something far beyond her limits—she who had practically been raised without any limits at all.

She would never follow the Hare Krishna through the streets, she would never fall victim to one of the many Indian gurus she’d met who knew only how to teach people to “empty their minds.” As though a mind that was empty, entirely empty, could bring someone closer to God. After her first frustrated experiences in that direction, the only thing left was direct communication with the Supreme Being, whom she feared and worshiped at the same time. The only things she cared about were solitude and beauty, direct communication with God, and above all a safe distance from the world that she already knew all too well and that no longer held any interest for her.

Wasn’t she rather young to act like this, to think like this? She could always change her mind in the future, but as she’d said to Wilma in the coffee shop, paradise—as conceived by Westerners—was a trivial, monotonous, and dull place.

Paulo and Karla sat outside a café that served only coffee and biscuits—none of the products they’d managed to find in other coffee shops. They kept their faces turned to the sun—another sunny day, after the rain the day before—aware that this was a blessing that could vanish from one moment to the next. They hadn’t exchanged a single word since leaving the “travel agency,” the tiny office that had also caught Karla by surprise—she had expected something more professional.

“So…”

“…So, today could be our last day together. You’re headed east and I’m headed west…”

“Piccadilly Circus, where you’re going to find a copy of what you saw here, the only difference being what you’ll find in the middle of the square. No doubt the statue of Mercury is much more attractive than the phallic symbol here in Dam.”

Karla didn’t know it, but ever since her conversation at the “travel agency,” Paulo had begun to feel an incredible desire to join her. More specifically, to see places one goes only once in a lifetime—and all for just seventy dollars. He refused to accept the idea that he was falling for the girl at his side, simply because it wasn’t true, it was still just a possibility, he would never fall for someone who had no desire to return his love.

He began to study the map: they would cross the Alps, travel through at least two Communist countries, arrive in the first Muslim country he had ever been to in his life. He’d read so much about the dervishes who danced and whirled about as they opened themselves to the spirits, and at one point, he’d gone to see a group that had been visiting Brazil and had put on a show in his city’s top theater. Everything that for so long had been only words on a page could now become reality.

For seventy dollars. In the company of people with his same adventurous spirit.

Yes, Piccadilly Circus was only a circular city square where people sat around in their bright clothes, where police went unarmed, the bars closed at eleven at night, and tours left to visit historic sites and such things.

A few minutes later he’d already changed his mind—an adventure is much more interesting than a city square. The ancients said that change is permanent and constant—because life passes quickly. If there was no change, there would be no universe.

Could he really change his mind so quickly?

Many are the emotions that move the human heart when it resolves to dedicate itself to the spiritual path. The reason could be noble—such as faith, brotherly love, or charity. Or it could merely be a whim, the fear of loneliness, a feeling of curiosity, or the desire to be loved.

None of this matters. The true spiritual journey is stronger than the reasons that lead us to it. It slowly begins to take hold, bringing love, discipline, and dignity. The moment arrives when we look back, we remember what we were like at the beginning of our journey, and we laugh at ourselves. We were capable of growing, even though our feet took to the road for reasons that we considered important but that were in fact quite futile. We were capable of changing direction at the moment this became crucial.

God’s love is stronger than the reasons that lead us to Him. Paulo believed this with every fiber of his soul. God’s power is with us at every moment, and courage is required to let it into our minds, our feelings, our breath—courage is required to change our minds when we realize that we are merely instruments of His will, and it is His will we ought to fulfill.

“I suppose you’re waiting for me to say yes, because since yesterday, at Paradiso, you’ve carefully been laying your trap.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Always.”

Yes, she really did want him to come along with her, but like every woman who knows how men think, she couldn’t say anything. Had she said something, he would have felt like a conqueror or worse, like the conquered. Paulo had caught on to the whole game—he’d even called it a trap.

“Answer my question: Do you want me to go?”

“I’m entirely indifferent to the matter.”

Please come, she thought to herself. Not because you’re an especially interesting man—to tell the truth the Swede at the “tourist agency” was much more assertive and determined. But because I feel better when I’m with you. I was proud of you when you decided to take my advice and ended up saving an enormous number of souls with your decision to not take heroin to Germany.

“Indifferent? You mean it’s all the same to you?”

“That’s right.”

“And, in this case, if I get up right now and go back to the ‘travel agency’ and buy the last ticket, you won’t feel either more or less happy?”

She looked at him and smiled. She hoped her smile would say it all—she would be very happy if Paulo were her travel companion—but she could not and would not put this into words.

“You buy the coffees,” he said, standing up. “I already spent a fortune today with that fine.”

Paulo had read her smile, her need to disguise her joy. For that reason she said the first thing that came to mind:

“Here women always split the check. We weren’t raised to be your sex objects. And you were fined because you didn’t listen to me. Okay what do I care if you listen, I’ll pay the bill today.”

What an annoying woman, Paulo thought. She has an opinion on everything—whereas in reality he loved the way she asserted her independence every second.

As they walked back to the agency, he asked her if she really thought they could make it to Nepal, a place so far away, on such a cheap ticket.

“A few months ago, I had my doubts, even after I saw the clipping announcing bus trips to India, Nepal, Afghanistan—always for around seventy to a hundred dollars. Until I read the story in Ark, an alternative newspaper, of someone who had gone and come back, and I felt I absolutely had to do it, too.”

She left out the fact she was thinking about simply going, returning only after a few years. Paulo might not like the idea of coming back alone across the thousands of miles that separated them from their destination.

But he’d just have to figure it out—life is all about figuring it out.

There was nothing magic about the famous Magic Bus, which looked nothing like the posters she’d seen at the agency—a brightly colored vehicle full of drawings and messages. It was just a bus that at some point must have been used for taking children to school, with seats that didn’t recline and a metal frame on top, where gallons of gasoline and extra tires were tied down.