A day in Daram Sala

            “Sorry, let me get this straight, it’s R10?” I said. The security officer grabbed the wrong end of the stick in a sheepish yet slightly defensive manner. “Administration costs” he said. As if peopled had previously complained that R10 was a lot to pay in oder see the Dali Lama speak live.

            “Of course.” I responded quickly, handing across the information form, my two passport photos and the ten Rupees before the officer could change his mind.

            The time was just after 9 and was outside H.H. Dali Lama’s Security Office. I’d been up and at it for a a few hours and was filled with a sense of elation. It might have been a week long yoga course, or the fresh and wholesome Tibetan bread i’d had for breakfast, but i thought it was more likely to be the journalist esc I.D. card that was going to allow me to see the Dali Lama speak in a few days time. Of course it was going to be great to hear the great peace advocate later that week, but also the badge was very important looking and had it’s own professional looking crocodile clip. Shinny.

Apart from rare opportunities to see the Dali Lama McLoud Ganj offers too much for me to justify sleeping in. There was an piece of urban mythology that i’d picked up over years of study which held that your brain was at it’s most receptive just before and after waking. Haven taken this piece of advice to heart through numerous cramming sessions I subsequently got up an hour before my morning yoga session so that I could have a quick recital of the 10 Hindi verbs that I was meant to have learnt for that days Hindi lesson.

            After morning’s Yoga, (where my teacher assures me, against my scepticism, that I’m advancing) I choose somewhere different each day to have an early breakfast. From Tibetan porridge with banana and honey in a small family run business, to potato bread, chilli omelette and dal in a local Dhaba you soon discovered that it’s often the smallest places down crooked back allies that offer the best grub. A good way to distinguish between an excellent Dhaba and one likely to give you food poisoning, or one that simply doesn’t offer breakfast, is to walk down a small alley that had a multitude of such establishments. Pass by each and every empty one until you get to the one which has people crowded in at two individuals per square foot. You might have to wait for your morning meal, but you know it’s going to be dam well worth waiting for.

           

            After the mornings delicious but rather heavy Tibetan bread I parked myself up in my local coffee shop for a few hours of down time. I’d recently given up reading fantasy and this had left a sore hole that I’d been trying to fill with decent writers. I’d fallen into the pattern of working my way through William Dalrymple’s work and was currently reading his third book entitled ‘Nine lives.’ Well, ‘currently’ being a relative word. I was in fact siphoning the wifi from the neighbouring internet shop and was beefing up my Youtube music collection. I’d taken to listening to a certain strata of Hip Hop of late and wanted to cast around to see if I couldn’t find a morsel or two to add to my growing plata of choice sounds.

           

            12 O’clock came and went with an affection nod of the head and the days musical theory came to an end. I packed up the laptop which I under the vigilant guard of Malika, the owners docile cocker spaniel. I wrap my shall around my shoulders against the low cloud which, at these heights, is translated to a thick fog and putting my ‘obnoxious’ earphones in place began my walk to the next town.

            Apparently 15 years ago Bagsu was a collection of three chi shops and not a whole lot more beyond the hippies hash smoke and the occasional wondering monk, or cow. Now days it’s not the cows you have to watch out for, but the speeding hoards of Delhi-wallah’s who come up for the weekend. It takes between 15-20 for minutes for me to walk to Bagsu from McLoad Ganj. Occasionally the traffic jam reaches all the way between the two towns. In both directions. However Bagsu is still a hip little hippie area, if you know where to look, and consequently is where all the musicians congregate. At least all the musicians who rent their services out.

            My growing interest in Hip Hop was a direct relation to the my developed interest in poetry. For a long time i’d been reading poetry and trying to commit it to memory. Whilst this was partly an attempt to improve my long term memory, it was also because I figured that whilst the theory “you are what you eat” carries weight, how much more so the thought “you are what you think.” One problem I had with modern poetry though is that it was rare to find a version that you could listen to. Que Hip Hop. Yet, knowing how way leads onto way it should be no surprise that my interest in Hip Hop stretched my interest one rung further and began a curiosity about rhythm. Just as at University I undertook a course on creative writing to better understand how books were written, so now I began to learn a certain type of drum to better comprehend rhythm. Something that I’m perpetually lacking in. Hence; Bagsu.

            The tabla is a pair of drums which seems to faintly recall Don Quhota to mind. One drum is large and thick around the waist, the other much thinner yet equally as dense. The tabla is quite a simple instrument in that it’s a drum, and quite a complex instrument in comparison to most other drums. Barring the obvious ‘thump, thump’ image that jumps to mind when drums are mentioned, a good tabla player should be able to skim their fingers across the drum skin and so intrude into the territory of their musical cousins, the ‘string’ family. Further a complementary combination of alternative density and different finger patterns can pull an astonishing array of sounds from such a seemingly simple construct. This is especially true when, in the hands of a player much, much greater than I, both drums are used in competing yet for all that, harmonious, beats.

            Beyond the usual pleasures of learning a musical instrument, learning one in India held a special attraction. As you sink into the rhythm and savour the new knowledge and abilities you tend to, as if on some internal scales, forget about the casual stress and annoyances of everyday life. The omniscient pollution, the aggressive touts racistly tripling their prices because of the colour of your skin. The endless poverty that is ungrateful yet without choice, and which, no matter how much you strive against it, turns to leather the hearts normally silken skin. All this sinks away and your heart is born up, once again weightless, on a current of connected drum beats.

            Your music teacher becomes the guardian of peace. Never moving at more than a snails pace and exuding tranquillity at odds with the desperately material world outside of the class room window . . . until he jumps up with greedy passion and, with movements too quick for his portion of grace which he consequently leaves behind, demonstrates the instruments he has for sale, at merely three times the appropriate price...

            The lessons end. 2 o’clock rolls by my hunger once again raises it’s ever eager head and licks it’s lips. Bagsu has two delicacies that, combined, suffice to give even my prodigious hunger a knock on the snout. After working up an appetite dodging traffic and my teachers attempts to flog his over-priced instruments I’m in just the mood for a goodly feast. Skipping such piddly things as ‘starters’ I stop at tourist shop which sneakily hides a falafel counter in its side wall. The menu has two things on it. Falafel. Or. Half falafel. (Presumably for when the first isn’t enough but two would be too much.) Its impossible to describe the delicious nature of this Israeli delicacy but one appropriate manner is to point out that all the Israelis love it with equal gusto. Beyond it’s culinary delights the small kitchen is unique in one other manner which is, in some manner, equally enjoyable. Since it’s far from a being a proper restaurant none surprisingly has nothing in the way of, say, tables. Instead everyone who eats there seats down on a motley collection of stools and public benches scattered up and down the street. Consequently there is a wonderful air of something outside the norm when eating your meal. Its not just that your people watching abilities are enhanced, but also because the small perpetual crowd of customers (mostly Israeli) are much more forthcoming and talkative than usual. It may be the fresh air, or the unusual sitting arraignment that results in a bypassing of the traditional etiquette of silence resulting in this free and easy conversation. It may even be a automated defence to stop random Indian hawkers and beggars interrupting their lunch. But personally, I recone it’s the damn fine falafel’s.

            I wander back into town under the cover of my poncho and large, multicoloured umbrella. My Hindi lessons at four O’clock and this gives me just enough time to slowly sip my through a pot of Jasmine tea at the Korean restaurant next door. Although it serves wonderful food at first glance the place seems more akin to a private library, and is just the place to do a last minute’s fine tuning to my sketchy language abilities. “Do you use the plural letter when addressing a singular relative of no apparent sex? Or do you stick to the masculine?” I wonder to myself over traditional sting instruments drifting peacefully through the discreet speakers. I guess not, and am, of course, wrong. None the less the Hindi lesson continues with its accustomed ease. My teacher genteelly poking fun at my mistakes in a slightly child like manner. The old thought that by some process of osmosis teachers become somehow like their students comes to mind, and I wonder what position my teacher used to have in primary school.

            The rain’s coming down hard now and once again my stomach, against all anatomical probability, raises its head and begins to purr. I go back to the little coffee shop of the morning and type up my latest Hindi lesson whilst dog sitting. The owner has nipped out to get a few bits from the shop and when, an hour or so latter she returns we wash our hands and get ready. On the menu that night, Jeera rice, Kashmere Alo Dum and Dhal Mhakney. I jot down the recipes between making the hollowing and follow instructions as and when. After another hour or so all the ingredients have had their turn on the singular stove and we sat down with one or two others to eat the evening grub. The chapaties are piled high and fresh to the touch- little puffs of steam emitting from the ones just of the stove. The mound of rice has a large dollop of ghee melting slowly down one side and the Dal Mahakny looks as creepy as the Kashmere Alo Dum smells spicy. We devour!

           

            After liking the fingers of my right hand clean of stray grains of rice and lone specks of spice, we sprawl quietly on mounds of pillows while the teas stews. 8 o’clock strolls by with a satisfied look in his eyes and after finishing of the last of the tea I begin the walk back up to Loling Monastry Guest House. The nice old Tibetan man behind the counter sketches a quick bow of the head and with curiously quick montions, curious at least to my current levels of induced lethargy, hands my over the key to the hot shower. I wash and stretch before changing into a comfortable pair of slacks. I remember to drop the key of down stairs before wearily climbing the steps once again to my room. 9 o’clock ticks by with a sleepy wave and with a help of my own mesh of meditation (Meditation. It’s not what you think.) end another day in Daram Sala.

To the Moon and back. 

Paul x

Comprehensive, Free, Travel Advise on India.

I always forget that I'm unable to import a file onto my blog. Conesequently my 'contents page' is a little useless unless you copy and past this to Word, times New Roman, size 11

Travel Advice

1.)    Contents (Pg.1)

2.)    Introduction (Pg.1)

3.)    Insulation (Pg.2)

4.)    Beggars (Pg.2)

5.)    Touts (Pg.3)

6.)    Side note for women (Pg.4)

7.)    Toilets (Pg.4)

8.)    Haggling (Pg.4)

9.)    Information(Pg.5)

10.)  Accommodation (Pg.7)

11.) Transport (Pg.7)

12.) Equipment & Clothing (Pg.8)

13.) Pursuits (Pg.10)

Hello J

                I’ve been considering all the information that i’v gathered whilst travelling around for the last few months. I don’t mean with regards to the sights seen and the experiences beheld, but rather the mentality developed and the practises instated. I had considered writing a few of them up but in truth i figured they weren’t really worth the time spent. However in Parhaghng, Delhi, which is a hub of arriving travellers, I met a stream of individuals for whom i felt some practical advice would be a great boon. This information will mostly revolve around India, though I’m sure the majority of it can be applied across all of Asia, if not the world. I hope it’s found to be of use.

For your ease and convenience I’ve highlighted the titles in blue sub-headings in red as well as the occasional piece of important information.

This morning is the 06/06/2011 I’m sat in a small dhaba in the Nepalese town of Pokhara just about to have breakfast. I’ll be going for a small walk this afternoon to Sanangok to watch the sunset and sunrise tomorrow. That’s just a small reminder to myself. Now;

Insulation. (Three Monkeys)

            This piece will contain a lot on the variety of problems and challenges that are evident in everyday life in India. However before I go any further I should establish the appropriate manner in which you can cope with the battering your senses will be subjected to. Whilst an integral part of travel is the submersion in the culture, just like a deliciously hot bath when you’re in desperate need of unwinding, you still might have to lower yourself in slowly. To develop a certain level of control over the dial of interaction with your chosen country, I advise three things. Carry huge sunglasses, large earphones that cover the whole of the ear, and keep your mouth closed- say not a word. This way if the world gets too much you can retreat into a cooler, less chaotic world with it’s own theme tunes. However this is the secondary benefit. The dominant benefit of following the above suggestion is it will allow you to walk untouched by touts and beggars, hawkers and drug pushers. Even if your music isn’t playing the noticeable nature of your earphones will suggest that your unable to hear the individual. Wearing the obnoxious sunglasses is not only healthy for keeping the sun and dust and out of your eyes, but no one is able to form eye contact. Whilst it’s obvious to you that you’re fluent in English, there’s no real manner in which any person on the street can assert that your capable of understanding their Anglican heckling, as long as you keep mum. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil and make this obvious to everyone else.

           

Beggars.

            For many people entering Delhi or any large Indian city for the first time, this is the most distressing of things, barring maybe the touts. Broadly speaking there are five types of beggars in India. Child, Professional, Genuine, Rural and Sadhu.  Barring the ‘Rural’ variety the beggars I’m writing about are those who you encounter in the city.

            I should note that whilst I’m writing this to provide a reader with a little bit of information, you should not feel any compulsion to give to beggars. Your money is your own and should be spent in a way you believe to be appropriate. Further the level of poverity in India is so great that even if you were to sell everything you own and give it all away, it would not even be a drop in the ocean. That said, it isn’t an ocean, it is a persons life and the smallest act of kindness can make all the difference, as any traveller will tell you from their own experience. As with all your travels, the choice is yours.

            Child beggars are probably the most moving to behold and have a plight which is hard to ignore. Thousands of children swarm to the cities every year due to a diverse array of circumstances. Orphans or runaways, kicked out or, semantics aside, sold. They are extremely vulnerable and hard pressed to find honest work or a chance at an education. There are a few charities for these waifs, but not nearly enough to tackle the continuous in-pour. However it is that very vulnerable nature so evidently on display that is the reason you should consider before you hand out your ruppes. With no one to protect them or teach them different, child beggars are heavily recruited by criminal organisations and any small notes that are collected over the course of the day can find their way into the stream of profit derived by organised crime. Of course there’s no real way to assert whether a child has been press ganged by such an organisation, but to be 100% sure that you don’t support a criminal organisation with your charity, consider buying a meal for the child instead. On that note bear in mind that it might well be a nice treat for a child to receive a chocolate bar or a packet of crisps, it would probably be of greater benefit for them to receive a nutritious meal. Street food can cost as little as R10 and for a sit down meal R50, with a large main course and a few chapattis.

            Professional beggars can be identified by their health. Most people you see on the street will be in dire need a series of nourishing meals. These individuals, mostly women, will have much more meet on their bones and will generally be a few shades cleaner than anyone looking for alms. There level of English is also a cut above the rest and they generally have a good accessory, like a new born baby. These women won’t bother asking for money and will instead ask for something a lot more innocuous, such as milk for their child. Even the most hardened traveller will find it hard to refuse such a request. Who with any shred of a heart could? Knowing that a litter of ‘shudhe dude’ or pure milk should cost about R40 where in lies the harm? Unfortunately they won’t want you to buy them fresh milk, they’ll take you to a chemist where the polite man behind the counter will show you a jar of powdered milk. The price on the side of these can vary from R200-R1000 and with no actual need to open it the chemist can share the profits with the beggar, dust off the can and put it back on the shelf for the next kind hearted stranger.

            Genuine. However next to those who make profit from the kindness of others there are those in genuine need. These individuals tend to be found outside of the tourist areas such as Parhaghng. Identifiable though the clear poverty, many silently extend one hand while the other hold’s what one can assume is the totality of their earthly belongings. Whether a fallen member of a higher caste or one of the ‘oppressed’, ‘dilates’, these individuals can benefit greatly from small considerations. The same can probably be said of any individual you see cleaning the street or working in a job that quite literally may be at the bottom of the pile, and a rubbish pile at that. Although it could be said to be demeaning to try and give such people your charity, people are rarely bashful about money in India. Further you can balance in your mind the discomfort you might place yourself or the individual in through a possibly demeaning action against the very definite benefits that R100 would bestow. However you can circumvent this issue by giving the money to a street cleaners children. No face will be lost but you can bet that the parent will have the money in their hands toot sweet.

            Rural beggars are those whom you see in small villages and towns. There being a dramatic decline of crime in towns such as these, those individuals are, unfortunately for them, often what they appear to be. Although it’s tempting to hand out a larger, though by western standards still miniscule, amount of money it’s probably best for to cut that R100 into five and delivered it to five sets of hands in equal need. The reason for this is that there’s a small concern that some of the individuals on the street will have smoke or drank their way there, or having arrived in their current levels of suffering would make use of a large windfall to indulge in some short term escape from reality. And as blameless as their desire to escape would be and indeed ass enjoyable as their brief intoxication might be, its still unlikely to be as beneficial for them as a full stomach, which can be achieved for R20.

            Sadhu’s. India is a massively religious and spiritual place. It saturates the fabric of everyday life, from the bus drivers personal shrine to Kali to placate her presence when he’s driving inches from a hundred foot drops, to the Muslim devote who would bow their head towards Mecca five times a day. Therefore there will be many a devotee or novice of a temple making the rounds to collect funds. It’s unlikely that these individuals will ever particularly want for funds, but throwing in a R5 piece can do no harm and is at the least a small sign of respect. Of much greater significance are the those whom i like to think of as the Granddad’s. When a man believes that the duties of his materialistic life have been sufficiently fulfilled, when his sons have sons of their own and he can feel the current vessel of his soul weaken, then he may decide to say goodby, leave the material life and become a Sadhu. Although some of the old men dressed in orange are fake faikers the majority are genuine. Imagine the brother of your grandfather, a nice old codger with a jolly laugh. Maybe he takes religion a little too seriously but for your years he’s slipped you an extra chocolate bar when your parents weren’t looking. That’s the English equivalent of what I like to believe the Sadhu’s are. Relying wholly on the charity of others, and in the process allowing others to procure positive karma in making donations, these old gents use their funds to make there way slowly across India from shrine to temple on a seeming perpetual pilgrim. Give appropriately.

Touts

            In some respects touts are very easy to deal with, simply don’t. 95% of the time a man trying to get your attention on the street, asking your country or saying hello is a merchant or salesman of some variety. Whilst I do tend to reply, my answers tend to leave little room to advance the conversation. If someone says hello, I’ll reply in kind. If asked where I’m from, I reply far away. If complimented on an item of clothing I say thank you. My point is if your rules of etiquette compel you to reply you it’s advisable to keep your answer short. I should also note that note only do such individuals inevitably have thick skin, if your answer is delivered with a smile then it’s very unlikely you’ll be considered rude. Don’t stop walking though.

            If someone is particularly insistent in sparking up conversation, become equally insistent in avoiding it. Can you imagine any person who only wished to hold a light and pleasing conversation pestering you for two minutes before hand? If a tout follows you or in any way makes you uncomfortable and refuses to respond to reason, then be unreasonable. The majority of the population would frown upon this kind of behaviour, especially if its a women being trailed. If you simply can not walk them of, turn around and shout at them. There shouldn’t be a need to use abusive language, the fact that you display your anger, and in doing so attract the attention of passersby, should have your problem melting away. If you are honestly worried drop the police into conversation, or shout for help.

Side note for women.

            I have met many lone female travellers, but they tend to become experienced very quickly. If you happen to be a novice and are worried or made nervous by unwanted attention, seek the attention of either another westerner or a respectable individual; shop keeper, police officer, ticket monitor ext. As soon as you’re seen to have a chaperon trouble tends to disappear.

            If a man tries to grab hold of you, feel you up in an inappropriate manner, or take inappropriate pictures without asking permission, go berserk. ‘Eve teasing’ is heavily frowned on in India and the respectable elements of the crowd, or even your assailants fear of them, will soon dissolve the problem and should, in short, send the fucker running.

Toilets

            Although it’s not exactly a topic that is common around the dinner table, answering a call of nature in Asia is somewhat different than in the west. Asian toilets resemble holes in the ground rather than raised structures. Due to characteristic inaccuracy of men, it’s highly advisable that you were flip-flops or shoes when making use of the facilities. The trick to using the toilet is to place your heals as far back on the porcelain and to let your body sit naturally. Holding yourself in a different position will highly decrease you’re accuracy. This is not pleasant, especially if stricken with Delhi belly. To flush it is sufficient to empty a full bucket of water down the chute. Do bear in mind that the eastern sewerage system is not as sophisticated as it’s western counterparts. If you’re using toilet paper and there is a bin provided, then be considerate and place the refuse in it, no matter how much it smells ext. On the subject of toilet paper, never go anywhere without it, especially if your newly arrived in a country. None the less it’s advisable that, in the comforts of a hotel or some other suitable place, you experiment with the Asian style, namely a cupping water in your left hand and washing your hands vigorously afterwards. Although it’s not very pleasant that know-how can come in very handy if circumstances leave you in a lurch.

Haggling.

            Basic rules; check a lot of shops for the same items. If the owner is unpleasant, walk away. Don’t be pressured into buying something before your ready. Bear in mind that most items will have a ‘round eye tax’ attached to it and that the shop keepers opening price may be over twice the price that they will accept. You will pay more for items in the main square or tourist strip than down the crooked allies and less trodden path’s. Do not sacrifice price for quality, there’s absolutely no point in saving a few hundred rupees and have your gift crumble before you get it home. Quality is King. Finally, don’t be a douche- this is someone’s living and even if you can’t afford the item, it’s rarely in anyone’s favour to act with anything but respect and dignity towards both yourself and him.

            Tactics

            All in one. Buying all your items in one good quality shop will pay dividends. You can barging the price of each individual item as you go along and then engage a second haggling session for further discount due to a bulk buy. If you are buying a few items, make sure that you always engage this second session.

            Walk away. If you are truly indifferent as to whether you want an item from that shop or the next, if it’s just a gift for a second cousin twice removed say, then go into the shop with the price you want to pay. Begin talking about the price with the owner and if you don’t think you’re getting anywhere, or can’t be bothered, walk away. If done right then 7/10 the owner will call out to you and straight away offer to lower his price. If it still doesn’t meet your mental tag, state what you’re willing to pay and see their price come down to meet your own. An advanced twist to this technique can be employed if you’re discussing an expensive item. When asked what you’re willing to pay, state a price 10% below the one you’re actually ok with. Then hold firm whilst they lower there’s and finally show a little lee way to seal the deal by budging, by increments, up that 10% until you both agree on the mental price you’ve had in your head all along. Like I mentioned earlier though, whilst employing this tactic be careful to avoid being a douche.

            Talk truth. Control the conversation in a placid but firm and confident manner. Ask the cost of one thing you want. When you have the answer tell the owner that you’re going to spend the day going to each shop in the district pricing out the items you want. Ask him his good price. Once you have this tell him that you’ll buy all your items in one shop and you’ll go back to the shop that’s given you the best price, and is that price he’s given you the one that he wants you to mentally hold for that shop? Once you’ve got this third price then keep you’re word. Go to the next shop, rinse and repeat. Word of warning; with this technique you may get tripped up by a lesser quality item which will be on sale for a much cheaper price. If a shop is selling low quality items, brush it of regardless of the price. They’re never worth it.

            The yard stick. Find an item that you may have already purchased or that you are at least knowledgeable about- one that you know a good price for. When going shopping for items of a similar nature, clock the ones that are on your purchase list without asking their price or showing to much interest in them what so ever. Best is that you display overt interest in your ‘yard stick.’ Finally ask the price for your yard stick. If the opening price for your yard stick is twice what you consider to be reasonable, then you know that if you buy the items on your purchase list from that shop that you’ll be looking to half the opening price presented by the proprietor. This also works a treat for items that you know nothing about.

Example; I get told by a knowledgeable traveller that the appropriate price for a good quality singing bowl is R400. I get shown how to identify a good quality singing bowl and the difference between that and a shoddy mass produced one. I now have a yard stick that I can display some knowledge about. I want to buy 2 brass statues and a painting, about which I don’t know much. I find a shop which sells all the items I desire and I observe the one’s that I would purchase if the price is right without showing undue interest in them. Having spent a few minutes browsing I go and ask the price for a good quality singing bowl which is the same size as the one my knowledgeable travellers had showed me. The shop keepers opening price is R1,200. Three times the actual price. Laughing and dismissing this as outrageous I ignore his persistent questions as to what i’d like to pay, and ask the price of the three items i’m interested in, the bronze statues and the painting. Although everything in the shop is quite pricy, lets presume that in this hypothetical situation i’m very keen on that particular painting or what have you. Still refusing to name a price myself I ask the owner for his good price for the bowl, and the other pieces. He lowers the cost from R1,200 to R900 for the bowl, and proportionality for the other items. I tell him that i’ve seen the bowls for ‘X’ amount, maybe R200 say. Displaying disgust he’ll declare them to be cheep knockoffs, but might tell me that, although he’s children will go without dinner, he might sell for R800. The haggling begins. Doing a circle and making feints and use of all my tips I get the bowl to R500 and the other three items are proportionally prices. Now I move on from haggling over each individual item to discussing a bulk price. I aim to get a further 10% of the total and then shake on the deal. If some small trinket or item of use catches you’re eye, ask for it to be thrown in as a gift when the price gets to level you’re comfortable with. Note the word, ‘small’.

            Final note; bargaining can well be a delicate thing and just as I will upon occasion end negotiations if the individual is offensive in some regard- being disrespectful or grabbing your arm for example- so shop keepers will, upon occasion, do the same. Act with respect and dignity and be prepared to begin again elsewhere if the negotiations collapse. If there is only one shop providing what you want- don’t push it.

Information

            Information in India is a sketchy thing. Not only is it quite hard to find a source of information, there is always the possibility that you will be told what you want to hear, rather than anything of use. Further both Indian’s and travellers have a great love of the rumour mill and passing info by word of mouth, This is great for finding things which might otherwise pass you by, but not so wonderful for finding solid facts- the truth gets whisperfied in a most Chinese of manners.

            Some useful methods of finding information;

Random people; You can always ask random people on the street but the problem is that they may be more concerned with just getting you to go away- so no matter how polite you are you could well be ignored, told that they don’t know, or give spurious info. Not such a great idea. Furthermore even if the person has the best of intentions there is no guaranty that the information will be able to cross the bridge of language without getting bludgeoned, windswept and worn down to such an extent as to be neigh on unusable.

Crowds/young people; If you are going to ask random people, your best asking a crowd of them. Whether this is a group of goat herders sat around drinking chi or a collection of aunties watching the world go by, a crowd is a good option- you increase you’re chances that someone speaks English, you access the pooled knowledge and people tend to be more truthful when in the company of their peers. The best type of crowd for informative purposes is one composed of the countries youth. A group of three or four teenagers will tend to speak good English, be more likely to know the type of information you desire (i.e. good, cheep food/nice place to hang ext.) will never take offence at the asking and can be relied upon to be polite and respectful in conversation, as long as you are the same. Don’t forget to smile.

Cigarettes/coffee; Most Asian men seem to smoke like chimneys- especially out in the hicks. If you smoke this is a great way to have a defined length of time to converse. Offer a cigarette and they will politely smoke in you’re company, allowing light and pleasing conversation to flow in the direction you want it to. The same thing occurs with chi, coffee and even sharing a bottle of water. You have a set time frame to converse knowing that you arn’t being an imposition and that at the end of five minutes or so you will have a natural point to end the conversation and go your separate ways. Further people tend to be more honest when sharing something.

After purchase; after you’ve completed a transaction with a shop keeper they will tend to be well disposed towards you and you can press for information. Even if they don’t know you can ask him to ask his neighbours ext.

Travellers; probably the best source of information that’s out there, readily available and readily accessed. Travellers as a rule of thumb, as opposed to tourists, will have quite a few months exploring under their ever tightening belt. Further it’s extremely likely that they will speak English, won’t be inclined to give deliberately false information (Note: this is simply Not done.) will probably know what your looking for even if you don’t and, above and beyond the above, are quite like minded people with a wonderful collection of stories. It is a great idea when entering a new city to find out where the best play to chill is and invest a few hours/evenings/days meeting new people and finding new information. You can do that by consulting the guide book, or asking the trickle of travellers that you’ll meet on your way.

Guide books; Dense with information but at times it seems that their authors capabilities are summoned up in the same word. They are also rather heavy to carry. Further the majority of places that are recommended by them will tend to relax standards and increase prices now that they have reached the shining heights of being entered into ‘The Lonely Planet’ for instance. Of course that isn’t always the case and the information that such books provide can be priceless when reaching a new city on your own at three in the morning. By the by though, they tend to be worthless. When starting of, do bring one, they are handy for making your first baby steps. Most hotels or internet cafe’s will a copy lying around though, and you can always check online at the Lonely Planet’s website ext.

The horse’s mouth; if it’s a possibility go straight to the source. If you need to sort out how much a flight from A to B cost, find out all the airlines that run it. In all probability they’ll be limited to a handful. Ring each one direct and get the price and flight details. If you’re worried about issues with your visa then contact immigration or the appropriate embassy. If different booking offices are offering different prices for the same bus, go to the bus depot. You get the picture?

The five star system: Asserting the quality of information.

So now you have numerous different ways of acquiring information. I find that if there is a subject of importance that you need to know about it’s defiantly best to go and make use of all the different methods- hell it probably takes the same amount of time to make use of all those methods as it did for me to write this section. And you’ll speed up as you go along. You should make use of at least five different sources’ if the topic your researching is of some importance- even if that’s only asking five different sets of travellers, though I would personally recommend mixing you’re sources up some. If each source concurs with only small discrepancies, then consider you’re info to have a five star ratting and be at least a close cousin to the truth of the matter. For each source that disagrees drop a star. Unless you find a source of information that can be relied upon 100%  (like the British consulate or the Indian Immigration office) then you really want at the least a three star rating before considering acting on your information. (I.e. three separate, reputable sources in agreement on the matter.)

Accommodation

            Due to the diverse array of accommodation available in India there is little that can be expanded upon to cover all ranges. That said i’ll give it a go. Firstly, realise that price does not equate to quality. I’ve paid R500 for a grungy, warn down dive of a room and R400 for one of the nicest i’ve stayed in, breakfast included. The bottle price for accommodation, barring hut’s on the beach front, is R100-R150. That is, bare in mind, for the room. Most rooms will provide double beds, or twin beds, and so it can be greatly advantageous to bunk up with someone. Nearly every travellers i’v met is cool with this concept as long as there’s a little foreplay before hand. Don’t just go up to a random individual and ask if they’d like to share a room, the potential for misunderstanding is, as you could imagine, great. The best people to ask are other lone travellers, or travellers who are in groups of odd numbers- three or five. Most rooms only have double beds (that said you can often ask for a mattres to be put on the floor for a minimal cost) and people don’t often like being three in bed. People you meet when travelling to a new city are the best type to ask.

            Requirements of a room; clean. (move the bed, is there mould?)

            Factors of price; location, view, TV, air-conditioning/heater mentioned in guide book, on-suite facilities and, in the real cheep places, hot water.

            Remember- your room should just be for sleeping in. What are you doing watching third rate soap operas in a language you can’t understand half way across the world? That said, HBO is, upon occasion, a wicked luxury to have at your fingertips- especially when you don’t want to venture far from your toilet.

Transport

Long distance (city to city, country to country)

Bus

            Often the cheapest but with good reason. The seats are deadly uncomfortable after a handful of hours, no matter how padded they are- and the roads in Asia are of pretty poor quality. You have three basic types, starting with the cheapest;

Government run bus; these are dirt cheap but not to be advised if you’re in anything resembling a hurry- or a female travelling alone. The bus will tend wait until enough passengers have accumulated before departing. This can take quite a while and in the heat of the planes, it can feel even longer. Not much less comfortable than private tour buses, they do have a tendency to get massively overcrowded.

Tourist/private buses tend to offer things like air conditioning and reclining seats. Translated: you will be turned into an ice cube with a sour throat from a cold blast of air you can’t switch of, and you’re legs will be crushed by the inconsiderate individual in front whilst you’ll be unable to inflict the same on the individual behind because, in accordance to sods law, they’ll either be a seven foot hench Sikh, or a little old lady nursing a sick child. Still cheap at twice the price and much less crowded, if you’re a long female traveller on a really, really tight budget, this should defiantly be favoured above government buses.

Sleeper bus. Actually quite fun if you’re travelling with another person- and you make certain you’re sharing the same bunk. The problem with sleeper buses is the level of noise. Whilst you don’t really expect to get any sleep on the other type of bus’s, the word ‘sleeper’ in the title of the ticket can be misleading in a mean manner. To make sure no one misses their stop the conductor will go up and down the bus at each different destination shouting, veritably shouting, the name of the current stop- occasionally poking his head through the blanket in a cheerfully energetic manner to enquire if this is yours? No you mean to say, he enquires incredulous? You’re still getting off at the last stop!? Not overly conductive to a good night’s sleep, but somehow quite fun for all that.

           
Train

            An experience that must be encountered on any trip to India! A very important thing to be aware of is that there is something called a tourist quota. Basically a portion of all train tickets are reserved until two days before departure. If you get to an internet parlour at eight sharp, two days before heading anywhere, then you can always get your ticket. By 9.30 the tickets are long sold out.

            Basically if you’re unfamiliar with the Indian train system, you want to ride non-ac tier two. The tier’s indicate the quantity of bunks, so two tier means it’s two single beds, one above the other. Three tier is the same amount of space, but with a third bunk squeezed in.

            Two points of information: do not eat train food! That is very important to remember. Secondly, there’s a toss up when deciding if you want to be on the top or bottom. The bottom bunk serves as a seat as well as a bed, and tiered beyond reason, this can be a problem if an extended Punjab family is sat, tight as sardines, on it. However you are closer to your luggage which will consequently be residing under you’re head. A comforting thought when running through however many different stops. That said my preference is always for top bunk. Away from jostling crowds, clumsy hands and vomiting children I tend to trust in the accumulated honesty of the Indian masses. However that doesn’t stop me from using my laptop and any other valuables as a pillow, and occasionally chaining my luggage to the train.

            As a last point on trains- they’re going to force you to become accustomed to Asian toilets if you haven’t already done so. Bring a peg.

Plane

Boring, over expensive and drained of all experience. Only to be used in a rush or if the time saved does, for once, outweigh the money spent.

Short distances (inner city)

Rickshaw (cycle and motor)

            My personal favourite means to transverse any short distance in India the amount of people and belongings you can squeeze into one of these babies is beautiful. Whilst it’s fine and dandy to make small talk with the driver, it’s generally not, nope scratch that, never, a good idea to follow his advice on what shop to go, what place to stay or to accept that he doesn’t know the way. Rather than ask for a specific shop, it’s best to ask for a large landmark and then get direction from there. Do not let him drop you at a random hotel. And it is important to always agree on the price before hand- else you will get royally screwed. One simple method to assert a good price is to ask five or seven drivers in a row and then either go to the cheapest or maybe walk away- one or two should follow with a final discount price.

Bus

            Deadly cheep but overcrowded and hard to pinpoint your actual position. I’d advise leaving them alone until you’re familer with a place.

Metro

            Speaking only of the Delhi metro here- defiantly the means of choice. Modelled on the London metro with easily understood maps handily dotted around the place the air-conditioned carriages are a cool relief from Delhi’s sweltering heat and have all female carriages for those Indian women travelling without chaperone. Most trips seem to cost about R12 and should be no more than R30 (barring the airport). The staff are fluent in English, on the ball and more than happy to help- as are passing locals. Smooth, comfortable travelling, even if on occasion the mass of humanity becomes a little dense.

Equipment and clothing

            Nearly anything you buy at home you can find here for a quarter of the price. However there are a few things you will most assuredly want to assert the quality of. Namely, you’re backpack, camera and any other expensive electronics. Bring a pair of clothes, or maybe two. But then you can buy everything you need when arriving in Delhi, from dove soap, head and shoulders to the finest quality Levies (if they take your fancy)

My wardrobe consist of:

1 hicking boots (non brand, three piece leather, extremely durable.)

1 flip flops (Havianas)

3 pair comfy socks

5 pair boxers

2 trekking tops

2 normal tops

1 long sleeve top (PJ’s and train wear)

1 pair of jeans

1 pair of slacks (PJ’s/slobbing)

2 pair of trekking pants

1 belt

1 hat

1 towel (quick dry is best)

1 shawl (seven or eight foot long is best.)

            Other things I found to be of use

Bouncy ball

Day bag

Dry bag (for going inside the day bag and keeping my belongings safe)

Poncho rain coat

Travelling cloak (Because I’ve watched LOTR to many times, and I was jealous, allright.)

 Money belt

Torch

Chess set

Note book

Book (s)

Map of; World, India, district I’m in, town I’m in, subway system

Nutella (for my porridge in the morning)

Mixed nuts and raises/granola bars

Aluminium water bottle

Packsafe (security device for my bag, a simple chain would have sufficed in retrospect.)

Umberella

Silk sleeping bag

Tiger Balm (for soothing bites)

Obnoxiously large earphones

Speakers

MP3

Laptop

Dongle (wireless internet device)

Phone

Hot water bottle (winter use and high climbing use only)

            Things I wish I had.

The best camera I could possibly afford (Trust me, it’s well worth it!)

A water cleaning device you can find for £20 which uses UV light to purify water. Basically the same as my current water bottle, but with a major advantage in that you can safely drink any water after it’s been purified.

A pair of sunglasses that I couldn’t lose.

All this fills up 2/3rds of my 80 litter rucksack and never weighs more than 13kg.

Special side note on shawls.

            They are amazing. My current item cost me R400 and is of a good quality but simplistic design. It has been on numerous occaison my quilt, pillow, towel, padding, carry all, scarf, shawl and so much else. It is the only item I carry religiously. Its diverse nature seems limited to what my mind can make it do and it is made use of in a spirit akin to that well known towel in the inter-galacticly famous Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy.

Pursuits

            So, you’re hear with your bag packed, your room settled you’re earphones round your neck and your soon glasses (soon to fall off) perched in your hair. What to do?

Well... go try the food, go get lost, go pick up some language, go try the written language, go watch a movie (They’re interactive in India!), have a clean shave (r30, freaking amazing!) have a massage, have an aruverdic massage, meet some people, carve a bowl, learn to make silver items, learn to cook, learn to dance, go shopping, go trekking, go swimming, go diving, go camping, go paragliding, go parahawking, go zorbing, go rock climbing, go visit a temple, go visit a shiva temple, get on a bus- any bus, go buy a shawl (!) go kayaking, go white water rafting, go skinny dipping, go see a creatation, so swim in the ganges, go get your stars read, go try traditional medicine, go ride an elephant, go ride a camel, go ride a horse, go stay in a palace, go stay in a castle, go to a museum, go read upon the history, go get drunk and relax, go forget about you’re worries, go do nothing but people watch, go star in a Bollywood movie, go find a slackline, go learn to play an instrument, go find a hang to listen to, go watch a cobra dance, go see the mountains, go see the sea, go see the desert, go see a deserted city that was once home to millions, go look for ancient fragments of poetry, go write, go research, go suspend you’re preconceptions, go comprehend local religion, go find your favourite god, go learn to go without toilet paper, go learn to eat with your right hand, go have a bucket shower, go rough it for a night, go stay in luxury for a night, go read new books, go without getting intoxicated, go by just getting intoxicated, go learn to be less cynical, go learn to be less of a push over, go listen to new music, go without speaking for three days, go push your comfort zone and expand your tunnel vision beyond what it currently is. Feel what it’s like to be alive, and not just mimic the life actions of others. Remember that it’s not just about the new scenery, its about seeing the old scenery with new eyes.

Go engage your imagination, suspend the dull, pursue the different, enjoy every experience and

Don’t forget to smile.

Random Tips

i.)Don’t forget to smile.

ii.) You Will get ripped off. It’s unavoidable. To make your trip smoother, follow random tip i.)

iii.) Bob Dylan said “to live outside of the law, you have to be an honest man.” The same thought applies with greater vigour when you don’t know what the laws are. If you are going to break the law, know what the consequences are.

iv.) Don’t bother giving or asking names until you’re sure it’s more than a cursory exchange of information. You can always establish them latter on and it’s embarrassing for either party to forget.

v.) Don’t worry. Forget Western time and solid plans. Give in to inclination.

vi.) With random tip v.) in mind don’t forget you’re still mortal- take all due precautions first.

Post Script. This is probably far from finished, but it’ll do for now. I really should add more tips. Sorry for the spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, it hasn’t been proofread. Hope it’s useful.

To the moon and back

Paul Elias

                Today I went to turn on the hot tap in the bathroom and gave myself and electric shock. I did not expect this to happen. I would never expect that to happen. Only in India. Anyway it was a unique experience worth recording for the sake of a evoking a smile on my lips in the distant future, but now, onto the main piece.

Five hundred words, eh? Apparently that’s the size of the average piece of travel writing. I’ve been doing that thing again where I give thought to the future. Since I’ve been telling myself that I’ll do a update sometime soon, and since I am travelling it made sense to do some research onto travel writing. Doesn’t look like it’s for me. Apparently it’s 10% writing and 90% marketing. One individual described it as writing about 80 towns in 90 days. However there is something about it that grabs me. Not the money (which i hear is rubbish) or the glory (can you name more than a fist full of travel writers?) but the experience itself. The thought that you would get paid, no matter how little, to make an observation on something, anything, along an angle that no one has previously viewed it. Making a career in developing new eyes that see the world different to everyone else. Well. That’s an intriguing prospect.

                However glorious dreams aside the my brief research delivered to me an insight about my own writing. This writing, these words that you read right now and all the posts before them arn’t for you. They’re not for my friends and family, (barring Aunty Joyce and Uncle Joe, for who I can honestly say are the only audience I desire beyond my future self) you just happen to be my mental editors who ensure that I keep the writing upto something resembling a legible manner. These pieces are not even for me. After all I’m living the experience firsthand and barring the pleasure of the composition there’s no real reason for me to spend my time typing away. All these updates are for future me. Could you describe in detail what happened to you on the 7^th of last month? Moving beyond the fact that on the 7^th of last month I was probably not even aware of the date, I know that I couldn’t do it. I’m living my youth in the manner that I choose, living experience that would simply have been beyond my comprehension 10 years ago. Who knows where I’ll be in 10 years time. Or who I’ll be for that matter. A father probably. So it seems important to me to make sure that i record the things that I’m likely going to want to remember. And why post it on line at all then, i ask myself. Well, it makes sure that I actually write and don’t just have the intention to write and it allows myself to curb the guilt that builds up when I fail to contact everyone that I should, and everyone that I want to. At least these way anyone concerned can satisfy themselves that I’m still alive and happy.

                I’v actually been writing quite a lot in this last month. Actually a wrote a heap around 3 weeks ago, and haven’t done much since. I had the desire to write a novel sized story (I won’t say ‘a novel’ because even in my own head that’s beyond pretentious.) before my 22^nd birthday passed me by. By that I mean i wished to write a complex story spanning an extended time period involving numrious different character totalling around 80-100,000 words. I got just under 13,000 down. Which I recon is the same as attempting a 5 hour marathon, and then stopping after 30 min. It’s not that i don’t have the desire to write, it’s that i didn’t realise it would be so hard! I could wing it for the first chunk, but then it went beyond the realms of my imagination into our world once more. This week excuse for existence that i so studiously try and escape. Alas it turns out that in order to write an alternative history, you’re knowledge of the original thing has to be up to scratch. My knowledge of common life in 16^th century India, unfortunately, leaves a lot to be desired. None the less I did try to write what I know, and write it honestly. Or at least I would have done if I had in fact gotten to the meat of the matter. But as you have heard, this failed to occur. Surprised anyone?

                I did however put two and two together and get 26. If the average travel article is around 500 words, this apparently being the attention span of your casual reader, then those 13,000 words represent 26 different articles. So I’m a thinking maybe it would have been better to have written 26 different small articles, rather than one big flop. And by better i should point out that I simply mean more interesting. Have I mentioned the day I got hit with a stomach bug, altitude sickness and potentially heat stroke? It wasn’t an enjoyable experience by conventional standard’s, but none the less that it was intensely interesting. I’m not too fussed as to whether conventional wisdom holds the experience to be positive or negative, as long as its new. So the thought is that for each of these different experiences I partake, I’ll try and write a lively piece under 1000 words (because let’s be realistic, I do tend to use an unnecessary amount of words.) that’s both centred around something other than myself and is in some way informative. These will go parallel to my usual dribbling meanderings which I’m convinced I’ll truly appreciate in years to come. Verbal snapshots with a the flavour of my current personality. Tastier than any lollipop.

                Also this means that not only will I try and keep my updates to sizable portions, I’ll actually try and upload them with some regularity. I should start now really, but I’m tired, I’m getting up early and quite frankly I can think of nothing interesting enough to conjure from my memory. So instead I’ll sleep on it and invert the old Chinese proverb. I’ll do tomorrow what i should do now. Although i will very briefly leave you with this. It took me a couple of hours to figure out. But of much greater importance, I encountered it on the same day that I lost my ring so it can act as a memory trigger.

                The Cathedral.

Your trapped inside a gigantic cathedral and in order to escape you need to accumulate 100 meters of rope. (You shouldn’t ask why, such is the nature of riddles.) At each end of the building there is a rope tied to the ceiling. For all intents and purposes these ropes are infinitely long, since you only need 100 meters from them and they are very long. They are not long enough, however, to reach each other (or meet in the middle ext.) They go from the ceiling to the floor. You have the ability to cut the rope, just as you have the ability to climb and other rudimentary knowledge. You also have the ability to fall 20 meters, but not one meter more. The rope can not be unpicked and re-platted to make, for instance, 10 meters into 20.

How do you acquire your hundred meters?

To the Moon and back, Paul

XxX

I should be sleeping since im a bit i’ll. I eat a plate of noodles last night that didn’t really settle well on the stomach. However yesterday was too interesting to allow to slide by. I got up at 5.45 and did yoga and exercise till 7. Then me and Jamie weeded the vegetable patch and dug in a new one, after feeding the cow and calf. After a delicious breakfast with Anmol and the boys we finished up the digging and washed ourselves up. All seven of us crammed into a car the size of a ford fiat and we drove down to Old Manali. Walking along the river we came to Anmol’s friend’s house, Nilmilna or something of the sort, and her husband Tage. There were about 15 people there from all over the world. German and Canadian, Israeli and English, Japanese and Hindi. Tage used to be a rock band in the 60’s and was still a dab hand at the guitar. We spent three hours or so singing and playing as a group, and generally enjoying the crack with much laughter. Afterwards we all munched down on a delicious lunch, every person haven brought a different dish. It was raining hard but i wanted to get a little bit of shopping done, so i took my shirt of and put it in my bag and sprinted back at full tilt along the river bank in the middle of the thunder storm. Grabbing a hot shower at my friends place we headed into town. I bought a few pleasant curiousies and we had a casual wander round. I’d drank to much tea with our late lunch and discretely answering a call of nature I was mildly amused to see that just on the side of the road, the spot i had chosen to grace was home to a causal scattering of Hemp which grows wild, and to a large degree, in all of the valleys in and around Manali.  and then we walked back up the hill to the farm i’m staying at. It was quite late by this point and it took me and Jamie over an hour to make the walk. However it had stopped raining and the stars merged with the lights of Manali to present a wonderful collaboration of natural and man-made viewed from this ancient forest with trees stretching hundreds of feet into the sky.

                We made it back safe. I’d bought myself a magic trick and showing of inspired the boys to respond by showing me some very impressive card tricks. After this we moved onto palm reading, where our house magician made a good show of reading our palms and declaring our future. Apparently I’ll achieve a life desire within the next 11 months, a university conflict will soon resolve itself, I’ll have one child, a boy, the mother of whom i’ll meet in about 2 years time. And by then I’ll have settled down, or so my palms seem to indicate. This gives me another 18 months to travel around the world before my destiny manifests itself and shows me what I want to do with life. My son will be born within two and half and three and half years. So there we go- my man had asked me to record the dates within the diary or journal and to remember to invite him to the wedding. Hence. Now i’v gotta go complete my shopping. It was a very, very fun day.

To the moon and back. XxX

Wwoofing (World wide organisation of organic farming.)

                I stayed in Old Manali too long. The problem is that although the day starts early there’s simply too much to do. The white water rafting was fun. And I spent a day in a silversmiths making an Om symbole for Kate’s 13^th birthday. However days such as these are the exceptions to the rule of casual dilies and dalies around the town. The day always seems to start around half seven when the permanent residents of the guest house begin to shake of the nights hold and embracing the day with a clatter of pans and the gurgle and splash of water, they also rouse me to embrace it to. For the last few days I’ve been doing Yoga from 8 till 9, and then I go down to my favourite German Bakery for a veg pattie, a nutella cuasont and a hot cup of tea. They tend to have a large variety of tea, and I’ve progressed beyond English tea and Chai and am currently favouring lemon and mint tea. It’s a nice contrast to the sweet goodness of nutella of freshly made crosont. The day then seems to slip past me in a casual manner. You meet a lot of people here. Harry, the jolly old man who has been the only other proper resident at the guest house is a wealth of information. I have the feeling he’s past his seventieth year. His days here are spent pouring over old field notes and pictures of his years in Cambodia and Lous, where he worked as a journalist for twelve years, and two years respectively. He was in the RAF before that and this humorous glint in his eyes that shouts of satisfaction found. One of his stories ends with him walking out of Cambodia with nothing but the cloths on his back. He made his way to a friend’s house and, taking of his shoes walked to the kitchen. At this point his firends wife comes in from another room and lets loose a piercing scream. Harry hadn’t realised how decrepid he looked. Malnurished in torn old clothes, bordering on starvation at 7 stone he’d walked through the pain of the blisters on his feet, which had consequently burst and slowly filled his shoes with blood. Upon taking them of, an automatic action, he didn’t realise that he was painting bloody footprints in a trail across his friend’s floor. This was almost a year after a political shift in Cambodia had resulted in most of the western journalists being evicted. He forfeited all his belongings, baring a few note books that he secreted around his person. However when even the dogs have been consumed and there is literally no food to be had, material objects, he informed me, suddenly seem to carry a lot less value. It’s deliciously intreting who you can meet over coffee. Let’s leave Harry be and snatch once again at the main thread.

                I lost my ring. We rode back from white water rafting on the roof of the bus and still shivering from the cold (I always regret not jumping in the Ganges with Jack and Oli last time, so avoid said emotion this time i suffered the freezing river.) my fingers must have contracted tremendously. It probably didn’t help that I’ve lost a little weight. Anyway i didn’t even feel it slip of. It brings a wry smile to my lips because I’d watched the Lord of the Rings a few days previously and remember thinking to myself that rings truly did seem to have a life of their own. Apparently Terrry Pratchet was at Liverpool airport when he was a overweight scouser dragging a shoddy bag in a manner that seemed to give it a life of it’s own. I wonder if something similar happened to Tolkien when he was thinking of rings of power.

                Now, I’m far from having turned into a hippy or any such malarkey, but I have made a few conscious choices out here. It’s simple common sense to avoid meat in India and though there’s a much bigger story behind why I can currently define myself as a vegetarian, but that happened a few months ago and it’s hard enough getting the present pinned down on err, whatever the electronical equivalent of paper is. Suffice to say that baring the occasional trout I haven’t eaten meat since Varanasi. I’ve also drifted away from recreational intoxicants. Although I’m really digging the coffee here, that’s about as hard core as I’m taking it these days. There just isn’t world enough and time, and having a fogy mind does feel like a crime. The last thing I had was a glass of white wine with a marvellous meal the other day which seemed to consume the afternoon. Me and a few choice friends nibbled on olives and fresh bread, devoured Vietnamese spring rolls, sampled cold the local hot and sour soup, marched on through some delicious hot dal mahkni with freesh chapaties along a large Korean dish called something like Bimbap (?) a hot stone pot with rice, mixed veg, sauce and a raw egg which cooks as you watch. You stir it all together and have it with a portion of spicy pickles on the side. So I have lost a little weight, but not enough to worry anyone. There be some good eatin’ up in these here hills.

                The exercise continues, though with less regularity, and as I said I’m also doing a few hours of yoga per day. So whilst i’m feeling guilty about not keeping up the press ups, I’m purging the guilt but finding muscles on my body whose existence, until very recently, I was completely ignorant of. And stretching and employing them feels like a much more challenging obstacle than the mere repetition of press-ups and stomach crunches.

                Hmm. Unfortunalty i’m running out of time. It’s only been forty min but I’ve got a lot in front of me today. So, the realllly speedy update. Yoga’s fun and im going to carry it on a lot. I didn’t get to go skiing but the choice was there at least, and it feels to me that this is what really mattered. There’s better things to do with my time and money here. I planned to leave Manali yesterday to go to either Daramsala or Leh. However I’m now sat with my bags beside me in a wwoofing institute. Think of an old English farmhouse, give it a splash of India and tone down the degree to which everything is in good nick (i.e. there’s work to be done, but it’s assuredly inhabitable.) and you have a very sketchy image of where i’m living for the next two weeks. The day starts at 5.30/6 for yoga or meditation. You eat breakfast and then help out till around1ish, then stop for lunch. The afternoon is your own and the owner, a marvellous small Hindi lady called Anmol, will help you in conducting any creative activity you’d care to try your hand at, from sculpting to carving to farming. It’s free bed and board and you can stay indefinitely. I’ll take some pictures.

                The ruff plan for my time here, and it gets even sketcher the further into the future it stretches, is to stay here for a while and really pick up Yoga. Head to daramsala and McLoud Ganj, check out the Golden temple and the border parade ect. Then take the bus to Leh (it takes two days, so maybe I stop over in Kashmere for a few days) see Leh and make my way back to Manali for one night. Trek from Manali into Spiti over the course of 8 or 9 days (those mountains be big!) and see the girls in Kalpa very briefly. Hopefully Oli will be in the country by this point, so i’ll kick it with him for a while. Then, presuming everything’s shinny i’ll head to Delhi to pick up Lib’s from the airport on the 3^rd of July.

Right, foods ready and i’m being rude carrying on writing so enough for now. Sorry this is short,

                With Love to the Moon and back,

Paul XxX

PS. I have a veritable mane.