At last at McLeod Ganj, a place I expected to be a comfortable haven after the India I had just experienced. The bus stopped just short of the goal, right outside an archway over the road that proclaimed McLeod Ganj, Dharamsala. I loaded up and walked the remaining 100ft into the village along the part paved, part gravel, part dirt road. I had looked at the map in the guide book and expected to see some familiarity but the entrance looked nothing like the crude map in the guide book to me. So I just kept walking in any direction, exploring in any direction with my rather heavy load on my back. I guess I expected divine intervention to land me at a nice guesthouse. I had two people recommend the Green Hotel and I was half looking for it, but the streets were not marked and it really didn’t matter. I wanted to see the village. It was a mix of the India I had seen, Tibetan influence obviously, and western culture. Nothing as extreme as the usually inescapable McDonalds, but you could see the western flourish subtly no less. Definitely a tourist site, the main streets were lined with small shop after small shop mixed with street vendors displaying their jewelry, clothing and trinkets. Colorful but still poverty stricken, narrow broken pavement road somewhat cleaner than what I had now become accustomed to with cows meandering and lots of people. But no one was approaching me, trying to get me to buy things, take taxis, etc. And that was a relief. I was approached by three or four beggars all holding up their hands to show me that their fingers were gone with only stumps remaining. One man had a prosthetic limb below the right knee that was much too tall for him and he had a funny lopsided gait, but at least he was walking. This was my first real exposure to that awful leprosy.

I stopped in a guest house which was really much more hotel looking from the outside than most of the dingy guest houses I had seen. Indian run, the place was cool and damp with a musty smell in the hallways and the room was cold and austere. Hot water was only available 6-10am and 6-10pm. Hmmmm…. And it was noon and I desperately wanted a shower. I moved on and came across a delightful little place with lots of windows called Pema Thang. Run by warm friendly Tibetans, the $13 rooms were clean with wood trim and wood floors and reminded me of a little cabin in the woods. I took an end room with windows all along two walls overlooking trees and the valley below. From the balcony I could see the temple complex and hear the monks chanting. I would later be awakened by their five o’clock bells. This place was a little off the beaten path away from the more touristy places and cheaper backpacking guest houses. It seemed like a good, peaceful, safe place to be alone for awhile.

My head was throbbing with pain born from diesel fumes and the long journey. I collapsed on the bed after a nice hot hot hot shower. Oh – but how you appreciate some things when they are so much harder to come by! I was so exhausted I slept until three am.