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!

Universal Yoga

I do yoga once in a while. Julie says she has done yoga basically every day for the last year. We are in India. If one is going to do yoga, this is the place to do it.

Yesterday, two weeks in to our stay here, we finally made it to a yoga class. Julie and Kalden found it; a little studio called Universal Yoga that involves following a series of handwritten signs down a few flights of steps and through a dark hallway or two into a seedy-looking residential building. If I had been in the US in a place like this, I would have turned around and gone home. But this is India. It's just the way places look here.

We got there a little early and there was a Vinyasa class still in session. We were asked to remove our shoes outside the studio room, and then we were allowed to sit quietly while the other class finished up, since there was no electricity in the hallway outside and it was a little dark and scary.

The Vinyasa class was taught by a tall, dark yogi who spoke as though he, too, was right from the States. He seemed like a good teacher, but I admit I was a little bit disappointed; where were the Indian yogis? Seriously, I travel to the other side of the globe and attend a yoga class in the country that invented the practice, and I find an American instructor?

Their class ended and the students for the next class started trickling in. Julie and I rolled out our mats near the front of the room; it was a good thing we got there early, because we ran out of space. There must have been about 15 or 20 of us; there were a few people who couldn't fit their mats into the room and didn't get to do the class.

A lanky, dark Indian man who looked to be in his mid-twenties took a spot at one of the mats at the front of the room and started leading us in a warm-up. It took me a few minutes, but I eventually decided that his very unexpected, just-thick-enough-to-be-distracting accent was Scottish. It was... well ok, it was just plain weird. Kind of cool, though, too.

He finished with the warm-up and a different instructor stepped in. Let me tell you, THIS guy was the sort of person you'd expect to find teaching yoga in India. Super thin and all muscle, you could tell he'd been doing this for a while. Periodically he would instruct us to do “comfortable Vinyasa” -- which Julie later informed me means a sequence of moves that involves being up, down, and eventually coming to rest – and he himself would do this elaborate series of handstands and the splits and other such feats of balance and strength, and all I could think was “I'm in India... doing yoga... with Dhalsim from Street Fighter.”

Accurate representation of my first yoga instructor in India.

There were a handful of young (in their 20s) Indians assisting in the class, adjusting us students when we weren't doing an asana quite correctly. They had clearly been doing this for some time, because they nudged just enough to put you in the right spot and then deftly moved down the line to the next students.

At the end of class, during the relaxation period, Dhalsim began chanting in this slow, deliberate way that reverberated through the room and my body, and it really was extremely relaxing. I've never been to a yoga class where that was done before. It became so easy to really let go of the distractions and chill for a while. When we came out of Shavasana, he bowed to each of us in turn and thanked us for coming to class.

I dunno, I thought it was pretty cool. Apparently it's one of the best yoga studios in the area as far as cost/quality ratio.

On our way out we met Rico, one of the many hipster-ish Caucasians in the class. Almost everyone there was western, or at least they looked western. Tattooed, unshaven, and muscular, Rico had the look of a wanderer, which he later confirmed in his answer to my question of where he was from (“I don't even know anymore. I spent a while in Boulder...”). He seemed like a nice enough guy. He and Julie discussed tattoos for a bit, he asked what we were doing in Dharamsala, and he invited us out for dinner. We declined because we already had plans, but told him we'd be at the Green Hotel tomorrow afternoon giving English lessons to our monk friend, Palsang. I'll also be Skyping with my parents and hopefully my sister. We'll see if our new yoga buddy shows up.

In other news, a few of you have been asking what you can send me to make my stay in India more homey. I have begun compiling a list, though I want to stress that NONE OF THIS IS NECESSARY – we are surviving just fine (and more or less comfortably, really) on what we can get here. These are simply things that would be nice to have, should you feel the urge to send them our way:

Protein bars. I like Lara bars, especially the chocolate and/or peanut butter ones (obviously). Some Luna bars are good too (Nutz Over Chocolate... I'm sensing a theme here...). If you find a different brand I'm down for trying something new, please just make sure it doesn't have any high-fructose corn syrup in it. Some of 'em will surprise you, like GeniSoy. :(

Oskri also makes delicious coconut bars... they come in a few different flavors, all of which are great, and look like this:

I would like to have more of these plzthx.

Dried papaya, pineapple, and/or apples. In that order.

Seeds, like pumpkin or sunflower seeds. Nuts are easy to find here but I don't see many seeds. They make for good snackletons.

Licorice. Panda makes “sticks” that would be perfect. Any flavor is welcome, but especially the regular black kind.

Turkey, veg, or ostrich jerky (pepper Ostrim is pretty tasty). I can't remember what the turkey jerky I had on the plane was, but I got it at Fruitful Yield in Joliet and it comes in packs of 2 sticks. I think it was on the top shelf.

Good Q-tips. Here I've only seen the crappy ones that have hardly any cotton on the ends and cause you to always poke the inside if your ears up. You have to take small victories where you can get them.

GameBoy Advance games. I brought my system and three games: the original Super Mario Bros, Phantasy Star Collection (which includes I, II, and III), and Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town. Some Zelda would be cool, or Phantasy Star IV. Or whatever else, we'll take it all. Don't spend a lot of $$ on 'em, though.. only send them if a) they are mine to begin with (lol... this means you, Dad and Lonnie), b) they are yours and you won't play them anyway, or c) you get them super cheap, like on eBay or at a garage sale.

Drawing pencils, chalk pastels, or charcoal. I have access to sketchbooks.

Those small packages of Kleenex, the travel size ones that have like 20 in each thing. I found a 3-pack at Target for a couple bucks (at home... there are no Targets here).

A size 3 circular knitting needle, preferably 40” long but I can work with shorter if I need to. I'm already roughing it so I would even appreciate a 16” metal circular, or DPNs... Lindsey and Casey will probably be the only ones who (might) get the humor in this; it's hilarious, I promise. (Seriously though, wooden 29” or 36” would be awesome. Knit Picks will hook you up.)

Photos of you! Facebook is slow here, so send me a couple of real photos for me to decorate my room. I brought a small collection with me but I can always use more.

Flash cards or greeting cards that have art on them. The Art Institute usually sells sets of them, and I'm sure Amazon does, too. They are good for passing out to students and having them describe the painting/picture/photo to each other.

Books of exercises for ESL classes. I can't remember the titles of any of them off the top of my head (and the internet is too slow to do a good search), but look for ones involving phrases like “5-minute warm-ups.”

A USB stick filled with movies that use simple English. It's good for students to have a variety of sources to listen to. Specifically, I'd like to request Toy Story.

An emergency phone backup battery thing. It holds a charge so when your phone dies right before you need to make a Very Important Call you can hook it up and take care of business, like a boss. This is also by no means necessary, but if you can find one that's not expensive and feel like passing it along I will totally make use of it.

And finally, plastic bags. I cannot stress enough that I do not want a lot of them, but if you have space to fill in a package and want to throw a few intact plastic bags in for cushioning, we could use them for trash bags. Plastic bags were outlawed in Dharamsala (which is awesome for the most part) which means you don't find them floating around in the street, but it also makes it a little tricky finding something to put your garbage in.

My address is:

Magda Ksiazak

c/o Tibet Charity

Below Temple Road

McLeod Ganj, 176219

Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh, India

Please only nice presents. :)

Thanks everybody! <3

Planning for Goa

Tashi delek! (Hi, or literally "good luck" in Tibetan!)

Yesterday we realized that between Gandhi's birthday, teachings by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and the more common but equally important weekends, we will have about 9 days off in a row coming up. Our little group has begun planning a trip to Goa, which I personally know nothing about aside from what others have told me. According to them, it's in the south of India, near (at least relatively near) Mumbai, and it's a beach town. City. Whatever.

Apparently it's the place to be in the summer. It sounds more or less like the Indian equivalent of Daytona Beach, or Cancun, or some other spring break type destination. So far it looks like the trip will involve either a) a 12-hour bus ride from Dharamsala to Delhi, or b) a four-hour bus ride to another city where we will catch a 10-hour train to Delhi, and from Delhi either c) a 40-some-hour train ride to Goa or d) a 4-hour flight to Goa.

Julie and I are leaning toward the flight option since it should only cost about 5000 rupees per person, which is less than a hundred bucks USD. Details will follow as they develop.

In other news, getting around Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj is tiring. In order to go pretty much anywhere, you have to hike. The roads are steep, and so are the stairs. "Shortcuts" tend to involve somewhat sketchy paths through the forest, often paved with old stones covered in slippery moss. Kalden navigates them with the ease and fluidity of a mountain goat, and Julie and I pick our way carefully down because we really don't want to, you know, fall off the mountain. Walking downhill for half an hour can be tiring since it's so steep, but walking up is, of course, even moreso. If you're the kind of person who uses a stair machine at the gym, you should consider a trip to Dharamsala. We have been eating cake, cookies, and Indian sweets nearly every day; we don't worry too much about it because we figure we work it all off by the time we get home anyway.

Remember how I said India loves Coke? Check it out... it's even made with real sugar here. GET WITH THE PROGRAM, USA!

Indian Coke is made with real sugar. By default.

We had palak paneer today at lunch. One thing I've noticed is the consistency is totally different from any of the palak/saag paneer I've had Stateside; back home you can really see the spinach in it, but here in India they put it through a food processor and it's this smooth green stuff. It was pretty good. I've always preferred mattar paneer, myself.

Smoooooooth... this palak paneer is the real deal.

Here is some info for those of you either not on FB, or who missed my post earlier in the week...
If anyone is interested in sending me letters or goodies from home, you can do so at this address:

Magda Ksiazak
c/o Tibet Charity
Lower Temple Road
P.O. MacLeod Ganj, 176219
Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh, India

The address system around here seems pretty open to interpretation (I've seen the same address written a few different ways), but as long as you have all these pieces of information I'm pretty sure it'll get to me. I have no idea how long it'll take, though, so don't send anything that can go bad.

We burn, we resist, we fight for freedom in Tibet

Today I woke to the sound of DistantMountain – the music track one hears when traversing the mountains in my all-time favorite game, Suikoden – and lay in bed enjoying the newly acquired padded mattress. After nearly a week of sleeping on what basically amounts to a box spring, under misty blankets that never quite seem to dry, it was worth enjoying. Julie hopped out of bed and got ready for the day; it's amazing, really, considering how sick she had been yesterday.

She ultimately decided to stay home and rest so as not to aggravate her illness, but I went with Gill, Rinzin, and another of the teachers up the street to the Dalai Lama's temple. There was a prayer meeting being held this morning since another Tibetan had self-immolated theother day (not here). I saw a handful of other westerners in the crowd, though most people were clearly Tibetan, most of the women wearing the ubiquitous traditional chupa. We walked through the security checkpoint where we were given a quick pat-down and our bags were checked for any prohibited items (cell phones, cameras, anything dangerous). Then it was up the stairs to the upper level of the temple where we grabbed a couple of cushions that were provided en masse and found a spot to sit facing the smallish room in the center where monks were gathered. We were early, so people were still milling around and talking to each other; Palsang found me and we said hi.

The room continued to fill with people. I saw a couple of dogs wander through, and heard a baby or two. A large banner hung near the center of the area we were sitting in with portraits of all the Tibetans who had self-immolated in protest of the “Chinese situation,” as many Tibetans refer to it. 

A banner similar to the one that was in the temple.

Close up of the banner.

People prostrated toward that center room (you'll have to forgive my lack of formal knowledge on the subject; I'm very clearly an outsider here), many of them old women: you stand with your hands in prayer position at or just above your head, then move them to your throat, then your heart, then kneel and bend to touch your head to the ground; stand and repeat. Some people were doing it on boards made just for this purpose so they could kneel on a pad and then slide down so their entire body was laid out flat, then they'd stand back up and do it again. And again, and again. No wonder so many of the Tibetans I see around here are so fit, you've got to have great abs and knees if you're going to be standing and kneeling and standing and kneeling so much, and even more so if you're stretching out flat each time on top of it.

A gong sounded. The chatter of the crowd died down and the distinctive, throaty sound of a monk beginning a chant came over the loudspeakers. The crowd opened their prayer books that had been handed out – 51 pages written entirely in the elegant script that is the Tibetan language – and began to chant along. The words flowed in such a way that it was like listening to music; the monk sang the notes and the people followed. Low for a few syllables, then a step or two higher for a few more, and back down. It wasn't at all like listening to group readings in any Christian church I'd ever visited, where every few words feels like it's a separate phrase and the inflection drops; this was almost trancelike, and you could feel the energy build in the room as hundreds, probably thousands, of people joined in.

I don't speak more than a couple of phrases in Tibetan, so I couldn't really follow the specifics of what was going on, but I'm pretty sure that sometimes the crowd would drift away from what the monk was singing and sing something else. The women next to me especially seemed to be saying different words, but it all worked. Their feminine voices stood in contrast to the baritone maleness of other parts of the group. Every so often everything would come back together and you'd hear this surge of a room full of voices all chanting the same thing.

Once in a while the chanting would come to an end and the monk would either draw out the note he'd been on and then start up again, or he would instead go into a low monotone where he'd repeat a mantra – Om Mani Padme Hum, for example – for a few minutes. The people in the temple would do the same, repeating the phrase over and over and over at their own pace, most of them very quickly, with varying inflection, and the whole place buzzed with the sound. The monk would bring everyone back into the chanting, the reading from the prayer book, and this continued for quite some time. Sometimes I saw people saying the prayers with their books closed in their laps; I guess there were some pretty common passages.

Some nuns and monks began lighting the hundreds of small candles that were set up on a table in front of the banner with the portraits. It had to have taken them at least 20 minutes with half a dozen of them working at it to get them all lit.

Some young monks and older men who were apparently temple regulars came around with buckets, first in the inner room where the monks were sitting and then out to the rest of us. “Bread?” I asked Gill, the teacher from New Zealand who's in her third session at Tibet Charity. “Tibetan bread,” she said. “They feed everyone. Isn't it incredible?”

It was. Remember, there had to have been at least two thousand people there; Gill estimated 5,000. I'm bad at estimating high numbers like that, so who knows. It was a lot.

The monks with their buckets made their way through the crowd making sure everyone who wanted one got a piece of the stuff that to me looked like really dense pita bread.

The chanting continued. It lulled into the buzz of mantra recitation, and then elevated back into the prayers.

Indians in brightly colored saris and westerners in brightly colored backpacks wandered through the temple increasingly as the meeting went on. I couldn't help but feel like they were being at least a little disrespectful – here were people remembering, mourning, gathering together in solidarity because another one of their countrymen had set himself on fire in protest of the oppression faced by their community – and they were just walking through, staring, watching, as if the Tibetans were fish in a tank, or animals in a zoo. No one else seemed too offended by it, so maybe they don't care. I just thought the least they could do was find a spot and sit down, make themselves less obvious. I mean, I wasn't really following what was going on either, but I was there in support of the cause and just wanted to be a part of it.

Monks came around with giant kettles and paper cups and poured tea. Many of the Tibetans pulled glasses or mugs from their bags; clearly they had done this before. The rounds were made again, ensuring everyone got some.

The chanting continued. You could feel the energy in the room surge and fall in waves.

I was hungry, as all I'd eaten for breakfast was a banana and one of the bland (in the way that Saltines are bland; I still thought it was pretty tasty) cookies that Julie had gotten to try to settle her stomach last night. No one else seemed to be munching on their snack, though, so I held off. I suppose it's not really polite to be chanting prayers with a mouth full of bread and tea.

Another 20 minutes or so passed and everyone set their books down and grabbed their bread. Many of them dipped the dense stuff into their salty, creamy Tibetan tea, so I did the same.

I think it was after this that the Prime Minister of Tibet, who had been present in the center room with the monks this whole time, gave a speech. He spoke more slowly and articulately than most other Tibetans I've had the opportunity to listen to, but all I could pick out were the occasional proper nouns: Dharamsala, Australia, and the like.

The monk began his throaty chanting again and the Tibetans joined in, and they finished out the rest of the prayer book. When they reached the end, the last sound was drawn out and then ended, and everyone stood up, put their mats away, gathered their things, and left. There was no ceremonial closing, no “thanks for coming,” just the end of the book and then we were on our way.

Palsang came to get me and we first walked the kora, a circular path around the center of the temple, along with many of the other people who had been there that day. Many of them did so with prayer beads in hand; the Mani prayer wheels on the kora were turned. 

Prayer wheels in McLeod Ganj. The ones in the temple are gold.

On our way out we stopped to retrieve his cell phone where he had to check it before coming into the temple. Lots of other people had to leave theirs as well (I didn't bother bringing mine); I waited on the side as he pushed his way through the throng to the table. One of the young men passing by was Kunga, a student in my Elementary English class at Tibet Charity. He cheerfully said hi, shook my hand, and asked how I was. I responded in like and told him I'd see him in class tomorrow.

After that Palsang and I went to get breakfast, and then returned to my room where we did a few pages in his English book and we waited for Julie and Kalden to get back from her follow up at the hospital.

Observations on India 1

I present to you a random collection of some observations I've made while in India:

* Generally speaking, it smells a bit.

* The roads are wide enough for (usually) two cars and a pedestrian, but only barely, and if you're a little bit creative. Traffic passes much more closely than anywhere else I've ever been, but nobody seems to mind.

* You can drive the wrong way on the road as long as you stick to the outside and put your hazard lights on. Everybody does it; it's just how you get around here.

* There are an awful lot of animals in the roads, mostly dogs and cows. They seem to have an understanding with the drivers that they will move reasonably out of the way as long as the cars make an effort to go around them.

* There are cool birds here I've never seen before.

I'm not sure what these are, but there are a lot of them in New Delhi.

* In New Delhi the streets are filthy, but the subway is pristine.

* There are very few trash cans in public places. Most people throw their garbage on the ground. You can imagine how much I'm loving this.

* Almost all prices are negotiable.

* All the signs are in English but everyone seems to make up their own spellings.

* All the signs are in English, but most people speak Hindi unless you start speaking to them in English (or unless they are trying to get you, an obvious Westerner, to buy something).

* "Fog" is the default weather condition on the mountain in monsoon season. When it really rolls in, you can't see anything in the valley or more than a few dozen feet in front of you.

* Due to the fog, nothing ever really dries here. This means if you leave the windows open your blankets (and your clothing, and your towels...) will be damp.

* There's no air conditioning. Instead there are "coolers," fans with water dripping down. They actually work pretty well to cool the area, but not so much to take out the humidity.

* The menus include "buff," which at first I took to be a misspelling of "beef." You can't kill cows in India, though, and I was later informed that "buff" is in fact buffalo.

* Most menus don't have an explanation of what the items on them are, even when they have vague names like "special dumpling" or whatever #2 is on this one:

Is it made with real goblins?

* Coca-cola is huge in India.

* The vast majority of Indian women wear beautiful traditional clothing, even when doing hard labor like construction.

* Everybody wears flipflops, all the time.

* The power goes out at least once a day.

* Most bathrooms have a shower. It's one room, all tile, with a shower head, a sink, a toilet, a bucket, a squeegee, and a water heater with a switch. No shower curtain. You just take your shower and then squeegee the water on the floor into the drain when you're done.

* If you want toilet paper in a public bathroom, you better bring it yourself. If you want a seat, you might need to shop around.

A traditional/standard Indian toilet.

 
* Many of the floors are made of marble, even in otherwise modest buildings.

We went to a restaurant last night where, in order to get to the bathroom, you had to go outside and walk through some hallways and down a few flights of beautiful marble steps. I seriously felt like I had entered some dungeon or temple in a video game. Obviously this was the highlight of the evening. :)

Norbulingka

Friday I taught my first real life English class! I'm teaching the elementary level, which means I've got a lot of Kalden's former students. The class is pretty full; there were 27 on the roster and then a few more signed up later on. They all seem eager to learn and were very pleasant to work with. Maybe half of them were wearing Buddhist monk or nun robes. I have a good feeling about the semester.

Yesterday, Saturday, Kalden took Julie and me to a swimming pool outside Dharamsala where he goes a couple of times a week to exercise (as if climbing the roads and steps inside the city isn't enough of a workout).

Big dragonfly!

Julie and I discussed my inspiration to develop a garbage disposal infrastructure to implement in India, because it really is a beautiful country if you get past all the trash in the streets. People just throw their garbage wherever is convenient. It amazes me how most public places don't even seem to have garbage cans available; something I never even considered back in the US. Maybe, she said, in ten years or so after I've done some work on it I'll be on the stage giving a TED talk. I came to India to better the lives of Tibetans, and I find myself inspired to improve the situation of Indians. Any engineer friends want to help me out with this?

Julie and I talked under the overcast sky, and it was only after we got back to our room and took showers that we realized we had both, in fact, sustained some considerable sunburns. (Sorry, no pic.) If I'd have realized it at the time, I would have at least flipped over to even myself out.

After we left the pool, Kalden took us to the Norbulingka Institute for Tibetan Arts. It's preeeeeeeeeetty.

Kalden and Julie on the steps to the Norbulingka Institute.

Tibetan books.

By far the biggest Buddha I've ever seen.

Upstairs in the Buddha shrine.

The Road to Dharamsala

Half an hour behind schedule, the buses arrived outside Majnu Ka Tila, the Tibetan neighborhood in New Delhi where we had been staying. Each day, five or so buses make the 12-hour trip from there to Dharamsala. Mine, of course, was the last to arrive; with each bus that pulled in, Kalden assured me that mine was nicer. Sure enough, the bright orange Volvo was a darned comfortable way to travel. We got our luggage loaded and took our seats, our tickets were checked, and we were on our way. One of the bus operators came by and handed each of us a bottle of water for the trip.

A very nice, very comfortable Volvo bus. For only Rs. 900/- (about $15)!

I said hello to the man sitting next to me, who luckily turned out to be a very friendly surgeon by the name of Vivec who lived in New Delhi but had been traveling the last few weekends to Palampur, a city about an hour outside of Dharamsala, to work. I told him I was from the Chicago area and he informed me that he had a brother who lived in Westmont. Go figure, right? His English was fantastic, and so we talked quite a bit on the trip. He told me how he loved working in the mountains, how it's much nicer than in New Delhi, and how it was unfortunate that India had yet to do anything about population control because so much poverty and pollution could be avoided if only there weren't so many people. He is of the opinion that due to connectivity over the internet and such, this coming generation would do something about it and within the next 15 or 20 years things would change. I hope he's right.

The first few hours of the ride were uneventful. It rained; it took us a while to get out of the city and onto the highway where we could really make decent time. Vivec informed me that we first had to travel a “ring road” of New Delhi (kind of like in Indianapolis, I think) and then we could get on Highway 1, which would take us to another highway that went through the mountains. Most of the trip seemed to be on what I'd consider rural highways: think Route 6 or 52 as opposed to 55 or 80. Eventually we stopped for a food and bathroom break at a little area that seemed designed just for travelers like us. Vivec kindly bought me a snack for the road and remarked how the weather was quite nice that evening. New Delhi had been so hot and humid it was a relief to stand out in the breezy open area.

We reboarded the bus and I decided I'd sleep since the rain kept me from seeing much out the windows anyway. Seven or eight hours later I woke to find that it had gotten windy. Thankfully, the driver was expertly navigating the curves and inclines in the road. He honked at the vehicles and pedestrians we passed to alert them to the bus's presence; I was reminded of a video game (I can't remember which one... help me out here, guys) where you wander through an area and as you pass the mobs they suddenly become aware of your presence and a little alarm goes off. Spore, maybe? Some RPG? It was pretty amusing.

An area identifying itself as “Bombay Hotel picnic area” had just enough light to see that it was full of lounging cows. They didn't pay much attention to the bus as it passed.

Now a good 9 or 10 hours in, the road became increasingly curvy as we wound our way into the mountains. I'm not sure how the bus, as long as it was, was able to navigate all those switchbacks and steep inclines, but the driver had clearly done this enough times before that he wasn't worried. These roads were not built for buses, but the buses managed anyway.

At one point I looked out the window to see lush green vegetation out the left side windows and the ground falling away steeply on the other side of the road. Thankfully, the driver slowed down considerably here. Everyone else appeared to still be sleeping and I wondered how they managed. We were getting sloshed around so much between the bumps in the road and the constant changes in direction I couldn't sleep if I tried.

India is beauuuuuutiful!

After a while of this I started munching on the ginger candy I had remembered to pack, lest I fall victim to uncontrollable motion sickness. I didn't want to be “that passenger” who couldn't handle the drive. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on anything but the motion of the bus. The road wound up, up, up, and my ears popped from the altitude.

Everyone else slept.

The sun began to break to the east, a soft, gentle light through the fog that slowly revealed the shapes of the trees and the distant mountains. “We are in the clouds now,” Vivec observed. “You don't get this in Chicago.”

The road continued winding up and up around a mountain on our right hand side. To the left, the ground stretched away into impossibly green valleys and hills, full of the densest, brightest green I have ever seen. Florida is green and tropical, but not like the mountains of India. The fog broke and I could see tiny villages nestled in the valleys. The air was so crisp and clear up there... I felt like I could see the tiniest detail, every leaf, in trees half a mile off.

The bus passed through a tunnel cut into the side of the mountain and we emerged on the other side to an area with a small river on the left and waterfalls cascading down the rock face on the right. Vines and leaves clung to the wall, and the road became even more sketchy. The driver stopped for a few minutes, as if considering if it was worth attempting to cross to the other side. I'm sure this wasn't his actual reason for stopping, but it seemed like it would have been a good one.

We started moving again and crossed a bridge built over the river. I saw a furry little something scamper across the top of it and thought to myself “I haven't seen any squirrels out here... a couple of chipmunks at the Red Fort, but was that a squirrel?” Of course not, silly. It was a monkey! My midwest self was tickled by the prospect of seeing a real live wild monkey, but I kept it to myself because, well, I didn't want to seem that touristy. It was just as well, because as we drove on the monkey population steadily increased. We entered an area signs identified as Kangra. Twice the bus had to stop to allow a pack of monkeys to cross the road. They perched in the trees and on rocks, munching on who knows what and watching us pass.

As we entered the town, stray dogs (there are a LOT of them in India) bounded down the hills either to see us or just to play. I spotted hibiscus growing wild, and dogs lounging on rooftops. We passed dozens upon dozens of shops, one of them selling beautiful hanks of yarn. A sign advertised an American Montessori school some distance to our left. We drove on and I spotted donkeys in the street now, too.

Another thing about India? They sure do like Coke. There were entire stretches of towns that were quite literally plastered in red Coca-Cola signs, very often accompanied by the same photo of a light-skinned Indian woman drinking from a bottle of the stuff.

Vivec disembarked about an hour and a half before my stop and gave me his number telling me to call if I needed anything, or to come to Palampur if I needed any sort of medical help. I thanked him and made a mental note to get a phone that works here, as mine does not.

Eventually we reached Dharamasala and McLeod Ganj (“Upper Dharamsala”), and Palsang helped me get to Tibet Charity. The manager, Mr. Boom, helped me to Kalden's room – Kalden had given me a key since he wasn't going to arrive until the next day, saying I was welcome to stay there for the night – and I took a nap before making my way downstairs for the opening ceremony.

I met Rinzin, one of the coordinators at the charity, who speaks excellent English and, along with Kalden, teaches the beginner and super-beginner classes because they also speak fluent Tibetan in case students need extra help. She and the director of the charity, whose name I have yet to learn (he seems to be referred to simply as “Mr. Director” by most people, and I think I'll just follow suit for now) introduced me along with the one other teacher who was there to the room of 70 or so students. We received white stoles which I was later told is a sign of respect among Tibetans. The other teacher is a woman named Gill (Gillian) who hails from New Zealand. This is her third time coming to teach at Tibet Charity, and so I made it a point to befriend her. She later showed me around town, pointing out her favorite places to eat and to buy essentials like toilet paper and bread. Gill is very nice and very helpful, and so I intend to stay on her good side.

We ate at a Tibetan restaurant called Nick's and shared a plate of momo, a type of Tibetan dumpling. We visited a rug shop where we saw about a dozen women sitting at looms, industriously weaving some of the most gorgeous rugs I'd ever seen. 

Yes, I asked permission before filming them and taking photos. Does anyone need a rug? They're unbelievably cheap.

Gill suggested I invest in an umbrella because the weather changes quickly up here. I found a pretty blue one for 250 rupees (about $4.25). By this point I was getting tired, the bus ride finally taking its toll, and so we retired to our respective rooms and agreed to meet up for dinner at 6pm. I took a nap despite the storm that had started... At first it was just rain that got increasingly heavy. Then the fog rolled in, and the loudest crash of thunder I'd ever heard in my life made even me, a big fan of thunderstorms, jump. We're closer to the thunder up here in the mountains, I thought. It crashed a few more times and I managed to fall asleep.

After dinner, Gill showed me to the temple in town, the Dalai Lama's temple. It's modest but beautiful; no cameras are allowed inside, sorry guys. The view from the surrounding walkway is amazing. You can literally see for miles across the town and the mountain valleys, everything eventually disappearing into fog.

On our way back, I met Tashi, one of the local stray dogs and a regular at Tibet Charity. Apparently Tashi is the loud dog Kalden had warned me about when telling me about the available apartment. He's bright white, very friendly, and apparently about 15 years old. He followed me most of the way back to the charity before deciding instead to stay outside.

 My new roommate Julie and Tashi the guard dog.

I came back and worked on a lesson plan before deciding I was still too tired to function well. As I type this, I've got my notes sitting next to me waiting to be filled out. It's about 9:30am, though by the time I have access to internet so I can post this it will be a few hours later. Right now, though, I'm going to go take a shower because the water heater should have warmed up enough by now (you have to flip a switch to make it work; I think it's hilarious that I know this from watching the new Karate Kid movie. Remember that part, Andy?) and then I'm going to give my coursebook another look before I head down to teach my first ever real English class.

P.S. It's fucking beautiful here.

Literally walking in the clouds.

The view from a balcony at Tibet Charity.

The road to go around the Dalai Lama's monastery. Pretty, no?