Waking up early can pay off

In my last post I made mention that I have been in India for about a month. Earlier today it occurred to me that it's also been a year since I quit working at Hanger – the end of August is an important time! It seems fitting, then, that I am looking at a 6-day vacation celebration. And then we go back to class for one day, and then it's the weekend so we have 2 more off. Hooray!

Don't get me wrong, my students are fantastic. I'm having a blast teaching here at TC, but come on, who doesn't appreciate a bunch of days off all in a row?

My classes begin at 11am now, so I've got a little time in the mornings to myself. Yesterday I purchased a couple of pairs of pants from one of the roadside vendors only to find that one of them was way too big for me. This morning I decided to run up to McLeod Ganj to exchange them. On the way I scouted out some turquoise earrings; I only brought 2 pairs of earrings to India with me, and turquoise is abundant in these parts, so I figured I'd get some. I stopped at a stall run by a Tibetan man who had a 7 month old baby with him (I asked, I don't have some magical ability to tell an infant's age) and he gave me the prices on his wares. After checking my wallet I realized I had only brought about 200 rupees with me; he was asking 350 for the ones I liked. He asked how much I'd give him for them (that's how it usually goes here) and I said I could only give him 150, because that's all I had. I wanted to stop for tea on the way back and that's usually about 30-40 rupees. He told me that he'd give me a “first customer of the day discount,” and if I gave him the 150 then I could bring him the other 100 later. Seriously, he suggested it. So not only was I getting a 100 rupee discount (almost 25%), but he was letting me walk off owing almost half of it. How could I turn that down?

So I agreed, paid him the 150 rupees, and set off to do the rest of my business. On the way back down I had a cup of masala tea and a chat with a dear friend, and then I went to teach class.

After class was over I made my first solo venture to Lower Dharamsala where I picked up my custom made salwar kameez, some spices and fruit, and a few odds and ends I'd decided I could use. General merchandise tends to be cheaper down there than it is in McLeod. On the trek back up it started raining. Of course. I didn't accept any rides from taxis – or the one guy on a motorcycle who offered – mainly because I was timing how long it took me to make the trip on foot, and also because it wasn't cold even though I got soaked by the time I made it to my place. I don't mind walking in the rain now and then.

Thirty minutes to get there, and about 35 to get back, for anyone who's interested. I was a little surprised; I felt like it took forever to make my way up all those steps.

One hot shower and a tiny bit of video gaming later, I headed back into McLeod Ganj to pay off my balance on the earrings and find some dinner. I wound up at The Clay Oven, which thankfully seems to make better sweet & sour veg than the last place I ordered it. They've also got pretty good internet, such that I was able to have a couple of Skype conversations and, as you can see, post this blog. This makes me happy. The food is pretty good, the atmosphere is nice, the internet is solid, but the thing that decided for me that I'll be back is the music: since I got here I have heard Sweet Home Alabama, Wonderwall, Imagine, Ironic, Pretty Woman, and How's It Going to Be (omg omg omg) as well as a handful of other songs that fall into that "I really dig this old song but I have no idea what it is or who sings it" category. Well played, Clay Oven. You had me at Third Eye Blind.

I may finally be getting this Skype thing figured out as far as which places in town have good enough internet to support it, so those of you who haven't connected with me there yet (Lindsey, Casey, I'm looking at you!) should hit me up. Also! Who wants to learn Esperanto with me? I will give you Skyping priority if you do! (Read this to find out why I'm taking this detour on my way to learning Hindi. Check out the rest of his page too, this dude is pretty cool.)

Beauty in Simplicity

It's been almost a solid month now since I came to India. Time flies, eh? It seems to have for me, at least. There have been new people to meet, new customs to figure out, and plenty of work to do. Brij, another teacher, showed up earlier in the week and so I got to hand over the Pre-Intermediate class (the one I got asked to teach “for a few days”) and get a little time back in my mornings. It looks like I've already got the half hour before class filled with individual tutoring for one of my students who is having some trouble keeping up; I hope it goes well.

Tibet Charity seems to be one of the more organized, decently outfitted establishments of its kind here in Dharamsala. Even so, it's a charity and there's not a ton of money to throw around. For example, we do have white boards and markers, but this is what our erasers look like:

Yes, it's a white t-shirt. An increasingly dirty white t-shirt.

Until today, at least. I came in to my Elementary class to find these

:D

resting on the ledge under the board. Little pillows of handstitched cotton. I thought to myself “Were these here earlier, and somehow I missed them?” Maybe 20 minutes into class one of my students, Karma (the one who informed me that the typical Tibetan mother drives a yak), pointed them out and told me she'd made them. How sweet! And how resourceful, too. That is one thing I've noticed about the people in India: they are resourceful. You have to be when you don't have much. Food is all made from scratch. If you need new clothes you go to a tailor so he can take your measurements and make you something. There is a fair amount of construction going on around town but there is no heavy machinery to be seen. Everything is done in a very oldschool fashion, with donkeys hauling loads of dirt and bricks, and people shaping metal with very basic tools. Rain shelters are often made of a tarp held up by a long stick with a bottle on the end so the fabric doesn't get punctured. In the stores there are no prices on anything, you have to ask and then haggle it down from whatever the shopkeeper tells you. It's not elegant, but it works.

And to be honest, there is beauty in its simplicity. In a way it feels more real. It's not as safe and structured as life in the US: the roads are shitty and sidewalks don't even exist, one of the main streets in McLeod Ganj has a steep drop off down the mountain behind the shops lining it, it's not at all unusual to see people washing their clothes or themselves with any available water source, and nobody seems to notice that there are dozens and dozens of dogs, cows, and goats just roaming wherever they damn well please. Somehow it all works.

The other day I was just getting ready to take a nap when Kalden knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to go for a hike. I whined for a few minutes and then conceded, mainly because I'd chosen to indulge in some potato chips and a Snickers bar earlier in the day and I was feeling guilty about the calories. We went up (and up, and up) toward Triund. Triund itself is much farther away, but from what I understand the path we took is the first leg of the trip. We stopped at a tea shop just in time for a tremendous downpour (monsoon season, yo); we waited it out, headed back down, and the whole thing took 3 hours or so. The road was pretty:

In other news, there are some guys who have taken to chanting incessantly somewhere outside my room in the evenings. I thought it was something for when HH was in town teaching, but that ended yesterday and they're still at it. I guess it could be worse, but I still wouldn't mind if they'd go to bed.

Wednesday evening we went out for dinner at one of the local restaurants. Om Hotel is home to the Namgyal pizza place, and omg do they make good food. We had a pizza with Roquefort cheese, walnuts, chiles, tomatoes and... I don't even remember what else. It doesn't matter. It was really. Damn. Good.

Amazing, even. Who knew?

Indian chiles are pretty spicy; Bhutanese food uses them quite a bit as well. Back home I used to take a certain pride in enjoying spicy foods. Here, though, “spicy” takes on a whole new meaning. These chiles are really tasty, and they add a healthy dose of straight up flavor to whatever they're in. A lot of times I'll pull them out of the food before eating it, because just having had them touch the rest of it is usually enough. If you bite into one and you aren't expecting it, all I can say is you might want to order a couple of pieces of naan, and fast. It's a little humbling.

Oh, and an appeal to my techie friends: my iPod Touch won't turn on. This has happened before and I was always able to get it going with the whole hold-down-both-buttons-for-a-really-long-time trick, but I've done that a few times now and it hasn't gotten me anywhere. I'm getting really sad about it. Any suggestions? (I suspect that if Apple stores even exist in this country the closest one is no closer than Delhi, which is 12 hours away. Therefore, that is not an option.)

Serendipity

Today, Tuesday, was the last day in this series of teachings His Holiness the Dalai Lama was doing at the temple here in McLeod Ganj. He had been talking about the merits of secular morality, meaning that we all ought to practice kindness and compassion regardless of our religious outlook. I enjoyed it until he started getting into the more specific Buddhist material, at which point I got a little lost since my understanding of Buddhism is pretty rudimentary.

Anyway, this morning I hung around my room for a little while looking up useful Hindi phrases on my translation app. I felt like this was a good use of my time since, you know, I'll be living in India for another 3 months. The result as far as my morning schedule, however, was that I got to the temple a little late. We got funneled up a side staircase and had to pick our way through the crowd to the hall in front of the main temple area, inside which HH sat when he did his teachings. The crowd was blocked by a security guard; we waited there for about 15 minutes, presumably to allow HH enough space to walk by and do his thing, before we noticed some people peeling off to the right, navigating their way through the section of seated monks, and into the “English Language Room” where we had been sitting the last two days.

After a few moments of consideration, Julie and I decided to follow. We got into the room and put our things down in our spot, and moved up to the doors where we'd seen HH the previous two days. Since we were late, there were already a bunch of people sitting here. It might sound odd since there were hundreds, maybe a thousand or more, people in the temple for the teachings, but I didn't recognize most of these people; I was sure they hadn't been there before today. I sighed and accepted that I probably wouldn't get any better of a view of HH than I had Sunday or yesterday, so I plopped myself down next to one of the previously mentioned dreadlock-laden neo-hippies. (I will say, though, that he had damn nice dreads. Not messy and dirty like some of them are.)

As I sat there I considered: there was a spot between the wall and a man who had been sitting in front of us during the teachings. If I could get over there I'd at least be closer to the door, and I figured why not? Something told me sitting there was the only chance I'd have at getting close to the man everyone was there to see. I decided it couldn't hurt and climbed over a couple other tourists' outstretched legs and said good morning to the man. We waited patiently.

It became obvious that His Holiness was close by when we heard laughter from the back of our room – his, and then that of a bunch of other people. I have no idea what he said; it could have been anything. He has, after all, referred to himself as a “professional laugher.”

He made his way around the outside of the room just as he'd done the last two days, and we saw the monks come by with incense and a couple of press guys come by with cameras. HH appeared and gave us a hearty “Good morning!” which was returned in like and with the Tibetan equivalent “Tashi delek” by everyone close by. He addressed the guy in dreads, asking where he was from; “Australia” was the response, accompanied by a grin. He put out his hands toward the monk and the rest of us did the same – if not now, it might not happen at all. He took each hand in turn. Mine was last, and he held my hand there for a few seconds, during which we smiled and bowed slightly to each other.

Then he moved on around the temple. We returned to our seats. And I couldn't help but think that it was a good day, that confidence and assertiveness were good qualities to cultivate, because without them I'd have sat back down lamenting the fact that I hadn't left my room earlier. Instinct definitely played a part, but unless you act on it, instinct means nothing.

I may not be a “believer” in the sense that many others are, but I think most of us will agree that there are some people you just “get a feeling from.” Sometimes it's a good feeling, sometimes it's not; I can certainly say that I got a good vibe off of this most famous of monks, a man who is proclaimed to be the embodiment of compassion.

Tibetan bread was passed out by young monks carrying big metal buckets, as it always is at these big gatherings, and to our delight today it was still warm. We nibbled on it as the teaching began.

Today HH talked about how negative emotions are nothing more than misconceptions, that the mind naturally wants to be peaceful. He touted the merits of meditation and spoke of the basic precepts including mindfulness, vigilance, and concentration.

Today was a day of ceremony. His Holiness led blessings “of the mother,” who I believe is called Punji Paramita, and he also led bodhisattva vows that laypeople could take if they intended to “take refuge in the Buddha” and pursue enlightenment so that they could “benefit all sentient beings.” He said that those who did not feel they could take such a vow right now could still participate, as long as they had the intent to take the vows soon. He spoke of the practice of bodhicitta, which would “set yourself on the path to happiness.” He said that much the same way that the sun, the wind, the plants belong to no one in particular and we should all benefit from what they can offer, so too should we strive to attain “liberation” so that we can serve as conduits for peace for other living beings.

He wrapped up the teaching itself by speaking about how form and emptiness are dependent on one another. He said also that it was important to meditate daily on Emptiness. We must develop the wisdom to see what is worth studying and what should be avoided.

Generally speaking, the whole thing was a pretty cool experience. A lot of the more specific points went over my head, but the overarching lesson – that we be kind to each other, and compassionate toward all other living things – is certainly one I can get behind. I also have a significant amount of respect for any religious leader who genuinely urges his followers to seek the truth for themselves and not just do it because he said to. I'm not involved enough to know whether this is a surface claim in Buddhism or if most actually practice this through and through, but any religious leader who opens a 3-day teaching by calling into question the usefulness of faith, to me, is worth hearing out.

Taught by His Holiness Himself

((EDITED to include more fun links!))

I am not a religious person.

About 80% of the videos in my YouTube favorites that are not dance related involve Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, Matt Dillahunty, or George Carlin. Or Neil Degrasse Tyson. Oh, and this lady. I do not believe that a person needs religion in order to be “good.” I've been around for about 3 decades at this point, and it's my observation that for all the good religion has done in the world, it's done at least as much harm. I believe that if you can be compassionate and generous, and try not to do harm to others, then you're probably a pretty decent human being. No fancy book or fire & brimstone necessary.

I've tried to be religious. There was a time when I wanted it. I liked the idea of finding some elusive truth about life, I liked the ceremony and ritual that goes along with religion. I liked the idea of belonging to a group.

So I tried a few. I learned a little about Judaism, I went to a variety of Christian church services, I checked out some eastern religions. I made some Muslim friends and learned a bit about Islam. None of it felt right. I drifted further and further from feeling like I needed something mystical and embraced science as a means to understand the universe.

You may find it a little ironic, then, that I chose to spend 4 months in the capital of the Tibetan nation-in-exile and home of His Holiness the Dalai Lama (hereafter referred to as HH), religious leader of the world's Buddhists.

I am not Buddhist. However, I think that Buddhism on the whole has got more right than most other religions. Statements like this are why I respect HH enough to even refer to him as such (you won't find me doing the same for, say, the Pope).

Anyway, on to the story. This morning I attended the first in a series of teachings that HH is doing at the local temple, his “home base,” here in McLeod Ganj. All I had to do was show up to the branch office earlier in the week before 5pm with two passport size photos, my actual passport, fill out a short form and pay 10 rupees, and off I went with my pass to attend the teachings. Sweet deal.

This morning around 7:30 we approached the temple with our passes, cushions, and umbrellas (it's still monsoon season, and it's unpredictable) in hand. To the right, up the steps to the temple, was a sea of monk burgundy. To the left was a crowd of blue, pink, khaki, denim, and a sign that read “Entrance No. 3 – Foreigners Only.” We went that way. As usual, the line for women was much longer than the line for guys (if you've ever been to a bathroom at, say, a theme park you know what I mean); security lines are always divided by gender, and they had a good half a dozen workers for each today. We patiently waited our turn and after receiving a thorough pat-down, proceeded into the temple. In front of the gates which I believe lead to HH's private residence, there is a big painting on the ground. There is a yin yang in the center and fabric flowing around the outside (no cameras allowed in the temple and I couldn't find a photo online. Sorry).

The monks got the best seats, and then the next best were reserved for Tibetan laypeople. They had the best view of the giant Buddha in the center of the temple in front of which HH would sit while he taught. We walked up the stairs and made our way through the smell of people and -- to my surprise, though perhaps it shouldn't have been -- marijuana to the spots Julie had reserved for us near the front of the “English Language Section” room in one of the smaller temples. There are an awful lot of tourists in town these days; I can't even begin to tell you how many dreadlocked neo-hippies with billowy pants and Om necklaces I have seen. I know I'm just as white as any of them, but I feel a little more local because I'm actually living here, if only for a few months. So it goes.

Mats were laid out on the ground, but most people brought a personal cushion as well. I myself bought one in town yesterday for 200 rupees because I learned my lesson the last time I attended a temple event without something to sit on. The walls inside the temple were painted elaborately, with subdued red and blue dominating the color scheme. Gold accents abounded. Statues lined the walls and stood in glass cases (which were themselves ornately carved and decorated). In front of and in contrast to the handsome religious icons sat offerings of Choco Pies and Munchini Wafer Twigs. There were also a fair amount of apples. Lotuses with electric lights in them glowed softly all around the figures.

The large flatscreen TV at the front of the room still had the stickers on the frame; a bright yellow backdrop had been hung behind it. The screen showed the main room of the temple which was full of nuns dressed in lavender robes. Our room filled and as it neared 8am, the time the teaching was supposed to start, everyone stood. I looked back and forth between the TV and out the windows trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker everyone had come to see. Eventually all the Tibetans sat down, so we did too. It was around this point that I had my first real feeling of “Wow, I'm really here.” Any minute the Dalai Lama, one of the most famous – and quite respected – people in the world is going to be a few hundred feet from where I'm sitting. I might get to actually see him live, in person.

Everyone in the English room began to crowd around the few doors that led out to the hallway. I moved toward the one closest to me, hoping that as he walked past I'd get a clear view.

Monks with incense walked past. A camera crew walked past. And then HH himself came to the door, and then came in. He greeted those closest to the door and then walked to the center of the front of the room, where the TV was, and addressed the room in English saying that there were new security measures which meant that we had to stay in that room and listen to the translation (previously everyone brought a radio and headphones, and you dialed to the FM station with the English – or Russian, or Chinese, or whichever you wanted – translation and listened to it that way), so he wanted to come in and “show his face” to us. He smiled, as he is known to do, and spoke in a very relaxed and friendly manner.

He was six feet from me. SIX FEET. I was six feet from the Dalai Lama. Even for an atheist like myself that's pretty damn cool. If I'd pushed my way to the front of the doorway I probably could have shaken his hand or something; I guess that's what I get for being non-confrontational, eh? Whatever, I'm content.

He proceeded to the center temple and took his seat, cross-legged, in front of the microphones. He arranged his abundant robes easily and skillfully. Behind him was a backdrop of red brocade with golden flowers, the whole thing edged in white. Behind that was an elaborate sculpture involving Chinese dragons. Behind that towered the giant golden statue of Buddha, the wall behind him painted a bright blue that was echoed in the tapestry that had been draped over HH's podium. Both shapes together served to frame the teachers: one a man dressed in yellow robes, and the other, larger than life, a shining golden tribute to the Buddha himself. (During a break later I took a walk around the temple and looked in to see this in person, not on the screen. It was pretty surreal.)

HH put on his headset microphone and for a minute the only sound coming through the loudspeakers was the gentle sound of his breathing. He began to speak in Tibetan, and as I watched him on the screen I could hear him – not through the speakers but through the wall to the next room. Some technical difficulties were being had with the sound equipment in our room, but they got it working just in time to catch the part of the translation where HH said “welcome to the westerners who are not traditionally Buddhist, who came here for the teachings...” which I couldn't help but selfishly feel was a bit poetic.

He led a couple of chants and then began his teachings. HH would speak for a few minutes and then stop and look pointedly at the translator in the room with him and the nuns in lavender. She began translating, and then so did the other translators, and HH waited patiently, rocking gently from side to side as they relayed the message to the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people in the temple.

This setup was nice because we got to hear the voice of HH himself – which sounds so strikingly like that of Yoda that I got to wondering if the little green sage was based, at least in part, on this red-and-yellow-robed monk. As he waited for the translators to finish, he drank tea from his white mug with red decoration at the top; I took it as a cue that it was okay to eat my own bread and drink the tea some monks had passed out while he had been talking.

From here on out I will relay what he said as closely as I can. Keep in mind, though, that it was translated once already and I was scribbling trying to keep up, so there's a fair chance I'm not entirely correct on all the points. It should be enough to get the gist of the teaching.

HH said that “it is a habit of religion to rely on faith.” For the last 45,000 years we have done this, he said. What is the benefit? It may not benefit us today to rely on faith. For example, many lifestyle guidelines be of use but others may be outdated today.

This is the point where my ears perked up and I decided I was genuinely interested in the teaching itself. Until this point I was excited just to be sharing in the experience, kind of how when I went to the Rally to Restore Sanity a few years ago I didn't mind that I couldn't hear most of what was going on; it was cool just to be a part of it. To hear a holy man open with a statement that faith in religion may be misplaced and unnecessary was intriguing. And admirable.

He went on to explain that in the 21^st century, many of our needs are fulfilled through science and technology. Through these we can experience greater pleasure through all our senses: seeing sights, hearing music; he spoke vaguely but did specifically mention “sexual pleasure” in reference to touch. I found this interesting coming from a monk. He just kept on surprising me.

He then stated that “real happiness can't come from sensory experiences” and that “people today see that limitations can help achieve real happiness.” I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised; he is still a religious leader. He said that there is an awful lot of competition and injustice in the world, even in very religious places like India, such that it is clear religion on its own is not responsible for eradicating said injustice.

“There are 6 billion people in the world who profess to be believers,” he went on, “and 1 billion to profess to be nonbelievers.” Many of both groups focus on the material in life and lack moral ethics. He used this to introduce the idea of “secular morality,” to which he referred throughout the next few hours. He said that animals clearly respond to sensory stimulation; in fact in many cases their senses are much more highly developed than ours. We as humans must, therefore, differentiate ourselves from them if we are to be truly more advanced than animals, and so that is why we must develop our minds.

At this point I admit I got a little distracted by the western guy who wandered in at the front of the room. He looked just like Frank Turner and my fangirl self had to make sure it wasn't actually him. (It wasn't. No tats.)

HH said that secular ethics means practicing kindness; it ought to be the basis of everything we do, before religion even enters into the equation. “We are social animals,” he said, and by practicing secular ethics we can gain trust and build friendship, both of which are essential if we are to live together as a community. “We must learn to develop a warm heart,” he said. Despite being a nonbeliever you can be happy if you develop a warm heart and practice kindness, he said. Religious people will also be happier if they do this.

The translation ended and HH began speaking again (in Tibetan, as he had been). It was to great effect, then, when he clearly said the word “forgiveness” with great emphasis, in English. As it turns out, he said that all major world religions teach the same basic tenets: love, compassion, tolerance, forgiveness, contentment, and self-discipline. Buddhism adds to this the endeavor to avoid harming any sentient being.

“When we follow secular ethics,” he said, “it doesn't matter what religion we follow.”

He spoke about theists and non-theists, explaining that Buddhism is a non-theistic religion in that it views pain and pleasure as arising from “causes and conditions” as opposed to the theistic view that everything is created by a creator (or creators). He used the analogy of illness: theists are at a disadvantage because they believe that an illness arises because it is “meant to be,” whereas non-theists can look at the same situation and recognize that there must be some cause behind the suffering, and by changing that cause we can change the situation. Buddhism is a reason-based faith, he said. Even the Buddha himself urged his students to listen to his teachings and consider them, and not to follow him blindly.

HH spoke deliberately, yet gently. I didn't get the feeling that he was trying to convince us of anything, merely calling it like he saw it. He smiled from time to time and laughed occasionally. Cows lowed outside. The fog rolled in and people wrapped up in shawls and blankets.

The camera occasionally cut to the crowd. The older Tibetans listened intently, many of them fingering prayer beads. I wondered how many people must have been there.

HH's lesson became less broad and he began to talk about specifics of Buddhism with which I wasn't familiar. He said that the four schools of Buddhism had developed because the four disciples of the Buddha had had different dispositions. Or something like that.

My mind began to wander a bit and I considered learning another language, and possibly getting into translation/interpretation. I had wanted to a few years back when I took a sign language class. I'm setting up to take some Hindi classes since I'll be here for a while; we'll see where it goes from there.

I lent my cushion to the woman next to me, Linda, because she seemed to be getting terribly uncomfortable on the provided mat, and she kind of reminded me of my mom besides. We talked later and I found out that she is from Washington DC and used to teach English in the Middle East, but now is traveling around India. She's got a Master's degree in some kind of Asian studies and is herself a Buddhist.

I tuned back into what HH was saying to hear that “we must always respect other religions. Stay faithful to your own, but respect the others.” Again he used the analogy of medicine: just because a particular medicine is good for you it doesn't mean that it's the best out there, it must fit the condition and the disposition of the body you are putting it into. So, too, must religion fit the disposition of the believer. He talked of a Christian friend he had who used to ask him about compassion. They would discuss it; when the friend asked him about emptiness, though, HH's response was that “emptiness is not your business, it's Buddhist business.” He and the Tibetans laughed, and the others when the translation came through. He went on to explain that his explanation of a thoroughly Buddhist aspect of religion might undermine his friend's belief in his own religion, and so he was not going to engage in that discussion. He said that you can have faith in a religion without logic or reason; however, if someone comes along and uses those very things to discuss your religion with you, your faith may be shaken. This is why students of Buddhism are taught to examine the teachings and find truth in them themselves. He said that he always points out the logical inconsistencies in the different schools of Buddhism, but at the same time, he maintains respect for them.

At least that is my understanding of the whole thing. Again, I'm not Buddhist. If I get some of this wrong it isn't intentional; I'm not a scholar on the subject and don't claim to be.

He closed the 4 hours of teaching by reminding us that even “the Buddha” was not eternally enlightened, from the beginning; he was a regular person just like any of us who was transformed, through causes and conditions, into an enlightened being. He explained that there would not be teachings in the afternoon because he gets quite exhausted (he's in his 70s), but that there would be a discussion held for anyone who wanted to attend.

I decided instead to write this blog post so you all could share in the experience. As I left the temple I found that they were feeding everyone lunch. Everyone. If you brought a bowl, a plate, a cup, anything you could conceivably put rice and dal into, you got fed. I, sadly, had not. I'm going to be smarter tomorrow. Tomorrow morning is another teaching, as well as Tuesday; we don't have classes at Tibet Charity until Wednesday because many of the students are monks and nuns, and even the ones who aren't often want to attend the teachings.

 Any thoughts? Leave 'em in the comments!

HH Rolls Into Town

I'm sitting in a cafe drinking Tibetan herbal tea, waiting for 4pm so I can check out another of the local yoga classes. It's raining outside; I suppose it is still monsoon season, so I shouldn't be too surprised that the sunshine this morning was short-lived.

My Pre-Intermediate class took their first test of the semester yesterday morning. Class begins at 9am and typically ends between 10:30 and 10:45 so I can get ready for my other class at 11, but for tests I think they ought to get to use the entire 2 hours if they need it.

We went over the homework from the previous night and I asked if they had any questions before we started the test. After having a minute to think about it and telling me they didn't, I explained to them that there were two parts to the test, and that when they had finished both they were free to go. “Don't be scared!” I told the room full of deer-in-headlights faces. Some of them laughed sheepishly and I handed out the tests.

At about 9:45 I heard sirens outside. This went on for maybe 30 seconds and the students started looking at each other and whispering. I must have gotten a teacher-y look on my face, because one of them smiled shyly, put her hands in prayer position, and said to me “Dalai Lama is here.”

They quieted down pretty quickly and worked on their tests. I've only graded the first of three pages (one is double-sided), but so far the grades seem to be decent. I wound up marking three questions as extra credit and another one I just threw out altogether, because even I wasn't sure what answer they were looking for. I changed the reading part of the test to a text they'd worked on the other day because they struggled with it so much more than I expected; again, the cultural barrier is just so dense, so tall, so deep sometimes that I didn't want to stress them out any more than necessary. I did change the questions from the ones they'd seen the first time they read the passage; I figured that would test both their ability to comprehend a short article and whether they paid attention in class when we broke it down together.

Occasionally a student would catch my eye and whisper “Teacher...” and ask me what a word meant or for a better explanation of the instructions. One of my students nodded and let out the Tibetan equivalent of “oh, ok” – “acha cha” – that I have come to recognize, first in Palsang and then in others. It's fun to see how cultural norms differ in even the most mundane, automatic of ways. For them it's just something they do; for me it's still a little funny.

When I first started teaching here I tried to get through a lesson (as they were planned out in the textbook) every day. By the end of the first week I'd talked to a couple of more experienced teachers and observed in my classes that this wasn't likely to last very long. Lately I've slowed way down, covering about half to three-quarters of a lesson each day, depending on the subject matter and how the students seem to be responding to it. Some days we get off on tangents, with them asking about some aspect of the material, often a new vocabulary word or concept, and then the discussion spirals from there. I figure they're still learning and using English, and I'm not particularly in the habit of following rules just because they're there (I consider myself sort of a chaotic good, or maybe neutral, alignment), so I don't mind getting off the book's topic as long as I feel like we're on to a suitable new one. This is especially true considering the fact that I think much of the book's content is not appropriate for students like mine; not only do they have to learn the words for cappuccino, online dating, or “neighbors from hell,” they have to learn the entire concepts. My students had no idea what sushi was. Most of them have never been on a plane. The roads here don't have intersections or crosswalks, and these are the things that the book assumes are familiar to everyone.

It just doesn't work here.

Regardless, their tests have been turned in and I told them there's no homework for the weekend, so they can just relax and go to the teachings and do whatever without worrying about school. They seemed to appreciate that.

After classes Julie and I did a little apartment (hotel room) shopping, and eventually wound up meeting a bunch of her students who have also become friends. Most of them are Bhutanese, with at least one Nepali in the mix. So tonight I met Tashi, Sonam, Sertso, Rigsel, Tashi, and Rangdol. By the end of the night Rangdol, Rigsel, and Sertso were asking me all about the States. Sonam was amazed that it would take a few days to cross the country by car. They were incredibly intrigued to learn that there isn't just one “American accent,” and my stories of the ridiculous amounts of snow that Chicago received a few years ago had them absolutely fascinated.

I thought it was really funny. Here I am, in India, this exotic country, and the people here are so thrilled to learn about the distant, strange land of the USA. They were really sweet. You know how a lot of times it takes a person a while to warm up to someone new? They didn't seem to have much trouble with it; by the end of the night they had each seemed to effortlessly find a way to talk to me and, as far as I could tell, they really wanted to. I got a really good vibe from the whole evening.... which was probably facilitated by the fact that we got dinner at a Japanese restaurant that made damn good miso soup and veggie sushi. I wasn't quite to the point where I was craving sushi just yet, but it's nice to know I can get a fix if I need it. I wouldn't trust raw seafood here, in the north of India, but I think cucumbers and cabbage and that sort of thing is probably ok.

New friends and sushi! <3

I've also been befriending the stray dogs around town a few at a time. We already have some that follow us when we are near; I figure it can't be a bad thing to have a guard dog wherever you are. They just sort of pass us off to each other as we move through the different areas, especially at night when we're on our way home. It's like they can sense that I want to show them attention. I don't approach them, I let them come to me. For the most part you walk through town and the dogs (there are dozens) just sort of hang out and do their own thing, but so many times I can see in their eyes that they just want a little bit of attention. Most people ignore them; the dogs get fed, I guess, and it's rare that I see anyone behave negatively toward them. If I may be so nerdy, I find myself thinking “I see you,” like in Avatar, because that's just what seems to be appropriate. I see that they're there, and that they're living beings just the same as any of the people, and that just like everyone else here they're just trying to survive. Everyone needs a little love now and then. 

Some mornings we wake up to find Tashi guarding our room.

Paula hangs out at Tibet Charity and looooooooooves attention.

Black & brown doggles, just chillin', as they tend to do here.

 

The definition of "pet" and other classroom fun

I have decided that Tibetans on the whole are very kind, very gentle, very good-natured people. My students are starting to open up to me. They talk more in class, they joke around, and more of them are coming to me individually with questions after class.

The other day in class we were doing an exercise entitled “A Typical ________ Family.” They had to fill in their nationality (Tibetan for most of them, a few Thai or Indian, and the rest were Bhutanese) and then finish the prompts below, such as “the mother works _______” and “the father reads _______.” The students tend to all talk at once most of the time, unless I specifically instruct them to take turns. Most of the answers I got for this exercise were things like “the mother cooks” and “the father reads the newspaper.” When we got to “the mother drives _______” we had to learn how to phrase “she doesn't drive” since most Tibetans in Tibet, it seems, don't have cars.

Then, loud enough to be heard but in such a way that it seemed the speaker was immediately embarrassed, I heard the answer “a yak.” I had actually been hoping for an answer like that, but I didn't know if, you know, it was ignorant and racist of me to expect that every Tibetan family had yaks. Apparently I wasn't that far off base, because I asked the student, a young lady named Karma who I can tell wants to talk but is not always sure enough of herself to do it, to repeat herself... she did so with a giggle and the rest of the class burst into laughter and agreed with her. I explained that sure, we could say that she drives a yak. It's rides, technically, but the idea was right.

I also had to explain the word “pet” to them. I decided to go with something to the effect of “an animal that lives at your house, that you take care of.” When they decided that meant yaks and sheep and horses, I had to revise it to say “an animal that lives in your house, that you take care of.” I think they've got it now.

Two to three times a week I've been holding conversation classes for my Elementary students. Attendance varies, but it's usually around half a dozen. Today I had only two students show up, both monks: Jampal and Sonam Wangdue. Jampal is one of my more advanced students. Despite his claims today that he is too shy to speak in class, he usually seems very comfortable answering questions and serving as a translator between myself and the other students when the language barrier proves to be insurmountable. Sonam Wangdue is much more shy and quiet; even with considerable prompting from his friend today he didn't say a whole lot.

For class today I had them tell me about a custom or story from their culture. Jampal taught me about the Tibetan new year's festival, while Sonam Wangdue talked about the animals that are found in Tibet.

They told their stories and afterward we went over the vocabulary words that had come up; they included domestic, representative, and elaborate. Not bad for “Elementary” level students. They were trying to find the words to explain something to me so they went back and forth in Tibetan for a minute; then Jampal told me the Tibetan word for... I don't even remember what it was. I'm not a very good student, I suppose. He asked if I was learning any Tibetan and I told him the truth: a few words here and there.

Quick aside: Kalden had started teaching us the Tibetan alphabet a couple of weeks ago. Julie has since found a monk to give her private lessons; after the first couple times I wasn't really feeling it. I thought about the practicality of learning a new language here in India and decided it would make more sense to learn Hindi, since it's spoken all over the country and Tibetan is spoken by a considerably smaller amount of people, mostly just here in McLeod Ganj. For some reason Hindi seems more accessible, too. I borrowed a couple of “teach yourself Hindi” books from Tibet Charity but haven't done much more than flip through them yet.

That being said, I felt a little guilty about wanting to learn Hindi instead of Tibetan, since the whole reason I'm here, after all, is to work with the Tibetan community. Jampal asked me if there was much of a Tibetan presence in Chicago and if I'd use the language when I went home; I told him no and he said that it wouldn't make a whole lot of sense for me to learn it, then. English, he said, is an international language and therefore much more practical for them to learn. I'm not sure why it was such a big deal for me, but it was a huge relief to hear him tell me that, basically, it wouldn't be worth my time to learn more than a handful of basic phrases in Tibetan. I think I'll learn some pleasantries and greetings, functional Tibetan, and then see if I can do at least the same in Hindi.

In other news, I got my pass to go to HH the Dalai Lama's teachings that begin on Sunday:

I get to go to HH's teachings this weekend!

 

Shalom, Namaste, Tashi Delek...

Today I taught my usual two classes as well as a one-hour conversation class with a few of my Elementary students. They seem to be enjoying the new vocabulary which is “much more useful” than the vocabulary they get from some of their other conversation teachers at other places around town. I'm slowly getting them to come out of their shells. One monk, Jampal, has clearly studied English before and is much more proficient and comfortable with the language. He's serving as an “emergency interpreter” of sorts when either I can't get my point across or the other students can't sufficiently explain what they want to say. He's also a really nice guy and a very good student. I'm enjoying having him in class.

After that I headed into McLeod Ganj to meet up with Palsang for an English lesson. He showed me to a pizza place I hadn't yet been to, but we only ordered tea. We went over his homework, he practiced reading from a Tibetan newspaper he has been carrying around for months, and we did a lesson on when to use who/where/which in sentences.

From there I headed to the Green Hotel to wait for the elderly man I'd agreed to help with “a few emails.” Four and a half hours later, I'm finally sitting comfortably in my own room for the evening. I figured it would take a little while, but let me tell you, I am simply exhausted now.

Amram has lived in Dharamsala for the last 5 years. Apparently, a few years back he was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, which is why his hands shake and he needs a full-time caretaker. He's in his 60s but looks like he could be a decade older. He and his Tibetan caretaker, Rosie, showed up a little later than I expected but it was ok; I got to catch up with some Facebook messages while I waited.

They got situated at the table and I set up my laptop. As it turns out, we had to compose an email seeking funding and also a travel companion for a 6-month trip he wants to take around India to document the country's Jewish communities. Amram's hunched body sits rigidly in a chair, his hands always shaking, and he speaks very quietly. After I read back to him a couple of times what we'd written he asked me to speak more quietly; apparently his hearing is still pretty good. We wrote and rewrote, and then he had me go into his email account and send the message to most of the people in his contacts list.

Then I had to go into his other email account.

And his other one. And his other one.

In each, he had me read the names in his contact list and he'd tell me – in that barely audible voice – whether I ought to add the person to the list of recipients. I didn't mind so much when there were only 30 contacts, but when we got to the account with 92, I have to admit I had a moment of frustration. Oh well, I figured, I'm invested now, I can't just leave him.

So on we went. Then he asked me to compose another, shorter email to send to a select few people, personalizing them just a bit for each one.

Rosie reminded him of the time and asked him to hurry up. They argued a little; I stayed out of it. Eventually we got through everything and they called a taxi to take me home, which was really nice.

What's that saying, Julie, about doing something for someone who can never really repay you? Not that writing emails is all that earth shattering or anything, but Dharamsala certainly seems like a place where there is no shortage of people who could use a little help.

All things considered, I'm glad I'm here.

Request at the Green Hotel

I seem to have made my way into this sort of limbo zone where I feel like I don't have much to write about for a day or two, and then when I say “Oh shit, I have to post a blog” I feel like so much has happened, but I can't seem to recall any of it.

I'll do my best.

Oh right, I did this.

I've been teaching around 5 hours a day. New students pop up all the time; Julie and I are supposed to start teaching a nun and her sister English in exchange for Tibetan lessons. Palsang had some things come up so he hasn't been as consistent a student lately, but he wants to get back into it.

Earlier tonight I got asked to do some slightly different work for a somewhat different client. The story goes like this:

I got out of classes at 3pm. My conversation students told me about what they did over the weekend and as we went through their accounts, they asked “what's the word for...?” and this way we got a list of new vocabulary for them to practice, which includes improvise, puddle, splash, and shelter. Their assignment was to think of another story to tell that included at least one of the new words.

Afterward I headed over to the Green Hotel & Restaurant, one of our favorite hangouts in McLeod Ganj. They've got a pretty decent vegetarian menu and equally decent wifi. In fact, it's the only place I've found so far that can support a video conversation on Skype. This is important. Skype is our friend.

Even so, the internet in India is not what I'm used to at home. It isn't uncommon to have to reconnect a few times within a conversation (as some of you are aware). It's still the most reliable place though, so I plopped myself down at a table facing the windows and fired up my laptop.

At some point during my conversation with my mom, I noticed a smallish Tibetan woman hovering near me. I smiled at her and realized that she was familiar: there is this Caucasian man who lives in McLeod Ganj that we see from time to time, and she is his caretaker. This man must be in at least his 70s, and it's clear that his health is deteriorating. I see him in the Green Cafe and around town in his Hawaiian-style shirts and his Irish cap, always with his Tibetan caretaker helping him sit, stand, eat, and do everything else. I've heard that he's a bit of a fixture around town, and they usually seem to sit at one particular table when in this restaurant. I asked if she wanted me to move. Apologetically, she said that yes, if I wouldn't mind, they would appreciate it.

The old man, who had been waiting somewhat unsteadily in the background, thanked me as I passed him on my way to the next table. I smiled and told him it was no problem.

After a little while Palsang had joined me and I finished my Skyping. I was talking with The Monk, as he's often called in our little circle, and I realized the Tibetan woman was again hovering near me. “He'd like to speak with you,” she said as she motioned to the hunched, bearded man now occupying the seat I'd been in.

I was a little surprised. I sat down on the seat facing him and leaned in, and said hello. “Hello,” he said in a weak but articulate voice, “I'm from the United States.”

“So am I,” I told him.

“I'm from New York City,” he told me.

“Ah, nice! I'm from Chicago.”

“Oh, the Windy City!”

I laughed. I agreed and introduced myself. He told me his name but I admit I'm not 100% sure I heard him correctly, so I'll find out the next time I see him. I shook his arthritic, clawlike hand and he explained “I'm disabled, and I can't use my hands very well. I can't write anymore.” I nodded in sympathy. “Could you help me write something?”

Again, I was surprised. Why me? There are plenty of other nice-looking westerners in town, lots of white girls who speak English. Was it simply because I gave up my seat for someone who clearly was more in need of it that he decided he'd trust me? Or maybe it's just that he figured I was nice enough to do something else for someone I didn't know. It doesn't really matter. I explained to him that I had to get going, but if he was going to be there in the next night or two I could meet him and of course I'd be willing to help him out.

That's why tomorrow evening I'm meeting one of the many disadvantaged locals of McLeod Ganj and doing what little I can to help him out. If all I have to do is take my laptop and write a few emails for an elderly gentleman in failing health, for whom it looks like just getting to the other side of the room requires a Herculean effort, then I'm more than willing to give up a couple hours of my evening. Maybe I'll even make a friend or two out of it. I've always been drawn to older people. I think they're interesting. For as long as I can remember, I've preferred to hang around people older than myself. I think they tend to have the best stories; this man from NYC who somehow wound up in Dharamsala, India, for the end of his life ought to have some good stories to tell.

Dear Teachers,

Teachers, I am beginning to understand.

I won't say that "I do understand," because I'm sure I don't. I've been at this a couple of weeks now, but I won't claim to have joined the ranks of you who have been doing this for years. But I am starting to get it.

I am beginning to understand what you mean when you say that you work long hours, not just the hours you physically spend in the classroom. I am beginning to understand spending your own money so your students can benefit from better lessons. I am beginning to understand the responsibility you feel for your students, and the desire to see each of them succeed in the classroom, and outside of it.

I am in India, teaching English to refugees from Tibet. Their native languages (some students are from Bhutan, Thailand, and other areas in the region) are very different from English, and so they often have a difficult time with some pronunciations and vocabulary, not to mention the grammar. English is not a tonal language; theirs are. There is no "th" sound in their languages; it's pretty common in English.

Add to this the fact that I'm an American teaching from a British book, and it gets a little confusing.

What's even worse, though, is the fact that the book is not only written in a western country, it's written for western students. The other day we had a lesson in the book called "Practical English: On a Plane." I got smart and asked "Who here has been on a plane?" I was met with blank stares. A few of them shook their heads. So first I had to explain how it works: flight attendants and in-flight drinks and such. Today we had a reading about things that are "Typically British." I had to explain the following terms, because none of my students was familiar with them: pub, cappuccino, espresso, au pair, zebra crossing (a crosswalk), beer, Burger King, and "fish fingers."

So now I'm thinking.. yes, my students should learn what all of these things are. It will make them more well-rounded and able to relate to people in western cultures. But really? I think at this level the cultural gap just makes the lessons that much harder to understand.

We had our Unit 1 test in my Elementary level class on Wednesday. I had a few students (monks, as it happens) who did particularly well -- upward of 96%. I think they've studied English before. It was an eye-opener for me too, because I didn't realize I had to explain what "true and false" meant. I have been writing names on the board because most of the names in the book are ones you don't find here: my students are all named Lobsang or Tenzin or Lhamo or Tashi or Tsering; in the book the names are Marta and Marco and James and Allie and Alessandra. I don't think there's anything wrong with giving them "Marta = woman, Marco = man" on the board at the front, because if they respond with the wrong pronoun simply because they have no idea whether the name is male or female, that doesn't test their understanding of the English language. It was pretty funny how many filled the blank in "Is Magda Polish? Yes, _____ is" with the word "he."

Really, guys? Lol. Of all the western names in your book, I'd hope you'd know that one. And no, I didn't write the test; that's just the one that came with the materials.

I need to find some materials that are geared more toward an Asian classroom. If I can't find any, I might need to make some.

So Teachers, I am beginning to understand. The best of you really do give so much for your classes. I'm only teaching 2-3 classes a day, 4-5 hours total, and I'm feeling it. I can only imagine what it must be like for a new full-time teacher who is just building a stockpile of lesson plans and class projects.

We aren't supposed to make copies except of test materials; there is a sign above the copier reminding us that "all other copies are 2 rupees per page." I've been recommended to collect 20 rupees or so from each of my students to go toward the cost of copying whatever else I deem necessary, but I'm hesitant. Sure, 20 rupees isn't much. It isn't much for me, anyway. Maybe I'll do it and call it close enough, even if I go over it by the end of the semester. I just want them to learn. The book is good, I'm sure, for other students. For mine, though, it's not quite cutting it. I feel like I need to supplement. I want to go online and find articles, flip through books and find passages to use. For the most part, their understanding of grammar is pretty good, and their vocab is pretty impressive. Their reading comprehension is not so hot, though (generally speaking; of course there are exceptions). How are they supposed to improve their English, though, when they are reading selections that they wouldn't even understand the meaning of in their native languages? How can they focus on the language when there is so much else to process, to distract them?

Most of them are eager to learn, though, and sometimes they ask a lot of questions. Whenever we introduce new vocabulary they always ask for more words. We did body parts the other day and they kept asking "What's this? What's this?" pointing to moles and elbows and fingernails that weren't on the list in the book. I have had a couple of students come to me after class and explain to me that they won't be in class for a couple of weeks, usually because they have to go on a trip somewhere. They're not like vacations, they're like "my sister just had a baby and so I have to take over running her shop" or "I need medical care and it's somewhere that will involve me being gone for about 15 days" -- I just had a student come in and tell me that as I sat here typing this entry. I wished him well and told him to study so he wasn't behind when he got back, and he smiled and bowed a bunch of times and thanked me. I mean really, what else can I say? No, you can't go?

I also had to explain to the class on Wednesday that I expect them to do their assignments not because I'm trying to make more work for them, but because I want them to improve. I want them to learn, and learning takes practice. Sure enough, the half of the class that didn't have their assignments in on time handed them to me today. I'm determined to get these students to a point where they can understand and be understood, and I've only got a few months to do it in.

I think I've got my work cut out for me. I better go find some articles.

To hold you over until the next entry, here are some photos.

Old Monk rum, eh? I've never heard of it, but there are an awful lot of monks here, so why not?

Spices and hot peppers for sale.

Veggie burger where you can really see the veggies.

The tailoring shop where we bought fabric to have some pretty Indian outfits custom made. Total price for two full, elaborate salwar kameez? About $30.

The buses and trains here all have sections reserved for women.

Julie getting ready to eat some batura (sp?) and channa (chickpeas and spices) -- yum!

Joe and Steve, I saw this and thought of you guys. Obviously.

Bhagsu is still dirty, but at least they're trying.

This tattoo shop doesn't look sketchy at all!

Preeeeeeeeeeeetty... Bhagsu waterfall.

I feel like I'm on my way to Whiterun...

Adventures at the Indian post office

I've begun to run into my students around town. It seems like every day now I see at least one of them outside of class, and I'm always greeted with a big smile, a bow of the head, and a jovial "Hello, Teacher!" My students are so sweet.

One of the other foreign teachers, I believe he's Canadian, never did show up. The second or so day of classes Julie and I got to Tibet Charity early and Rinzin, who runs the day-to-day over there, asked if we would mind teaching the Pre-Intermediate level class for a day or two since the other teacher hadn't shown up. We said of course, why not? A week and a half later, and we're still teaching it. I don't really mind, but I'm beginning to realize that it really is a fair amount of work. I was going to teach a conversation class -- which is exactly what it sounds like, it's speaking & listening practice -- in the afternoon as well, but Kalden warned me not to burn myself out since I am already teaching two 4-hour classes every day. Surely I can handle 5 hours of class in a day, I said to myself, career teachers do 9 or more.

So today at 2pm I taught a conversation class. Or rather, I sort of led one, because it was very unstructured. I had half a dozen of my Elementary level students who wanted to do conversation, though, so I wasn't about to turn them down. They were all shy about speaking in English, so I had to coax them into it by reminding them that this is why they came to the extra class, and that everyone needs practice, and that we're all friends so there's nothing to be scared of. They warmed up a little bit. I gave them homework for tomorrow: each one is supposed to present for 2-3 minutes (if possible) on any topic they are familiar with. I had two monks and a nun there, so I hope that between the 3 of them I learn something about what that's like.

Today is my dad's birthday (go wish him a happy one!). Naturally, I wanted to send him something cool from India, because how often do I have the chance to? I found something I thought he would like and then, figuring while I was sending something all the way to the US I might as well send an entire package of stuff, I threw together a bunch of things I've found that I wanted to bring back with me (for you guys!). I packed up all the things into one nice, rectangular pillow of stuff and took it, along with a birthday gift for another friend, down to the local Tibetan tailor that has a sign outside advertising "Parcel Packing here." I handed my stuff over to the nice old Tibetan men who cheerfully informed me that the big package would be 50 rupees to pack and the smaller one 30, and they set to work STITCHING TOGETHER a muslin sheath for each. When they finished, I was handed my packages and a Sharpie marker so I could address them. I was so thrilled by the experience (I'm a nerdy seamstress, deal with it) that I even purchased a couple beautiful handmade wallets that they had for sale. I then marched my little self along with my packages bound for the good old USA next door to the post office.

I'll tell you what, the disgruntled postal worker stereotype is just as true in India as it is in Illinois.

I was brusquely informed by the woman behind the counter and the men lounging at a table in the back of the room that parcels only ship between 9:30am and 1pm, so I'd have to come back. (Guess what time my classes are? 9am to 1pm. Of course.) I was also told that I'd need 3 copies of my passport and a customs form "from upstairs." No one seemed to think it would be helpful to tell me how to get upstairs. There were no visible stairs and as I left the building to look for them I was greeted by two of my female students with a very cheerful "Hello, Teacher!" Dolker, a Buddhist nun, has such an infectious smile I couldn't help but return it. We spoke for a minute and they didn't seem any more up on the workings of the post office than I was. Then Julie and Palsang walked by, so I left with them to go to yoga.

Anyway, when we all met back up later in the evening at what has turned into our favorite hangout, Tibet Kitchen, I asked (read: begged) Kalden to help me out. The next day he went up to the post office and got me a customs form, and after classes today he went with me back there to try to get it all sorted out. He was informed a bit more nicely that parcels only ship between 9:30 and 1, but we did get confirmation that the customs form was correct and they gave me prices on shipping. Kalden is going to drop them off for me in the morning, which is super awesome of him. So Dad and Steve, you'll get your birthday gifts but I have no idea when. Probably not for at least two weeks -- I promise they are on the way!