Wanderlust Heaven!

· We got a flat tire later on. Superman fixed it up in 10 minutes, with no help (we would only have slowed him down), and then got to a petrol station where they repaired the flat tire (now for use as a spare). I should mention that the roads were in terrible shape – and it was zigging and zagging around mountains all the way.
· We got stopped by an Army/police fellow at the juncture to Keylong. I had considered only going this far, to break up the trip. Keylong to Manali was about 5 more hours. But I’d decided to do the entire 18 hours at once – would make for a better story. Anyway, the Army guy made a lot of noise and proceeded to inspect all the driver’s paperwork. It was fairly obvious he was looking for a bribe. I got out of the jeep and stood next to him and our driver – not that I could really do that much, but I wanted to put a bit of pressure on this chap and at least let him know that a foreigner was watching him try to secure a bribe. In the end, some combination of Superman’s spew and my presence got us off without paying a single rupee.
· Finally, the roof rack in the jeep in front of us (we were traveling with another jeep, in case of problems – normal practice in this region) gave out. Superman helped them sort out their problem. The luggage on their roof had to go inside their jeep, displacing three of their passengers – who then got stowed into other vehicles, one into ours. That made a tight fit even worse. My nuts felt like they were in a vise for the rest of the way.

So we reached Manali after about 18 hours. If we had been stuck with a loser driver, it would have taken much longer. Superman was a rock star and got us there despite the many hassles along the way…

During the drive I tried to listen to my iPod – desperately in need of some pleasure. It didn’t work – all that happened was that the hard drive sounded ‘stuck’ and that an ‘Apple Service Center’ URL popped up on the screen. I was bullshit – I knew that iPods didn’t have a stellar record of longevity, but this was less than a year and my iPod is one of my secret weapons to escape from torture. I put it away and seethed for a while…

As we entered Manali, we got stuck behind the longest line of lambs I’d ever seen. It was about 9 p.m., and apparently that’s when the shepherds bring the animals back from the pastures. Beats me…I know next to nothing about ‘animal husbandry.’ But there we were, trying to get around thousands of lambs. Took about 20 minutes, then we were in Manali center.

I had last been in Manali, and HP state, back in ’92 with my friend Jan. We had both spent our business school summer break working in India – in a previous post I covered that story. After wrapping up our work, we traveled north, and spent most of our time in HP. We were to go trekking out of Dharamsala, but bounced around a few other towns before and after. Manali was one of them. It was during the monsoon season, and the rain was at times ferocious – so much of our time was spent heads down, ducking in and out of hotels, restaurants, bars, and train stations. This time the weather was excellent – like autumn in New England, probably a bit warmer, so I could look around a bit more calmly.

I had a few memories of my previous time in Manali. Running into a German fellow, Oliver, who looked like Jesus and who seemed to be one day ahead of us wherever we went in HP. Honestly, we ran into Oliver in every single town we visited – perhaps he really was Jesus.

I also recall staying in a very modest hotel called the Mona Lisa. You don’t forget things like that. Even if very stoned for most of the time. Other memories come back too…meeting a very friendly French woman named Isabel, and hanging out with her in various towns. That was before email, and travelers used to go to all sorts of means to stay in touch with each other. One method was poste restante – you can send a letter marked ‘poste restante – name X’ to post offices in most places, the post office will hold the letter for a month, and you can pick it up by showing ID. Another, perhaps more cool way to communicate was to post messages at various bakeries – in each town there were 1-2 that had message boards, and when you reached a town you could put up a note there, addressed to your friend, saying you were staying at the Mona Lisa, proposing a time/place to meet, etc. Isabel and I stayed in touch this way – we met in Dharamsala, and were both planning to travel to Kathmandu. She got there first, and left a note for me. We met, hung out for a while, and later on met again in Paris, where she lived. Excellent memories of that time…

Back to the present: our jeep finally stopped at a shabby hotel off the main drag (‘The Mall’). I decided to check in there, being exhausted and wanting to be near the food/drink spots. I got a room – nothing special, but it had hot water and I took my first real (i.e., not bucket) shower in over a week. That felt amazing – and my face still felt as smooth as a baby’s bottom, thanks to the shave I got in Leh. Decided to re-check my iPod – perhaps charging it up would help? I plugged it in, and tried to switch it on – and to my complete surprise, it worked fine. Not sure what the problem was…the battery could have been run down, but I didn’t think so. More likely, a power surge in Leh had hit the unit and ‘confused’ it. The battery charger on the iPod is small and doesn’t have any sort of surge protector – whereas my laptop charger seems to have one. Anyway, I was jazzed – $400 saved right there. Reminded me of my camera problem at Fuji Rock in Japan – I think I wrote earlier that some beer splashed on it, and it seemed to be dead. The next day, it had dried off and worked fine. Perhaps I’ve found a way to reverse my most hated of laws, the law of entropy – all of my broken stuff magically fixes itself within a day.

Went out to fill my belly. Manali was absolutely mobbed – it was Dussehra, a key Hindu holiday, and half of Delhi seemed to be there. Noticed a placed called Khyber – which my guidebook had mentioned as a decent bar. Popped up there, found a seat at the bar, and ordered beer and food. The only beer they had was ‘9000,’ another Indian ‘strong beer’ that tasted about as crappy as the Godfather beer I’d had in Leh. But it was potent – 8.25% alcohol. Had some lamb saag (with spinach), chatted with some Indian holidaygoers next to me, and sauntered back down to the street to have a wander.

It was good to see Indian families at play. As I mentioned earlier, Indians probably aren’t the most relaxed people in the world, and it was good to see them at least trying. And I couldn’t fault their exuberance – they were truly enjoying their holidays, eating street food, playing cards, shopping, etc.

Checked my email – got a note from my friends Ken & Carmen, she had just given birth to their second daughter (Cristina) in London. That was great news…of course, I’m such a lame friend that I haven’t been over there in ages and haven’t even seen their first daughter, Victoria. Anyway, I’ll be in London in mid-December and that reminds me that I should pick up something nice for the girls (not for Ken) while here in India!

So I was back in HP for the first time in 14 years. And that made me wonder – why had it taken so long to return, when I had been dreaming of the place all that time?? Why can’t we do what we want? Perhaps the process of socializing people doesn’t work that well…it’s always easier to concentrate on the here & now and not chase your dreams, or to stop the inertia (which, as Newton taught us, requires friction/external force). All I can say is that I’m still getting used to being able to do whatever I want – and I hope I get completely used to it (despite the likelihood that it will make me an even more selfish person – at least I’ll be happier) and never lose it…

I saw a Japanese tourist, standing on the sidewalk holding some bags, looking utterly confused and overwhelmed. I almost went over to help her out…but thought better of it. Being overwhelmed is part of the Indian experience, and she’ll be better off for figuring it out herself.

I’m not sure I got this point across thus far: India is one of the most colorful countries in the world. Of course there’s the Hindu religion, with its pantheon of gods, tales, and holidays redolent of incense, flowers, pujas and ceremonies. But everyday life is full of colors, smells, traditions, etc. There’s never a dull moment in India…at the very least, if you’re just standing there looking bored or stupid, a tout will come over and try to get you to buy a rug.

Case in point: Indian profanities. I was walking back to my hotel, and recalled some Indian swear words/phrases that my friend Hasmeeth taught Jan and I years ago in Goa. (ago in Goa…nearly, but not quite an anagram). One key word is ‘bhenchod,’ which literally translates as ‘sister fucker’ but which in reality is used like ‘fuck’ in English. I’ve heard Indians say ‘bhenchod, it’s hot today’ and ‘I need to go to the bhenchod bank.’ I started laughing to myself as I entered the hotel…these little bits of life really spice things up and keep me on my toes. I really should have kept a journal before…there would probably be 10 books coming out of those notes.

I slept like an old dog that night – not surprising, given that the jeep ride didn’t offer much rest. I got up and felt incredibly powerful – like I’d survived an Herculean task and was ready for the next – surviving a typical Indian breakfast. Which I proceeded to have – a masala omelette, some idlis, chai and pickles. Decided to go to Old Manali, which is where many foreign tourists hang out and which is more picturesque than the town center. On my way out, I noticed the Mona Lisa Hotel across the way – I’m pretty sure that was where Jan and I stayed in 1992. Still looks like a dump…of course, my current hotel wasn’t exactly stunning.

In Old Manali I wandered about, took some good photos (see below), and visited the Manu Maharishi temple, where they were having a festival. Manu was the Hindi Noah – apparently we’ve all got our versions of the flood saga. Listened to the music and watched them dance around for a while – people seemed relaxed and cool.

As I walked to an outlying part of Old Manali, an old woman beckoned to me from a balcony. I looked up…she tried to sell me some charas (pot). Which I found incredibly funny. I declined – not sure why, but I had been hearing about drug busts around Manali/HP state and decided to play it safe for now.

Went to dinner at a respectable restaurant that night. Sat down solo, got a menu, ordered a Kingfisher beer – thankfully they had this brand, saving me the torture of choking down Godfather or 9000. I had barely taken a sip when a cute Indian girl came over, asked me if she could sit with me. I think I spat up my beer in my haste to insist that she join me. We chatted for a bit – it turned out that she was a university girl from Delhi, that she was at the restaurant with her friends, and that these friends had dared her to go over and chat with the ‘rugged foreigner’ as they called me. She won the bet…and we both seemed to enjoy chatting. She stayed at my table and we had dinner together. Not sure what her friends thought of that, they kept looking over and giggling. I really must spend more time with university girls…

The following evening I was to catch a bus (not jeep!) to Dharamsala, a 10-hour overnight trip. Before the ride I had all day, so went over to the cool little village of Vashisht. It’s a mellow place, you can really lose yourself there for as long as you like. Vashisht has hot springs and a little temple…and German bakeries, of course. In one of them, I saw two Westerners chatting – one had a completely tattooed face, the other major-league Rasta dreadlocks and a Seuss-like tall hat. That was a bit odd…decamped to the ‘World Peace Café’ for a drink up on the roof patio, which was a brilliant place to spend an hour or ten, reading and relaxing. Incredible views from up there…

I had to do a couple things on my laptop, which I proceeded to do – and managed to get a wireless signal, allowing me to check email, which still seems to be an addiction, or at least distraction, for whatever reason.

I turned off the laptop and read a bit of V.S. Naipaul’s India, which is helpful in understanding the many contradictions comprising modern-day India. A solo foreign lass sat down at the next table and was very chatty – turned out she was from Boston (we didn’t know each other), had quit her job, and was traveling around the world too. We talked for a while, but after a while I felt like moving on and headed out. I think she was looking for someone to hang out with – or at least a sounding board. I did give her some India travel advice, but didn’t feel like much more than that.

As I walked down to the Manali road I noticed a series of locals carrying buckets of debris on their heads. They were clearing a housing site, apparently. The system they were using was quite inventive – basically the equivalent of the old fire department’s bucket brigade, where one person hands off water to the next down the line. In this case, the garbage-carriers were handing off pails to the next guy and running back up the line. Made for faster work – in Western countries it wouldn’t make sense, as it took 5 laborers to do the work. In India, labor is cheap as nails and it was the right way to go.

Had a beer in Johnson’s Café – one of Manali’s nicest restaurants and a good place to kick back for an hour. It was Gandhi’s birthday – I knew that much, as it was plastered all over the place – but didn’t know it was therefore a dry day alcohol-wise around India. I did get the beer in Johnson’s – but the shades were drawn and Gandhi’s birthday was the reason. The previous day I’d had lunch there – HP state is famous for its trout, and the dish I had at Johnson’s was excellent – covered in almond sauce, with a nice (safe) salad on the side. The trout reminded me of the trout my parents and I had at a little hotel in southern France in 1990 or so, when we drove from Paris down to Nice. It’s funny how different travel memories seem to join together after a while…

Took the overnight bus to Dharamsala – 10 hours, but it wasn’t bad at all. There’s a good story in here, which I’ll get to soon. The bus was mostly full of locals and Israelis. After we got going, people started to nod off – there wasn’t any light in the bus, so nobody could read. I took out my laptop and tried to watch a movie, but the DVD was pirated and was a dud – there was nothing on it. Yet another pirated movie lesson…

We stopped late at night for a bite at a roadside dhaba (snack shop). Chatted with an Israeli woman who had just finished her army stint and was traveling in India with her father – who I believe didn’t say a word the entire ride. Anyway, we ate and then got back on the bus. Fell asleep, in fits and spurts. Woke up and thought I’d dropped something on the floor. Felt the floor, it felt like there was a rug or something on the floor. That was bizarre – I felt again and this time I thought it was a dog, at least a living creature lying on the floor. As I felt it a bit, it smacked my hand and I pulled back – but I still didn’t what it was. I was woozy, confused, and fell back asleep for a while.

Might have slept all the rest of the way to Dharamsala – or at least the next dhaba stop. But at some point, I was awoken by something on my lap – it was the Israeli girl. It was she who had fallen asleep on the floor of the bus – she had been sitting with her dad, but he was large and she had no room. And it was she I had ‘groped,’ in fine Japanese subway train fashion, as she slept on the floor and I searched for whatever it was I had dropped. I guess she thought I was feeling her out and was interested in some fun…so here she was, seemingly interested in further gropage.

I was pretty surprised, but not unhappy with the turn of events. I looked over at her dad, who could probably kick my ass, and he was out cold. So the Israeli and I shared my seat, and a bit more, over the next hour or two. I’m sure the Indian guy across the aisle woke up and gasped at one point – but I really didn’t care, he was a shmuck (or whatever the term is in Hindi) and anyway, his feet really stank and I felt like giving him something to think about.

Eventually the young lady returned to her seat, and we soon pulled into the McLeod Ganj section of Dharamsala. It was 4:30 a.m., and we were all brain-dead. It’s standard practice in India to just show up without having a hotel booking…which was the case here and now. But it was before opening hours, so we were a bit stuck. I knew a nearby joint called the Green Hotel, where I believe Jan and I stayed in 1992. I headed that way and the Israeli girl and her dad came with me – they didn’t seem to have a clue about where to stay. We ditched the rest of the passengers without a second thought.

The Green Hotel’s reception was closed, but a Tibetan monk popped onto the street and said he had rooms available. We took a quick look and said yes, at least for that night – we all were in dire need of sleep. I took a room on the first floor, the Israelis one on the second. The room was basic, but the mattress and duvet were comfortable and I lay down and passed out for a while…not sure how long…then heard a noise outside, it was a scratching and hissing sound and I immediately thought of the classic horror flick The Shining. Was hesitant to check out the noise, but it didn’t stop so I reluctantly got up and opened the door slowly. It was the Israeli girl – wanting to come in. She had more energy than I did at that hour – of course, she was in her early 20’s and just mustered out of the Israeli Self-Defense Forces, an outfit I probably wouldn’t have qualified for when I was 20 or so.

So that was a completely random night…and proof positive that strange things happen while traveling, if you open yourself to them. For some reason I’m congenitally open to odd experiences, I can’t seem to close myself to them!!

Wandered around McLeod Ganj all that day, it was a place I’d fondly remembered for 14 years and a very special place. Most are aware that it’s the residence-in-exile of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan community in exile. I won’t get into the history right now…but will just say that it’s one of the more unusual and intriguing communities on the planet. It’s far from a secret – tons of tourists visit and there are quite a few long-term foreign residents. Anyway, I walked around and remembered many things from back in ’92 – the corner where Jan posed for a picture, with his umbrella held high and a cow eating garbage next to him. The Dalai Lama returning from a trip and thousands of people in the streets, welcoming him ‘home’ with incense, music, and chalk drawings of dragons on the pavement. Not sure how many of the things I remembered were actually falsely recovered memories – sometimes I think I did or saw something that wasn’t actually the case. And this was a 14-year gap in visits.

Did a few things that day. Organized a 4-5 day trek to the Indrahar Pass, where Jan and I trekked in 1992. I decided to just go over the pass and right back to Dharamsala – whereas in ’92 we went all the way to Bharmaur. I had less time this time and wanted to get to Delhi and Mumbai by mid-October to see friends.

I also joined the local crowd in welcoming back home the Dalai Lama – real déjà vu, as I’d seen him return in ’92 too. Waited for over an hour, but finally his convoy appeared, and the music and fireworks started up. The Dalai Lama still has a gold Benz and I was able to glimpse his bald pate in the front passenger seat (not in the back – what a guy) as it drove slowly by. Wasn’t able to get a good photo of him, here’s the best I’ve got:

The local kids sang songs in celebration of the DL’s return. Catchy stuff – I’ve got a mini-movie if you’re interested. Here’s a pic of the kids doing their thing:

Went to the Regional Mountaineering Center as well. This place, which Jan and I visited in 1992, provides information on Himalayan trekking and isn’t an agency per se. The fellow who runs it, Mr. Sain, is an authority on the region and wrote ‘the book’ on local trekking. He recommended (strongly) a certain agency which I hadn’t heard of, and steered me away from the two I’d already consulted. I was a bit surprised – I had thought that the RMC would be, a la Western tourist boards, impartial and averse to making commercial recommendations. But I think in this case, Mr. Sain would be getting a kickback from the agency he recommended – and in fact I saw him at this agency later that day. Anyway, I ended up going with his recommendation – let’s see how it goes. The coordinator there seems good, so I’m optimistic that the trek will go well.

Went out for dinner/drinks that night, after practicing yoga in the dark on the patio. The one real bar is McLo’s, went up to the third floor and sat down at a group table with some locals. They turned out to be Kashmiris living there – of course, they own rug shops. But they weren’t pushy, they were actually quite friendly and we all agreed that the Bush Administration (and the Pakistani President, General Pervez Musharraf) sucks. These fellows left after a while, and some Punjabi university students (university students seem to have an affinity for me) came over and sat with me. They weren’t sober – but they were very friendly and we shared beers and the delicious local apple and honey (alcoholic) ciders for a couple hours. They made noises about joining me on my trek, but I laughed that off – I wouldn’t get any peace and quiet with these louts around. Eventually wandered home (picking up the staple toilet paper and bottle of water) and passed out.

Next day walked over to the small villages of Dharamkot and Bhagsu Nag. The former is a Gaddi (shepherd) village – one of the guides on my ’92 trek came from there. I plan to look him up when back from this latest trek. Nice village- full of Israeli travelers, there are signs in Hebrew everywhere and more than a few falafel joints (and joints too). Which reminded me of the Israeli girl – I had moved hotels the morning we had our rendezvous, not because of her – and I hadn’t seen her since. Which was OK with me – I needed to avoid foreign entanglements…

My only previous memory of Bhagsu Nag was of the water there. It’s famous for its cold springs, and there are various canals and pools of water. Since 1992 it’s gotten much more built up, there are many hotels there now and it’s not as bucolic as I remembered. The Indian writer Rohinton Mistry wrote a short story about his visit there years ago…it’s called Running Water, and can be found in the great compilation book Bad Trips. The gist of Mistry’s story is that he visited the town during the monsoon, and when he went to shower at his hotel there was no water. The monsoon rains often wash away the pipes and plumbing, so hotels just boil up buckets of water (a la Leh) and give those to you for washing. Mistry took his bucket shower. The next day, when checking out of the hotel he happened to ask the clerk the English meaning of the name ‘Bhagsu Nag.’ Which, of course, is ‘running water.’ Cool story.

Walked back to town. A bunch of monks were walking in the other direction. One was a Westerner, replete in red Tibetan robes like the other monks. I’d seen a few of these around town, it was an odd sight and I wonder about them. But if they’re following their bliss then good for them. I’m far too much of a pleasure-seeker to follow in their footsteps…but a few weeks in a monastery would probably be good for me. Perhaps when I stop running around so fast…

Have been writing this entry, as I mentioned at the top, from the rooftop patio of the Om Hotel. It’s now dark and I can barely see my fingers, but my typing skills are sturdy so it hasn’t slowed me down much. But now I’m about done – gotta get ready for my trek, which starts tomorrow. And I do want to pop back into McLo’s for some more cider – won’t get any booze during the trek, most likely, so need to fortify myself while here in town. This above all, to thine own self be true. See you next week.