Dharamsala, MacLoed Ganj - Report.

alspants

Day three has passed. Its been about a month since my first day in India. I used this site to plan a trip to Himachal, I am putting this report in should it be of any use to people researching a trip.

Finally, following several days of mental preparation, we left the security and comfort zone of the Hotel.

Now, one have to take things slowly, so rather then brave the overnight journey on the sleeper bus in sub-thermal temperatures we opted for the ultra reliable, hardcore, not so dangerous, Air Deccan flight to Kangra Airport, a short 13km from Dharamsala.

Being a person who misses planes, and has never been one for timing, I decided to bring the Birthday Girl (my partner) early, to chill in the lovely Delhi airport. Unfortunately, I erred on the side of caution and arrived 3 hours too early.

Delhi domestic airport waiting room consists of the following entertainment facilities; a male toilet; a female toilet; a dodgy coffee and sweet stuff that you-cant-really-eat stand; a worse coffee and sweet stuff that you-cant-really-eat stand; Lots and lots of people and never enough seats.

Thankfully the monotony of this highly entertaining wait was broken with our first introduction to one of the many spiritual expats who make Dharamsala their homes. A german lady of Buddhist tendencies, it turned out, jumped ship, sold all of her assets and left her homeland after being personally invited by his Holiness the 17th Karmapa to join him at his spiritual refuge in lower Dharamsala.

Its one of those things that doesn't really happen. In egotistical daydreaming, with a self importance that life does not always justify, I had briefly fantasised that on meeting a Tibetan monk of great importance, he would embrace my wonderfulness and tell me that I was some sort of God in a past life, or at least a close buddy. This whimsical daydream is brief and quickly gets passed off into the nonsense part of the brain.

For Ms Germany, who must have had a more tangible version of this fantasy, it came true. On meeting Karmapa, he immediately recognised her as a reincarnation of importance and insisted that she join him on retreat, which she was of course very to happy to do. Pondering her story, I think I began to realise that although I might have a respect for many aspects of Buddhism, I could never be a person like this. I will always, however, be interested in stories like hers. She was, it seems, was an elephant in her past life and as a result of her current tantric meditations, she is certain not to return to the realm of animals again. Which must be something of a relief for her.

She informed us that the Dali Lama, though back to Dharamsala, was on retreat. The Karmapa was scheduled to meet and bless the public on Saturday, so we were in luck. Throngs of Buddhists attend these gatherings, eager for a new teaching from the Karmapa. Sometimes it is a short meeting where the Karmapa simply blesses each individual by placing the white silk scarf offered to him back on the shoulders of the person offering the scarf. The blessing is complete with a gift of a holy piece of red string, with a knot tied in the centre. We penciled down the details and looked forward to meeting her Holiness.


The plane was dodgy, but only if your expecting a normal airplane, which most learned IM people will not be expecting. I am not a learned IM person.

It was dressed up to look like a new plane, but it was an old, Indiana Jones style, propeller plane with some new seats screwed in. We flew through the Himalayas, with snow top mountains below and around us. The view was incredible. It took a while to realise what was so exotic about the view in the valley - It was green. Delhi has no grass, no flowers and the few leaves on trees are grey from the dust. This place was well watered and quite beautiful.

A car drove us from the airport up the mountain 1700 ft high. (NOTE it is 500rs, always) The road was almost wide enough for one car - and there was no protection as we circled the mountain from the cliffside. The driver must have been twelve and on several types of amphetamine. His head bobbled to some Indian sing songs and he rallied Monaco style up the meandering cliffside at seventy Kilometers per hour. Mrs Holland, a crazily amiable Dutch lady we meet in the airport and Mrs Alspants snuggled together in the left side of the car hoping to counter balance the car away the cliff. The drive through the villages was a picture of India more postcard then Delhi had been. It was relatively Clean. Narrow meandering streets, tiny stalls full of colour. Indians wearing bright orange with red and green and pink all over. Cows strewn across traffic. potholes, mud, slime, wires everywhere. People everywhere.

Macleod Ganj is the Tibetan refuge in India. 10,000 people were welcomed into India and given shelter. They all cross illegally over the Himalayas. It takes a month, traveling in sub thermal temperatures only at night to escape the sights of the Chinese guards. Its now a tourist spot for sympathetic spiritually inclined westerners who saw "Seven years in Tibet" and/or sympathised with the Dalai Lamas teachings on compassion and happiness. Its an interesting place. The Tibetans are definitely different to the Indians, different personalities and different looking. While they have a place to stay safe, they are still refuges, still unable to buy land or travel. They have no passports, no way to go home without being arrested by the Chinese for religious dissent and for being enemies of the State. Diplomacy is getting better and some get permits to return, but all in all its a pretty sorry state of affairs.

We first walked around the little streets - it was great to relax at last and not fear being harassed. There are far fewer touts in this neck of the woods. Its poor like Delhi, but big city it is not. We walked down to the Temple, outside the Dalai Lama's humble home where he was meditating on retreat and we spun some Mantra Wheels, when in Rome...

It being Mrs Alspants Birthday, I decided to spoil her with dinner in the really nice restaurant in Hotel Tibet that I had read reviews about. The reviews turned out to be a touch misleading. We ordered deep fried food & hoped for the best. Four weeks and counting with no Delhi Belly, its a record that we would like to extend. Hours on the toilet was not exactly the birthday present that she was expecting, so we played with the distinctly dodgy food for a bit and then legged it, tipping the confused waiter generously out of guilt for insulting his uneaten food. This would be food of the Gods for the locals, and we could not bring ourselves to eat it. Sad really.

To say we were underprepared for the weather would be accurate. It was bloody freezing. A cold front from a snowed-in-China jumped over the Himalayas and whistled though the streets and then crept through all the gaps of our summer wardrobe attire. We wore our entire suitcase of clothes at the same time. It made for light packing on our return.

There is no central heating in the hotels, restaurants, etc; so we bought Tibetan blankets to wrap around our coats as we walked along the streets & even when we ate indoors. I donned a newly acquired Russian fur hat. When purchasing, I began to haggle. I offered him half the asking price of five Euro. Then for some reason, Mrs Alspants sided with the Indian. "Ah come on Alspants, its only a fiver, you cant offer him two fifty." My lovely has yet to learn the art of a good Haggle, her sympathetic nature got the better of her. I paid full price to the vendor with an ear to ear lottery winning smile. But my ears were later warm enough to feel like it was I who won the deal.


In the evenings there is not much to do - basically when people visit Little Lhasa (nickname for Macleod Ganj in Dharamsala) they explore all day then read on their balcony all evening - with the cold, that was not an option for us, so nighttime is a bit of a drag. Our hotel had a kitchen so we went down for a hot drink of fresh lemon with honey and ginger - the best drink in the world. A lovely looking lady walked into the restaurant alone so we invited her to join the two of us for the 30th birthday party - One slice of cake, 1/2 a bounty bar (which was passed its sell by date) and a candle. What a party. I know how to show a girl a good time.

We opted to follow Richard Gere, and stay in Chonor House. The hotel belongs to the Tibetan institute - the rooms are massive and airy and all the walls have full size paintings of traditional Buddhist stories. The bathroom was the coldest place on earth. The cold water tap steamed. Result - we arrived back four days later a touch smelly.

{CHONOR HOUSE INFO - http://www.frommers.com/destinations...la/H49048.html -
- Its more expensive then other guest houses. Its a bit off the town, right beside the Temple Complex. I didn't mind the extra cost. It goes to the Norblinka institute, which provides for tibetans working on craft and the like. So your money supports a good cause. I visited a new friend staying in Greens Hotel, it looks like a good option too for much less, but its not half as nice. Depends on your Budget really}

The next day we hired a driver & visited the Tibetan Children's Village school (near the Lake). It's a boarding school for Tibetan children - the only school that preserves the Tibetans culture. It was their holiday period, so only the children with no friends or relatives remained in the school. All of the children have at some point escaped from Tibet. The children were really lovely - one had a puppy whom he had been minding for 2 months - Ms Alspants loved it, she was smitten as a kitten. The boy thought She might be able to give it a better home than he might provide and offered her his pet. Kindness is a virtue they are taught from a young age. Instinct within them seems to back up the teachings.

After that we went to the Tibetan Arts institute - The Norblinka Institute (20 mins down, near Dharamsala) it is a beautiful retreat area sponsored by the Japanese so it is very like a large Japanese garden with houses in it. Each building sponsors a different Tibetan art form. The painters sit on the floor with one canvas in front of each of them - hardly any space - 20 artists to a room. And of course there is a temple - there are temples everywhere - in the government area, the library, the school - no building is complete without a Buddhist temple.

Later, at the Astrology Department for the Tibetan Government in Exile, we attempted to have our past lives read, unfortunately there is a one year waiting list, so I can continue to assume uncorrected that I was indeed a Giraffe in my past life.


Our new friend from the birthday party, Mrs TIBET, was a very interesting lady. A dental surgeon & professor, she more or less gave it up to practice Buddhism and she is so advanced in her studies that she actually attends the private teachings of the Dalai Lama himself. She set up a school in Tibet for children, as their are only Chinese schools their and they have erased Tibetan history. History is written by the victors. She has just married a Tibetan ex-monk. She joined us to visit the Karmapa. We were hoping for teaching but instead he either prayed or sang (hard to tell) and then he blessed us. It was a bit of a let down really. We did not have any spiritual epiphanies. But we did get our pieces of blessed string, and I feel good about that.

That evening at 6 we gatecrashed prayed time at the monastery temple, it was easily the highlight of the trip. The temple had cushions and the monks left their robes on the cushions, each folded origami style to look like people in various stages of prayer. It made quite a picture, but this was not the place to be taking photos. Five monks arrived. We sat alone at the back: the two Ladies & myself. The monks sang their Dharma prayers. It became music and they merged drums and cymbals into the prayer. Milk and Butter Chai was poured for us and we were silently welcomed to observe it all. It was an incredible spectacle, the only real insight into the remnants of a dying culture that was quite powerful, beautiful and poignant.


On our final day we woke up to about 6 inches of snow. It was a new world. All the dirt of India was hidden under a white blanket, building up on electric wires then falling with a thud, breaking the silence outside the window. (It was the first snow here in four years. It was a shock to the locals too) This silence was eerie, our ears were so used to the bustle of cars outside. With no transport, it meant no lift to get off the mountain & no way back down to the airport to our flight. Mrs Tibet - our ex-pilot friend explained that the planes would not be well equipped to fly in those conditions and if it did take off we'd be mad to be on it. The hotel owner told us we had to get to the airport to postpone the ticket, or we'd loose the price of the flight. 6 inches of snow and we had 1 pair of runners each - no snow boots.

We decided to trek down the mountain with luggage on our back to the next town, about 2km away. When we got there pools of water in our shoes we requested a 4 wheel drive - but got a car that kept cutting out, the driver intentionally cutting out when going down hill to conserve power. Finally we got to the airport, wet, cold and beaten. I bought Ms Alspants some shoes and did the ultimate fashion taboo myself, I wore socks and sandles. Yes indeed, desperate times, desperate measures.

Getting Home;

Then the plane was cancelled.

We met Mr India, an Indian man who lived in America some of his life. On seeing our weather beaten "what do we do now" kindly offered us his help. He was a saviour. Endless good spirits, haggling everything for us, going out of his way to lead us back to Delhi.

He had a car. The other airport was only an hour and a half away, we might be able to catch the transit plane there.

Then the only bridge out of town was collapsed.

Then we decided to get the train instead.

Then cars jammed behind busses on the only bypass over the mountain. So it took three hours of patient driving by Mr India.

Then the train was full.

Then the power went in the waiting room we locked ourselves into.

Then the second train was full but we got on anyway.

Then we failed to bribe the conductor.

Then we succeeded after Mr India threatened the conductor saying he can have him first fired, and then killed should he not let us use the empty sleeper carriage.

Then he said okay, and no longer wanted a bribe, even gave us a genuine receipt.

Then we got back to delhi.

Then we got a taxi.

Then we had long showers, welcoming the refuge of the Hotel.

alspants

Monk

Snow

School

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kullukid

Luvvly!!!! Kk

Prashant.M

Well written alspants , enjoyed it. Do continue to write.

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Happiness is just a thought away

Dilliwala

Hilarious. One of the best reports I've read ever.

I vote for this thread to be turned into an article.