Joshimath

Posted on April 29, 2008 by aidantierney| Leave a comment

I’ve come to Joshimath to organize a short trek and get a closer look at the mountain peaks. Joshimath appears a bleak town despite a few colourful buildings. Its spread out along one main street with an improbable number of grimy general stores, barbershops, sweet shops, shops that sell sweaters and blankets plus a couple of banks and even an ATM. Its setting is impressive, at 1845m on the side of a deep valley where two rivers converge. The white Himalayan peaks shine in the distance.

I’ve come here out of season it turns out. Two weeks before all the pilgrims and trekkers will fill the now-closed hotels. The town becomes a base to visit some important Sikh and Hindu pilgrimage sites and for some famous treks, including the Valley of Flowers and Kuari Pass.

It took 11 hours to get here from Rishikesh. Four buses, two flat tires. Right now I think there are six tourists in entire town.

The people here live in a different colour pallete compared to the other places I have travelled in India. Murkier, darker hues, browns, burnt oranges, rich reds, greys, blues and blacks. The faces too look darker – wind-worn, sun-ravaged. Their sweaters and trousers dusty and grimy. Its a workers town, and a lot of people look like they just rolled out from under a truck, or out of a quarry. Its not a prosperous place, but its lively. The streets always full of people. And they seem a fairly cheerful if exhausted bunch.

They are building a big hydro project here, not a dam but diverting the river or something. I didnt meet anyone who could explain it. Its also a big army town.

The place is teeming with kids and adolescents. At 7 in the morning hundreds of school children in uniform walking to their schools. Some were ferried in gigantic green army personnel carriers. So funny to see two stern soldiers in dark green combat gear in the cab, and between them a gleaming 7-year-old schoolboy in red school uniform. In the back of the truck 3 or 4 more bright-eyed boys and girls.

By early evening the adolescents take to the street, again in the hundreds, hanging out chatting, walking around. The power goes out a fair bit. (I guess they haven’t finished that hydro project yet.) Even with power its a dimly lit place. Each store with one or two bulbs. All the people out, no-one buying much in the stores, or eating much in the many restaurants but the gurgle of town life goes on. Just 15 minutes walk out of town and its complete mountain silence.

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This is highway, not runway

Posted on April 26, 2008 by aidantierney| 1 Comment

The mountain road to Joshimath is treacherous, a mostly unpaved track carved out of the side of a very deep river valley. No guardrails, sharp bends and sheer drops of over 200m in places. Like many roads in India its basically one lane (by Canadian standards) but carries traffic in two directions. The shoulders make it possible for a truck and a bus travelling in opposite directions to squeeze by each other. Hopefully they do this slowly, but not always.

The people that maintain this particular road, BRO (Border Road Organization) have put up or painted on the rocks bright yellow and black signs in both Hindi and English that promote road safety. Things like: BRO wishes you a safe and happy journey. (Thanks Bro). The bus was juddering past these signs way too fast to ever get a decent picture of one, but I started writing them down to pass the time.

BRO says:

  • BLOW HORN AT CURVES
  • DONT NAG HIM, LET HIM DRIVE
    My favourite. I dont think this would wash in Canada, somehow. I guess political correctness hasnt made it this far up the mountain. It got me thinking though — are women allowed to drive in India? In 4 months I dont recall seeing a single vehicle driven by a woman. My new bus game will be looking out for them.
  • AFTER WHISKEY DRIVING IS RISKY
  • THIS IS HIGHWAY NOT RUNWAY
  • REMEMBER YOU ARE ON A HILL ROAD
    You’d have to be taking hallucinogens not to notice. Its a grueling road along a massive gorge with sharp bends and steep climbs.
  • MOUNTAINS ARE A PLEASURE ONLY IF YOU DRIVE WITH LEISURE
  • LICENCE TO DRIVE NOT TO FLY
  • IF YOU SLEEP YOUR FAMILY WILL WEEP
    Not if they’re in the car.
  • NO RACE AND RALLY, ENJOY THE BEAUTY OF THE VALLEY
  • BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
  • NO HURRY NO WORRY BE FREE
    Wasnt that a song?
  • THAT IS DEEP DONT GO SLEEP
    Wha…?
  • PREVENTION BETTER THAN CURE. PRECAUTION IS BEST AND MUST

All this reminded me of my favourite roadsign of all time which I saw on an all-night drive to Chicago. It was somewhere in Michigan on a very quiet and dark stretch of the Interstate.
STATE PRISON – DO NOT STOP FOR HITCHHIKERS.

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Rishikesh

Posted on April 19, 2008 by aidantierney| 1 Comment

Rishikesh is a quiet town (apart from the temple loudspeakers, the firecrackers and the Israelis). Its a place of ashrams and yoga schools on the banks of the Ganges. Many Indian tourists come here, pilgrims, holiday-makers, as well as western tourists.

There’s a lot of holy men in orange robes. Many of these look like they are involved in running the ashrams. In a different costume they could be university professors, with their graying hair, salt and pepper stubble, and spectacles. These ones don’t ask you for money, at least not in the street.

Its tremendously hot again, Unbearable at mid-day, almost 40 degrees. Especially after the cool mountain air in Dharamsala. The best part of the day is from 6 to 8am, its the only time you can go for a walk. After that the sun scalds and the air feels like the rush of heat when you open an oven.

I can’t bring myself to spend much time in the ashrams. After spending 5 of the last 10 months in ashrams, I am ashramed out. I did visit the Divine Life Society founded by His Holiness Swami Sivananda. It has a peaceful but museum-like atmosphere – none of the dynamism I associate with Swami Sivananda. I realized that Swami Sivananda is as present in our satsangs in the yoga centre in Toronto as he is here, or anywhere else because we see him with our hearts. He’s not attached to any spot on the ground, no matter how much history might be associated with it.

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Hygiene – can’t live with it…

Posted on April 18, 2008 by aidantierney| 1 Comment

Please dont take this post as a rant. Also dont use it as an excuse not to visit India. If you travel on a luxury budget you’ll avoid many of the things below (at least they will be kept out of sight). But then you wont really experience the India that people here live in.

To survive India you need to relax any preconceived notions you might have about hygiene. Ha. Lets face it, it can be filthy here. But before you read on, keep in mind one important thing. Most Indians have an extremely high sense of personal hygeine. Rich or poor they are always clean and immaculately turned out. To me its a sort of miracle given the conditions sometimes.

Here are some of the hygeine issues I faced and accepted:

Flies. Everywhere. Especially retaurants. All over the counters, the food on display, the tables. Like hundreds of them. Today at breakfast each table had around 50. So many in fact, even the waiter seemed concerned. Usually they are more of a nuisance than anything. You simply cant think about how unclean they are. And really in any any restaurant, no matter how fancy it might look, you have no idea whats happening in the kitchen. I’ve worked in enough to know. So let go.

Sheets and pillowcases. I’m never sure if they have been washed, or if the splotches on them are permanent or from the guest who just left. I’ve got this hospital green sleeping-bag sheet from Mountain Equipment Coop thats perfect for these situations. You just zip yourself up, think clean thoughts and drift off to sleep. Its paper-thin so you dont get too hot.

Tea cups. In fact tea glasses, its usually served in a glass. At chai stalls, probably in kitchens too, glasses are rinsed in a most cursory way. A splash of water and on to the next customer’s lips. And where is that water coming from? The stream nearby? The river? I think the tea is usually made from water from a better source than the dishwater, but god only knows. (He drinks tea, by the way). Well, at least the tea is boiled and the milk comes from holy cows.

Mice. The first time I ate at the Brown Bread Bakery restaurant in Varanasi there were little wee mice running around on the floor under the tables where I sat to eat. That’s cute, right? The second, and last time I ate there I watched one of the kids that worked there take about 6 live traps out of the kitchen and down the stairs past where I sat eating. They were long rectangular metal cages with at least 6 live little mice. The kid looked matter-of-fact about the whole thing, like it might have been a daily chore.
Nonetheless, the place had the best pastries in town.

Shit. Feces. Dung. Call it what you will, its just about everywhere on the streets. Walk near any wall thats not part of a house or an occupied building and you smell it. Cow, ox, buffalo, dog, goat, sheep and often human varieties. At some point you end up stepping in it, like when you dodge an oncoming Jeep thats pressing you off the road. When you feel it ooze between your toes thats especially challenging.

Lizards, ants, roaches. All manner of creepy crawlies share your rooms with you. But somehow you make friends with them in a way that simply wouldnt be possibly at home. I like the lizards especially. They are translucent, and shy little creatures that dart about the walls.

Rats. In the Jodhpur train station waiting room, the “upper class” one, no less, I watched a rat scurry around, dig into the garbage pail, scurry around on the floor some more. People sleep on the floors in train staions, but no-one seemed to take any notice of this guy, except me. Incidentally, there is a Hindu temple in Rajastan called the rat temple. I didnt go there. But the floor is covered in rats, and the people worship the rats. Hinduism is a very broad religion. God is everywhere. If god is in the sun and the moon, it is also in the rat and the shit.

Garbage. This too is everywhere, except in bins which there dont seem to be many of. It just piles in the street. In Delhi and Bangalore I saw people chuck bags of rubbish from upper floors of flats into the street over me as I passed by. The cows or dogs munch through it, picking out the yummy bits and eventually someone comes along and sweeps it all up and carts it away.

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Are you looking at me?

Posted on April 17, 2008 by aidantierney| 1 Comment

When does ‘looking at’ turn into watching? And when does watching become staring? I’m not paranoid, really. But everyone is staring at me. I suppose I stand out. Often I am the only non-Indian on a bus, train compartment, in a restaurant- even in a whole town sometimes. The kids stare sometimes, sure. I seem to fascinate them. They might come up and ask me where I am from. They are cute.

But its the adults. Men usually. Non-descript men with moustaches on buses, in restaurants and chai stalls. The women may look- for a polite moment. But the men look, watch and then watch some more and despite looking straight back at them, watch some more. I call that staring.

Its hard to work out whats behind it all. Curiosity? Malice? Attraction? Boredom? Sometimes I have tried smiling. I’d say half the time it works. They shoot back a very warm, open smile in return. But the other times they just keep staring stoney-faced. They watch with fascination how I open a water bottle, or eat a biscuit or read Lonely Planet.

Often, while travelling here I find many people open up friendly conversations. But its rarely the starers. Even if the smile tactic works and they smile back, they dont talk, but continue watching.

When you feel on top of the world it doesnt affect you. But tired, hungry, or in a bad mood these stare-people really get under your skin, like they are watching every move you make. I guess the whole idea of private space, personal space is very different in a country of almost 1 billion people.

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Mcleod Ganj

Posted on April 14, 2008 by aidantierney| Leave a comment

Stop Killing in TibetTintin in Tibet

The guy in the photos above runs the busy Ten Yang Coffee House right near the main Tibetan Buddhist temple. Monks and westerners, young Tibetans and Indians all hang out here. The two sides of his t-shirt said a whole lot to me.  The side I noticed first says “Stop Killing in Tibet”. But the front of the tshirt is a picture of Tintin and the words, “Tintin in Tibet”.  The guy wearing it is beaming a big smile. It amazes me how the Tibetans can smile, can be part of the fun-loving world and at the same time fight to end the suffering of their family back home, and the destruction of their nation and culture.

There are so many Tibetans in Mcleod Ganj, the Indians you see give you the impression of being immigrants. In the restaurants, the owners might be Tibetan but the kitchen staff and bus boy will be a young Indian kid.

Mcleod Ganj has been the residence-in-exile of His Holiness the Dalai Lama since 1960. Its a small town in the mountains filled with Buddhist monks and nuns (not all actually Tibetan), Tibetan refugees, other Tibetans who were born here, Indians who have come here for work (many from Kashmir), and lots of Western students, seekers, tourists and “travellers”.

I dont know if I am a traveller of not, I guess I am. But usually they have braided hair and flowing multicoloured blouses or skirts. And that’s just the guys! Well, not quite, but whatever the traveller is, he or she has a lot of options for breakfast: omlettes, toast, real coffee, muesli, even bacon and ham — all things that are pretty rare in India away from ‘traveller’ restaurants. A traveller is not simply someone who travels, they are part of a subculture. Its very Goa, Gokarna, Hampi. Its a backpacky, hippy-ish thing. And toast and pasta and hash and motorbike thing. I really dont know much about it, or many real travellers, so dont take my word on it.

In Mcleod there are lots of types of Westerners. College kids, young seekers doing meditation or yoga or reiki classes. Older seekers who didnt find the answers already I guess ;-) Plus regular tourists. It all gives the place a really nice feel actually, this mix of seekers, monks, locals. Its got a cafe culture and you see lots of people hanging out together discussing or laughing together. I think the prize for some of the (very attractive) young western women is… a Tibetan boyfriend. The locals seem willing to oblige. I overheard three American girls in the Peace Cafe. “He’s not only Tibetan [which was clearly enough from the tone], he’s hot!”. And they are.

Mcleod is refreshingly cool, compared to the other parts of India that I have been. Two sweaters at night, a tshirt in the day. Its great temperature to go for walks, and I did lots of walking. To waterfalls just out of town, up into the mountains a little. I missed out on a small trek to Triund, because the weather was stormy on my last day.

Of course the main event at the moment is the Tibet protests. But I dont feel I know enough about whats going on here to do justice to the subject. There are nightly candle-lit processions through town. There is a hunger strike outside the temple. There are larger protests planned for when the Olympic torch comes to Delhi. There have been arrests, some Westerners among them. India forbade Tibetans from protesting against China when it gave them asylum.

The Dalai Lama is in Seattle and doing a lecture tour in the US now.

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Dharamsala – getting there

Posted on April 12, 2008 by aidantierney| 1 Comment

Bus to Dharamsala

Dharamsala, actually Mcleod Ganj just up the steep road. Not feeling the best. I think it was the travel the last few days. On the way to Amritsar the train was really drafty – there’s no glass on the windows, only metal bars. For 8 hours a very strong hot, then cold, draft – plus fans overhead. Drafts kill me. They are my Achilles heel. Not that I am the Achilles of travellers. Amritsar was so enjoyable I forgot about feeling a bit off – but the bus trip out of there, towards Dharamsala was harsh. It was supposed to be 7 hours but ended up over 9. Its not really the time, its the discomfort factor. Regular buses have little suspension, little padding on the seats, plus I dont really fit in them. (In some buses when I stand my head hits the roof. When its crowded I can support myself by pressing my head into the roof, but its torture) At least I had a seat this time albeit a few inches too close to the seat in front. If there is no-one beside me its ok, i can move my legs a bit. At first there wasnt anyone but then they piled in and the bus got crammed. 5 people in the space my mind says is for 3. Now you’ve got an Indian bus ride. For some reason the driver didnt make a pit-stop. Iron Bladder. You learn to control how much water you drink just in case. In fact we did stop at a bus station about half-way, but the conductor didnt let any of us leave the bus. He blew his fierce whistle at all of us when we tried, gesturing we were about to leave. Then we sat in our seats at the station for 10 minutes. But who can chance it? Your bag is tied to the roof of the bus. And the conductor wasnt very communicative lets say. I thought – oh i guess we’ll stop at a restaurant along the way, as they often do. There was no restaurant though, no stop, no relief. Usually they go to a really disgusting place, after you have passed a few cheerful looking roadside restaurants. Clearly the driver or conductor is getting some baksheesh (tip, kickback) from the restaurant. Our bus was mostly foreign tourists. Was this intentional I wondered, or maybe the driver just wanted to get home faster?

But no matter how they rushed we were out of luck. The last 20km took 3 hours! Thats what killed me. We got stuck in a traffic jam — who knew there was “traffic” in a resort mountain village near Dharamsala? Completely stuck. Buses, mopeds, motorbikes, bikes, cars, pedestrians across the whole road, trying to move in both directions but completely stopped. For about an hour. Sometimes the drivers shut off their engines, or started them up to move a meter. No sign of police to sort out the mess. In fact there was probably only a couple hundred vehicles but the chaos was the problem. And no-one would give an inch. Locals stood on the side of the road and the bridge to observe it all, their eyes, and the drivers eyes popping out of their heads when they saw the foreign women on my bus. Sitting in this scrum was toxic. My lungs ache. I feel like I smoked a pack and a half of cigarettes. There was a fair in town it turned out. Or a demo.

Finally, out of this jam and one bus later I made it to Mcleod Ganj. Aryan, my friend from the ashram in Kerala met me in the main square. Aryan is a Reiki Master and yoga teacher here. The place was really quiet, though it was only 9.30pm. Aryan said its because its been a lot wetter than usual and there’s less tourists, but also because foreigners dont want to come because of the Tibet Demonstrations. Those are peaceful, its not a safety issue, but according to Aryan, if the Indian Government finds a foreigner participating in the demos, that person will be put on a list and never get another visa to return to India. I think a lot of foeriegn visitors to Dharamsala are regular visitors coming for the meditation centres and Tibetan culture. As much as they may support the cause they wouldnt want to be shut out of India for life.

I follow that that cardinal rule of travel when far from home, up there with dont drink the water — avoid demonstrations, protests, rallies. In fact I havent seen one here yet. I think they happen at night, by candle-light but I have been sleeping a lot more than usual.

When I feel a bit more umff I’ll be off to explore this beautiful place.

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Amritsar – Punjab

Posted on April 11, 2008 by aidantierney| 1 Comment

Amritsar is the friendliest place I have visited since Kerala. People here seem happy. Total strangers come up to me to say hi, and they really mean it. I feel like I am visiting a big family. And even the touts take no for an answer.

Amritsar is a holy city, the site of the Sikh Golden Temple, its also a modern-feeling place. A lot of Sikhs emigrated to Canada, UK and other countries, and many seem to return for visits or send money home. Punjab is the richest state in India I was told, and no doubt all that foreign money coming back is a part of the reason.

The Golden Temple is stunning. The atmosphere inside the complex is magical, many have travelled thousands of miles to visit. Beautiful music, chanting and kirtan plays, and when you go inside the main temple you realize it is being sung live by the priests there. The temple seems to float above a large pond. Its a large building coated in gold and the shimmering reflection in the pond is transfixing. The temple is open to all, but I seemed to be the only white visitor when I was there. People were so friendly, coming up to say hello. One man said ‘Thank-you for visiting our temple’. The visitors to the temple walk around the outside of the pond. Some bathe in it. Then they take an offering into the temple. There’s also a place to eat, and the food is free – a simple and delicious meal of dal (lentil stew), rice and chapati (flatbread). Its quite something the efficiency with which they feed thousands — seating them, serving them, clearing the hall, washing all the dishes and the place runs 24 hours a day! You sit on the floor and they come around with stainless steel buckets of food, dropping the bread into your outreached hands.

You only wonder what India would be like if the efficiency cleanliness they have in this temple were applied to the roads and railways! What a wonderful world it would be.

The young people here seem quite modern, and wear their relative prosperity easily. A lot seem part of the MTV nation, but dont seem to be pretending to be anything other than they are, modern Indians. Their colourful headgear marks them distinctly as Sikh, and gives them an identity much more striking than the generic MTV t-shirt and jeans brigade that is everywhere in the world these days.

You hear Bhangra everywhere, a really distinctive Punjabi style of music and the one that has had most success in the pop music in Europe and Canada. When you go to an Indian-themed dance party in the West, Bhangra is most likely what you’ll hear.

Photos

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