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 !