A Motorbike Adventure, and Kashmiri Hospitality

The countdown is moving faster all the time! I'm now in my last 48 hours in McLeod Ganj. It's amazing how you can feel like you're getting things done but once the deadline gets close enough, it seems like there's no way you'll accomplish everything you want to before you go.

Yesterday I went on an adventure with Neil. I know early on I swore I'd never get on a motorbike here in India, but the circumstances were such that I decided I'd take my chances in this particular instance. We rode the back way out of Lower Dharamsala, where I'd never been before, through a little village called Khanyara, and into the mountains. When the road got bad enough we were worried about the bike surviving the trip, we parked it and walked the rest of the way.

We found a valley full of slate (I think?) with a river at the bottom. We made our way down to the river where we took photos and video of the rushing water before finding a big, flat rock to use as a picnic area and eat our lunch. It's pretty amazing... looking at the way the rocks in the sides of the valley had clearly moved due to some kind of tectonic activity at one point or another was stunning. Millions -- billions -- of shards of rock littered the ground; it was like a geological boneyard. Standing there pondering this, I couldn't help but think that nature is so huge and so incredible, the sheer randomness of everything that happens in the world is poetry on a huge scale. In the grand scheme of things, none of it means anything... and yet there is such detail and such beauty and such intricacy that it feels like there's no way we could possibly ever discover everything there is to see.

The world felt enormous beyond comprehension.

A gigantic boulder "menacing the path," as Neil said.

Can you see the caves?

As it has since I returned from Rajasthan, once the sun goes down the temperature drops ten degrees within a matter of minutes, and then keeps on going. We rolled back into McLeod Ganj bundled up in multiple layers. The guys at New Varuni House, where I'm staying, had invited me for dinner around 8/8:30. At about ten after I got a call on my room phone informing me that food was ready and I should come downstairs.

I should know by now that the Indian definition of "come for dinner" is a bit different from the American one. What they meant was "Come down for snacks, drinks, and conversation, and we'll have dinner in a couple of hours." Regardless, I had a good time hanging out with Sanjay and Anil as we talked about all kinds of things. Apparently the Kashmiris are known for their hospitality, and these guys definitely lived up to the standard. We had aloo gobi (that's potatoes & cauliflower for those of you less familiar with Indian food), a chicken dish that isn't on the menu, and chapatti (roti/bread). I mentioned that they didn't offer channa masala on the menu (chickpeas) and that it's my favorite -- Sanjay told me that as a matter of fact, they bought some channa earlier and they'd be happy to make it up for me before I left.

So that's what I'm getting ready to do right now: go down and have some channa masala made just for me. :3 If last night is any indication, I won't be making it back to my room until midnight or so, so I'd be wise to tidy up a bit before I go. My bus ticket is booked for Wednesday evening, I finished all but the last few tiny bits of shopping today (Sanjay even offered to drive me out to Bhagsu to look for one piece in particular), and so I figured I'd start packing. I'm pretty sure by the time I give most of my old clothing to some of the locals and toss things I neither want nor need, I should be able to fit everything else into one checked bag, a carry-on, and a personal item (admittedly one that just barely falls within the measurement restrictions).

Earlier today I met Kalden and Van for lunch since Van was all set to leave for Delhi this evening. One by one, the volunteers are leaving. I was one of the first to get here and it seems I'm the last to leave. I've been saying goodbye to all the friends and acquaintances I've made here; there are a handful of people I wish I'd gotten to know better, earlier. So it goes. I guess it gives me extra incentive to come back.

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.