March 10, 2004 - Hiking the Himalayas

Today is Tibetan Uprising Day, so there are no teachings in memorium.

Whew am I bushed - I got up at 5:30 AM and did the kora (the circumambulation of His Holiness' temple and residence) and made it back for breakfast.  After that I went on a 35 km (there and back again) hike with a 6500 foot vertical ascent - we climbed from  McLeod Ganj (about 5000 feet) to a saddle just short of the path to the pass between the Kangra valley and the next valley (don't know its name right now.)  I was hip deep in snow at the saddle (around 11,500 feet) when we decided to turn around.  To put this in perspective, I climbed higher than the Sierras rise to in one day and returned.

The path we took (Dale and I) seemed as though it was a couple of thousand years old, but apparently was built by colonial British in the 19^th century  - It's built up out of stone blocks, and most of the difficult parts that would have entailed climbing are bridged with stairs, ramps, or causeways.  It was spectacular.

Climbing through 7,000 feet we hit our first rest stop - a tea house where the proprietor has hauled up a small store by burro or donkey.  Peering down into the hazy valley below, the entire hill side was covered in rhododendrons - most in full flaming red/pink bloom.  We met up with an Aussie (Cory), who's lived here for the past year who told us that they would be in full bloom in about 2 weeks, covering the hillside with their flames - we won't be back up here for that unfortunately.  At this point we also picked up with a couple of young Monks from Nepal that were climbing today.

Climbing higher we got to 9,000 feet to a plateau called Triund where there was another tea shack awaiting us where we had lunch (beats carrying it up ourselves).  We had the tea shack proprietor make us chais and an egg - pancake omelet (sort of like a crepe), and shared the meal with the monks and Cory and admired the alpine meadow we were in, the ravens that swarmed about, the gwas that soared even higher than us, and the bright blue flowers that had pushed up out of the grass, despite the snow pack still on the ground around us.

Above us is a stupa, high on a rocky crag, surrounded by prayer flags.  Immediately below it are a few caves, complete with rocks forming walls to cover their entrances.   Cory and the Monks tell us that that's where travelers spend their nights - Cory tells us how he spent a few nights in one the previous summer, and how a large black dog (which happens to be sitting next to us trying to score a meal too) joined him and enjoyed some crackers, but refused to eat the chocolate he offered.  Later he tells us that it was foolish of him to let the dog sleep with him - apparently the leopards that inhabit the mountains are very fond of dog, and might have gone into the cave to eat him.

We climb up out of the alpine meadow - itself a saddle on the climb up.  Above us - to the east and west - stretch mountains - the pass we're heading for is 14,500 feet height, and the peaks go up another few hundred feet - this is the first range of the Himalayas and it's already taller than just about every mountain in North America.  The entire surroundings are awe inspiring, especially as I'm here climbing.

Dale and I head off a few minutes ahead of the monks and Cory - we're on a strict timeline as we need to make dinner with Rinpoche tonight - we've agreed that, no matter where we are, at 1 PM we're turning back - shooting to climb down in 3 hours what took 5 hours to get up.

We get lost - somehow we miss a turn on the path and head down some goat traces.  It's sort of scary - we're holding on to tufts of grass, traversing a slope that drops off at maybe 60 - 70 degrees for at least 2000 feet - if we slipped I don't think we'd be coming back.  We scramble up several hundred feet and I see a flash of a crimson robe above - a sigh of relief.

Up on the trail we chase after the monks - my head is pounding - we're at about 10,500 feet now, have climbed about a mile, and every step up the mountain is painful.  I have to stop for a while as altitude sickness sets in.  Resting a while, we press on - we have to traverse an area where the snow has completely covered the path, and there's a 200 foot cliff at the edge of the snow.  Things get very vivid to me - every step is a live moment - step forward = I'm here = step forward = I'm here.  Not a single thought except the focus on the next step - I feel totally alive in the moment in a way that I understand my walking practice is supposed to get me.

Somehow we traverse the field (understanding we'll have to do it again on the way back) and head further up.  It's 12:40.  Dale asks if we can turn back at the next switchback if we don't see the saddle we're shooting for.  I'm non-committal.  We reach the switchback, round the curve of the mountain and - no saddle, but it looks like a clear shot now - the trail is leveling out, well defined.  We're above the tree line and standing in snow.  I say I want to try the next one and take off.  Quickly I walk until we hit a clear filed of snow.  Amazingly I have a burst of energy and run across the field - I want to make it - I'm jogging, then running (it's 11,000 feet or more now) with no ill effect.  I crest the horizon and there we are - the monks are resting in a snow field on some rocks and beyond them the pass stretches into the sky - its top obscured by the clouds that are precipitating off the snow melt in the sun.

We get to the monks, wading hip deep through the snow (I'm in sneakers and a short sleeve shirt).  On two sides of us it heads down, behind us there’s a summit, maybe 500 feet above where we are, ahead of us the pass heads up - a 60 degree angle, completely covered in snow.

There are some little stone huts a little below us - I'm told for those making it this far and needing to shelter for the night.  It's a four day hike into the next valley.

We have a snowball fight, take pictures, and then turn around to head back.

On the way back we're hit with a hail and rainstorm - all that snowmelt precipitating out of the sky on us.  I meet a woman (Ol'ga) from Yaroslavl (Russia, outside of Moscow) who's been traveling in India for 6 months when we get to the tea shack and get a chance to use my Russian for the first time in a decade - I'm pretty good she tells me.

We pause for photos and then head down from Triund. 

 

All the way down my knees and ankles ache.  But we make good time and are back to the rooms by 4 PM - right on schedule.

After a quick shower we head down to the Ashoka – supposedly the best Indian Restaurant in town (but we find a better one later).  As today is Tibetan Uprising Day, all of the Tibetan businesses are closed – which means that most the restaurants in town are shut down.  Fortunately we’ve reserved a large table for dinner – we have about 20 people in all.  Rinpoche, his brother and family (including Tsering and Phuntsok) and the rest of us fill almost the entire second floor of the restaurant.  Dinner is a fixed menu (Terry and Greg picked the menu for everyone) and the dishes arrive sporadically through the meal.  For almost 2 hours we eat and talk – every five minutes someone pokes their head upstairs in search of a place to sit, wide eyed views the spectacle in front of them (this looks a lot like the Last Supper with some humor), and heads downstairs.  I’m tired and worn out from the hike, and the meal can’t end soon enough for me.  About 4 liters of water later, we’re settling the tab (Rinpoche and family having departed), and I’m free to head to the Internet Café and write this up, and then to head back to the room for another shower and a brief bit of reading before turning the light off.

I'll sleep well tonight.

March 9, 2004

So today was fairly uneventful in the scheme of things - I decided to skip the morning review session at the Toshita Meditation Center and focus on getting a small monk's bag to carry the things I need to His Holiness' teachings - my daypack from the backpack I got is actually too large to fit in between everyone's legs. So I wandered down into the town and finally found one.  I also picked up a tin cup so I could have tea when the monks come into the crowd to serve tea (after the first 2 1/2 hours of teachings) and a new radio in hopes of better receptivity.  All this took long enough that I was ready to head to the temple around10:30 AM (For a 1 PM teaching - just to be sure that I have a space).

Picking up some bananas and tangerines along the way (a kilo of each to share), I went through security and found the place about 1/2 full (in other words almost empty).  The usual crowd around me has changed today - there's a new couple for the USA - not very talkative, a woman from Ingelshiem (near Mainz across the river from where Petra and I used to live in Germany).  There's Barry - he's lived in McLeod Ganj for 20 years studying Tibetan and the Dharma, and now lives in Auckland, NZ - he's an herbal doctor.  Barry's interesting to watch during the teachings - he reads aloud from the Tibetan manuscripts and chats with the monks amongst us in Tibetan of course.  There's Matt - he's a freelance journalist who's a permanent resident in Kathmandu.  Used to work at the Smithsonian, now he travels to Tibet 3-4 times a year and writes for the Tibetans.  Jessica and her partner (from Oakland across the Bay) have dropped out of sight (although I run into her partner at the Sunrise Cafe later in the evening over a cup of chai).

Today there seems to be a lot of space around us at first - later people squeeze into the free space but at first it's great - room to adjust my legs and everything.

A little on sitting for 5-6 hours.

The floor is concrete with a thin mat over it - I haven't brought a mat to the teachings yet - so after 20 minutes or so my ankles go numb and I'm compelled to shift.  When it's tight this always has me bumping into people - they're generally pretty fine with this - since they're bumping into me as well.  It's cooler today - there was fog in the morning and it's overcast - almost seemed to threaten rain early in the day, so I don't sweat quite as much (until the afternoon when the sun burns through the clouds and it warms up.)

After the first 2 1/2 hours I'm ready for the tea break - we've covered the readings from Longchenpa's Kindly Bent to Ease Us and Patrul Rinpoche's Words of my Perfect Teacher - His Holiness reading the core text, monks and Tibetans (and Barry of course) following, some mouthing the words, along in their texts, and the English translator reading from the English version as we read along.  Every now and then His Holiness will break into a discussion on the personal meaning of a particular portion of the reading, or its implication for the world.

This is one of the three classical forms of instruction in Tibetan Buddhism (the others being pure Text Reading or pure Dharma talk with no reading).  (I've learned something at the Toshita Center after all...)

My legs are numb - my back is killing me.  I try twists and adjusting my posture / pose to no avail.  At tea break we all stand.  Food comes out and is shared - my bananas and tangerines disappear in a moment - I score some almonds and a couple of cookies.  The monastics sing prayers for the tea break which runs about 10 - 15 minutes and then we settle in for the second half of the teachings - continuation of the story of Milarepa.

About 10 minutes into the reading the monks make it to us with the tea.  At Matt's suggestion I make sure I'm getting sweet tea (as opposed to Tibetan butter tea).  My cup is 500ml - very large, and the monk fills it nearly to the brim.  Three other people pass theirs down to me to have filled and we all settle in for a good tea and the story telling.

For a while the story is so entrancing that I forget I'm now sweating and my back is killing me.  My knees ache.  I itch everywhere.

So Milarepa - this is a great story; I'm going to look for the translation of it while I'm here.  Matt is in contact with a filmmaker (who also made "the Cup" - a movie everyone says we need to see) that's filmed it and is in final editing - looking for a channel into the US.  Anyways, Milarepa was born into a very rich family and has a sister.  His father dies when he's about 7 and leaves everything to him once he reaches majority, and entrusts the management of his estate (houses, livestock, gold etc) to his brother - Milarepa's Uncle.  You guessed it - Milarepa's uncle is evil - he treats them as slaves, takes everything and when Milarepa hits majority says that there's nothing for him.  He says get out of my house you ungrateful wretches and don't come back unless you have an army or huge sorcery. Milarepa's mother is furious, sells everything she has left, and sends him to study Black Magic with a lama.  Milarepa perseveres and learns the magic of creating hailstorms, returns to his village in time to catch his aunt and uncle in their house with a bunch of wedding guests (who all by the way sup[ported his uncle against him) and destroys the house and all its inhabitants.  From here the story gets a bit obscure - you'll have to read it, but it's a lesson in impermanence and the destruction of ego on the path to Buddhahood.  Milarepa in the end becomes a true Buddha, and returns from Mount Kailash, flying through the air.

So this reading goes on for an interminable period of time - my back is ready to go out - both upper and lower.  I fidget, unable to keep still.  I look at my watch, especially when His Holiness finishes the reading and goes on to read from Milarepa's 100,000 songs - another text that we're covering.  Finally he decides enough is enough (4:45 - we've been sitting for almost 6 hours) and the teaching is over.

Standing up, my legs feel like jelly, my knees aren't there, just sharp pain.  I have a pressure in my bladder like you wouldn't believe and it's a long walk (about 1.5 miles uphill) back to the room - I won't use the bathrooms here after the experience the other day.  I walk quickly back to the room.

Tomorrow I plan to hike up to a glacier in the mountains - should be about 11,000 to 12,000 feet high.  We need to get back in time for dinner with Sogan Rinpoche - I'm tagging along with the group on just about everything. 

March 8, 2004

Today was a real scorcher - clear skies and little wind.  I definitely over packed on the warm clothes so far.  Today rather than give a recounting of what happened I thought I'd give some impressions of what's going on around me.

Cows

There are cows all over the place.  In the alleyways that serve for streets, on the hillsides, everywhere.  These are large, black haired cows with horns and lazy brown eyes.  They wander the streets eating the garbage - people drive them away from their shops and stands with sticks or by throwing buckets of water on them. The water seems a blessing as most of them are covered in cow poop, which, by the way, you need to watch out for as you walk through the streets.  I'm wearing only sandals so this is some matter of concern for me as I wend my way through the alleys in the dark in the morning.  The amazing thing is how everyone takes them for granted - there's absolutely nothing unusual or wrong with a cow wandering about in the street blocking traffic.

Traffic

Strangely there are traffic jams here – I wouldn't even attempt driving in this place and there are trucks (with puffs of diesel smoke clogging your lungs) and buses and cars and range rovers and auto rickshaws (little 4 wheelers that putt about with horns like geese) and motor cycles and Vespas - all in a space you can barely walk through much less think about driving.  The drivers plow through the crowds of people, madly honking their horns to let you know that they're coming.  People nonchalantly step aside and cover their mouths and noses as the fumes of diesel and dust spews about them.  In the bus turnaround people climb down from the top of the bus where they’ve ridden, at least for the 10 kms up the twisting road from the valley below.

Air

There is very little of it in the town.  In the morning the street sweepers appear from out of the woodwork (literally, I saw one of them unroll a tarp that they'd wrapped themselves in by the side of the road and start sweeping). Dust billows out and fills the alleys -you'd really rather not breathe the dust, knowing it contains cow dung and every other form of trash known to man.  Later in the morning I see them cart the piles of trash to a burn site where the plastic bottles and wrappers of many different things are incinerated - black plumes of smoke trailing into the still air.  A constant haze hangs over the town, and the Kangra river valley - 3-4000 feet below us - disappears into haze almost immediately.  This must have been a breathtaking place 100 years ago, now it's barely habitable from a breathing standpoint.

There are public kerosene tanks on the sides of some of the roads and one of them leaks out onto TIPA way just down the hill from my guesthouse - it makes me nauseous when I walk by so I don't - there's a long cut that avoids it that I climb up - a small set of stairs then up the exposed concrete piping (complete with holes in them - watch out in the dark) to another set of stairs.

Gwas and Kas

Really – supposedly these are the names of the giant eagles (gwas) and the smaller hawks (kas)  that soar everywhere. The eagles are amazingly brave - they swoop down into the town’s streets to snatch things from the ground and fly off, barely missing the maze of power lines haphazardly strung over head.  I saw one make three attempts at the same thing (outside a roadside slaughter house where they dis-assemble goats) only to be chased away by a vendor.

The Gwas are golden colored on their undersides and dark brown or black on their tops.  The Kas are dark brown all over, and they seem to fly along with the Gwas. It's beautiful in the morning to see them soaring over the mountains.

Food

I've been eating mostly Tibetan fare since I got to McLeod Ganj (except tonight we had a really good Indian dinner).

In the mornings we go to the Sunrise cafe (opens at 7:45) for "the best Chai in Asia" - little glass cups of steaming hot milk tea with ginger, cardamom and other spices.  Actually it's become somewhat of a ritual to go there several times a day - "Let's get some of the best Chai in Asia" someone will say, and off we go.  This is also one of the gathering points for the regulars (people who return year after year), so it’s a place to learn what’s up in town and get guidance.

The Tibetan food is awesome - I've had mostly soups for dinner since getting here - noodles or chopped pasta in vegetable broth with vegetables and eggs.  For breakfast it’s a large bowl of curds and honey, or tsampa (mashed fried barley paste - sort of like pureed oatmeal) with honey and bananas.  Sometimes its Tibetan bread with butter and honey, but always it’s accompanied by several glasses of hot chai.

Lunch is some fresh tangerines and bananas purchased from a street stall, and if I'm really lucky Tibetan momos (sort of like steamed pot stickers stuffed with vegetables).

The prices are ridiculously inexpensive- the breakfast I described, plus a couple of chais will run about RS (Rupees) 70-or about $1.70  Dinner with tea and a lhasi will be around RS80 ($1.90)- Tangerines are RS25 (60cents) a kilo.

So - I tire - it's been a big day today - we hiked up to a meditation center (Toshita Meditation center, one of a couple of meditations centers on the ridgeline above the town) in the morning for some additional teachings - I was completely winded by the time we got there.  Then rush back for the teachings (yea! the radios work today – apparently yesterday they had set the antenna up wrapped about a metal support column and the signal grounded before even making its way into the ether – really, as if they hadn’t even taken Radio Propagation Theory 101) and then back for dinner.  It was a very full day yet somehow everything happened at a very leisurely pace.

March 7, 2004

This morning Henny and Jennie and Laura and I got up and circumambulated the temple (or walked the kora as it’s known) - it's about a two mile walk with some very steep climbs and a breathtaking view of the valley below.  This emerges as one of my daily rituals here – a good hike in the pre-dawn.

To get to the start of the kora you have to walk past the main entrance to the Temple, down the hill and past a Shiva Temple, which even at 6 AM has loud music emanating from within.  The path itself is paved and about 1 foot wide – not really wide enough to pass someone who is walking slower (or prostrating themselves on the ground after each step), so a long slow line often results, with people quickly (but respectfully) passing in the wider areas.

On the backside of the temple - about half way through the walk, is a prayer site - three huge prayer wheels, and scores (probably over 100) of smaller ones - you walk past and spin the wheels which are covered with Tibetan prayers – every time one of the wheels spins around you've sent a message of hope and goodwill into the universe (Each is inscribed with the Tibetan for Om Mani Padme Hung) - a nice thought.  I try to keep my mind focused on this thought and find it comforting and enabling, but somehow the prostrations almost everyone else goes through seem too much – seems the ego clings tightly.

Behind the prayer wheels and up the hill are three Stupas with holy relics, and the entire area is covered by prayer flags - there's a solid wall of them in their Yellows and Greens and Whites and Reds.  Each flag has a complex prayer that as the flag waves in the breeze is again broadcast into the universe.  (Apparently you can’t simply purchase a flag and put it up – you should have it blessed by your lama first.)

We walk back to our rooms and then head off to the Gaeki (spelling I’m not sure of) which seems to be the best place to eat breakfast in McLeod Ganj.  Afterwards we all rush back to our rooms, gather our sitting materials (mine consist of a day pack with the core teaching texts, some bananas and tangerines, a couple of bottles of water, and a transistor radio with headsets), and head down to the temple to claim our spots.  Good thing that we arrived early (10:30 AM) because it was starting to fill up.  Cameras aren’t allowed so I’ve no pictures of the masses of humanity or His Holiness inside the teachings.

Sitting nearby are a Russian party against the wall and another in the open seating area, next to me is a woman from Germany (from a town up the Rhine from Wiesbaden where Petra and I lived so many years ago), and her companion (chance from here?, well known from Europe? I’m not sure) Fran from (you guessed it) France.  Up towards the wall next to Ellen is Drew – we double-take on meeting someone with the same name – who is ex-British military communications.  Given my background (Russian Voice Intercept) we immediately bond.  He’s reading a book by Thich Naht Hahn – not Living Buddha Living Christ, but something similar, and I ask him how he’s finding it.  Turns out he’s on about page 8, so we agree to catch up later in the teachings to hear about his findings.

The teachings began around 1 PM with His Holiness coming out around 12:30 to chanting and much fanfare.  Westerners listen to translations of the Tibetan teachings (some simultaneous, others paraphrases depending on the acumen of the translator) that are broadcast over ancient low wattage transmitters – 8 batteries in a row, single frequency, about half a watt.  Today there is absolutely NO English transmission.  It’s humorous to watch all the English speaking attendees moving their antennae around, pointing this way and that – there’s a faint signal, no it’s gone – oh I though it was 91.5, or is it 92?  Here’s the French broadcast, the Chinese, the Russian, but no English.  After a while the grumbling starts – I came all this way and I can’t even understand what’s going on? 

It’s hot under the Gere (yes Richard) roof that defines the Western Section, the Tibetans of course sit out under the blazing sun (on later days it turns into a patchwork of multi colored tarps that are strung to the building uprights and trees growing the in the yard, even later the Tibetans slowly begin to infiltrate the Western Section, and westerners infiltrate the outdoor area in search of better radio transmission, but I get ahead of myself).  Monkeys scamper over the roof with a chatter and noisy footsteps, and throw things at each other.  Birds soar overhead in the cloudless sky.  His Holiness sings on in the melodious tones of reading and commentary.

The tension continues to rise – Matt leaves in a huff (can’t blame him) and I’d be ready to follow, except I’ve tuned into the Russian broadcast and can follow along.  The translation is poor and halting – basically paraphrasing every now and then, but I can understand that His Holiness is giving a recitation of his qualifications to give the teachings we’re about to partake of.  So and so taught him this, and so and so that – all high lamas in their own right, and thus he’s in a position to transmit the teachings to the audience.  He repeatedly reflects how he is but a simple monk, not enlightened, and it is in that capacity he will be teaching.

I’ll review the method of teaching later, but the four texts we’re using for this year’s teachings are:

Milarepa

1) Words of My Perfect Teacher by Patrul Rinpoche

2) Kindly Bent to Ease Us (check this one) by Longchenpa.

3) The Story of Milarepa

4) 100,000 songs of Milarepa.

Sogan Rinpoche, the lama with whom the group I’ve traveled with from the States studies has compiled a Tibetan book for the Tibetan speakers, the rest of us have either lugged the texts from where ever we’ve come from, or tried to buy them in the few bookstores here.  Many westerners are reading the Tibetan versions along with His Holiness.

So, His Holiness is nothing if not a jokester - I mean this, of course in the most respectful way possible - but he has this childish laugh and lilting to his speech which, if you've seen Seven Years in Tibet, is well captured by the film's child actors. He says the most profound and simple things with this laugh, a "hmpf" as he changes gears or directions, that the translator can not capture.

Enough on the context, on with the words that I think were perhaps the most meaningful to me in the entire trip – I can’t remember when they came, so I’ll put them right up front where they belong, sort of the executive summary of the entire experience for me.  Very simply –

Blessed are those that challenge us, for where else would we find the fuel to grow?

Life is full of so many challenges - the welfare people in the pews of my Church (First Unitarian Universalist Society of San Francisco) that take away from the blue blood atmosphere we all, (certainly?), would prefer to find ourselves in (I cannot emphasis enough the sarcasm here in this statement).  The paranoid, schizophrenic, or otherwise mentally disturbed that make us wonder if we'll be alright turning our backs for a moment, or when they'll next have an outburst.  The other idiots on the road that inconsiderately push their way in front of us (hey – I’m supposed to be first aren’t I?).  The interminable wait in the supermarket checkout line – somehow I always chose the slowest.  All these challenges face us and in their own, karmic ways, if we’re listening, help us to grow.

We can react with abhorrence, with fear, with rejection and withdrawal, with anger as we're often wont to do.  Or perhaps we can realize the true blessing these challenges represent - the fractured mirror in which we can really see ourselves for a moment - stripped of our pretenses and facades, and - maybe, just maybe - they can act as a catalyst for the much needed growth we all could use.  Lately I’ve taken to choosing the longest line, and letting others in front of me.  I’m trying to not react to the lane cutters on the roads, and whenever I’m mindful, let the other person go first, even if they got to the intersection after me.  Oh, and to resist the urge to flip off the person behind me who honks at me for not rushing through the intersection, preferably ahead of everyone else so as to get out of their way as quickly as possible.

I've yet to meet an enlightened being (unless it’s Thich Naht Hahn) - His Holiness freely and frequently admits to any and all comers that he isn't one.  Perhaps if we all looked at the world a little more like him do we'd be a little closer. 

I leave the teachings this day a little disappointed – I hear all around me mutterings of “I came all this way and I can’t even understand what I’m hearing” and think to myself how true.  Ellen and Carrie remind me that it isn’t important that you understand the teachings, that’s not critical to receive the transmission, but somehow I’m not buying it – even here on Day One I can’t let go of the fact (as I see it) that a Spiritual Journey is inherently a unique path for each individual, and that what’s important is NOT checking the box on this or that transmission, or just showing up, but how you process the event and its inner teachings / meanings, and what you personally take away from it.  I hope that the next day will bring better radio transmission as I make my way out in the sea of crimson robes to Temple Road and the 2 kilometer walk back up to my guesthouse, a seated toilet, and at some point, dinner.

March 6, 2004 - McCleod Ganj

After my first really good night's sleep, and a frigid shower (because I didn't know I needed to flip the circuit breaker outside in the hall way) I got up at 5AM and decided to wander the streets.

The Kalsang is precariously placed about 50 feet above one of the narrow alleyways that serve for streets here, on the side of a mountain above town.  There's a balcony outside my door that gives a panoramic vista of the town as well as the valley far below and the mountains to the north (we're a third of the way up a 14,000 foot mountain, and Triund looms above us – a plateau at 9,000 feet).  In the dark the sky above is full of stars – most I haven’t seen in years due to the light pollution in San Francisco.  The mountains are looming shadows to the north, the town a set of lights, stretches out below me and the Kangra river valley is lost in the mists below.

To the street below.

Wandering the streets in the darkness of the town, I came across a pack of dogs - they barked and snarled and looked viscous as they checked me out, but I hushed them and they came up tails wagging.  One of them was a mother dog, still nursing, and she has 2 pups - latter in the afternoon I saw her and her pups more clearly, and their father lying in the street right next to them.  Apparently the only dogs that people actually own are little fluffy white dogs – breed unknown – every other dog is a free agent on the streets.

His Holiness was to give a puja (a cleansing ritual) at 6 AM, so I decided to follow the monastics down the otherwise deserted alleyways to the temple and see where it was.  The alleys, which last night had been bustling with street merchants, vendors, and beggars, were abandoned except for the monastics and a few Europeans that were also out.

I walked the 2 KM or so to the temple, but didn't go in because I didn't have my pass yet (more about that later).  So I got some Tibetan bread from a street merchant (sort of like an oversized English muffin) and headed back.  They’ve set up just inside the main Temple Gates – a tarp strung up across the cooking area – they have bread and the makings for soups that they assemble at the last moment when you order.  The shops were starting to open - I saw one where a family of 10 or so had rolled out of their shop and they were all bathing and cooking breakfast in the street outside their shop.

I spent most of the day today standing in a little antechamber outside the Tibetan security office waiting to get my pass to His Holiness' talk starting tomorrow.  We'd been told that they would open at 9 AM, and they finally turned up at a quarter to 1 in the afternoon.  Lot's of fun talking with the assorted trekkers, college kids and WAY serious dharma bums that showed up to this teaching.  Everyone was pretty good about the uncertainty and the tight quarters.  And we could come and go (bathroom breaks, coffee / tea runs etc.) since 9 of us were on line together.

A bathroom break and lunch break reminded me that today is Holly – there are many young (teens and early twenties) Hindis running around throwing colors on people.  Up here they’re civilized about it – they ask and respect it if you have a firm “no” in response, but a moment’s hesitation and you’re covered with Pinks and Yellows and Reds (lots of red).  Irena (from Switzerland – she and 3 of her friends are right behind us in line and has accompanied me to the bathroom and in search of food) places her hands in Namaste and shakes her head no – “please, please – no thank you”.  Annie, one of my party, is less fortunate – she apparently said OK to one young man, and was plastered by several – but her face looks cool in its multi-colored splendor.  We return to the line with papayas, bananas, lime to squeeze over them, momos (little steamed pot stickers with blazing hot sauce to dip in) and chais from the Sunrise Café across the street.

Finally one person showed up and processed applications - since I was about 7th in line (the line was about 800 people in all stretching down the street) I was out pretty quickly.  I was a little worried that my passport photo wasn’t standard sized (as I’d made them myself), but I needn’t have worried; the security officer simply cut out a silhouette and pasted it to my badge, stapling the other to my application.  Rs 5 later I emerged, the proud owner of the right to enter the teachings tomorrow.

The rest of the day went quickly - a trip to the temple to stake out a place to sit (mostly taping pieces of scrounged cardboard with our names written on them to the thin reed mats that have been rolled out over the concrete floor), circumambulating the temple (or doing the kora as it’s called) and dinner. 

Annie got creamed by the Holly partiers– the color took a couple of days to come off, but her outside matched her inside disposition for days following Holly.

Dinner seems to be a trial – I guess in every group there’s someone who HAS to lead – ours seems to have 2 or three, who vie for the right to select where we’ll go, and when.  We’re still new to the locale, so we cluster together this evening (safety in numbers?) and go in search of a place to eat.  Lonely Planet says the Snow Lion or the Shangri-La are good places (they’re also right next to each other on Middle Way (or Cow Poop Alley as we take to calling it after the obvious…) so we head out en masse for them.  After checking them both out, and discovering neither of them can handle a party of our size, we split into two groups for dinner, and I eat in the Shangri-La.  I can say now, after the trip, that this was about the best restaurant in the town for Tibetan fare.  Run by monks from a monastery, it’s homey, pictures of His Holiness and the Karmapa and other incarnations of the Pachen Lama hang on the wall above diners, and monks bring out your servings as they’re prepared – which can lead to a rather prolonged dining experience, and eating cold food if you don’t dig in right when your plate (or bowl) is given to you.

After dinner I go in search of a zafu (meditation cushion) to bring down to the temple for sitting, but only find some thin square cushions (nice colors in reds and purples, lousy for a sit though).  I buy two (RS 90 apiece) to carry down tomorrow.  It isn’t until day 10 or so that I find an honest to goodness zafu with carry handle (RS 120) on the side of Temple road after forgetting to bring my cushions that day.

Tomorrow the teachings start around 1 PM - we're going to try and get there early to have a place to sit.  Later this week I'll probably hike up into the Himalayas (I hear there's a glacier within a day trek from here)

March 5, 2004 - To McCleod Ganj

We left Delhi in a caravan of vehicles - 3 Toyota SUVs with 14 people in all.  I'm traveling with an ever growing group of people who are great to be with - very diverse, and loads of laughs even when we're completely exhausted.  We got up at 3AM and hit the road about 4:15 AM.  In the dark we loaded the SUVs with our luggage and negotiated who would ride with whom, and then set off.

Even at four in the morning the roads were packed.  There are no highways like we have in the States - everything is a 4 lane road at best with tons of cars.  Lane usage is optional - at times we'd have 4 cars next to each other on the 2 lane road we were on.

We stopped for coffee / tea at a roadside place.  The sun was yet to come up, and it smelled as if they were burning poop in the fields (They probably were.)  The place was so filthy that we had a single cup and took off - driving another 2 hours to stop for breakfast.

A couple of people in my vehicle saw an elephant by the side of the road as we were driving; somehow I missed out, dozing off in the back seat probably.  Jupiter was somehow penetrating the soot and smoke above our heads in the predawn, and the moon was almost full.  As we left Dehli, beyond the roadside stop, we passed what must have been hundreds of people of every age (infant to octogenarian) making their way to the fields to till the land – all this at 5 AM or so.  It was eerie to see them emerge by the side of the road out of the smog that surrounded us, and unnerving to see them cross the roads that carried such heavy traffic – no one was slowing or stopping for them.

After another couple of hours we stopped at a much better place for a sit down breakfast.  While most my companions had eggs and toast, I tried the dhal and rice – delicious, and rounded it off with a couple of pots of tea.  We made sure to have our drivers join us, although they stayed at their own tables and Phutsok seemed to think it a horrible waste of money.

Flat, hot and dusty roads

Tree-lined thoroughfares with trucks stopped here and there, some blocking the way.  Cannabis grew along the shady parts of the road for miles, just waiting to be harvested.  A thin cover of dust over all turning what should have been verdant greens to grays.  The roadway frequently gives way from pavement to dirt as we happen upon road improvement projects.  Four lanes to two, to one shared by three vehicles. 

Buses, crammed full, with men riding on top in the luggage racks. Strangely, a small car sporting a CalPoly banner in the rear window.  We stop briefly for small bottles of Coke drunk through long, extremely narrow straws (hits the spot after the dust.)

Along the way we went through several large towns, the largest being Chandigarh, a city of about 750,000 that stretched interminably through the hot dusty day.  After forcing our way through the uncertain hysteria of many rotaries (a free for all of rickshaws, horse drawn carts, autos, trucks, Vespas and bicycles, all going at exactly the same time through the maze of the rotary) we were able to get through to the north and into the final flat part of our journey before climbing into the foothills of the Himalayas beyond.  Chandigarh was probably the most developed and westernized place I visited (outside Dehli), with a clear middle class.  Women drove their own Vespas and cars (in striking contrast to the rest of the journey), making a striking appearance as their brightly colored saris fluttered in the breeze.

Beyond Chandigarh we came to a set of arches, a sort of strange looking l'Arc de Triumphes (Hindi style of course), that spanned the four lane highway which we were traveling.  We had long since lost sight of the other two vehicles that were traveling with us.  As things turned out, one of the vehicles had stopped for an emergency toilet break and fallen behind the other two.  The other had gotten far ahead of us and stopped under the arch, waiting for us to catch up, disgorging the female occupants onto a grassy strip beside the road and underneath   a large set of columns that spanned the road -.)  By the time our vehicle had caught up they were surrounded by 15-20 Hindi men - all sitting about 10 feet away and gawking at this spectacle of Western women.  I, of course, had to join them in their Yogic activities – a headstand and several handstands added to the spectacle, especially the wad of 100 rupee bills that spilled out of my pocket into the heated, becalmed afternoon.  We waited about 20 minutes for the third car to catch up and then we were on our way.

Tomorrow is Holly, a Hindi festival of colors, and everywhere here there are people riding in trailers towed by farm equipment or horses, going from place to place where free food and fresh water are served.  Men vigorously wave to us to stop and enjoy their offerings.  Tomorrow, the driver tells us, all the young men will run about the streets with dyes of many colors, and plaster each other and everyone walking in the streets with the colors.  It’s considered an insult to refuse, and will likely result in being plastered even more heavily.  Oh, and the dye stings the eyes, won’t come out of the skin for more than a week, and will ruin you clothes.  Or so we’re told.

We pass through another city and are caught in an enormous traffic jam as a procession of Sikhs makes their way to a glittering temple in the center of the town.  The temple is enormous, with what must be broken glass lining its faces and spires – it’s quite spectacular, the sunlight scintillating off the temple and blinding you as you look.  People are singing in megaphones, a cacophony of music deafening us as we sit stalled in the line of traffic.  A cart pulled by a horse is laden with young boys who wave as we push out small convoy through the slow moving procession.  Old men with weathered faces, enormous mustaches and stylish turbans glance at us as we drive by – I’m worried about insulting them as we are guests in their country after all.

The younger men are stylishly dressed with brightly colored turbans – pinks, day-glow greens, purples – quite surprising as all the Sikhs I’ve met in the states have worn grays and blank and white and rather staid colors, but here it’s a festival of colors (right – for Holly you may be thinking, but 3 weeks from now we traverse the same ground and I make the same observation, almost experiencing it anew.)

Another hour or so and we’re starting to climb into the hills.  The terrain is no longer flat, and the ground has turned clay red and is getting rocky.  The lead vehicle decided to stop and flags the other two down (we’d actually driven right by and had to turn around and come back) to have lunch at a restaurant / game room on the side of the road.  The 15 of us crowd into a large, open air restaurant (and wedding palace as we’re reminded by the signs).  Out back there is a beautiful green lawn, an artificial lake with paddle boats of all things.  I think they have a skeet range, and in the basement there are video games (several of the group go off to check this out.)

The husband / wife proprietors come and dote on us – their son has moved to the South Bay in California (Fremont? Hayward?), and they’re amazed to have such a large group of nearly neighbors drop by.  Our food appears – delicious – and the obligatory group photos taken.  After lunch we enjoy small cups of Nescafe chai (out of an automated machine, it tastes great.)  Before climbing back in our Range Rovers they have us pose for a group photo with them.  And off we go.

The roads narrow, becoming tracks almost – single lane roads that switch back as we climb and climb.  Through hand hewn tunnels a single lane wide (no traffic signals here, you just hope no one comes through as you’re traveling.)  The trucks seem to have supreme right of way out here.  Past an ancient fort up on the skyline above us the other side of a river.  Over bridges, up the other side, passing slow moving cars on insanely tight curves, the valley’s bottom miles below us just over the precipitous drop off to the side of the road.  A stop for photographing monkeys by the side of the road and down into the Kangra valley, which is cloaked in a smoggy haze.  In the distance are snow clad mountains, towering over everything else – a promise of clean air and distant views – I’ll have to climb those I tell myself.

We drove for 13 1/2 hours to get from New Dehli to McLeod Ganj - It's actually where His Holiness the Dalai Lama maintains his government in exile (not Dharamsala as I’d thought on the way out here), and a good 3 - 4000 feet higher up than Dharamsala which we drove through on the way.  (I’ll go to Dharamsala later in the trip).

It’s quite the cluster as we arrive.  The Kalsang Guesthouse is up TIPA Way (for Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts – located about a mile further up the road) and the guesthouse is up a set of stairs (never counted them, but probably 60-70 in all) that wander through a couple of other buildings that cling to the mountainside. 

We’ve a ton of luggage (personal luggage – as things turn out we all over packed with warm clothes, clothing to donate to an orphanage, medicines for the same) that is dropped off behind the vehicles in the dusty road.  We look up the stairs (stretching at this point to what point we have no idea,) and wonder how we’re getting the luggage up.  Miraculously (actually through the devices of Phutsok who runs up to the guesthouse,) a set of house boys (late teens) show up and carry our luggage up to check in.  After much ado, the party figures out the sleeping arrangements – somehow I’ve wound up with a single room (which turns out to be a blessing later in the trip).