Richard's Travel Blog

   Hi all. I decided to head back to northeast India rather than accompany Beatrice to the beach in Gujarat and on to Mumbai during her last week and a half in India. So here I am in Kolkata again after visiting a magnificant Jain temple 90 km north of Udaipur and taking the 1800+km, 40 hour train from Jodhpur to Kolkata.

   Udaipur is still a nice place to go. There are pictures on my blog entry about Udaipur last October when I was there before. It’s picturesque and the weather is relatively mild compared to the deserty regions of Rajastan. Here is the requisite shot of Lal ghat and the palace, one from down near the palace back toward where the first was taken, followed by another one at water level taken from one of the several nice restaurants which are nice to go to with someone you like.

That didn’t quite catch the ambience, but take my word for it, it is nice.

   I forgot to look up just how many pillars are in the 15th century Jain temple in Ranakpur, but it numbers in the many hundreds. No two of them are the same. I’m told one os not straight because they didn’t want to build a human thing as perfect as the gods. the game is to try to find the off-center one. I didn’t find it. It’s a forest.

I like any kind of Jain place. The restaurants, the guesthouses, the stores, the temples. They are all about cleanliness and purity. Cleanliness is something you really appreciate after about 10 minutes in India. Too bad they are less than one percent of the population.

   The bus ride to Jodhpur and the long ride to Kolkata were uneventful. I read a whole book, Barbara Kingsolver’s “Pigs in Heaven”. She’s a hoot. It was nice to read something full out American, with native slang and humor throughout. The foreigners reading this are probably asking, what’s a “hoot”? It doesn’t translate. See what I mean?

   My plan is to go up to Sikkim, that thumb of India in between Nepal and Bhutan, before the weather there gets too cold. I could have gone straight through Darjeeling in northern West Bengal (Kolkata is in the southern part of that state), but I need to replace a pair of glasses I lost on the train a week or so ago. Going around without an extra pair worries me. If I lose my spare pair, I’ll have to go around like Mr. Cool in my dark glasses all the time. This isn’t East Oakland and doing that at night is simply not done. Freakazoid in my attire around here would make me look even wierder than I am. My cover would be blown completely.

   I hope to leave Kolkata tomorrow, that’s if I can find a frame. The optician sent a man in a taxi to bring some more for me to look at. If I like it, I’m out of here if I can get a ticket. I need permits to go around in Sikkim, but I’ll get them in Darjeeling or the nearest broad guage railhead near Siliguri. Maybe I’ll bag Darjeeling for now and see it on my way back in 15 days or so when my glasses will arrive back in Kolkata from France. Travel, travel, travel. It’s what I do. Fortunately, a night in the train costs about the same as a guesthouse stay. I’m getting good at sleeping in trains. Rock me baby in the bosom of Abraham, kind of.

   Did Abraham have a bosom? That changes everything.

   I have a few pictures of me because Beatrice was with me to take them. Here I am getting knocked out by a kid in Khuri.

Here I am crashed out on the bed they made for us out on that camel camping “safari” into the desert.

And here’s proof I am indeed still a good eater.

   I’m just hanging out in Kolkatta. I took a few pictures of typical street scenes. Here is a laundry. I prefer these to the laundry services in the guesthouses, as they scrub the clothes on the sidewalk or slap them on rocks rather than just put them through a ridiculous India washing machine.

Here is the tea stall next to the laundry.  

Here is typical fine sidewalk dining next to the tea stall. 

In most of India you no longer see people powered rickshaws. Calcutta is quite poor and they are still a common mode of public transportation.

    That’s about it for now. I may be able to write from Sikkim if they have broadband.

   Be well, all of you.

Beatrice and I just came to Jaipur from Jaisalmer this morning and are waiting for a connection to Sawai Madhopur. That is the city nearest Ranthambore National Park where I went to see tigers last October. You can click on last October’s blog entry to see pictures. She hasn’t been there, and it’s kind of on the way to Udaipur then Diu, Gujarat. So that’s the plan. We should get in there about 7:30 tonight.

Jaisalmer is a pretty nice place, though it’s too bad that it has some of the worst tourist hassle in India. I’m pretty used to it, but they got on even my nerves eventually. There is, of course, a fort there. Unlike most of the Rajastani forts, it’s in full use as a tourist hotel, restaurant and shopping area.Â

 

As you can probably see, there is more new construction than remains of the old fort. At least they use sandsstone in the construction so it doesn’t look bad. Much of the construction down n the town is also of sandstone, so there exists a certain desert character that most people would find appealing. WE stayed in a guesthouse outside the fort because they have severe water management problems inside which are causing problems. We ate in there, but Lonely Planet doesn’t evevn talk about the attractions inside because they have done nothing to rectify the problems, even though the money has been collected. I think maybe the money has disappeared, as it is wont to do in India. Who knows? Anyway, it’s nice, different in that it’s in use, and unfortunate about the tourist hassle.

We didn’t do much in Jaisalmer, mostly walking around and having dinner in the fort, hanging out in a restaurant we liked called Little Italy which has good Italian food and espresso drinks, and lazing around in our rooms. It was hot, so the air conditioned bliss of Little Italy was nice. One day wewenttoa coupleof sites outside of Jaisalmer. One place wasan oasis with funeral cenotaphs around it. I think these sites are SO modern India. Note eternal, the old and the new of the oasis, the cenotaphs with wind generators all around.

We went on a little overnight camel safari from Khuri, a village 45 km from Jaisalmer. This is basically like going out to the backyard to sleep under the stars with your mom making you a nice campfire dinner. Beatrice and I opted to ride camels the 5 km or so out to where we slept. The adult and a young friend took us, made up a nice bed on the sand and cooked for us.

Here area few photos of the sites. First is me and my camel. From up there, it’s a downward angle to photograph the women walking along with their water pots on their heads.

Believe it or not, camels aren’t that hard to drive. At least these weren’t.

We went by a village where the water well is 300 meters deep. Here, we are giving the critters a drink.

Dunes? You want dunes?

How about a sunset?

It was somewhat cloudy, which made it be not too hot. Still, we went out in the late afternoon and came back in the morning. Midday would be a little intense out there.

So that’s the news for now from Lake Wobegon. I’ll probably write again before long. Here’s a last picture of a couple of kids. They are so cute sometimes, before hardship and sun bludgeon their faces and bodies. Be well, all of you. And count your blessings.

Hi again, y’all. I got to Manali in good shape and met up with Beatrice a couple of days later. It was supposed to be only one day later, but she had one of the worst bus ride stories I’ve ever heard. I may blog about that another time, but for now I’ll try to catch up on things. I’ve got a bunch of pics I’ve been uploading for some time, and it’s about time to send them.

The one above is of the river through Manali. Old Manali, where we stayed this time, is mostly up along the side to the right of this pucture. Vashisht, where I stayed last month, looks down on this area from way up and to the right, about a kilometer as the crow flies or 5-6 km by road.

Beatrice and I didn’t do much while we were in Manali. We looked around. She dealt with the police about her bus adventure. She shopped for clothes. I had some cute pictures of her looking at material, but I found out that if I rotate them on this computers viewing program, they get deleted from my memory card. Anyway, that’s about all we did except hang out and mosey around.

Here are some more pictures of Vashisht. The first is just a view of the skyline, such as it is, from the Rainbow Cafe I spent so much time in last month.

These two were taken during some kind of Hundu festival we happened to blunder into.

If you want to see more pictures of that area, you can go to my entries last month.

Beatrice and my relationship is not without some bumps, but I think we are getting along pretty well right now. We decided to continue travelling together. After several days in Manali, we went first to Shimla via bus, then to Jodhpur via two trains over a two day period to Jodhpur in Rajastan. The train from Shimla, down out of the mountains, was a narrow guage “toy train”. It was kind of cute.

So, we are in Jodhpur, the “blue city”. Here is a photo of the fort, which dominates the city, taken from our guesthouse, and one of the city taken from up at the fort.

As in many cities in many parts of India, there is an old town with narrow, “quaint” lanes. Some are wide enough for one small car at a time. Maybe a couple of rickshaws can pass. Sometimes only pedestrians can go. Here are some pictures of some sites. The first is just a random photo of Beatrice.

We are back in the land of elephants and camels.

Here is the view down the street where that animal was.

That day, we were walking along looking for things to look at. We’re both not much for trying to follow the guide book. We happened into one of the nicer, more interesting temples we’d seen. This one had obviously recently painted pictures representing Hindu beliefs regarding chakras. Most of the symbolism is way over my head. I can see that releasing ones kundalini energies is no child’s play.

I don’t know what prying the stork’s mouth apart is about.

Â

This has got to hurt.

   Seriously, the people in there were quite devout. There was a guy singing so joyusly I couldn’t bring myself to possibly interrupt his abandon. Here are a few shots I felt okay to take. The guy is the tall one in front with the white shirt. Note all the wall paintings.

   The next thing was we happened to actually find the main market on the other side of the fort. Markets are a big deal in most of the developing world, sometimes worthy of somewhat monumental architecture. Here is the gate to the main market at the base of the fort and the clock tower which serves as the centerpiece reference point for the city.

   Here’s Beatrice in the market.

 

Let’s see, I’ve got some other stuff. Here’s something you don’t see every day, a cow and a dog as good friends. This cow is scratching the dog under his chin and the dog is totally eating it up, blissed out with it’s eyes closed.

In the old section of town, many ornate facaes either from or reminiscent of the moghul period can be seen.

Yet another festival was under way.

Â

Notice how colorful the dress in in Rajastan. Even the female road crews are dressed brightly.

Here’s one of the detail of the sandstone carving of the fort’s facades.

We also went to a garden with some old funerary monuments. Again, go to my Rajastaan pictures from last October for many, many pictures of these monuments. Here are a couple of pictures of the monkeys there. I think the little one is very, very young. It was so cute snuggling and sucking away.

Finally, we went to look at what is billed as one of the finest hotels in the world. Here is the outside. Most of the inside is off limits to nonguests. I assure you, we will not be staying here anytime soon. I’d like to, just because it was built in the 20’s and 30’s and the inside is a moghul/art deco fusion. There was a video, which is how we know.Â

So, this entry has been all pictures and little dialogue. Maybe the next one will be more chatty. Oh, maybe I’ll wax eloquent. Yeah, right. We’re going out  into the desert of western Rajastaan on the overnight train tonight. We’ll be a few days in and around Jaisalmer. I’ll probably write from there, or shortly after.

Be well, all of you.

Â

I’ve rather enjoyed my 6 days here in Kolkata. I’d like it better than Mumbai if Mumbai wasn’t more international with western things to do. I’ve always thought Bengalis tended to be pretty nice, and my experience here, as brief as it’s been, bears that out. Other little things that I notice are that the traffic isn’t predatory toward pedestrians, there is less “Come into my shop”, and the rickshaw guys or whatever take “no” for an answer. There are more beggars, though. No, I didn’t go see any “City of God”. (Did you ever read that?) I’ve seen enough already. Yes, I did go to Mother Theresa’s Home for the Sick and Dying Destitute.

That was a really touching experience. I sort of expected, at least hoped, that it would be a good place. It seemed to be fine. Inside, there are two big rooms. One is for woman and one is for men. I’d say their capacity is about 50-60. it was totally clean and they had several people running around giving bedside care. The sisters seemed to be the ones providing skilled care. The beds were clean and not ancient. The patients all had on clean, or were clean until maybe 15 minutes ago, blue pajamas. They had some decent looking supplies. Best was all over the place were Biblical quotes and quotes from the pope and Mother Theresa encouraging right right attitude, right effort and a right mind to do the job with compassion. Obviously it has better funding than almost anything like it in India, but I’m glad they are getting it done. Maybe they could expand. Maybe they should. But then again, there are dozens of her homes like this all over the world. No pictures of the inside, for obvious reasons. Everything is pretty out there to see.

I sort of followed my usual pattern for visiting big cities. I got near the tourist ghetto. It didn’t look like I needed to be in it, which is good. I was close enough that I could walk 10 minutes to get my favorite western breakfast of meusli with fruit and curd. Then I made increasing distant ventures away from that nest, using Lonely Planet for ideas.  Here are a couple of street scenes. They could be anywhere is a big city in India.

Here’s the Howrah Bridge, which is the main way over the Houghly River. There are many ferries and a toll bridge farther down the river.

Public transportation is good. There are buses, a subway cslled the metro, intracity and intercity trains to the suburbs, and a trolley system. I am told they will be discontinuing the trolleys, though, because they get in the way of the ever increasing street traffic. Sound familiar? Most of the streetcars are pretty moth eaten, but here is a nice one.

Mostly I walked and took the metro. There are signs in there that say “no photography”, but sometimes my eyes glaze over at the blizzard of signs, even if they are in English. I took a couple of pictures and was detained by the police who made me show them all of the 180 pictures I have on this memory card and delete the train ones. Originally they wanted me to delete all my pictures, but I pleaded tourist stupidity. I really should have known because they have had several terrorist attacks on trains. I was going to say how excellent the metro system is. It is excellent, amazingly clean for India, fast, efficient and cheap, costing a dime to 15 cents to go the length of itwhich is maybe 10-15 km. But when i was taking it back from today’s wanderings, the undercarriage of the car behind me caught of fire. There was smoke all over the place in there and prople booked it outta there like they did at Candlestick when Loma Prieta hit just before that World Series game in 1989. I stuck around because it looked like we’d all be able to breathe for quite a while. In fact, it never got too bad. In fact, after about 10 minutes of guys working underneath, we departed again. I love India. That’d be news in America, and there would be all kinds of baloney about getting rolling again. I think people fear death, pain and disfigurement more than they need to.

There are some nice sites and areas in Kolkata. A big green called the Maidan flanks the east side of the river for about 3 km. There are many soccer and cricket fields, just green area, gardens and shrines. At the top is a big athletic stadium. Sheep and goats handle the lawnmowing. Y’know what? The ponies in the road in this picture make me realize that there are almost no homeless cows in the downtown area. That’s rare. They must round them up.

The nicest architectural thing here is the Victoria Memorial. Here are some pics.

Today I walked and walked before riding back on the metro. There were many buildings from the 19th century Victorian era when the Brits were riding high there. I went into a nice one called the Marble Palace, built by one of the raj toadies a hundred and something years ago. His decendents still live there and it has been closed to the public, sort of. For some backsheesh you can get the guards to give you a tour of the parts the family doesn’t use. Most of that old Indian royalty has fallen on hard times since Indira Gandhi cut off their stipend. My guess is that some money goes to the family and some to the guards, and that they just want top limit the crowds. The are all kinds of fine artwork inside, including a couple Reubens’. No photos allowed.  There are a lot of tribal people in West Bengal and the other eastern states. At least a couple of them were having some kind of a rally today and were all decked out and marching to their music.

That’s about it for me here in Kolkata. Beatrice and I decided to hook up again in Manali. She got back in one piece, more or less I gather, from her six additional weeks of trekking. I’m leaving by train tomorrow morning, should arrive in Delhi around noon on the day after tomorrow, and hope to get an overnight bus to Manali that night. I’ll write about that sometime, baby. Maybe we’ll lounge around Manali for a while, then go to Rajastan and/or Diu, a beach resorty area in Gujarat.

Be well, all of you.

I know it’s been a while since I blogged, but it’s been hard to find an internet connection. It’s either so spotty in the places I’ve been or there is no public internet access. Right now I’m in Gaya, Bihar, waiting for an 8:30 PM train to Kolkata (Calcutta). This connection is off and on, but I’m going to take a crack at this.

I went directly from Delhi to Lumbini, Nepal, the birthplace of Siddhartha. This took a couple of days, but the border crossing was quick and easy. They even added a fourth day to the usual free three day visa. It’s just over the border from India and is really pretty much the same, except Nepal is poorer than Uttar Pradesh where I had come from. They even take Indian currency. It’s less of a tourist attraction than I thought it would be. It’s not just that it’s off season. They are obviously not set up for a huge influx of tourists. There are a few gusethouses, but none that typify a tourist ghetto. There is little western food, and no “scene” at all. There’s one main street and the through road. It’s really quite lovely around there, all green and ruralesque. And rainy this time of year.

The sites are just beside the town. they consist of the place where he was born and a number of temples from different Buddhist countries and traditions. There is also a French temple. Somehow, in 1996 archeologists uncovered a footprint in stone that marks the exact spot he was born. It’s under bulletproof glass and housed along with the ruins of that building and later buildings on the spot inside a pink enclosure.

There were no images of the Buddha until about 2oo years after he died. Footprints mark important Buddhist sites prior to that time, and after for a while also. This footprint is pretty far down a hole, and the picture is taken straight down.

It’s kind of funny. I didn’t feel all gushy about being there or in any of the other sites I’ve been to in the last couple of weeks. A little subdued maybe. Sarnath was awe inspiring, but this time I basically had my usual historical interest. I guess wherever you go, there you are.

There are many temples there, as you can well imagine. Here are shots of a three of them.

This last one is of the Thai temple. Just about where I’m takaing this picture, I ran into a professor of Buddhist studies and the history of the time. He started up a conversation with me, as so many Indians do, and we ended up arranging the next day to go out 22 km to Kapilavastu where the ruins of the palace Siddartha grew up in are. Most of the Buddhist sites here and in India are heavily restored. The bricks you see here are mostly new and outline the foundation of the east gate, where he went out to become a wandering ascetic, never to return to his life of luxury, his wife and his kid.

Less than a hundred years after he died, Kapilavastu was conquered by the neighboring kingdom and his whole line executed. That kingdom was in turn conquered by Ashoka. now you’ve got your timeline, for those of you who care, who I doubt there are many. It was a great opportunity for me to have been able to pick that professors brain. It was a highlight of my time in Nepal. He’s written to me twice now and seems to want to correspond. I’m really pleased.

The next stop was back in India, in Kushinigar where the Buddha died. There is the restored ruins of the stupa where they think he was cremated but I don’t have a good picture of it. It looks like the stupa on the site of the milkmaid’s home that follows which looks just like it. This is the more modern stupa, only a few centuries old.

There is also a lingum stupa with a nice 9th century reclining Buddha inside. It is said he attained enlightenment twice in his lifetime, when sitting under a bodhi tree in Bodhgaya, Bihar, and when he died. I assume that’s just tradition, but that’s the folklore anyway, so staues of him lying on his deathbed are common.

The last of the four main pilgrimage sites is Bodhgaya, where it is said he was sitting under a Bodhi tree when it dawned on his that wandering around starving and mediating wasn’t going to necessarily save all beings. Near to Bodhgaya he accepted some rice and milk from a milkmaid, to the horror of his ascetic companions. The spot is said to be out in this field here where there is a small HIndu temple now. Mind you, Hindus worship the Buddha as the 8th incarnation of Krishna. I have to believe they came up with this when Buddhism was spreading throughout the region at that time. Krishna, as the son of Vishnu is still above him in that system. But that’s boring. Here is the spot out in the field, and also the partially restored remains of an ancient stupa said to be on the site of the milkmaids home.

Milkmaids. They are always coming up with milkmaids in Hindu/Buddhist stories. There is the cow connection and a famous story about how that laugh-a-minute Krishna stole the clothes of some bathing milkmaids and made them come out of the water to get them. He also changed into several appearances, in another story, so a bunch of them would think he wasn’t the same old Krishna wooing them all at once.

Finally, there is the place he got enlightened. The original Bodhi tree was killed by some gal who presumably didn’t think much of Buddhism. A piece of it was taken to Sri Lamka, however, and a cutting from that tree is thriving within a temple complex in Bodhgaya, Bihar. This is the most visited and generally most revered of the four sites. Here are three pictures, from about 50 meters away, from basically just beyuond the reach of it’s branches, and riight under it. I am not the only one who has stood for a photo in front of the stone that marks where he was sitting. Still, it felt a little funny. Say cheese.

Let’s see, what else did I upload? Well, near Bodhgaya is a place where he meditated for a long time. The guy I met in Bodhgaya who drove me all over on his bike said it was for six years before his tree moment, but up in Rajgir they say he did it six years there. There were only six years from when he left the palace to when he attained enlightenment, so… Probably it’s all folklore. Anyway, there is a little temple up on that hillside. In that temple is a little room. Every year the Dalai Lama comes here to meditate, pray and hit the drum, as monks often do.

I’ve also go a picture of this nice fountain at a temple in Bodhgaya.

And here is a statue of the Buddha protected by nagas, or snakes, in the middle of a pool. For once, the green water doesn’t look so bad.

It looks like I’ve just about got this done. Whew, dealing with electricity and connectivity in Bihar has been the WORST. As Julia Roberts said in Erin Brokovich, “and I am very tired.”

I don’t know my plans exactly. I’m going to Kolkata. During the next week I should find out if I’m getting together with Beatrice. If I don’t do that, I’ll likely go to Isreal. I was told by someone at the Isreali embassy, who admitted she wasn’t sure, that she thinks I have to have six months left on my passport to enter Isreal. I haven’t gotten around to confirming that yet, but I will and I’ll let you know what’s up. Maybe I’ll go up to Darjeeling and Sikkim. You know how decisive I am.

Be well, all of you.

Well, I’m so rested now I’m going crazy. There are really only two things to do here, hang out or pass through, as this is one of the two commercial and tourist gateways to the Himalayas. Hanging out isn’t working for me. So I’m off to eastern Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and Lumbini in Nepal to see some famous Buddhist sites. This bus leaves about 2:30 this afternoon and will get to Delhi in the morning, insha ‘allah. I’ll spend a night there before moving on. I haven’t figured out a route yet, but in three days I should be somewhere. I’m told the bridge to Nepal washed out this year. I’m thinking there is still some way across. I hope, anyway.

I’ve got a bunk on a bus to Delhi. Last time I did this I had to physically haul some Brahmin out of the one I had a ticket for. But it is a pretty good way to spend the night, compared to sitting in even a good seat. No window up there, but after 5 hours it’ll be dark anyway. Should be boring, but a breeze. The road is good after awhile, and horn blowing decreases late at night.

LIke I said, there isn’t much going on here in Manali, unless you like hanging out. It’s a regular tourist ghetto. So I’ll close, with the mandatory picture of a couple of snake charmers. At least these guys have a decent sized de-fanged cobra and an 8 ft. python. They insisted on putting it around my neck, even though I told them, “I did the python thing. I did the python thing.”

Be well, all of you.

Manali’s the place everybody loves to hate. That must be why everybody comes here. Personally, I don’t think it’s so bad. Sure, it’s a tourist ghetto for Indians and foreigners alike, but it is pretty around here aand it would as easy as anywhere to hang out. New Manali is a little over the top. The main street is blocked off into a pedestrian mall, much like Shimla, and lined with all the usual shops, eateries and the like. At least you can buy stuff here. I replaced my Nikon camera with a more advanced version of the same thing, so I don’t have to relearn how to use it. Also, it has a particular feature, the ability to save an enlarged photo in the camera instead of doing it on a computer. I was advised to buy a better built camera, a Sony or a Canon, but they don’t have this feature. I was also advised that the digital cameras here are grey market without warranties and could be Chinese fakes. I don’t know, but this looks pretty real to me, though there is indeed no warranty. I worked every function before leaving the store, and have since uploaded pictures to this site. It seems fine to me. I also replaced my dear electric mosquito killer. That will be a MUST soon, though there are no mosquitoes at this time of year in Manali. I had hopes for finding earplugs, but that will be hard anywhere. I’ve seen them in the big cities. For the ability to find the mosquito killer and the camera, I like Manali okay.

It’s a lot mellower in Old Manali and in Vashisht. Old Manali is one way up a road from New Manali. It’s basically just a road lined with guesthouses, eateries and shops. There are some nice guesthouses in the apple orchards at the far end of the town. If you travel a little more upscale, that’s where you’d go. Vashisht is a real village about 3 km from New Manali and still has some charm, though the usual stuff is definitely there. I’m staying in Vashisht.

I have a room on the roof with a terrace right outside my front door. Here are three photos of the view, panning from right to left.

It looks gloomy because it is. There is almost constant cloud cover and it rains or drizzles off and on all day. Fortunately Manali and Vashisht are on mountainsides and there is good drainage. There aren’t too many low points where water can collect. I hat hog wallows. Some places are SO muddy during the rainy season you get filthy just going from one place to the next.

There are some hiking trails around here. I may go out on them, but for now I’m just hanging out, mostly reading. I think in a couple of days I’ll head up the Paravati Valley, south of here. I’m in no hurry to get anywhere where it’s hot as well as rainy. At least it’s cool here.

Vashisht itself has some nice things. There are several Hindu temples and a Buddhist temple. A couple of the HIndu temples are quite old. There is more religious fervor here than most towns, despite the debauched tourist atmosphere. I assume that’s because of the hot springs in town which supply the public baths. My favorite breakfast joint overlooks those. It’s a funny feeling, watching mostly Indians take baths for cleanliness of the mind and body, while sitting on the restaurant terrace with the backpacker crowd, some of whom are smoking hash and others smoking plain cigarettes and drinking beer.

Just across the narrow lane which leads to my guesthouse is a new temple under construction. Here it is, followed by a shot of the stonecutters clink, clink clinking away.

I may blog again before I leave. But for now, be well, all of you.

As a reminder, my camera is on the blink, so for good pictures and a video of the road and scenery between the Leh Valley and the Nubra Valley, go to www.yogeshsarkar.com/trips/ladakh05. Click on Day 1 for the beginning of his motorcycle ride in delhi, then skip down to Day 2-9 for the rest. There is a video after Day 9.

The Dalai Lama spoke for three days in Diskit, one of several villages in the Nubra Valley, about 120 km north of Leh. Now that you’ve looked at the pictures of the area on that guy’s website, pictures of Tibetan Buddhist monestaries (gompas), and have no doubt seen many pictures of His Holiness, you can imagine for yourself all of it at once. Diskit, with a population of about a thousand, is one of several villages in the Nubra Valley. There are two gompas there, both pretty modest, now freshly painted for the occasion and festooned with bright orange and yellow awnings, tassles and flags. One, where H. H. spoke the third day, has quarters for about 100 monks, picturesquely tiered up a ridge just above the temple itself. Both temples are small. The one looking toward the valley and the peaks beyond, where he spoke the first two days, is only about 10 by 10 meters in size. The other, facing north up the valley, is a little larger. Both are on wide platforms. Up there sat the high lamas and other dignitaries. At the first gompa, there is a flat area about 5 ft. below the platform. About half of that was covered by about 20 parachutes, the kind the rural folk (and Beatrice and I used) use as tents. They provided much appreciated shade for many of us. The second gompa had no such shelter, but it wasn’t so warm that day, anyway. Of course, under the awning and and against the front of the entrance to the temple was the high, ornate seat from where the Kundun, “the Presence”, sat cross legged and spoke. Without any pictures, you’ll just have to imagine the appearance of this spectacle, in this setting, with the valley floor a little below and the peaks 10,000 MORE feet above, rising dramatically as a backdrop. It was definitely not like seeing him at the auditorium in a major city.

In many ways, it was a very professional production. I’d say about 2000 people were at each talk, certainly about everybody who lives in the Nubra Valley, plus about 100 westerners and Indians. He spoke in Tibetan. In the center of the gathering, behind a couple hundred monks, were the Tibetans and Ladakhis. There were translations over the loudspeakers in Ladakhi, English and Hindi. The loudest loudspeaker was for the Ladakhi translations, as there were, by far, mostly Ladakhis there. Stage right was a small group of Hindi speakers who had a speaker for them, and stage right were the English speakers. If you weren’t near enough to the speaker with the English translation to hear over the Ladakhi translation, the English translation was broadcast over an FM frequency. Sales in town of $5 FM radioes was brisk. First H. H. would speak, then he’d wait while the translations went out.

The assemblage itself was a spectacle. The diversity was astounding, even by American standards. There were nomads in their only clothes. Ladakhis were dressed in everything from western dress to their traditional everyday and special occasion garb. Tibetans dress like Tibetans, their best dress being a long brown robe and a colorful sash. There were people in Hindustani garb like saris and kameeses. The westerners, well, we were what we are. Some are regular, like me (WHOA), some are real straight. Some are hippies cum sadhu wannabees. Some are pure tourist in their tank tops and no bra, wobbling up to the platform to get a picture. Others are dashing international adventurer somethingerothers. Everybody has a camera. Many of the locals, and some of the foreigners, were very reverent, prostrating, praying and such. Some westerners were following what he’s saying in Tibetan. Sometimess the locals were chatting right in the middle of what he was saying. Strangely enough, it didn’t seem so irreverent. The westerners are mostly trying to hear and figure out what the ceremonial parts are about, and getting their pictures.

Above this millieu was the picture of a presentation by the Dalai Lama you might expect. He arrived the first two days from the side, announced by those long curled horns you’ve seen in pictures and on TV, and attended by several monks in full lama dress, big hats and all, and a security detail. I can only assume what is under their brown robes. He himself walks in under an orange umbrella, waving, placing his hands together in prayer position, bowing, and smiling that wonderful smile. Everyone is standing. When he climbs to his podium, everyone sits, except those doing prostrations still. Before he gets there, the monks are doing their tuva chants and other prayers. Sometime during the talk there is a break for more praying.

He doesn’t move that well anymore, you can tell when he climbs stairs, but his voice is still rich and strong. It’s rather baritone. When he appears, everyone over two years old is quiet. Even the tank top types chomp their gum a little circumspection. Especially at first, all eyes are on him. The most movement is the locals spinning their prayer wheels and fingering their prayer beads. Well, there is the squirming of westerners unused to sitting on the ground cross legged or at least with only enough room to sit cross legged. As the talks went on, people loosened up a bit. At intervals, tea and bread is handed out by people mingling among the crowd. People started to talk some while waiting for their translations.

Sometimes he was just talking. This wasn’t the talk he gives in western big cities. This was three days of dharma sermon. Most of it would be familiar to those who have read Buddhist material. By the end of the second day, he was pretty far out there with Tibetan mysticism and cosmology. He may have tied it up okay, but it was really hard to hear and understand the translations. I think they could get a better translater, to tell you the truth. Anyway, for me that wasn’t the point. I can read. I feel priveleged to have gotten to sit at his feet, maybe a hundred feet away. I am definitely NOT the only one in that crowd to have felt that way.

The third day, at the other monastery, it was more laid back. He didn’t enter with such regalia. The horns announced he was coming, but otherwise you wouldn’t have noticed. He sat facing his throne and prayed silently facing the Buddha statue in the chamber behind while some young monks acted out the sufferings of mankind. The imagery was clear. Here are the people below, fighting, being sick and dying, while the LIving Buddha prays for the benefit of all sentient beings. That third day there were several ceremonies and everyone was allowed to take the boddhisatva vow of compassion to also work for the benefit of all sentient beings. It was humbling, that’s all I can say. He’s just one of those inspirational guys, even if he is no longer God-King, even in the eyes of an audience who 50 years ago would not have dared to look him in the face. Some, it should be noted, still can’t look.

H. H. is coming to Leh in three days. I was going to stay here two days then go to Manali, a miserable but pretty two day bus ride from here. But there is no bus to Manali on Sundays, so I’m going tomorrow because there are no rooms in town after tomorrow night. I drove through there last year and it seemed to be another depressing tourist ghetto. If it still doesn’t work for me, I’ll move on somewhere. There is a nearby village called Vasicht that isn’t supposed to be as bad. We’ll see. I know I’m a little tired of Leh. A different tourist ghetto would be at least different. A couple of South Africans I was hanging out with in the evenings after the teachings in Diskit say it isn’t raining much there.

Be well, all of you.

   When I wrote last time, I said I might go whitewater rafting for four days. I did indeed do that and returned three days ago. Tomorrow I am going to Diskit in the Nubra Valley, about 120 km north of Leh to see and listen to the Dalai Lama talk on the 7th and 8th. Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to come up to me and say hi. So if I figured if I’m going to check this off my “things to do before I die” list, I had better go where I have to to see him. I’m sharing a jeep with 5 others and leaving at noon tomorrow.

   My camera, which has suffered innumerable indignities over the past year, is in the shop. The guy thinks he can fix it, but I won’t get it back till after I return to Leh on the 9th. The good news is I was turned on to a guy’s blogsite where he posted his story about how he and his friends motorcycled from Delhi to Diskit. You MUST go there, www.yogeshsarkar.com/trips/ladakh05. He’s got lots of pictures and a video at the end. Click on Day 1 and the rest is self explanatory. As I said, my camera is in the shop, so there won’t be pictures on my website unless I can bum some from my fellow travellers.

   So, on to the rafting, it wasn’t sure to come off till a couple of days before the hoped for departure date. At first, I was the only one to sign up. $200 is beyond many backpackers’ budget, especially if they’ve already paid through the nose for a hiking trek with one of the tour agencies. The airline crowd isn’t usually that adventurous. Also, rafting hasn’t totally caught on. We were the sixth group to ever have been taken on this trip by any tour agency, and the last one last week ended badly. They overturned and by the time one guy was fished out of the freezing water, he was so hypothermic that with ensuing complications he spent three days in the hospital. Finally, however, a group was patched together. Tourists frequently take a one day trip from Chilling to Nimmu where the Zanskar flows into the Indus River. Beatrice and I walked/rode alongside that route. A Spanish couple, a British guy and a couple of Indian guys went on that leg. The Indian guys liked it so much they signed on for the next three days. Then we picked up an American woman, so five of us and three raft guys took the Indus to the Pakistani border north of Kaltse. It was 150 km in all.

   My camera was in extremis, so there are only two decent pictures. These are taken along a quiet stretch of the Zanskar on that first day.

 

    In my opinion, this trip was just about perfect. It was thrilling at times without being too scary. The rapids became progressively rougher, so we had time to adjust. As they got rougher, we got to have new adrenaline rushes instead of getting bored. The Zanskar had maybe one or two level 3 rapids. Day 2 had for sure a couple level 3’s. Early on Day 3 we practiced capsizing, figuring out which way was up and finding the surface, turning the raft back over and helping each other get back in. This was a good thing, so we would be less likely to freak out if we went over or went overboard in the middle of some seething rapid. I won’t say I was looking forward to going swimming, but it would have been exhilarating to look down one of those troughs at the wall of water over our heads, slam into it and wind up riding that out feet forward in the drink. Days 3 and 4 had a few level 4’s and lots of other fun parts.

   I know, it’d be good to do that in one of those pedal boats which are so popular of ponds and lakes here. I like the one’s shaped like swans. Problem might be winding up with that swan’s head and neck up your wazoo. Anybody see Bill Murray in What About Bob? “I’m flying. I’m flyyyiiing.”

   It’s getting wierd in here. I better take a break.

   … That beer helped.

   How did we sleep and eat? There are roads along side the rivers the whole length of the way. A truck with some more guys and all our stuff and supplies basically followed us the whole way. At the confuance of the Zanskar and Indus is a proper camp with permanent tents. We stayed there the first night. On nights two and three, we just pulled up on the bank and slept there. There were small villages with terraced areas flat enough to put out sleeping bags. the guys from the truck cooked for us. It was simple fare, but plenty god enough.

   So, that’s the story, morning glory. After so much of the last month and a half in Nowheresville, being in Leh his something of a culture shock. I have a few pictures of Main Street uploaded. My earlier blogs had the picturesque pics. Here are the two sides of Main Street. Note that the palace and old monastery are just behind the left side of the street and the new monastery is behind the buildings on the right side of the street.

   And here is one of the queue at the milk truck when it pulled up. Don’t anybody worry. Everybody boils the milk before they serve it.

   That’s going to do it for now. As always, I hope you are all well. Talk to you in a few days

 

I almost named this entry, “Wake Up, Maggi”. Imagine, if you dare, Rod Stewart’s song “Wake Up, Maggie” as a march. Sing along now.

WAKE up, Maggie, I THINK I got SOMEthing to SAY to YOU /  It’s LATE SepTEMber and I REALLY should be BACK in SCHOOL./ Etc., etc..

The routine most of the time was to get up around 5:30AM, have the tea ( and coffee, in Beatrice’s case) and breakfast, break camp and head out. Usually we got to where we were going to camp around 3PM, then have some Maggi soup with our ponyman, Namgang. After about the first three days of walking at a rhythmic pace, then having some of this worst noodle soup in the world, “Wake Up, Maggie” began to run through my head every time the going got monotonous. In some ways it was a long month. How would you like to live this way? I’m telling you, it’s not easy being in here. Our Tibetan Buddhist ponyman/guide chanted prayers all day. I had this.

Anyway, back to the beginning. After all that preparation, we actually did get out of Leh on June 24. We spent the night in Lamayuru, a village around a famous monastery afew hours bus ride west of Leh. Last years blogging had a picture. Here’s another.

We stayed the night there, waiting for Namgang to bring the ponies by truck the next day. Plans are never really definite with this trip and with Namgang. We didn’t know if he would be able to get the use of a truck. Ladakh exports nothing. Everything is trucked in from Srinigar or Manali, and the trucks go back empty. It was supposed to be easy to get a truck to haul seven ponies to Lamayuru on it’s way back to Srinigar, but you never really know. But late in the afternoon on the 25th, a truck full of ponies, supplies, and Namgang rolled into town. We were a little worried that the ponies might have gotten injured on the way, but there was nothing serious, just a few scrapes. That was great. We were on our way.

I’m not going to try to give you a description of every valley, pass, village or other sight. Let me get away with mostly generalities. In general, it was amazing. The views from anywhere in this little corner of the Tibetan plateau north of the main Himalaya range are spectacular, but it’s more breathtaking when you get into the high country and the valleys in between. Walking and riding a pony are completely different than riding along in a vehicle or wandering short distances up the beginning slopes. Everything is closer, more earthy and somehow more real. There were a couple of roads into a couple of the spots we were in, but mostly we were out there alone with the marmots, wild asses and sheep, birds and a few other trekkers, Ladakhi villagers and nomads.

As I said, usually Namgang would wake us up early, either by his leaving the tent to look for the ponies (which sometimes took a couple of hours, as they were left free at night to graze most of the time and I suspect tried to get as far away as possible from getting loaded up in the morning), or by his making hot water for tea and coffee. After that, he’d make flatbread in a 9 inch cast iron skillet and reheat the rest of last night’s dinner for breakfast. Beatrice didn’t think much of these leftovers and sometimes made herself something, especially when we still had some of the more perishable or delicate good stuff. Much of that didn’t survive for long. About out third night out an animal which they say looked like a lynx but the villagers said was a fox was spotted outside our tent carrying an egg in it’s mouth, and about 20 of the eggs disappeared at that time. I didn’t have my glasses on, but that would have had to be a mighty tall fox, as far as I could see, as he looked into the tent as if to say “What else have you got inside there, hmmm?” Almost all the rest of those two flats of 60 eggs got broken soon after, along with other fragile things I didn’t think we should try to bring in the first place. Oh well, we had a few discussions about that.

That was a long time between pictures. I think I’ll break the tedium.

Namgang walked the entire way. He’s been taking his ponies through these parts for ten years and is in unbelieveable condition. Virtually all of the trekkers in here do it on foot also, but they don’t have to chase these half wild ponies all over the place to keep them in line, much less track them down when they are allowed to roam, much less take care of them and a couiple of not-so-conditioned trekkers and their camp, much less cook and clean. He is an amazing guy to whom we owe A LOT.

Another common system we had was for me to act as a kind of assistant ponyman. After breakfast, Beatrice would take off walking of with the horse she bought while Namgang and I struck camp, loaded the ponies, and started on our way after her. That worked well when she was walking because she went very slowly, especially if it was at all uphill and the elevation was over, say, 14,000 ft. Namgang did the hard work and all the work that took any expertise, but I was generally able to keep up with him for the first couple of hours (or I could get on my pony) and keep the pack together. The ponies don’t really like going uphill either. One place we called No Name Pass because it isn’t named on any map, Namgang hadn’t been that way, and turned out to be a grueling 3000ft climb which practically killed the horses and us, had a nice payoff at the top. This is at about 17,000 ft.

There’s Namgang saying “I think we should go that way”.

We had two ways of measuring distance, Namgang hours and Richard and Beatrice hours. It was important to make sure we were talking about the same system. When we caught up to Beatrice, we’d figure out how long the rest of the day would take, and then he would usually go on ahead. We’d mosey along behind smelling the flowers, admiring the beauty, having some lunch, and dealing with our ponies alone. He’s usually have camp set up for us and be waiting to make Maggi (He loves sthe stuff) when we strolled in by mid-afternoon.Â

Namgang said all the time, “It never rains in Ladakh”. I think global climate change has hit here, as it rained a little bit almost everyday, occasionally fairly hard. Fortunately, it was also rather warm, so at least we weren’t snowed in anywhere. One of Beatrice’s good ideas was to get some plastic to cover the tent. Most Ladakhis use army surplus parachutes as tents now (instead of yak hair) and the rain basically saturates them in no time so that they drip on you. Blech. Here’s a typical set up with the plastic on. Pretty colorful on a grey day, I think.

 Â

As you can see, the plastic also made it possible to leave a lot of stuff outside. Namgang lives in this tent during the winter at 30 degrees centigrade. To bad that plastic would never survive. Like I said, he’s tough. The horses stay outside. It wasn’t all that warm here in July. It usually froze at night anyway, and some of the wind chills were bitter, especially if it was raining.

   Â

By and large, though, the weather was good. Often a significant part of the day was actually warm. Only once in the hail did we have to seek shelter in a currently unused nomad winter village like this. Most of the nomads are at the higher elevation summer pastures with their sheep, yaks and dzo a cow/yak mix).

 Â

About the ponies… Nobody ever goes on a horse trek like this. Even when the weather is it’s usally sunny self, all the westerners who trek in here sign up at a tour shop in Leh or arrange it via internet from abroad. They walk, and the tour company provides ponies and ponymen for transport of supplies (Namgang’s usual job), a guide, a cook and usually a helper. In good weather, as many as 50 ponies could be on a given trek, with all the trekkers and locals included. These go usually to a part of where we went called the Markha Valley. It’s accessible at both ends and is only over the first pass south of the Leh Valley. Beatrice, wanting to go into these mountains but in no way capable of trekking on foot, arranged to go with Namgang last year for a month. She did it again this year, this time for 10 weeks and she invited me along for the first month. She bought a pony this year, as the $6/day rental for that long would exceed the value of the pony. I rented mine.

So, it became a lot about the ponies. She rode when she was a teenager. I’ve ridden enough to get along okay. But it wasn’t always that easy. These aren’t the nice stable ponies we usually see in our countries. They are half wild and unused to being ridden. There isn’t much choice in animals to ride, so our choices were limitd to these two. Often the ponymen neglect their animals, so they are too weak or too sick or wounded to carry people. They are little anyway. She bought her pony because it was the only one she could find strong enough to carry her. But he was young, castrated late, and was wierded out by everthing from the color blue to any other animal bigger than a bird. He also had some trouble figuring out what was expected of him. All in all, Beatrice did rather well with him. At least she stayed on, which was good because she had some trouble getting on. He is learning, too. They get along pretty well. Here is “Freund” doing her (hand).

   Â

Mine was the strongest of the lot. I called him “Red”. He is a veteran pack horse whose only goal in life is to hang out near the back of the pack, trudge on, and loiter at any grass he finds. In his real life, he’s slapped on the butt to keep up with the rest. With me I just let him fall behind by sometimes several hundred meters. I learned that as soon as his friends were nearly out of site, he’d catch back up again. When we were all going together as a group, I could just sit and look around. He rarely made any sudden movements. I was just another sack of potatoes to him. Sometimes he’s fall asleep and fall to his knees. I almost went off a couple times, being half asleep myself with “Wake Up, Maggie” going through my head. Once, on the second to last day, he took off at a gallop with no warning for some reason. My feet weren’t in the yops (I don’t know the English word for the things you put your feet in) and the reins were sitting on his neck. After almost a month, what a surprise that was! That was almost very bad news. I was bouncing on my sacrum, and if he had decided to turn, my trajectory was going to be a lot different than his.. Actually, the way he was was just right. I usually didn’t have to think much. He could be ridden away from the pack. In general he was a lot like the bucket of bolts I left to gather dust in Copperopolis, a little hard to start, easy to drive and park, and never stranded me even the one time that car did.

That picture reminds me. How many times would we have had to take off our boots and socks to cross rivers if it hadn’t been for the ponies? Many. Only a couple of times did he have to wade through chest deep water and my feet and pants got wet anyway. And that reminds me of how remarkable it is that they can wade through rushing glacier/snowmelt more than a meter deep, unable to see the bottom. I don’t know how they even stay upright, much less not break their legs.

Speaking of snowmelt, sometimes the warming sun was out and the water not so cold that you couldn’t bathe and breathe at the same time.

Beatrice preferred to heat up a pan of water on Namgang’s kerosene stove and wash the important bits inside the tent. One time, though, near the end, we were in a long valley where the water was warmed for a long time before it got to us and it was actually not frigid. We both got in and it was nice, almost.

Sometimes we would go for days, and the only people we would see were these villages from nowhere who would come  to collect a camping fee and a grass charge for the ponies. Sometimes they would hike the same pass we had just gone up to get it. Most often, they were officiall sanctioned and had proper receipts. The usual camping fee was $2.50 per night, and the grass fee was about $1.25 per pony. For that kind of money, they would walk for hours to collect. Most of the time, they would collect when we were near a village, knowing we must have spent the night in their territory. Here’s one of the guys who came to collect. If the weather was cold and/or rainy, they might come inside for awhile.

Finally, I’m getting near the end. Thanks for hanging in there. We came out, as planned, at a nearly dry lake called Tso Kar, east of the Manali road. We spent a day there, then returned by different hitchhiking ways to Leh. Beatrice spent two days buying more supplies and getting a permit to go to the military controlled region bordering China. We were down to rice, mae noodles, yak cheese, Maggi, onions, maybe a potato or two, and I think as few Kit Kats. Oh, there were two cans of tuna and a can of chicken salami as emergency food. Yesterday Beatrice left for her next few weeks. She will return either to Leh or go the other way to Manali for supplies in about three weeks, then finish. We may meet up when she returns.

I don’t know what I’ll do. I may stay around here, as the Dalai Lama is staying in a nearby village and will give a talk in Leh sometime in the next few days. I may go white water rafting for four days on the 31st. Watch that be the day he goes public and I’ll have to wait for it to come out on video. I don’t speak Tibetan anyway, unless he’s going to talk about yops. So far I’m content here. It’s a tourist ghetto this time of year, unlike last September when the cold had driven the tourists back to Goa or Dharamsala at least. The food’s good, I have a nice room with a view, and a book I’m reading from the shelf at the restaurant I eat at most of the tiime. On the other hand, I’d like to go see the Buddhist sites in Uttar Pradesh and Lumbini, Nepal. It’s monsoon season there though, so what to do? I’ll keep you posted, so to speak.

Thanks to those of you who are writing, and best wishes to all of you.