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.