March 23, 2004

Waiting in the lounge, Indira Gandhi International Airport.

15 hours after starting our journey from McLeod Ganj, Henny & I made it to the airport.  We began at 3 AM - after about 4 hours of fitful sleep, and came tumbling off the mountain, through valleys, cross rivers, up and down twisted tracks in the mountains to get the plateau that stretches from the Himalayas clear through to New Dehli.  Dale was with us and had to get out of the car and wretch - it was quite the experience, hovering through the tree lined trails that serve as major thoroughfares above the valleys, oh some hundreds of feet below off that very abrupt incline with absolutely NOTHING between us and the abyss other than a prayer and the fervent hope that our driver had somehow eked out enough sleep behind the wheel.

I won't bore you with the tedium of the journey once we got to the flat lands - other than to say it was HOT and LONG.  In the mountains we came upon a truck that somehow had managed to get stuck across the narrow path and block it entirely - how, I don't know - the drive wheels were stuck in the red clay/mud (where'd that water come from anyway?) and spinning.  Fortunately because we had a 4 wheel drive vehicle and an expert driver, we were able to get around.  Double fortunately we got there at 4 in the morning and avoided the huge traffic snarl that must have ensued shortly thereafter.

After dropping Dale off at the Potola House (his flight was in the morning), we took an unintended 2 hour tour of Dehli as our driver had NO CLUE where the airport was.  We had to stop about 20 times, roll down the window, and shout at passers-by - U international airport? (OR something to that effect), and then watch in awe the hand gesticulations, head movements, and general body communication as they yammered away in Hindi, which, fortunately for us, our driver speaks (and a little bit of English as well).

Dehli is truly a hell-hole, a place if I never return to I’ll be happy.  Although I’ll be hard pressed to get back to the Himalayas without at least transiting Dehli.  It’s HOT (yes, with capitals), and dusty, and filled with endless slums and winding roads and beggars on every street corner.  The slums are flung up – multi-storey – using building techniques that must have been ancient when the pyramids were raised some 4000 years ago.  Traffic never ceases, and every lane appears to not only be optional, but must be shared with at least another car, auto rickshaw, bicycle laden with a tone of recycled rags, and a Vespa to boot. But I digress again – come to Dehli and see for yourself – I’m sure someone must love it.

We're an hour from being able to enter the ticketing area - where we'll find out if the man I spoke to last week actually updated our travel records to fly tonight - I'm having some doubts now as I'm 100 feet from the ticket counter...

Should be in Hong Kong tomorrow by 3 PM - dead tired after 36 hours of straight travel, and ready to explore somewhere new with my brother Eric.

March 21, 2004

Tashe Dalek

This is apparently how the Tibetans say hello, or good day, or good evening ... sort of a universal greeting.

So - one day remaining here before it's time to pack it up and make the mad dash to make the boarding process for the 11:15 PM flight to Singapore.  Henny's convinced, based on anecdotes from others, that we can do this in a single day (albeit leaving at 3 AM in the morning), so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  Most people I've talked to recommend allotting two days to get to Dehli and catch your flight.  If we miss the flight I'm sure we can simply rebook on the next one, but it'll be painful, and there are no guarantees that we'll actually make the next day out.

So the flight itself to Hong Kong is 5 1/2 - 6 hours to Singapore, a four hour layover (time, I hope for a shower and a change of underwear), and then another 3 1/2 hour flight – getting there in the afternoon - about 36 hours later.  After the flight out here a piece of cake - right?  I've yet to hear back from my brother Eric so I'm not sure that he'll be able to meet me at the airport - but I have his address and phone numbers - I'll figure it out.

All in all this has been a great trip to date - a few hiccups on the health front, but nothing I haven't been able to deal with. 

I'm just getting over some severe de-hydration that I experienced on the Thursday hike up to Triund - but this was probably my best day here yet - a wonderful and peaceful 3 1/2 hours upon a 9000 foot ridgeline - above the hustle and bustle and polluted air and honking of the horns from auto rickshaws, trucks and cars alike.  You could hear the wind in the rocks and trees below, stare in awe at the mountains - so close - and the wisps of vapor that accumulated into storm clouds and then dissipated again - all without a drop of rain.  Three majestic peaks close by - wrapped in their cottony shawls, waiting for the sunset to glow in ambers and oranges before turning to deep purples and finally merging to the blacks of the heavens above - outlined in their absence of stars and planets.

 

While up on Triund I managed to do a headstand on the grass – this is where two weeks ago there were remnants of snow drifts.  Today it’s green grass and warm and sunny.

The other evening I saw three satellites fly overhead - which is three more than I've seen in 7 years in San Francisco - fast moving points of light that appeared out of nowhere and disappeared as quickly into nowhere.  The heavens have been spectacular, even through the perpetual haze that hangs over McLeod Ganj.  Venus has reigned supreme in the western sky every evening, with Jupiter rising in the east shortly after sunset. Mars remains obscured to me - there are too many reddish stars in sight overhead - at least 4 or 5 more than I'm used to seeing and I can't tell which one is the god of war, and which ones are simply lesser celestial beings.

On the way down we stopped to help a poor Hindu man - he had collapsed on the path and was groaning. Fortunately he spoke enough English that we could tell he was suffering from heat stroke (he'd been walking since before daybreak with no water), give him my 3/4 full bottle of water, a couple of Odwalla bars, and understand his younger daughter had ran ahead to get help.  He was concerned about the energy bars (“No eat mutton”), but I assured him they were vegetarian if not vegan, and that they would surely help him.

A couple of men carrying enormous bags of rhododendron flowers (to be made into jam from what I understand) also stopped and were able to converse with him as well.  As we started walking down he had gotten to his feet and was making his way down the mountain.  About 30 minutes later, we'd stopped at the first sign of a road for a brief break, and he made it to a waiting van.  He waved and held up his water bottle to us as he passed - hopefully to some medical attention.

On my way down I discovered I was terribly sun-burnt (having forgotten my sun-screen in my bag until after it was too late), and began to shiver uncontrollably in the dusk that covered us as we stumbled down the broken rock trail.  Dinner was a hilarious discussion on top of a building in the middle of McLeod Ganj that I’d never been to before – me wrapped in a shawl I bought in the market to get warm in, Irena and a chance friend providing witty repartee.

The teachings are over - today was a long life puja - I was able to stay for His Holiness arrival - in full regalia, lead by the leaders of the four schools of Tibetan Buddhism, Lamas with ceremonial headsets and blowing from gigantic horns, and a complete procession. They ascended to the roof of the temple and began the puja (service).  And my bowels would not cooperate.  Leaving was a real trial - there already was not a spare place on the ground, and the tide of humanity crushing (literally at points, I saw an elderly woman fall from the pressing behind her, but was lifted up a second later) in made it difficult to step over the seated masses of people.  I left by a back way (under the security tape labeled Do NOT CROSS) only to be surrounded by a 1/4 mile double line of monastics and lay women trying to enter through the side - a door I didn't even know existed.  How, or if, they all fit I do not know - I made it back to my room through the completely stalled streets in the nick of time.

The Ides of March

Sogan Rinpoche has been trying to get us an audience with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.  Last night I got back to the room, completely wiped out, and found that today was to be the day.  No kidding.  Everyone was euphoric, in a state of disbelief.  It's as though someone had said you could meet with the Buddha himself (actually the Tibetans consider His Holiness to be a reincarnation of Avoliketeshvara - the Buddha of great compassion.)  There was a quick primer on how to act, what to bring, how to dress (clean clothes), and the need for Katags (pronounced Katas) - the ceremonial scarves that you offer His Holiness, and wrap anything to be blessed.  We all ran out at 9 PM in search of Katags and bought several.

I slept well, despite the anticipation, and after breakfast joined in a walk down to His Holiness' residence.  Along the way I picked up a Thangka (a ceremonial hanging) of Avoliketeshvara to be blessed, and brought a few other things as well.  An offering envelop was required for the cash offering (optional, but certainly in good taste).  Around 10:15 we met up at the main temple gates and proceeded en masse to the security checkpoint.

No cameras are allowed inside of security for the teachings so we weren't going to be able to take pictures, but somehow this seemed appropriate - if all reality is transitory and subject to mental interpretation, and if we all meet each other infinite times in all our lives, why should we expect a photo of this auspicious event?  Somehow, I think, to have such a picture would demean the experience (I discuss this with Henny who agrees), but also somehow I think to myself - I'd like a photo - that way I can look at it and tell myself that it really happened.  But who knows?

After going through security (where everyone's carefully wrapped items for blessing had to be unwrapped and inspected) we proceeded to the gate house of His Holiness' residence.

Each day for the teachings the Dalai Lama exits from a large gate in a wall at the back of the temple - the gate opens into the teaching area, a wide expanse in front of the Temple itself, and is placed in a gatehouse centered on a wall across the back of the teaching space.  On the right hand side is a small building that I hadn't noticed before, and into this we had to go, fill out additional forms, and then wait.

All this time I was trying to keep my composure and think good thoughts for His Holiness, avoid anxiety (will we get in, boy there are a lot of other people here too, what happpens behind the curtains we obviously have to go through…).  Finally we were ushered in through what would have been a good security point at an airport.  Metal detectors, people frisking you again, unwrapping the items for blessing again, sighing your name in the guest book, and then you're out into a courtyard behind the wall.

It was beautiful in there - trees and light colored buildings, pale yellow butterflies winging through the air, a gentle breeze keeping us cool.  Juxtaposing this, armed sentinels from the Indian Security Forces, His Holiness' own security with Uzis at the ready - it brings tears to my eyes just to think someone would want to harm this man, but I guess that's the world we live in.

A moment of confusion - there's a table with items obviously positioned for blessing, we begin piling our various things on the table, only to be told no, we should bring these with us.  Gathering everything up, we're lead to a stone wall along the path that leads to His Holiness' residence.  It's cool in the shade as we wait and looking up at His residence I can see movement through the windows - nothing more than silhouettes, but it occurs to me that we're probably looking at him getting ready.  There are about 45 people in front of us and maybe 10 behind us as suddenly the coordinator motions for us to proceed up the hill - "quickly, quickly".  Somehow, I don't know how or why, I'm at the head of our group as we get in line.  This doesn't feel right - as if somehow the honor should go to someone else, someone part of Sogan Rinpoche’s core group.

At the top of the hill it's sunny, and hot.  There He is under a multicolored umbrella standing in front of His residence with His retinue.  Groups are processed efficiently, and before I'm ready it's our turn.

What do you say to a living Buddha?  What would you ask for in terms of a blessing?  My eyes tear as I walk towards Him, I'm completely overwhelmed, almost speechless, it's all I can do to stutter out "Your Holiness” as he takes my shoulder and then I'm standing next to him on the left, the other 13 of us gather around him and it turns out you could take a camera after all - someone from the group behind us (From Romania of all places - we got copies of the pictures a month or so later) agrees to take our photo and mail it to us, and we pose with His Holiness for a photo.

After this things get confused - His Holiness looks about and says "All Buddhists?" to which we all nod our heads vigorously.  He grasps my hands after taking a small golden Buddha, placing it atop his head, and then hands it to me, blessing the Buddha, me, and the things I've brought.  And it's over.  Tears stream down my cheeks as I head back down the hill.  Everyone I'm with is speechless - even now, almost six hours later I can't begin to express the event, what happened in my head, to those around me.  Mostly I remember the butterflies and His Holiness' smile.

Waterfall climbing

After meeting with His Holiness, somehow I needed to get away - the thought of sitting through another day of teachings was more than I could face.  Dale agreed, and the two of us headed off to climb a waterfall that lies beyond Bhagshu - a short walk (2-3 KM) away. The road to Bhagshu is dusty, and auto rickshaws fly by, kicking up more dust and driving you near the edge of the road, where a steep slope / cliff rolls downwards, perhaps 400-500 feet to the river valley below, which opens eventually into the Kangra valley by Dharamsala some 4000 feet lower.  Across from us are terraced mountain slopes - some green, some not, with houses aloft, perhaps a thousand feet above us below the ridgeline.  Small trails, seemingly fit for goats at best, lead up from the valley floor to the homes.

For some reason a black dog decides to adopt us for our walk, accompanying us along the way.  His tongue hangs out and he pants in the heat – it’s a real scorcher today.  He castes looks back our way as if to say - speed it up, his paws leaving imprints in the red clay-dust road.

Below, in the valley, we can see a camping park - "Nature Camping" a sign implores the passer by to drop down and check it out.  4 or five large tents are strung up, with a couple of stone buildings that probably are the concession stand and the bathing facilities.

We wind our way through Bhagshu, a Hindu town in the fits of expansion - many multistoried buildings - hotels, restaurants, shops, under construction by the auto-rickshaw stand.  Dale stops to admire the stonework covering the brickwork behind - things here are definitely upscale - polished marble, nice lighting, swept and clean.  A stark contrast to the McLeod Ganj we've left behind. 

Further through the town, down twisting paths of stone slab with vendors’ wares out for nobody in the streets we reach a pool with monks cavorting about in the cold water.  Little girls wander about in their finest clothes - this is clearly a resort town.  Through a small gate in the wall and we're on the path to the waterfall.  Past a sign painted in clear black letters, very serious - "Do not go to the waterfalls, the path is very dangerous."

Ignoring the sign we walk on.  A crooked broken path once paved with flagstones taken from the scree along the waterfall's course - you can see the tumbledown piles of it off in the distance - leads up and up to the first waterfall, perhaps a 500 foot climb over 1 - 2 kilometers.  Stairs, crumbling here, non-existent there, turn to dirt and dust under countless feet and the many annual freezings and thawings.  This is a new path - the concrete attests to that - but somehow the flagstones have been pried up - to support the bustling growth back in the village?

At the base of the final climb to the top of the first waterfall (there are many along the watercourse, stretching up to probably 7000 feet), there is a stone shack selling the usual bottled water, juices and snacks, with something new - here you can paint flat stones and leave them.  The area is covered with stones in bright primary colors - some with designs, others with words - words in many different languages - English, Hindi, Tibetan, German, French, Arabic, Hebrew, an occasional Russian.  All striving for something original to say, somehow a microcosm of the Dharamsala experience - the polyglot, multicultural pop-like culture that permeates this valley and its towns.  From inside the shack waft strains of Pink Floyd - somehow not out of place - and several people, dressed in appropriately bright colors, paint their rocks - I think they're speaking Hebrew.

We climb.

Rocks, tumble down, huge, slides of shale on the sides, blue slate, yellow quartz, huge boulders driven into place by forces unimaginable.  Stacked high, climbing, the falls stretch to the sky, one after another as far as you can see.  Snow melt - frigid water to cool my feet, hot from the climb. 

We rest.

Up on top of the first course there is a group of young Hindi men - early 20s at best - perhaps late teens, lounging in the warm sun  and cold waters.  They eye us and several nod their heads with a "Namaste."  Later I'll debate foreign policy and universal disdain of George W with one of them, but for now we reply with our own "Namaste".  They continue lounging. We hike on.

I've been nervous on the broken path leading up to here - the loose rocks and dirt seemed to be conspiring to hurl me to my demise down the hundred some odd foot drop to the bottom of the fall, but here I feel like a nimble mountain goat - leaping from boulder to boulder in the blinding sun, scaling that 45 degree rock   the size of a house - casually tossed there by the water melt eons ago - or maybe this spring with the winter melt.

Little pools frequent the course and we stop frequently to rest and catch our breath.  We hit the second waterfall, smaller than the first, but more difficult to get to the top of.  There's no path.   My fingers merge with bare rock finding crevasses and hand holds the bare eye cannot perceive as I pull myself up ever larger verticals.  My confidence builds with each conquest - I'm able to take on climbs I wouldn't have dreamed of even moments before.  I'm frightfully aware that we're miles from anywhere, up a creek and waterfall course and I'm not sure how / if they'd be able to get me out of here with a broken leg - somehow I'm assured in my grip and footing.

I dance - leaping from pointed rock to the net - arms outstretched to maintain my balance.  I can remember dreaming of flying - this is about as close as I've come.

We crest the third waterfall. On our left are the ruins of a small stone building, or perhaps one under construction.  It's maybe 20 feet up a grassy slope / cliff on what looks to be the only flat piece of earth out of the flood plane.  Nothing more than rocks piled one atop the other, the roof is missing - if ever it was there.  A low stone wall, with a hole in it for the path, or handholds better - for the climb down to the water course – surrounds the grassy tabletop.  Four young western women, accompanied by two western men make their appearance as the scale their way down from this spot, accompanied by a small crowd of youthful Hindis.

Hindi men seem fascinated by western women - they'll stop everything they're doing to watch or follow them.  We saw this outside of Chandrigarh, and today is no different - as we climb in separate groups - Dale & I, the women and their escorts, and the 6, no 8, no 10 (the number seems to be growing like bees attracted to honey) Hindis - the men joke and boisterously clown about - vying for attention like so many adolescents.  Irene tells me (after 6 months traveling India by herself) that she's been accosted several times, but all she has to do is loudly call out their unwanted advances and touches  (nothing too serious- a touch on the arm, grasping her hand) and the attention of the crowd is enough to shame the miscreant back into place.  "They're like little boys," she tells me.  Apparently it's a huge social faux pas to touch a woman.  Here I think we have American cinema in action - we portray, certainly by Indian standards, loose women as a norm in our films and I think they're seeing for themselves.  But I digress.

Soon we come to some heads carved out of the boulders- a large Chinese looking head made out of one huge slab, and what looks like an American Indian carved out of some quartz laden rock.  Dale & I have been climbing non-stop for some time and decide to stop to rest.  I take off my shirt and sandals and lie back on a warm flat rock.  After a few minutes I decide to take pictures of the carven heads and begin snapping away (a digital camera is a joy to have - take as many as you'd like, just erase the ones that don't come out.)  We're passed by the westerners - now that I can hear them talking I can tell they're German (actually as things turned out they were German and Israeli).  One offers to snap a picture of me with the carved head and struggles with the camera, before realizing she's taken three pictures.  I thank her and examine the pictures.  Later I’ll return the favor up the waterfall, and offer my email to her friend to write me and have me send it to her (If you’re reading this email me and I’ll send it to you…)

So I've lost something like 40 pounds in the past year and a half, been practicing yoga for over a year, and still have a folded stomach in the picture - time to do more sit ups I guess.  My pride / self image is wounded by what I see in the picture - slouched over (to get close to the head) I paint a scary picture of the middle age condition.  But enough self pity / awareness...

We climb much higher to where the watercourse splits - on the left - a series of three water falls falling 300 - 500 feet - a mountain goat could climb up there.  To the right I climb about 50 feet up tumbled boulders (the largest so far) and come to a gently valley - it's sides covered by rhododendrons in full glorious neon red bloom.  Several pictures later I return to find Dale scaling the water course’s opposite wall.

I rest a while, while Dale explores above.  Looking at the small waterfall in front of me I discern a rainbow in the water vapor and try my hand and photographing it.

Here we stop and rest - we could keep going but I've lost my water bottle somewhere below, left to get a grip on a rock and now I can't remember or find it.  Painfully aware of my thirst, it’s time to head back.  Strangely I'm reluctant to partake of the Himalayan snowmelt waters that course all about me - this is probably about the cleanest water on earth and I'm too worried about errant microbes to try it. 

We descend quickly - now looking into the sun - practically blinded during the climb down.  This is the dangerous part.  I keep telling myself - gravity's working for me, pulling me down, it'd be hard to stop if I had to.  I'm tired and prone to mistakes. But I fly - jumping from rock to rock, sliding - on my butt - down 60 degree rocks to land on a flat rock below. 

We descend to the first water fall where I find the same group of Hindis, and an Irish girl (maybe 19, maybe 20) named Alma.  Alma's staying in Bhagshu (not attending the teachings) and has been living in Shanghai and other places in China for the past year.  It seems she's gradually making her way back to the Emerald Isle.

Enter Sanjay.  Sanjay is 18, maybe 20 years old.  He comes over and squats next to us (actually next to me - Alma is on a rock about 6 feet higher than I am).  Directly in front of us is a small pool of water, captured by the rocks and silty sediment before it takes its final cascade over the falls into the valley below.  Amazingly there's a tadpole - trying to hide beneath a rock from my prying eyes.

Sanjay's skin is dark, his teeth crooked and parted in the middle - a little yellow.  His smile is endearing as he looks me in the eyes and says very directly, opening a conversation - "I hate USC."

I'm somewhat taken aback - here I am deep in India - almost in Kashmir - and Sanjay not only has heard of USC, but knows he hates it.  I want to ask if maybe he prefers CalPoly?, but instead answer, somewhat flippantly, "that's ok, I'm from Northern California."

"No - I hate USC"

"OK"

"No - U ... S .... A"

It takes a moment for this to process.  What is Sanjay, with the engaging smile and his 3 companions trying to do here?  Suddenly I realize I'm the only person, other than Alma, in sight here, above a 100 foot waterfall.  Later I realize that he was trying to showoff for Alma, like his friends were doing jumping and yelling and smartalecking around, but for now I'm a little uneasy.

"So why do you hate the USA?" I ask.

"George Bush."

And then out comes a combination of national pride and disdain for American Foreign Policy.  According to Sanjay, the US is a coward - fighting third rate countries like Iraq and Afghanistan, while avoiding a more substantive and manly / heroic fight with real military nations.  Further, we're ignoring the center of terrorism, where Sanjay personally assures me he KNOWS Osama bin Laden is clothed, hidden and cared for, that is Pakistan.  Why don't we take them on?  We're cowards, that's why, come fight India and we'll show you a real war.

I'm really staggered - this incredibly articulate youth is doing his best to get me riled up.  So I take a tact he probably never expected me to take - I agree with him.  Except.... I ask him why the US would want to attack India?  He had no good answer, save perhaps, youthful bravado.  I asked him not to imagine that all Americans support W in his Empire building, his mad rush to war, and ill-conceived thoughts of an occupational peace.   I tell him of the millions of Americans that marched against the war, but his eyes glaze over (I think in retrospect this was the wrong tact - he wanted to talk about war - not peace).  He still insisted "I hate USA", but then got to the point - he wants the US to attack Pakistan from the West with India attacking from the East.

To finish the conversation he abruptly left - leaving me to discuss chads, how Florida isn't the largest US state, and the electoral college to Alma - only to return a few moments later with some freshly picked rhododendron flower clusters.  Two, shyly, for Alma, one, almost as a peace offering, to me.

His final words were "I make a joke to you", as I shook his hand and wished him the best.  As I left Alma was immersed in conversation with the now seemingly harmless Sanjay and his friends.  I later gave the blooms to a little girl - daughter of a street vendor in Bhagshu - large brown eyes in a small brown face, looking in wonder from the flowers to me, back to the flowers.  Her smile gave our hike / climb its final closure.  A great afternoon all in all.

14 March, 2004

I have about 10 days left in McLeod Ganj - more than I think I want to stay right now, but I'll make the best of it before taking a car back to Dehli with Henny on the 23rd.

Losen (Tibetan New Years) is now half over.  In the early morning light, as the sun peeks out over the mountains to the east and north  and casts long shadows over the town and into the Kangra valley below (still obscured by the eternal haze of smog), the moon is somewhat less than half full above, fading into the brilliant pale blue sky.

We're now a week into the teachings which began at the full moon and have been every day except the 10th (Tibetan Uprising Day).  It seems like forever, it seems like only an instant.  This place has a strange affect on my internal calendar - somehow it's timeless as I sit in teachings, hike in the mountains or drink the first of many chais for the day.

It's chilly in the shadows as I nurse my chai and watch the town awake, across from the Sun Rise Cafe (Best Chai in Asia.  Even the stay dogs feel the cold, repositioning themselves into the first bits of sun to grace the buildings across the alleyway from me.  These are the same dogs that accosted me the first morning here as I wandered the streets at 5:30 AM, unable to sleep - and then made friends with.

Traffic, both foot and vehicular, begins to pick up - mostly Tibetans in their grays, browns and other drab colors and the chance monk in brilliant scarlet and saffron-yellow - few Europeans or Americans are up with me this morning.  The vehicles are varied - many auto-rickshaws coming from Bhagsu down the way with brightly clothed Hindis (mostly women) on their way to - where? - the bus stand down the block?, empty tourist buses headed back into the hills to pick up their fares, and trucks laden with the day's wares making their way through this narrow alleyway.  The shop keepers have thoughtfully sprayed the dusty ground with water from bottles, the caps of which are pierced with multiple holes to make sprayers, to keep the dust down.  Later in the day they won't even make the effort - the heat, traffic ands dust become uncontrollable.

10AM

Back at the Best Chai in Asia - this is the place to hang out and meet people - it's like Rome, all roads in McLeod Ganj seem to lead to here - after a breakfast at the Shangri-La (run by a monastery and home to the best Tibetan Soups) with Annie.

I'm the old hand now after a week in McLeod Ganj - as  people pass by they ask me directions and I actually know where they're going, and my sense of direction is good enough to give them what I hope are useful directions.  Nobieh from Teheran is traveling with Scott from San Diego (who focuses in on my Stanford University t-shirt - "are you from California") and want to know where the Himalayan Iyengar Institute is - they want to spend a month there studying (up TIPA Road past my guesthouse about a kilometer and a half to the yellow sign, then on down into the valley - how far after that I do not know.  Yes I think it's walkable, but if you have luggage I'd use a rickshaw.)

Hindi prayers are being broadcast from out of the Barnali Ornaments house across the way - complete with (to me) totally unintelligible commentaries.  I recognize them from the CDs at home - familiar, yet somehow different as they're sung with no musical accompaniment.

The road is a series of these ramble-down shacks of metal sheeting, wood scraps, \plastic tarps and brick, all somehow hanging together at the base of the brick and wood houses that cling to the slope above.  On the sheet metal roofs dogs will lounge in the afternoon sun and large grey rocks with sharp edges hold the roofs in place from the wind while serving as the occasional head rest.

Monkeys scamper overhead, climbing hand and foot over hand and foot across the power and phone lines that haphazardly clutter the sky above me.  The other day a huge plop of monkey poop barely missed me - it would have put to shame the seagull poop experiences I've had before.

Gwas (the brown / golden eagles) soar overhead, 10 to 15 feet above the rooftops.  Beyond them flutter multicolored prayer flags in the gentle morning breeze framed against the blue, cloudless skies.  The clouds won’t come until afternoon when the sun burns off the snow melt to create huge, white, billowing thunderheads that threaten, but never deliver, on rain.

Street vendors with every sort of vegetable and fruit line the alleyways, their wares neatly spread out on the burlap sacks in which they carried them from the surrounding villages into town for sale.  Archaic scales with hunks of metal to counterbalance, cabbages, cauliflowers, eggplants, tomatoes, bananas, mangos, papayas, potatoes, the reddest carrots I've ever seen ...

Evening

We found a restaurant that serves salads that are washed in iodized water (the Lhasa, two stories above the central bus square - noisy, service is terrible even by this place's standards) - supposedly killing all the bacteria.  I risked it, as I miss my salads, and got a terrific mixed salad with a light vinaigrette dressing.  Dinner was with Henny, Cassie and Jennie - I had a chance to talk with Cassie for the first time this trip - she's on an overseas program (self made) with the New College, studying in Kathmandu through August, and down for the teachings - Jennie is her advisor from the College.  She's writing her paper for the term on the Heart Sutra - I can't imagine a much better combination of places to do this from.

Teachings

Once again I left at tea time - this time feeling quite ill.  It must have been a combination of not enough water, too much sun and no real lunch because after I'd walked the mile & a half back to the guesthouse and sat down with a liter of water I felt much better (might have been the 5 hand stands and 2 headstands that I pulled off as well, or reading Salmon Rushdie on the veranda, 5 stories above the rest of the town in the sun in my shorts and no shirt, but I'll stick with the water...)

Today's teachings continued to focus on the role of a spiritual guide, or Lama, building upon yesterday's teachings.  While yesterday focused on the qualities required of a Lama, and your obligation to verify for yourself the validity of the lama before taking them as your teacher, today's teachings focused on the veneration to be given the Lama, and the mindset you should take in your practice.  I'll start with the mindset because it's the easiest and least controversial to me:

Longchenpa (and Patrul Rinpoche) both cite three states of practitioners, or ways of seeking refuge, using slightly different terminology - His Holiness covered both:

First, those of low intentions - those who seek personal release from their individual suffering in this life.

Next, those of middle intentions - those who seek personal release from Samsara (the cycle of existence and suffering) and are focused on their multiple lives.

Third, and the highest aspiration, those of high intentions - those who seek release of all beings from the cycle of Samsara.

Personally I'd like to think of myself as in the third category - at least intellectually I place myself there, but I struggle so much in this life I almost wonder if I'm in the first category.  Something to meditate on - or to go back to the chapter on the Hell Realms and reconsider the plight of all beings again...

The second major part of the lesson today (both Longchenpa and Patrul Rinpoche) was the proper veneration to be given Lamas.  I think I mentioned yesterday how His Holiness stated there are really four jewels - Buddha, Dharma, Sangha and Lama, and that the Lama is the highest jewel, even higher than the Buddha.  I think I understand a bit of this after thinking on it and re-reading the materials - the Lama is considered to be a Bodhisattva (Buddha like in nature) who has returned to teach and enable others to overcome Samsara.  In this nature they are true emanations of the Buddha and, regardless of the affectations they may take on in their worldly life, they are to be considered the Buddha.  So this makes sense - if and only if (remember the old geometry annotation IFF) your Lama is truly a Buddha.  And how can you tell?  His Holiness (and Longchenpa and Patrul Rinpoche...) says to study your Lama extensively (10-17 years) before accepting them as your teacher.  I suppose after this due diligence you should be sure.  However (here's the tough part) once you've accepted them as your teacher you should give yourself over to them, serving them, doing everything they say, and venerate them above all others (yes, even your family).  Somehow Krishnamurti comes back to me at this point and I have a problem with this unconditional surrender to your teacher.

Net net net ... I'm convinced that while Tibetan Buddhism has many strengths and tools that I plan to explore further, that I will continue on the multiple path that I find myself on.  Thich Naht Hahn, more Vipassana retreats at Spirit Rock and, yes, I think I'll be attending Sogan Rinpoche's teachings in California when he returns.  There's something here - behind the shamanism I see having been adapted from the Bon religion, beyond the unconditional surrender that I somehow can't get beyond, there are constructs, tools, techniques and approaches that I am finding useful.  However, I don't find myself compelled to return to Dharamsala again at this point - I think I've gotten what I came for - not what I was hoping for, not what I was expecting, but a greater clarity of the path that lies before me.

I'm still a little under the weather here, I think I'm going to make an early evening of it, go back to the room and read my new book - a non-Buddhist book for the first time in forever...

13 March, 2004

Shopping

Today was a shopping experience as I looked for gifts and tried to find things that are "just right" for the few people that I plan to bring things back for.  It's hard, and I don't particularly like it.  Somehow in the back of my mind I know I'm being taken advantage of - I don't particularly like to negotiate, and the prices for things are ridiculously low to begin with - I don't have much heart to try to take that $8.50 item and get it for $6.75.  However it's part of the game so I engage in the mandatory bargaining - usually getting about 20% off the asking price, knowing that I should get 40-50%

There are many wonderful things to buy - statues, religious artifacts, shawls, carvings, banners, pillow covers, rugs, jewelry, but somehow I really don't covet them.  Perhaps it's because I know I'll be traveling so much after I leave McLeod Ganj, perhaps it's because I hate the thought of negotiating, perhaps it's because I really don't want them after all.

Street vendors both sophisticated ("good day sir, would you like to see my shop - I'll make you special deals") and crass - the drum vendor pushing his wares in my face and playing them, the flute vendor doing the same.  Colors flashing from every shop front - reds, bright greens, brass glinting in the sun, silver beckoning from the windows.  Rakesh leaning out into the street - "Sir.. .Sir...."  I walk on by.

There's one shop I've gotten comfortable in, which is a dangerous thing.  Some companions of mine walked in this shop the day after we got here and bought a couple of rugs (hand stitched silken rugs - suitable as wall hangings - Chanda was so entranced with the wonderful colors that she bought them on the spot.)  They had some singing bowls that I fell in love with - cast brass with etched vajra symbols - the eight symbols of power - and the best tone I've heard yet.  I keep walking by this shop and telling them I'll come by later.  Today I dropped in looking for something else - it's actually 3 shops linked together by one Kashmiri family spread out through the town - if one shop doesn't have what I'm looking for the other ones will have it.

I'm very aware of being too comfortable with these guys -  they say you buy from people you like and I like these guys - they've a compelling story (representing their Kashmiri villages in going direct to market - somehow I wonder ...) and a laise-faire demeanor that I like - no hard sell here, just an abiding faith that you'll return.

I introduced Henny to the shop and she immediately bought several items (I'd just bought about 5 or 6 items earlier in the morning and met Henny at the Western Union as I got more Rupees and she was doing the same.)  Unfortunately when I took Henny there I saw something else I think I have to buy - it's expensive but worth it (in the states things would be 5 - 6 times the price at least.)

However, I've spent more today than I meant to, so I forgo the additional purchase (even though it's the only one in the shop, somehow I'm confident that if they were to sell this one, somewhere out of a storage locker they'd manifest another.)

Teachings

Today I arrived just as His Holiness began his discourse.  Cory was seated slightly in the sun in my now usual section so I joined him.  I'd picked up a kilo of tangerines, a mango, a bag of pistachios, and five momos to munch on during the teachings.  I always plan to give away food at the teachings so I always bring more than I can eat.

Today was children day - school must have been out or something because the entire area was overrun with 5 - 8 year old Tibetan children.  So this was a unique experience today, listening to His Holiness on the loudspeakers, the translation on the headsets (very good and consistent broadcast today), and having dozens of kids yelling, running and screaming - having the time of their lives - all around me.

I shared several tangerines and about half my pistachios with some young kids behind me - they shyly looked at me as I passed them the fruit, and then eagerly devoured the pistachios.  A very young boy became entranced with my sun glasses (I think - otherwise it was my stellar looks that captivated him so) and kept returning to stare into my face - glancing over at his mother about 20 feet away.  Finally he worked up his courage and grabbed my metal tea cup and ran away to his mother with it - I guess that's what had kept him coming back after all.  His mother talked to him calmly for about 2-3 minutes and he reluctantly returned with his stolen goods to return them.  I fished out a tangerine, offered the trade, and with a great grin from ear to ear he returned to his mother to have it peeled for him.  These are the kindest people on Earth, despite what the Chinese and Samsara have done to them over the past 40-50 years.

All the while this was happening, His Holiness read from Longchenpa on the values of a spiritual guide - venerate your Lama as the 4th jewel (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha and now Lama), and even above the Buddha as your Lama is your spiritual guide and hence accessible, while the Buddha lived so many thousands of years ago and, while aspirational, is not accessible.  He went on to explain that good Lamas exhibit the three disciplines (Morality, Meditation and Wisdom) plus have the ability to explain - they are perfect beings that have animated into imperfect bodies a\that make mistakes and show faults so as to be accessible to us.  Further, accepting a Lama as your spiritual guide, or teacher, is something to be done extremely carefully - you should spy on your lama for some while before accepting them.

A good part of me is skeptical at this point - isn't it convenient that an entire socio-economic system has evolved around these Lamas, and that the Buddha's original 3 jewels are now expanded to include the Lama - to even hold the Lama above the Buddha?  I remind myself to have an open mind (Beginner's Mind as Suzuki puts it), but this is exceptionally hard for me - somehow hearing this instead of reading it serves to harden my growing conviction that Krishnamurti is right, that you shouldn't take a guru and are totally and irrevocably responsible for your own path in Samsara.

So enough theology - I know not what I speak (or type in this case) and should remain silent on these points.  Give me another 20 years and I may have something worth saying - I'm amazed at how humble His Holiness is as he relates his personal experience with the teachings - he constantly notes he has little if any personal experience with particular points, and constantly defers to others in the realm of experience.

I left at tea time again - the tale of Milarepa has gotten past the juicy parts and I thought I'd sit at the Sunrise Cafe and share a Chai with whoever appeared.

Millions of Tales

So people, as expected appeared. I met Maya, from Devonshire, England - an acupuncturist, who for the past 10 years has vacationed in Dharamsala for 1-2 months every year.  She meets up with the same, but growing crowd, of folks from all over the world to hang out and socialize in this spiritual community.  Her friend (missed her name) joins her - she's sick after arriving from Amritsar today.  Two more of her crowd show up - Hilary and Peter who I'd seen in the Kalsang lobby trying to get a room in this overbooked town.  Apparently we're staying in the rooms they've stayed in for the past 8 years.  These two are fascinating as I discovered later this evening over cake with Matt and Irene (Matt's with my group and Irene I met in line the first day here waiting to get our passes to the teachings - she's a nurse from Switzerland - Basel - who's bumming around India for 6-8 months).  They travel to Asia in the winter to escape the Brits - in '91 they spent 3 months self touring China (with no understanding of Chinese).  Finally they flew to Lhasa under pretty close guard - slipped their watchers, and were arrested and interrogated by the PSB for a day before being forcibly evicted to Kathmandu (however it took a week to do this as they'd just missed the once a week flight.)

12 March, 2004

Dusk - the sky quickly changes shade from light blue to dark blue to purple, an azure brownish haze on the western horizon where the Kangra valley leads off to the north and west.  Stars peek out over head - Venus shining in mighty glory on the horizon, Mars somewhere overhead in the darkening sky, Jupiter rising above the Himalayas to the east.  Orion girds his mighty belt almost directly overhead and as the sky continues to darken a multitude of stars, usually hidden from sight appear.

Moments before true dusk began to strike we had arrived back at the Kalsang Guest House, full from a meal at the Tibet house.  Dale's lights were off and he immediately went for the candles - "Damn, power's out in my room again."

I flip on the switch to the room that is to the left of every hotel room in India (at least the one's I've seen so far) and walk over to his bed to flick on the night light - it comes on, only to suddenly go out.  Oh - it blew the light, I think to myself - then I notice that all the lights in the hotel have gone out - I peer out his door on the veranda, which over looks the town of McLeod Ganj.   No, let me rephrase that - all the power in the city has gone out.  Just another evening in McLeod Ganj.  We were lucky to have decided to eat early I think - I'm not sure how many places will be open - perhaps they've all lite candles and made a romantic evening of it all - somehow I'd expect that they'd be prepared.

So more observations as I type in the dark.  Today I went in search of a new pair of pants - my blue jeans having split apart at the knee.  The first pair I purchased were blue jeans - size 36 purportedly at a stand in the street right outside the Chorten downtown.  The Chorten in a sort of temple in the center of town - it rises above most the buildings in an almost pagoda style, and one the ground floor is a circuit of prayer wheels that you walk clockwise about, spinning them and sending their messages reverberating into the universe.  Om mani padma hung or the equivalent.  Irritatingly, many of the tourists and most of the Hindus show no compunction of using the Chorten as a shortcut between Temple street and Middle Way.

So, I examine the thin jeans, unable to judge if they'll fit (I'm currently a 34 waist, but my massive legs and ample butt require the full 36 size in the states.  I decide to buy them, asking if I can return them if they don't fit.  300 rupees is the strike price (I really don't negotiate much, this is about 9 dollars for a pair of jeans) and I go back to try them on.  For those of you who find yourself buying jeans in India, I'd guess that a size 36 is maybe equivalent to a 32 inch waist n the US.  I returned them, and went further to find a very nice cotton pair of pants with 7 pockets - a steal at 450 rupees.  I change in the shop (not just your street side vendor this time - probably why it cost more) and chuck the soiled and torn jeans in a truck that's used to haul refuse away from town (funded by the Gere Foundation according to the hand painted letters on the side of the vehicle - thank goodness Richard has done this, or we'd be chest deep in refuse and cow dung by now).

The teachings, later in the day, were inspiring - His Holiness taught on the afflictions of Samsara, and the experiences we all have through life and death that should build and maintain compassion for all beings in us all.  Somehow appropriately he began by noting the deaths of 160+ people in Spain from terrorism the day before (news to me, I'm not keeping track of anything that's going on in the world right now - I can barely tell you what day it is.)  Once again I sat on a little terrace just outside security - radio reception is good there (I've figured out how to properly align two radio antennas to get better reception), there's shade, and most importantly, there's plenty of room.

I brought tangerines and mangos, and also picked up some pistachios - these make my lunch.

A bit on the mango

This was the first day mangos appeared in the street side vendors’ wares - and I got two of them, trusting the vendor's recommendation.  They're strange mangos - mostly green, with a very sharply curved end - large and sticky on the outside.  And quite possibly the best mangos I've ever had.  According to Lonely Planet, India has over 2500 kinds of mangos - and this one was great.  I shared it with Dale before he headed home to nap the afternoon away (I think he's got whatever I had yesterday.)  Later I saw another of my party (Jenny) seated in the grassy area above the terrace and threw a pistachio at her during the opening prayer chants.  She looked very surprised at the pistachio that had manifested itself in her lap (a very lucky throw - some 25-30 feet with a pistachio to actually hit my intended victim) and wouldn't have figured out who it was if the gent next to her hadn't pointed me out.  I wanted to give her more, but I knew this was a once in a lifetime shot, and I didn't want to move and disturb the radio alignment that seemed to be working so perfectly.  So all she got was the one.

Down here on the terrace it has a feeling of a large picnic - Tibetan families arrive with their blankets, children in tow and, after their prostrations - sit and congregate, munching on snacks of fruit and cookies (with the occasional momo - sort of like a pot sticker).  Today there was  5 year old boy raising Cain by running all over, and an 18 month old toddler, dressed in traditional garb with the exception of his Mickey Mouse shoes (American culture, or lack thereof, truly is pervasive) trying to catch up with him.  The 5 year old was given a 20 rupee note by his father, and he and his mother went off to the market to return 10 minutes later with a bag of bananas and some cookies (20 rupees is about 45 cents).

The cow returned today, rambling down the staircase from the security point above to be shooed down the next stairs by a Tibetan woman (you can tell the married from unmarried women by their multicolored aprons that they wear - I guess it's the equivalent of a wedding band).  The cow looked strange walking down the stairs intended for humans - ergonomically I think it left much to be desired.  As she disappeared behind the concrete retaining wall, long pointed horns and all, her flanks were undulating at weird angles.

Midway through the Patrul Rinpoche reading (Chapter three, the end of the discourse on Samsara - thank goodness we were past the hell realms) a dog appeared - a young black dog with long hair (really a pup), wandered in - apparently the temple dogs stay in a small building just off the terrace, and he was mightily startled to find a woman sleeping in the entrance on the hay that was stacked there.  He was so startled that he started barking - ran away about 20 feet and barked non stop until the woman got up and went to pet him – which drove him away.  Everyone was duly amused by this, somehow it was appropriate - you really shouldn't be sleeping while His Holiness teaches.

I left at tea time today, feeling I'd gotten enough, and headed up the mountain to  McLeod Ganj to pick up laundry and later spend some time sipping chai with two women from Brazil who'd also been sitting next to me on the Terrance (Johanna and someone else whose name I can't remember - both from Rio - Johanna's on her 7th month here in Nepal, and has ducked into India to renew her visa - sort of the opposite of most stories I hear where people go to Nepal to renew their Indian Visa).  They had ducked out to buy a present for a lama they were to meet tonight - a 9 year old Tolku - and had picked up a Chuppa pop and a word game.  The Chai was great, and the company better - there are a million fascinating stories to be heard up here in the mountains.

More Beggars

Leaving the temple I heard a great commotion down on the street below (the short road to Dharamsala - it's 4 km long and not recommended for large vehicles - many switchbacks, narrow, and feeds into  McLeod Ganj right at the entrance to His Holiness' residence.   So below (maybe 30 feet down) I could see about half a dozen beggar women (children more aptly - they're 16-17 years old) carrying their children, and they were being attacked by an extremely well dressed Hindi woman - she actually slapped one of the girls.

You don't want to give any of them money - the moment you do you're swarmed by them and the little children that roam the streets alone (5-6 years old or so) - "Money money, very hungry, child sick" it goes on.  The feeling of utter futility sets in - I can't possibly help all of these people, which ones really need help?  I usually have only a few coins with me so I run out of change immediately.  I've adopted an elderly woman who's staked out the turf at the top of our short cut down the hill - I give her a 5 rupee piece (extravagant by beggar standards - all of about 9 cents) in the morning and she smiles at me the rest of the day - Namaste - namaste.

Illness seems to be striking our group - it's about right, we've been here almost 2 weeks - and Ellen, our resident accompanying homeopathic physician / acupuncturist is busy - Matt, Ed, Henny - they all have minor maladies  colds, sore throats.  Ellen is great about this - always available and willing to help.

I've been typing almost an hour - with a few interruptions - and the power shows no signs of returning.  I think I'm going to call it a night at this point and head down the hill for a chai and some company...

And miraculously the power comes back on.  I've headed down to the one place that seems to have a card reader to see if I can post this out tonight - but all the computers are busy - the proprietor gestures to take a seat and wait - there's only one computer that has a reader so it could be quite a wait.

Eagles

Today I saw a pair of bald eagles soaring above the teachings - not American Bald eagles mind you, White headed nonetheless.  They're white from their heads through their wings, with the tips of the wings and the trailing feathers a black or dark brown, seemingly framing the white

Seems it's mating season - the golden eagles fight with one and other overhead, diving from heights to attack.  I haven't seen one hit another yet, but it makes for a spectacular sight against the cloud-shrouded Himalayas.

More Monkeys

We were visited by an entire clan of monkeys today at the hotel.  20 or more of the golden furred monkeys clambered all about the ironwork and terrorized the small dogs.  I stood on the veranda and watched it all, somehow at ease with them scampering all about.  Someday soon I guess it will seem normal, but for now it's a novel experience.

I begin to loose patience with waiting for a computer - no doubt everyone arrived moments before me as the lights came back on.  But this is the only place I've found with a card reader.

11 March, 2004

After trying to eat my breakfast, I feel terrible and really concerned - I wondered if I'd gotten food poisoning or something close to it.  I slept until about noon (from 8:30) in fits and starts - stomach aching, popping Pepto-Bismol and generally feeling sicker than I have in a while.  Around noon I woke and felt like I needed to go down to the teachings so I pulled myself together and headed out.  In retrospect I understand this was probably my body recovering from the hike and altitude effects, and maybe a little de-hydration, but in the moment it certainly felt like food poisoning.

I'd already decided not to go into the teachings proper (to avoid the crushing of the crowds), but to sit outside in the shade somewhere and listen there so I could move around if I wanted to.  I sat down on the grass and settled in, only to find I couldn't get reception, so I moved further down the terrace I was sitting in.  Wandering about I found some semblance of a signal and again settled in.  For about 45 minutes I sat there and tried to get the station clearly, finally I accomplished this by using two radios - one as an antenna multiplier.

While I was sitting there a cow wandered down the steps and amongst us - looking here and there - before heading down the next stairs.  It was sort of disconcerting - we're all sitting and this, what - 1000 pound? cow with long pointy horns to boot, comes meandering through us.

Finally the broadcast worked, just in time to find out we were reading the Hell Realms chapter (the one chapter out of Patrul Rinpoche’s book I can't abide by) - so I packed up and left.

The rest of the day I tried to download pictures from my camera and send them (unsuccessfully, the internet connection here at times leaves a lot to be desired), and wandered the streets.  I was looking for some spare cloth to mend the hole that's appeared in my blue jeans' knees.  I did find a tailor that will fix them - but I have to wait for my other pair to come out of the laundry tomorrow first.  I couldn't find any new pants that I wanted to buy.

Then I got Mustafa'd.  Mustafa is a Kashmiri vendor who is down for the first part of the teachings before heading back to his village.  He's got a tremendous assortment of carpets that have been made in his village and travels to large gatherings to sell them in a cooperative manner.  I'd been in his shop two days ago with another of the group on our way to dinner (she was buying a runner for her mother) and he'd shown some wonderful carpets to us -   one of which I wanted for a wall hanging (these really are too good to put on the floor with cats).

Long story, but he's packing up today and wanted me to come back in.  So a little while later and some not too intensive bargaining, I bought an exquisite 3 1/2  x 5 foot hand woven silk rug off him and arranged to have it shipped home.  It should get there in a couple of weeks.  My thought is to hang it in the entry hall as a wall hanging - I think its gold hues will go well with the blue.

After this I went up to the hotel to read a bit and recover, and then off to dinner.  At dinner I was appalled to see the kitchen staff (washing dishes) were kids no older than my 10 year old daughter Camille, exhaustedly wiping the dishes I was about to eat off - I won't be eating there again (the Snow Lion), but something tells me that this is common practice.  It seriously took away from the dining experience.

So some slices of life from the day -

Beggars

They're everywhere - twisted, deformed, bandaged, filthy, pitiful, legless, crying out "money money" as I walk by.  Most of these I've grown inured to, however the most pitiful are the women with their children in tow - they haven't bathed in days.  If you give a rupee to one of them they all surround you - and they're tenacious - one followed me up the hill for a quarter mile (money money).

Latter a young boy (again about Camille's age) came up to me asking if I needed something repaired (I've seen him repairing shoes - he's repaired two of my company's shoes already).  However I'm wearing my Tevas that don't need any fixing, so I told him no.  He asks me a series of questions (You from America?  From where?  First time in India?  How long?) repeating the questions as if I haven't answered them.   Finally he gets to the point – “you buy me milk?  Please, very hungry, sisters very hungry.”  Lonely Planet has called this one out as a genuine scam - you buy the milk and they then sell it back to the vendor - I move on feeling vaguely uncomfortable after telling him no once again.

Food

So the food here is tremendous - I'm trying to eat Tibetan as often as possible.  They have marvelous soups - Thangtup (I believe) is a chopped noodle soup with all sorts of vegetables in it.  You put hot peppers in it and have a fire pot of sorts.  Lots of curds (yoghurt) with honey and fruit, tsampa for breakfast (roasted barley that's cooked into a sort of paste - basically a cream of wheat styled from barley).

We've eaten Indian twice up here at the Ashoka Restaurant (named after the famous Indian warlord Ashok who unified much of India in a series of bloody conquests, only to convert to Buddhism and renounce his thrown and all it entailed).  The dhal is one I've never had before - pinto beans with black lentils.  (Makhani dhal)