When everything was stories

I retell stories. Often. Mostly to the same people. I retell stories.

I realized I never put down in words the story about what was quite possibly the most exhilarating few days of transportation of my life which took place in northern India. I had made the decision while exploring Manali that I was going to make my way further north to Leh and visit my dear Angie. Manali, shangri-la incarnate, would not let me leave without a hint of the adventure that has been the foundation for all my solo travels. I spent the last days in Manali in a haze, walking through the woods, becoming acquainted with a python and a cobra, and reveling in the natural beauty that is India. I declined an invite to a mid-forest party, but the charas-induced techno beats traveled through the night and window to where I rested until the wee hours. I slept for a restless hour before hurriedly gathering my belongings and hightailing it out to the wooden temple and baths, where I was to meet a driver to take me to a 6:00 AM bus leaving for Leh. The bus, a 28-seater, was not what I was expecting to take me through some of the highest motorable passes in the world. I snagged a front chair, a wise choice in the end as it turned out that any seats beyond the halfway mark could have been springs for the way they tossed their occupants about on the roads. A little girl traveling with her mama and her two friends from England, had the worst time of it, but anyone sitting in the back, including myself at one point, was tossed up to 10 inches off the seat from potholes and ruts. But our two drivers had skills. Picture this: This wide bus would, without slowing, skirt around equally large tassle-encrusted trucks on dirt roads dropping thousands of feet into river valleys below. We only made it one hour outside of Manali, climbing, climbing, climbing, until we reached a stand-still. About fifty cars were halted in front of us. We passed three hours, moving 1/4 a mile. I wandered away from the bus, looking for some privacy to relieve myself, and continued climbing up the steep embankment alongside the road. I wandered through a work site where a second road was being built. I followed the road back down to see what was causing the standstill. It was clear as soon as I heard the tires spinning. At a hairpin turn, a small hatchback was spewing mud from the foot-deep soupy mess that was at one point the road. At least thirty spectators--mostly men--alternately watched, cheered, directed, and pushed as vehicles attempted the turn one at a time. When I returned to the bus, I was chided for wandering, but the drivers were so kind, I knew they were not very angry, just worried about where I was. Back on the bus, the collective feeling was exuberance to be moving again. Our momentum was short lived and it wasn't long before we were stopped again, this time on a ridge waiting for cars and Royal Enfield motorcycles to pass through a longer stretch of muddy ruts. While outside observing, suddenly the surrounding mountains disappeared in a blanket of white. An influx of clouds, rising from below, passed through us and above us until it was difficult to see more than three car-lengths. The blistering cold cut through my thin cotton tunic and I climbed back onto the bus to enjoy the show. We crossed the first of many mountain passes, edging along a ridge, passing through rivers crossing the road, catching glimpses of what I first thought to be a rockfall but in reality was a chocolate waterfall moving rich alpine soil down the face of a cliff. A distant road far below us stretched to the famed Spiti Valley, whose storied remote beauty I hope to witness sometime in the future.

Because of our delays, we had to take refuge at any guesthouse we could find along the way. I was glad for the extension. Since the beginning of the journey, I had not wanted to sleep for fear of missing any part of the ever-changing views through the bus' window. The next morning was freezing cold before the sunrise and cloudless. We drove along the rock-strewn valley floor surrounded by rocky peaks grey in the morning light. We stopped for chai at a remote post at the edge of a roiling river and the steam from the pots blew through the tent. The sun began to edge over the peaks, and the clear sky shown bright blue, brighter due to the high elevation.

During the bus ride, I had befriended the two drivers as well as several of the other passengers. The bus was configured in such a way that their was a cockpit area with room for about five people in addition to the driver, including a bench running perpendicular to the windshield. At one point, winding our way through a desert valley amongst wind-beaten mountains, I sat cross-legged on the bench, about two feet from the windshield. With Hindi music blaring through the speakers in the cockpit and my fellow passengers passing around, I swayed with the motion of the wheels moving over rough roads and winding back and forth up another slope. The brilliance of the blue sky was overwhelming, and the sun glared. When we stepped out for a bathroom and snack break, the altitude was apparent and the sunlight shone down relentlessly. We passed through a 17,000 ft + pass and the effects of the thin air were telling. Many of the other passengers yawned their way back to their seats, falling asleep soon after we cautiously traversed a sloped "shortcut" down a rutted mud road. I knew we were approaching Leh when the humorous road signs began referring to holy lamas and were written in Ladakhi, similar to the Tibetan alphabet. I was back in Buddhist India.

Arriving in Leh in the darkened evening, I attempted to work with my bus friends, but my solo instincts reemerged and I set out on my own to find a place to stay.

So many layers, so many layers

Though I am back in the states, there are some feelings that cannot escape. Tonight I stood outside our porch and tilted back as far as my spine would allow. Wearing four layers on my top and two boots below, I left my face open to the falling rain. A small black bill attached to a cap was the only thing preventing my hair from interrupting. Knowing nothing of what those two thought, I filled my lungs with air, down to my navel. Feeling the flow entering my abdomen and pressing into my knees, I shared a private smile with the breeze. Without a doubt out of the crowd, I feel anchored. Thoughts withstanding, I make things work. Tonight repeats, and more of the same, but it constantly builds, and my brain is a sponge. Ok, let's get it going.

So that happened

I was trying to remember the last time I had written here and I realized that it didn't matter, for DOING the distracting things is often better than merely being distracted by thoughts of them. As many of you may notice, I have not gone philandering about in Istanbul, Italy, or Ireland--yet. Still in that "pIe" in the sky, India, and still intrigued as usual. I've forgotten what's been said when to whom, but here is what I've been thinking.

Udaipur, the City of Lakes, was tragically ironic as it sat moodily amongst dry, dusty lake beds. The "Venice of the East" was thus a little lackluster, but perhaps for the best. My goodness though, the romance of the desert will not let go. Udaipir, "Venice of the East", "City of Lakes", location of much "Octopussy" filming...a lovely, odd place to spend almost 5 days. The first day, my palm was read and--I'm not sure what strength I believe certain things--I was told similar things as in some recent unsolicited readings. I was recommended to find--or to accept as a gift *wink--a pearl to wear as a channel through which the cooling strength or moonlight can course to calm my over thinking. As each day unwound, our bizarre community of travellers, and hotel staff would watch the cricket match playing in the dried-up lake while the sun set over the palaces. Monsoon rains there yield the most exquisite show; while erratic lightening and thunder continued as the storm passed to the north, thousands upon thousands of massive bats flew continuously through the sky, as if drawn by the passing torrent. About the size of mallard ducks, I didn't recognize them as bats at first.

Leaving Udaipur on the back of a motorbike, with henna-ed hands holding all my stuff, I was excited to move on while at the same time hesitant to leave new friends. The experience of welcomeness and good reception in Udaipur was squashed immediately in Agra. I feel that I will be back in Agra in the future, so I am not sad about this trip. However, the marriage proposal and other unwanted proposals from my cab driver make me perfectly content to NOT visit Aggro Agra in the near future. I erred in my planning and the day I was leaving, tried to see the Taj in the morning. Note: The Taj Mahal is closed on Fridays. Harrumph.

One night in Delhi...oh, Delhi. How I disliked you before, and now, in all your smelly, hurried, outdated spaceship glory, how I feel comforted when I return. Getting comfortable travelling around has made it possible to enjoy, rather than merely endure, Delhi. Plus the newish metro is awesome. Had to ward off some unwanted offers after what I believed to be a simple conversation over coffee, but all in the name of travelling. It's also fun when you start recognizing tourists from other cities. Ah, tree people.

I caught an early train to Haridwar on the 27th where thousands of people were milling about. The most chaotic bus stand yet awaited me across the street where I narrowly avoided being squished between two cantankerous old buses that eventually DID hit one another. The new scrapes immediately blended in with the old. After being guided to the correct bus, we took off for Rishikesh. I loved the desert, but the river was calling my name. Apparently I wasn't the only one. The holy Mother Ganga flows past a massive statue of Shiva and the banks and ghats are overwhelmed by pilgrims and visitors. Rishikesh is much calmer, but still larger than expected. My first room overlooked Laksman Jhula, a ped bridge crossing over the river right next to the MASSIVE temple. The yoga center and ashram focus in northern India, Rishikesh is strewn with drop-crotched hipsies and apricot-bedecked sadhus, everyone smoking charas, or so I believe. Mmm. I heard the comparison, "if smoking weed is like drinking whiskey, smoking hash is like drinking scotch." In my eyes, all of the above are quite enjoyable.
After the whirlwind travel of the past twenty days, I had to escape. So I headed upstream and scrambled down towards the water. There is something different in that river. I was so happy and filled with so much energy after I plunged into the glacial runoff. Plus I saw something that triggered my competitive, adventurous side. Rafting. There were rafts passing by. The decision made, that same night I arranged to go rafting the next morning. Poopoo rapids, but MASSIVE water. Eddies became whirlpools with enough power to capsize and trap rafts. I think I swam--by choice--about half the stretch. Played around with the boat and guides afterwards flipping and reflipping the boat, laughing like a crazy woman the whole time. Hahaha. That night was relaxed; I finished the book "In Exile from the Land of Snows" and met a big group of friends and cousins from Delhi and Saharanpur. We chatted and decided to hang out the next night as well. Good times. I moved to Rasta Cafe Guesthouse for secluded, cheap, peaceful space and got it. I ended up staying for over a week, spending my days riding around on the back of a motorcycle visiting waterfalls and temples, and my evenings smoking up in good company.
Oh. My. Goodness. BHANG LASSI. Hahaha. I had tried bhang cookies and was pleased with my experiences, so I decided to try the famous special lassi. I had two glasses in the late evening. I was laid SO low, it's ridiculous. I couldn't keep myself from falling asleep, that night, or the whole next day, of which I only spent about 30 minutes vertical. WOW. But on a lighter note, hash-chocolate balls? Delicious. Mmmm. But again, only in very limited quantities or it's light's out for me. I would feinitely recommmend trying some edibles to others, but be in safe company and near to where you are staying.
Towards the end I was feeling very restless, so I hopped a bus to Chandigarh, being very sweaty as I did so. The next day, I explored a little of the city that was planned by French architect Le Corbusier. I believe it when I hear that it is India's greenest and cleanest city; the wide, tree-lined boulevards intersecting with massive tournabouts give the feeling of openness. There are cycle/ped paths, too !
While cruising around, decided to check out the Fantasy Rock Garden put together by trash-collector Nek Chand. Using recycled porcelain, electrical outlets, bottle caps, and other treasures, he created this truly fantastical, 20-hectare dreamworld that is only a few steps away from walking through someone else's acid trip. Fun times.
An early morning bus has brought me to Manali. The final hour convinced me there might be some truth to Shangri-La. Himalayan peaks crest the edges of a valley where the glacier-fed river Beas with clearly boatable rapids runs between wind-beaten apple orchards carpeted by ganja plants. Dark wood-paneled houses pop up amongst massive boulders, their many-windowed second stories look so right as a place to call home. A deep breath of fresh mountain air and I'm in my element.
My room and balcony look out over the river from the hill village of Vashisht, and I can see rock and snow further up, where the bright white clouds erupt into blue sky. I'm not making any of this up; it's truly amazing.

True to form, India remains incredible. I find it difficult to make plans, as each place pulls you in, creating a lovely trap of sensory explosion. But I want to try and make it further north into the Himalayas to Leh in Ladakh to see those peaks and to visit with a good friend. My previous plans of trotting through the Mediterranean are not happening on this trip. Have to keep some of the world open to visit in the future, right ? Enough of this. Love you all.

EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

Namaste.

Hott

Check-check-check-check it out. I know I've been horrible at updating and that while some may not mind, others find it frustrating. Ahem. So, just thought I'd let you know how it's kickin in INDIA. Feels more and more like normal life to be hopping in tuktuks, haggling, avoiding cows, motorcycles, touts, and camels. Love it. My descriptions will not doanyofitjustice, as I'm not sure these stories are capable of being told. The immensity of experiences on many different levels makes it so. But here is a watered-down version to whet a small appetite for news :) Hope this finds you all well and enjoying life wherever you are.

O.K.

First off:
Ladiessss.
Goodness gracious how time flies; it seems only yesterday we were meeting our new Tibetan families. *Sigh* But on to more adventures. I haven't spoken to many of you since that fateful day in McLeod when the bus almost left--without us. I really do wish I would have been able to say proper goodbyes and thank yous to all of you. You have all been amazing teachers and I can't wait to see you all in the awesome city of Portland. In jeans! Haha. But seriously, thank you for that fantastic month. And thank you to the ladies lugging the extra bags; I hope you all made it home without too much hassle. Debbie and Steph, you ladies are phenomenal co-travelers; whatever personal sacrifices you made on our journey to Varanasi and Delhi, thanks--I know we all were feeling overwhelmed on some level at some point. You two gave me so much more confidence to travel alone and lo and behold, here I am!
Maria, your update was so mysterious! I definitely want to hear more about your experiences. I was thinking of going to Manali, but without a Tibetan "guide" I don't think a smelly hill station is for me. I'm so happy to hear about your travelling though :) When were you in Jaipur??? Love it. Tell me more tell me more !
Asia, I know you're lovin on Italy now that your tumtum roubles are--hopefully???--over. Live it up and get your tan on. Eat as much bread as possible; there's just no comparison in the US.
SO. Onwards. Still in India, will most likely remain until the end of June. If you all noticed, not as many tourists in India right now because it's so hot. So where do I decide to go? To the desert. Of course. My solo adventure started just right, with me almost missing my train because it was leaving from NEW Delhi station, not OLD Delhi station. Thank you, metro. Delhi has grown on me :) All or nothing.
Anyway, on my way to the off-season desert state Rajasthan, happy to be in 3AC. Rajasthan is so different from the other areas of India. Sunday I hopped a night train to Jaisalmer, where I arrived around 13:00. Because they need tourism like the desert needs rain, as soon as I walked out of the station, about 15 tuktuk drivers swarmed, some actually pulling on my arms; not a happy welcoming. But I managed to hop a ride to my hotel for cheap. I'm not travelling in my usual haphazard style; it's been on planned vouchers that I'm hopping through Rajasthan. It is a little odd, but it definitely gives me more time to explore rather than plan and sit in travel agencies. This trip is surreal. That first afternoon in golden Jaisalmer, I finally wandered like I like to do but haven't. The city and area is known for honey-colored stone that glows at sunset, and the old fort, havelis, and Maharaja palace have the most intricate carvings. The dreamlike beauty of the desert was just starting. As I walked into an upstairs private palace courtyard, a massive wind blew overhead and the sky went from blue to yellow. I felt like I was in a different planet. As the huge sand- and dust storm blew in, my little square of sky deepened to blood red and then the sand completely blacked out any sunlight. It was 4pm and as dark as midnight. Dust was blowing everywhere and I wish I had had Steph's camel-lashes. Thankfully, the outdoor nerd had brought her headlamp, so I made my way past slamming windows and doors to the entrance to the palace museum. A small group of workers--all covered in dust--sat in the office, chatting excitedly. They were psyched to hear it was my first day; they said I brought luck because none of them had seen a storm such as this in any of their lifetimes; the oldest there was ~55 years old. A beautiful rarity. They promised a free entrance to the museum if I returned the next morning, which I happily obliged. When the dust settled (literally), I walked out of the fort and started past a covered veggie market. As if the dust wasn't enough, the skies opened and it poured. I dodged under the tarps and sat with a lovely Rajasthani women who fed me bananas and gave me chai. The others in the market--all friends--were laughing and chatting loudly while I snapped photos with them. They said again that I was lucky; it was the first rain since October of last year. Oh boy. Sitting like a queen in bright orange and green Rajasthani dress amongst tomatoes, pumpkins, and "lady-fingers", Gopi gave me her address to send the photos. I wasn't sure how reliable "vegetable market" was as a post addy, so I had the snaps printed; I would give them to her my last day in Jaislamer. Next day I finished off my museum tour and went wandering Gandhi Chowk. I thought Varanasi was hot at 44.9 degrees Celsius. Try this: a cool 47/48* in Jaisalmer. Breezy. Whilst wandering I saw a sign for a Thar Heritage Museum. A private collection, the artifacts were dusty but beautiful, and the owner, Laxmi, clearly has passion--if not funds--for preserving the historical record. After showing me around, we sat, drank chai, and discussed so many topics (including a small book he wrote about Jaisalmer) that I almost missed my jeep to head off into the desert. Most folks in Jaisalmer love to sit and chat over chai about almost anything, even with huge language gaps. It's great. Made it in time to drive ~45 km from town to a little desert resort where a lovely family gave me a simple hut for myself. Clouds rolled in, and I rolled out on the back of my main man, Bubbaloo. The camel. Kind of love camels right now. Perfect, considering secret night-time camel rides figure prominently in most desert love stories. Anyway, out on a camel on some sand dunes, we take a sit-down (they actually kneel and sit!), ANOTHER dust/sand storm. Crazy. Trotting back to the huts, we get back in time for more rain! Surya and his family are so happy, they say I am lucky for them. Feeling psyched just to be in the beautiful desert (~150km from Pakistan), home-cooked food and desert hospitality makes it one experience not to forget and I know I will be back.
Returning to Jaisalmer in the morning, I go to tour Patwa-ki Haveli with its honeyed lattice screens and mirrored parlour. Due to some unfortunate happenings, it was a very short tour.
Towards the evening, picked up my photos (after waiting with the plumber next door (more chai!) for the photo shop owner to return from his nap at home), picked up some bhang cookies and had my palm read all in the same room, and went to present the snaps to Gopi and friends. She was so stoked to see me, immediately more chai showed up, they were all slapping backs, making fun, and admiring photos of their friends. She gave me two matchingbagles--one for each arm--from her own, calling me her new sister. I was invited to her house for chapati and dinner before my night train. I was extremely hesitant at first, but I am so glad I agreed. Her husband, Rawan, pickedusup in their car from the market and we headed out of town to Barhbagh. Another sandstorm made it darker than the clock claimed. We stopped once to see beautiful cenotaphs overlooking a dried lake.
They were so happy to have a guest. Their house is in-the-works, but promises to be a beautiful desert home with a sick view of the cenotaphs, hills, and the most incredible lightning storm I have ever seen. We all sat together in the makeshift kitchen--Gopi, me, her son, daughter, and mother-in-law--and I had another delicious, simple meal with good folk. They almost had me stay the night, but I needed to catch my train, so they drove me all the way back to the station only after making me promise that WHEN I came back, I would stay with them, my new Rajasthani family.
I was sad to leave, seeing the light of my headlamp alternating with lightning (the boy was fascinated by it and it was an easy gift to give), but much more happy about future travels.
Hopped into the upperberth on a seemingly all-male train and arrived in Jodhpur yesterday morning. Ater a nap, decided to try my hand at walking and exploring. Note to self: have some idea where the hotel is before attempting to orient oneself to a map and then following random roads. In brief, I spent several hours walking around in the hottest part of the day with no idea where I was in smelly New Jodhpur. Ah well, live and learn. When my pride was sufficiently burnt, tuktuk-ed my way to an empty restaurant, outside of which I had to fight off a drunk. But good alu paratha! Walked for ages--lost again, haha--through old city where many houses are robin-egg blue. Scooted up to the baking-hot, white marble Jaswant Thada, then to the Mehrangarh Fort with a sick view of the city and a pretty neat--albeit rushed--museum tour. One super interesting gallery was part of the Zenana (women's area), where the women--in a system of purdah--could observe unobserved the daily goings-on of court. By the grace of tuktuks, finally made it to the landmark clocktower and Sadar market, but by this time my leather-clad feet were barking, and the brain was a little boiled. Walked in what I thought was a good direction and was immediately stopped in a massive traffic jam. Not just a traffic jam: drums, horns, flags, turbans, and mustachioed men on a camel! LOVE IT. Trying to take photos made it clear that these folks are the opposite of shy and demure; they were clamoring to be in the shot. It crossed the line when I felt myself surrounded by about fifty boys and men and starting to feel hands all over my backside, so I squirmed out of that situation pretty quick. An awkward dinner at the hotel restaurant/disco; I'm starting to think I'm the only guest in the hotel.
Today, hit up the Maharaja's MASSIVE pink palace overlooking the city, then the saddes museum and zoo known to man in the Umaid "gardens." Back to the clock tower for famous markhani (saffron) lassis, then taking mass snaps of spices led me to one shop where part of Darjeeling Limited was filmed. Perfect. Took photos in the same spot as Jason Swartzman, met brother of the owner of the motorcycle used in the film and picked up some "world famous" Winter Tonic (aka MAGICAL SEX POWDER). Can't wait! Hahaha. Got some saffron and masala tea makings too, before heading to a temple and then getting lost some more. Pretty fun, besides one somewhat scary situation, although I cannot find a henna shop to save my life. I really want to find a place in Rajasthan as I am lovin on the desert life.
I move on tomorrow morning to Udaipur, and then Agra, Delhi, and up to Haridwar for some relaxation in Rishikesh. That will put me in Uttarkhand June 27th.
Some of you have some idea, but for those with whom I have not spoken in a while, my summer plans are to remain crazy and haphazard. Barring any hitches in getting a visa, I plan on flying to Turkey to spend some days in Istanbul, and then working my way along the Mediterranean and eventually up to England, where my papa (he bought aticket--it's on!) will meet me on my birthday! Yay! Super stoked for that present :)
Wow. This started out as a simple "I'm still alive" but when I start writing...whoo boy. Hope all y'all *wink* are happy and well and I WILL see you soon, because, as we've learned, what goes around comes around.
Loves.
PS: Indian phone number: 09621978830

Ch-ch-ch-changes !

I'm regressing as a blog writer. Instead of relaying info about day-by-day, let me tell you the most recent happenings. In typical India fashion, had a hurried, running-and-banging-on-the-door boarding of a bus out of McLeod Ganj on Sat, 6 June. Caught a (late) train to Varanasi from Chakki Bank. Picture this: metal tube in over 40* Celsius temp, no aircon, stewing in my own juices on the top berth, buying water and samosas through an open window, for almost 24 hours. The train was a frenzied transfer from Tibetan Buddhist India to Hindu India. Arriving in Varanasi (aka Benares) during the hottest part of the day, almost lost my two fellow travelers to the heat.
Hotel on the holy Mother Ganga and you can see the burning ghats where 24-hours a day cremation ceremonies are happening. Blessings everywhere, more temples than houses, the city drains you on every level. Second day the temp reached 44.9* Celsius. That's about 112* Fahrenheit for those of you in the U.S. Yesssssssssss. Blissed out sadus and overzealous touts. Made friends with a kid gang; I have four boyfriends and at least one husband waiting for me in this life or the next. Smeared with bindi blessings at a waterside-puja and rushed by a wheeling-and-dealing Brahman priest at the Golden Temple. We were going to go to Khajuraho, home of erotic temple scultptures, but remained stranded for 5 days because all trains and busses filled up with Indians on vacation. Had to catch a quick flight to Delhi instead.
Arriving in Dehi through a swath of duststorms and heat, but in comparison to the dreamworld that is sacred Varanasi, Delhi feels quite cool. Stayed in the Tibetan refugee colony for old-times-sake, ran into Asia in Paharganj, and all of a sudden my next two weeks are planned for solo adventures in the desert-state of Rajasthan.
Seriously. Asia (whose flying to ITALY on Monday morning) and I went to Jaipur and back today and tomorrow I hop on the first in a series of night trains that will take me to several cities in Rajasthan, including a camel safari outside Jaisalmer (near the Pak/Ind border). Camels and elephants. After about 10 days in Raj, I'm going to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, then through Delhi to Haridwar and potentially Rishikesh for some relaxation along the Ganga in the hills before flying out of this beautiful, whimsical country.
And then? AND THEN?!?
I've decided on finally going places I've been yearning to go for a long while. So, the hazy plan is to get myself to Istanbul, Turkey > Greece/Crete > Croatia > Southern Italy > Barcelona, Spain > Southern France > Ireland (via Amsterdam???).
A little ambitious and probably will not all happen, but let's just say that my first solo traveling starts tomorrow.

Here I go.

Long Time

Turns out I am not a reliable blogger. Despite the fact that I would like to keep you all up to date, it's not my intention to mince these experiences into a few measly words. I'll tell you about a few momentous occasions that happened within the past 10 days. 

14 May

The unexpected disruption inherent to plans made in India held true to form in the first group outing from McLeod Ganj. We had been told of our audience with the Karmapa a few days previous to leaving with the intent that we would have time to research his role in the world of Tibetan Buddhism as well as time to collect the clothing and ceremonial details appropriate for such an audience. However, the flexibility extolled in the program description demanded legitimacy when the audience was shifted one morning earlier and the news delivered the night before. Besides the incredible variability of plans made in India, the hospitality of my host family and the surrounding community was also evident in the time leading up to the event. Not only was I offered a ceremonial kata to present to the Karmapa, I was supplied with a traditional chupa to wear—which my host mother assisted me in fitting the next morning. A chupa is traditional Tibetan garb. For women, it consists of a blouse-like shirt underneath a floor-length wrap dress with more fabric in the skirt tied around the waist. For married women, the outfit also includes a handmade silk pandin or apron consisting of three panels of horizontal stripes, On the taxi ride to the monastery, the difference between the community of McLeod Ganj and the lower Dharamsala could be felt on many levels. The temperature was higher, the demographics were clearly more Indian than Tibetan, the traffic was stronger, and the pace of life was much faster.

Arriving at the monastery, we were shown to a waiting room where our passports were given in exchange for sweet tea and friskings, yes ! We were joining a group of students from U of Michigan for our an audience with His Holiness, and once everyone was checked in, we were hustled upstairs to wait outside the small receiving room. The combination of heat and nerves had a silencing effect on our group. We presented donations and our ceremonial katas and then sat for some q-and-a with a very young (22/23 years old) His Holiness. The UM students asked a few questions that the Karmapa struggled with as they dealt with the future following His Holiness the Dalai Lama's death, a sensitive topic for anyone in the Tibetan or Buddhist world. All in all, he seemed a little disinterested in their questions. The feeling we got was that, faced with a group of similarly-aged American travelers, he would rather, as my friend Steph put it, "crack a coke and talk about rock and roll." He actually said that he was jealous of our ability to up and leave whenever we wanted, a statement which cracked my heart just a little. Following a photo with our little PSU group and H.H., we were escorted out. As we were leaving the room, he started to say something, but then, as we kept walking, I only heard, "oh, you are going." I only wish we had stayed to hear what he wanted to say! Blast! The experience was definitely bittersweet.

A surprise awaited us when we returned from our excursion to the Karmapa's monastery. Back in McLeod Ganj, our trip organizer Lindsay told us that the next day, thanks to the shared past of the leader from the UM group, we would be having a private audience, with His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso. If it wasn't already at this point, this trip hit the surreal. We were unprepared for the question aspect of our meeting that morning, so we wanted to construct an appropriate question to ask, if we were given the chance. The rest of the day was spent thinking of questions--kind of mentally procrastinating thinking of the importance of this meeting to come.

15  May

The morning of our audience, where I could have been extremely nervous, I felt somewhat empty and calm. I had volunteered to take some tokens from my host family to have blessed, and they responded exuberantly, plying me with several prayer beads, pendants, and a few other small items. Chupa-ed, we went to the Namgyal temple, where many Indian tourists proceeded to demand our photos with there friends and families. *Side note: apparently, this country's goal is to have me in as many family photo albums as possible. Space Oddity.

We were then escorted through security and taken to a reception room where one empty chair faced about 30 others. Obviously His Holiness would rather Western travelers sit in chairs and shoes than have any chance of discomfort on our part. It wasn't until Asia and I were sitting in the front row about 6 feet from His Holiness' chair that the nerves hit me. The room became silent, broken after a couple minutes by H.H.'s secretary coming in and after giving us a brief glance, saying, "Relax. He's not coming for another ten minutes." 

We heard his laugh before we ever saw him. The UM leader, Garreth, was asked to personally greet him at the door and you could tell by his reception that H.H. cared deeply for him. He walked in, saw Garreth, cocked his head and laughed at him before embracing him. He spoke to us fluidly about our generation and our role in the future, as well as the challenges faced by his people in the international arena, and his insistence on investigations into the reality of life in Tibet was very strong. When he asked for questions, ours came second to UM. Previously in the morning when we had fine-tuned ours, the group had graciously decided that I would be the one to ask it if the occasion should arise. When it came time, I was shaking, but his demeanor allowed for direct eye contact, and he took the question into consideration before answering. During his answer, he consistently kept eye contact to make sure I understood what he was saying. A mind-blowing experience to say the least. After a couple more questions from the UM students, he allowed a few photos with the whole group and then blessed the tray of tokens. We were ushered out and used the rest of the day to process the experience.

16 May

Bing Bang Boom. Big days. Definitely hard to process all these happenings. Following the surprise audience with His Holiness, Saturday proved to include an experience equally soul-rocking. We took a trip to Jamyang Choling nunnery, where we would see His Holiness--again!?!--presiding over a graduation ceremony of several nuns. The energy-sapping heat of day might have contributed, but I feel like I lost an hour during the whole proceedings, starting with the doors opening and His Holiness chanting along with the nuns; the sounds they made would shake anyone. They provided us with butter tea and a rice mix because it is believed that without nourishment, the body and mind cannot absorb the teachings of the Buddha. He spoke for quite some time, and presided over the graduation, a momentous occasion for the nuns. Recognizing the group of foreigners, H.H. actually asked if there were any interpreters in the audience. Luckily, one man was kind enough to translate for some of our group. He discussed the progression of monastic scholars to Geshe-la status (beyond a PhD) and how nuns do not have their own designation of this status and whether they should have one under a different name. I found this out later as I was too far from the translator, but the experience was incredible and I cannot forget the sounds of the collective mantras. A luncheon provided by the nunnery followed the ceremony, but the heat made it almost unbearable and we were much more comfortable back in the hills. Just to keep things exciting, we would be heading out the next morning for an overnight trip. 

17 May

Our nausea-inducing drive led us about 6 hours east, through the old kingdom town of Mundi up to Tso Pema (Lotus Lake), a holy site for both Hindus and Tibetans. The story varies depending on the storyteller, but the version my host family tells is intriguing:

King Mundi had a daughter that wanted to marry a certain man but her father disapproved, thinking the man was too simple and poor for his daughter. Turns out this man was Guru Rinpoché, soon-to-be Buddha who would eventually bring Buddhism to Tibet. This was unknown to everyone at this point. To prevent this marriage, Mundi hid his daughter in a cave at the top of a mountain. Passing by, Guru Rinpoché saw her and entered the cave. There, he provided her with a Buddhist teaching and he meditated for some time. A passing shepherd saw them both inside and ran off to tell Mundi. Upon hearing this, the king demanded that the shepherd bring him to the cave and, if there was no man with his daughter, the punishment of the shepherd would be death. At the cave, King Mundi saw Guru Rinpoché and had him captured. He charged two attendants with the task of burning G.R. alive and that death would be their punishment if they failed to do so. Left with G.R., they attempted to light the pyre but the wood would not take flame. They begged G.R. to save their lives by allowing himself to be cremated. He sacrificed his life for theirs and died. A lake formed and he was reincarnated through a lotus in the lake as Buddha. 

The lake is filled with fat fish that fight at the surface with mouths open, begging like seagulls for food. There are two monasteries and a Sikh temple (with amazing prayer broadcasts) as well as a HUGE golden sculpture of Guru Rinpoché sitting in a lotus. The second day, we went to the top of the mountain, where we entered the meditative cave and ourselves meditated. Following our meditation in front of a rock-carved likeness of the Buddha, we climbed higher and participated in an incense-burning, flag-hanging puja. The hillside was practically covered with prayer flags at various stages of life and color. I spoke with a visiting nun from a nunnery in Dehra Dun and again was struck by the variation in life; she was 19 and had joined one year previous. 

The time at the lake had provided a nice break from the constant barrage of people in McLeod Ganj. Unfortunately the drive back kicked off some time of sickness for Asia and myself which completely drained me of my strength--and fluids--for a day or two. Had to take Tuesday off from school to try and recover. Wednesday and Thursday included classes on the mind, emptiness, and the wheel of life. 

22 May

No classes on Friday, so we went to Norbulingka Insitute, a Tibetan school for traditional cultural preservation through visual arts. The institute provides free 3-year courses for Tibetans interested in learning handicrafts such as thangka painting, stitching, metallurgy, and wood-carving. The work the students were doing was stunning. I befriended a fox-like pup as soon as we arrived and she/he (not sure) decided to be our personal tour guide/guard while we were there. Love it. Took pictures mostly of the flora and fauna (foxdog) while there. 

Back in McLeod Ganj, began to feel lightheaded and had some chest pains. The night ended very early for me. 

23 May 

Apparently I plan to become friends with the staff at Delek Hospital, as it seems my body is wanting to try any variation of illness. After some disturbing sputum and a fever, went to the hospital yesterday to discover I have tonsilitis. More antibiotics for me. I really am thankful for the healthcare here. The entire cost of a hospital visit, plus a chest x-ray and medications: USD 10.00

After a post-hospital nap that calmed my fever (along with some meds), I went with my host family to the river ~20 minutes away to do some washing--the water truck hadn't come that day, so no water at home. Again, it was nice to get out for a little breather, especially because my mom wouldn't let me help at all. 

A neighbor couple (one Tibetan, one German) invited the neighbors and some friends to a nice dinner, so I went with the family. After the festive dinner, we all walked home and proceeded to have a mini dance party in the courtyard. I'm pretty sure they were keen on just seeing the crazy American girl dance, so after much supplicating and physically pulling me off my bum, I obliged to much clapping and laughter. Just here for entertainment purposes, I suppose. What fun!

24 May

REST DAY. Just hanging around and catching y'all up. Weather is storming loudly, which I love. 

Sabres and Spitoons and Sikhs, Oh My !

Eight women. Eight white women. Eight white women speaking English.

Went to the Red Fort and became the sun-stroked backdrop for some family photos. The heat was a killer, as was the 4-to-a-rickshaw ride over. But parrots and puppies galore ! The Red Fort is a massive fortification of red sandstone and white marble, surrounded by a grassy moat. Small details of mostly flowering plants catch the eye both in the sandstone as well as in colored marble inlaid in the blindingly white. One museum on the fort grounds displayed Mughul artifacts including sabres, spittoons, and beautiful manuscripts with miniature illustrations in fine detail. The Red Fort labelled our group as an oddity; our flushed red faces are obviously not acclimated to the heat. We all hopped in the back of a Land-Rover-turned-taxi and preceded to battle our way back to Connaught Place to find the highly recommended Banana Leaf for lunch. Not a minute too soon either; I went into trip leader mode at the fort, asking whether the other ladies had been drinking enough water and snacking to get salts and sugars into their bloodstreams. No matter that I am the youngest out of our group, I was adamant; we needed food and water.

The pattern of ordering food has been this: I'm not sure what it is, but it is fun to say, so I will order it and see what happens. Thus far, it's been delicious. Mixtures of sweet and salty, vegetable, dairy, and flavor and texture accompany almost every meal (plus a lassi a day to keep the Delhi belly away!). Post-luncheon, we made our way to Humayun's tomb, known as "the second Taj Mahal" for it's architecture and splendor. The cooling temperature combined with a yellow glow give the red sandstone a particularly nostalgic air, and the emptiness of the grounds save for birds and dogs enshrouds the place with a feeling of content sleep. After following a footpath to a crumbling staircase and scrambling up a short wall, the large tomb offers a brief glimpse between palm and eucalyptus trees. When I finally make it to the entrance gate, the symmetry and eye lines of the garden canals and fountain stop me. The plans of arresting visitors at the gate are no accident, to be sure, but the meticulous structures built for a man in death elicit responses of awe, an intended legacy, perhaps. 

Walking the perimeter, music sounded from the far corner. A Sikh temple, starting a service just outside the grounds, contrasted the red stone with its white marble. Hours could pass unnoticed while listening to those sounds. 

We stop at the busy India Gate, constructed under British rule, and the bustling circulation is reminiscent of l'Arc de Triomphe, seemingly a million worlds away. Back at the Y, a cleanse and then a tired but excited supper, as we realize we are leaving in the morning to head to McLeod Ganj, our new home for the next month. Our last night in Delhi passes quickly and we are up at 4:30 to begin the 14-hour drive. We travelled not in true India-style, but in three cool cars. In traditional American driving, the drive would have lasted for almost an entire, 24-hour day. However, when the road feels like a race track, no matter the curves and other vehicles, it speeds past. Picture golden monkeys guarding the turns of the road, cows ruminating through traffic, and startlingly bright sari cloth fluttering from the women sitting on the back of motorcycles weaving amongst colored trucks; the drive was long but not dull. 

With an hour or so left to go, the cars stop and Asia points out the window to the east. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus through the haze, and then my mind short-circuited and my jaw dropped. A literal wall of rock with blue-white ice sluicing through ravines as the peaks hid in the clouds: the roof of the world. HIMALAYAS. My ability to communicate regressed. The rest of the ride was mostly silent staring out the window. Passing through Lower Dharamsala, we could see McLeod Ganj from afar. The rode became more narrow and the switchbacks increased in number. The eucalyptus gave way to ponderosa pines, the vanilla-scented bark mixing with the rolling tea plants, and the wind carrying it all through the air. The cooler mountain air was like a welcome home. We finally made it. An incredibly beautiful and simply furnished guest room was ours for the night. 

Tired from the road, Asia and I found a cafe with fresh ginger tea and a terrace from which we could see the yellowed moon. The night was electric. What awoke me was not the light, but the resounding guttural thunder following. I have a magnetic fascination with storms and displays of nature's magnitude, and last night delivered. The rippling prayer flags outside our balcony sounded like running water in the wind, and the crashing bolts lit up the hillsides. If there was a better way to be welcomed into these hills, I do not know it. 

This morning, the cool air and overcast skies did not dampen spirits, but rather made it easier to stroll the small roads of McLeod. Out before most of the shops and cafes were open, we wandered up. The huge mountains and cascading ravines were cleansed by the rains, and my walk to discover a waterfall was a breath of fresh air. 

Going to luncheon with other students and Geishe-La, our teacher, in 1/2 hour at the Institute of Buddhist Dialectics; more later, ever more. 

Dehli Belly: A Play in 3 Acts

There have been a few opportunities for me to update this, but in almost every case, the desire to update was trumped by the desire to sleep. If you can call it sleeping, that is. More like I've been undergoing little deaths every few hours. IFN2 from Vancouver to Hong Kong went well; I'd recommend Cathay Pacific as an airline to use; many snacks and diverting activities meant a quick passage of the 13 hour flight. Once in Hong Kong, the silence was a bit unnerving. Asia and I were the only ones speaking aloud once we had left the plane. Determining where our next gate was became an easy task, but simply finding bottled water for sale took us on a circuitous route around the terminal. Passed out for an hour at the gate; woke up to faint chattering in Hindi. Perhaps because it would be our last IF, or ecause it was shorter, or perhaps because people were actually speaking to one another, but I embarked on the last flight with less apprehension and more excitement than the two previous excursions. The flight took us into the night, the moon shining on fantastical cloud formations as we passed over (what I thought was) Bangladesh.
One of the first things that hits when we step out of the Indira Gandhi airport is the smell. Something sour, but not quite rancid, more like the smell of warmth and sweat, it was 86 degrees at approximately 2:00 AM local time. Our taxi ride to Hotel Namaskar during the quiet night traffic was a gentle introduction to the madness to be expected during daylight hours. Autorickshaws, taxis, vans, large trucks, bikes darted amongst one another with horns beeping every few seconds. Although the cliches seem to be rampant in my description, there is something so sensual about the hours spent outside. It is a bodily experience.
We walk the last few strides to our hostel down an alley in Paharganj, avoiding all those sleeping beings, bipeds and quadipeds all. One note: there ARE cows walking the streets. Because of an information mix up, Asia and I experienced our first scam and end up paying extra, but our desire for horizontal rest supercedes any arguing and we head to our small, pink room.
After a small nap, we leave our hostel and head out into the bazaar. It's election day, so many shops are closed in Delhi, but the bazaar is beginning to wake up. Our mission this morning: ATM, water, food, not getting too lost. All is well ... potato-stuffed naan and mango lassi ... mmmm. More cliches abound, but it is true: Indian women have a natural beauty and condfidence about them. Their saris and kurtas draw the eye as they ride past, sitting on the backs of motorcycles. We check out of the hostel and start walking. Bombarded by autorickshaws but reluctant to lose more money, we refuse every ride and sweat it out, walking and finding our way to Connaught Place, off which rests our next stop, the YMCA. Once here, we reunite with two more of our group and hear their stories up to this point.
We become tour guides and take them to the bazaar where it is much more touristy later in the day than our morning excursion led us to believe. Hopping into one autorickshaw, we take off. The statistics of tourist traffic-related accidents now makes sense; we are on the road for mere minutes when a motorcyclist rams into the back side panel, inciting a collective intake of breath before impact, the cyclist nearly hitting Asia. As if it were nothing, we putt putt on. Due to the elections, the gigantic Red Fort is closed, so we head instead to a temple for Lord Krishna. This temple-mirror-fun-house-garden-themepark is beautiful, yet odd. The day is heating up and our cameras are melting. Time to head to some shade and hydration.
My tiny nap turns into a 3-hour lucid dream, followed by a half-asleep dinnertime meal of dal, pulau, veggie curry, and some lamb. Nom nom nom. A coughing fit sends me back to the room, where a bucket of water offers cool relief. The electrical system presented me with a challenge; there are about ten different switches around the room and bathroom, all of which apparently serve a different function. Fan ? Light ? Still trying to figure those out. A fitful night lends itself to an earlier morning.
We woke up today to chanting and parrot calls. That distinct smell welcomed us as we left our room. Took a morning walk, and we were not alone. MONKEYS. Everywhere. I impart a warning, "don't smile at the monkeys; it's a sign of aggression." The day is already getting warmer. We plan to go back to the Red Fort today; hopefully it's open.
I am failing miserably in communicating what the hours have been like here in Delhi. My words seem like cliched mirror images of previous travelogues and books. The same photos exist in a million locations, the same words flow from millions of blogs. However, in the limited language I have, I wish I could tell you how, but I will try to tell you what I am seeing. Perhaps the words will come later.
Leaving tomorrow for Dharamsala.

Off We Go !

Our last night in Portland was good. Real good. 

I only had one short-lived regret this morning as we were walking through the hall on our way to International Flight Number 1 (PDX--->YVR). It seemed to be missing from last night's festivities, but it was for the best. But I will admit I would have joined in heartily if anyone had started singing John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane" at Valentines last night. But only if someone had led animal crackers in a sensual safari across my abdomen directly following the serenade. 

Alas and alack ...

A somber ride to the airport this morning gave way to reality beginning to hit. Passports and pamplemousse ! A quick jaunt took us north across the border and the Strait of Juan de Fuca to place us in THE 'Couve, Canuckland. Nothing says Canada like clean floors and duty-free shoppin ! One travel accessory making an distinct appearance : medical masks. Quite a number of airport passersby are sporting them, in several different models. The CommonCough, the WhoopingWhopper, and my personal favorite, the mysterious Masqck. My phlegmy cough gets me some looks, but I don't hear the signature beats of a witch hunt yet, so I think I'll make it. 

IFN2 is bound to take off within a few hours for the hop across the pond. Hopefully it all goes swimmingly. Ah, poor word choice but here's to passing the Pacific !