Lama Daycare

So here I am again, fresh from a close encounter of the mass transit kind, to tell you how life goes in India. I nearly missed the bus down to Paprola, but, unwilling to wait an extra 20 minutes or so, I thought I'd try what the Indians do and get on the bus as it was moving. I think, however, that they get on buses moving slower than mine did. I got on alright, and held on too, but my arm will bear the evidence of my Indiana Jones-like daring for the next couple of days.

Anyway, transportational mishaps aside, it's time to start where I finished last time. After all that jazz, I met Mike in Paprola, and we had dinner at Davat Restaurant (the butter chicken was pretty damn good). We got a taxi home and had a quiet evening in until, enter Tashi. We had been warned about him in our 'welcome to Tashi Jong' card from one of the last GAPpers, Bharaat. Basically, Tashi is a harmless druggy-cum-thief (to fund the habit). Mike, not realising who it was at first, and forgetting Bharaat's other rule (no locals in your room, only monks), let him in. We were lucky, I think, that Ngawang (mentioned a few times earlier) from the incense factory arrived at almost exactly the same time. Whilst Tashi claimed to be Sonam, Ngawang warned us about him (though we had, at this point, worked him out - the continuous puffing from a large crisp packet followed by him going 'ahhhh' and rolling back his eyes gave it away). Tashi claimed he knew us to Ngawang (who was having none of it). So, whilst Mike helped Ngawang with his email, I watched Tashi eying up Mike's wallet. I had to save said wallet from Tashi's sneaky movements (flicking it behind him to make it easier to pinch), whilst at the same time trying to ignore the solvent fumes coming off him. Ngawang got rid of him in the end, but I don't think Mike will be making the same mistake again.

As a coda to this fun adventure, Tashi came back later and asked to borrow some money. Ha, ha, ha. No.

After that exciting evening, I was ready for some teaching the next day, and so, predictably, it was puja time again! Which meant no classes that day (Friday), at least for me. In the morning, a litter of little lamas came to our room to say hello. I was, I must admit, still asleep, so Mike looked after them, before the nurse told us (I made a special effort to wake up) off for playing ball games indoors. The rest of the morning was fairly uneventful and, after lunch of tingmo and potato, we went down to Paprola.

We went to play snooker (the place in TJ was shut) at a hall in Paprola. The place was a little bit of a dump, but it was alright. On one side was a wall-length open window, to give you space to use the cue. We first played some pool on a sloping, tiny table, using a stumpy little cue. I won one (he potted the black early, then went on to win when we replaced it), lost one. We then played snooker on the main table, which was very good and had, unlike at TJ, straight cues with working tips. The four owners sat and watched our match, giving Mike (who was losing) lots of tips and help. All to no avail, as my awesome skill won out (by 14 points).

After getting the bus back, Mike went off to do a bit of work at the incense factory, whilst I did very little. I went up to join them at five to go for a walk. The three of us (Mike, Ngawang and I) went up the mountain (a different way to the way I've mentioned before) which was really nice and peaceful. We were followed for a bit, of course, by a crowd of Indian kids. We were fairly lucky, as it was a clear day, so we got to see some snow-topped mountains as a backdrop to the greenery of the Tashi Jong hills.

I got a phone call from Corinne, who is at Happy Days school a few hours South of Delhi with Becky. Their lot, I must say, is very different from ours. Very different. For a start, it's at a school and not a monastery. They have full days of teaching (8.30 til 5) six days a week, and no holidays or pujas to deal with. On the other hand, the two of them live in a 3 bedroom, 3 bathroom house with a servant or two and separate dining room, living room and kitchen. What luxury, ey?

When we got back to TJ, all the restaurants were shut, so Ngawang borrowed (actually borrowed, not "borrowed") a car and drove us down to Davat's. The drive was rather fun, as he drove rather fast (though not as hair-raisingly as Delhi rickshaw drivers). He started off by mounting the concrete wall next to the car, then, when reversing, rolling forwards into (and hitting) a pillar before going backwards. It sounds much like a trip with Laurence, but without seatbelts (not a standard feature in Indian cars). At the restaurant, I had sweet 'n' sour chicken, which was good, and we talked about all sorts (caste in Nepal and India, Muslims, etc.). The drive back was uneventful and we went to sleep not long after that.

The next day was Saturday, and I got up before half eight, in expectation of the siege of lamas. A few of them did, as expected, come and wandered round the room asking 'sir, sir what's this?' and 'sir, sir, how many rupees?' for everything. You have to imagine this (especially the 'sir, sir' bit, which is how they address us) being said really earnestly, as if it would spell the end of the world if we didn't pay attention. As it was a cool day, some monks were wearing jumpers and fleeces, which, of course, had to be in monk colours (orange, red, yellow).

Much of the afternoon was spent hanging out with the monks. I learnt to play a game called carambole, which is a bit like billiards on a small table, where you flick counters into the pockets. I was fairly terrible at it, whilst a couple of the monks were pretty amazing, so I got ruthlessly thrashed at it. I went for dinner, which was noodles, and ate with Dechen and a couple of other monks in his room. The room was fairly basic, and not too dissimilar to Jimmey's (described earlier), though a little gloomier feeling. Two little/middle sized lamas are in a room with one bigger lama in a connecting room (to look after them, I assume).

That evening was basically a blur of lamas. They came in and we played cards, carambole, guitar and all that kind of thing. Apparently Tashi was hanging around outside (one of my advanced guys warned me as Ngawang had), but he didn't bother us. After they went, we went to the snooker hall where I lost a match. We then went with Dechen to watch the T20 match between India and Australia. It was pretty good to watch, with India smashing sixes and fours all over. I left after India's innings was over and went to sleep. India, of course, won. More to come about cricket.

I spent Sunday feeling like a cross between a child minder and a zoo keeper. It was a holiday, as all Sundays are, for the lamas. Dechen came in the morning, and I had breakfast of an omlette at the restaurant. After lunch (tingmo and cabbage) which I didn't eat (there's something about a plateful of steamed cabbage that can put off even the bravest of eaters), the monks came. I played carambole and catch. They played with my phone, Mike's phone, his laptop (solitaire was as mesmerising for them as it is for office workers and my Dad), his guitar, etc., etc. I watched a bit of TV (when the power came back) with two of them, before the left and I talked with Ngawang from the Institute (Ngawang is a ridiculously common name amongst the monks). I got a plate of chowmein (very good). I went back to the room, picking up a few lamas on the way.

We went to lunch (Mike fled to Paprola) and had rice and dhal (they had to make up for the cabbage somehow!) before returning to our room. There, our gathering of three or four monks quickly ballooned into maybe ten or fifteen. There were monks on mobiles, monks on guitar, monks outside playing football in the corridor, monks playing cards, monks playing carambole, etc., etc.. It was a bit on the mental side, and Mike was, needless to say, surprised when he got back. The nurse told off the footballers again (they tried to run and hide, but she found them), whilst I played a bit of carambole. There is one little little lama (maybe 6) who has, we think, got ADHD (he certainly acts like it). I involved him in the game, which he enjoyed despite his lack of accuracy (I'm not sure if he hit any of the counters, though he did get one of the other players). It was all really good fun, though there was a mass exodus at 8pm, which I guess must have been bedtime for the younger ones. We eventually had some peace at the end of the day.

The next day saw the start of my second class (the absolute beginner lamas) - which is good fun. There are only (at the moment) three of them, including the ADHD kid mentioned earlier. I've discovered the power of ball games in getting them excited. If you throw a ball to them they'll do anything - even try to use some English! My other lesson with the big lamas went well too, though I had to give out some disapproving looks to the people who didn't do their homework (he handed it in next lesson so I guess it worked).

That evening, in a bid to top the night before, threw up the Twenty 20 World Cup final. And what a final! India vs. Pakistan - it was a so perfect a setting that you wouldn't believe it if it wasn't true. Their last match had ended in a draw and a bowl-out (which India won). Add to this the tension there always is between the two nations. Then add to this that it was the inaugural T20 World Cup. Then add to this the absolute cricket mania of India. Now you have a small idea of the atmosphere surrounding the match.

Ngawang (from the factory) came running at 5 to fetch me to watch the match, and I went to the Ricsam restaurant to watch it. I had a very goo chowmein and stayed until they closed, before going to the other restaurant, which was open, had the cricket on the TV as well, and was packed with Institute monks. India opened the batting fairly weakly, with the best batters falling, but then played well in the last couple of overs to rack up some vital runs. Pakistan then came out fairly well, but in the middle of their innings the wickets began to fall. It got to the last over, 3rd ball, Pakistan were 5 runs away from winning, with only one wicket left. It was ridiculously tense. The batter went for a do or die move and tried to hit it for six behind him, but it went up and came down into the waiting hands of (I think) RP Singh. The monks went wild! Lots of hugging, handshaking, hi5s, cheering, etc.. They were overjoyed, with the exception of the one lone Pakistani monk. Poor guy!

This was the first time I've watched a full (albeit T20) cricket match, and I actually enjoyed it. The people of India went mental too. We switched over to a news channel, where the staff had abandoned their posts and were all in front of the camera dancing away to the drums. And they went on for at least ten minutes! Today in Paprola, I saw a parade of people on motorbikes and in jeeps waving Indian flags and beating drums, I assume in celebration of the win.

Well. Today was fairly normal. I'm getting into a routine at Tashi Jong. I wake up sometime between 8 and 9, go for a shower, then breakfast at the restaurant. I teach the little lamas at 10.30am, then go for lunch at 12. After lunch I play table tennis, badminton and frisbee with the lamas on the field by the school, before going back to my room at 1pm. I have a lesson with the big lamas at 2pm until 3pm, then, starting tomorrow, I am teaching a local lady for an hour. After that, I have free time to spend as I choose. And to plan my next lessons, and mark homework, etc.. I'm having a really great time now that I'm more settled at Tashi Jong. I look forward to hearing from you all, about uni, and what ever else you may be doing. So, email me sometime!

Until next time, tashi delek!

Good Titles Aren't Easy To Think Of

It's been maybe half a week or so since the last update, and, as ever, there is a little to tell. So, to continue where I left off, we must go all the way back to Saturday...

After leaving the internet café (with its annoyingly slow loading of the websites I really wanted), I caught a Rs30 lift back to Tashi Jong (though I'm going to start taking the bus because its only about Rs4). I took on Mike at a couple of games of snooker, including one which I won quite comfortably. I had lunch at the restaurant (momos) as I missed it at the monastery. I was sitting there eating, whilst one of the Tibetan kids was watching the weirdest program in history on TV. It was a show mainly done with actors, but with the odd frame of animé to emphasise (and trivialise) the characters' emotions. It was, as if you hadn't guessed already, Japanese, but with Hindi dubbing, which really added to the strangeness. And we haven't even come to the content yet! Imagine Pokémon, but with monsters swapped for, I kid you not, yo-yos. Yes, yo-yos. Basically the kids do some tricks and spin their yo-yos round a bit (no euphemisms) instead of Pokémon battles. Add to this already freaky mix a healthy splattering of slow-mo and ridiculous sound effects (yo-yos have apparently gone supersonic in this program) and you're getting close to it. The final scene involved a whole load of the kids joining some sort of military yo-yo training camp. Seriously. The program, by the way, was called 'Blazing Teens', if you wish to avoid it/check it out.

During the rest of the afternoon, I went off for a little walk up the road and the hill, where I came across a group of Indian kids who invited me to join them in playing a game they play with throwing coins. The idea is, I believe, that you throw your coin in order, and the nearest to a hole (that they scoop-out at the start) goes first. They then throw the coins of all the competitors at once, then have to hit the coin of the others' choice (I think) with a stone, or another object. I had no idea, at the time, what I was doing, but it was fun nonetheless. As for who won, God knows, but I did get my rupee coin back.

I continued walking up the hill, turning off at the waterfall (mentioned in an earlier post, it's really not that impressive, but it's nice all the same). I must have been seen from across the stream, because as I was walking further up I was shouted at by a kid running up the road after me. I turned back to talk to him, and he introduced himself – with slightly patchy English – and then, rather unexpectedly, his brothers came along to introduce themselves as well. The three of them pointed out their house on the other side of the stream, and it seemed as if they had come running just to say hello to me. It was a little odd, but endearing all the same. Coming back down the hill, heading back to Tashi Jong, I passed the kids with the coins again, and watched the game for a little (still trying to fathom, at that point, the rules – what baffled me the most was how they chose which coin to throw the stone at, it seems that it's just an arbitrary choice, though).

I reached TJ in time for dinner, which was an odd affair that night. With it being the end of the puja, all the monks from the school, the monastery and the Institute were there for a special meal. They had to lay out extra tables in the middle of the dining hall especially for the occasion. It was also a definitely-no-dogs dinner, and the mutts who usually queue up for scraps found themselves being chased out instead. Not that they'd have got anything anyway – I suspect – as we had a really nice chowmein and some good soup too (for which the monk sitting next to me, typically, offered me something to eat it out of as I had no bowl; I was OK about taking it this time, as he had a bowl for himself too). After a good feed, we checked out the snooker hall (no monks) and the restaurant (lots of monks watching terribly confusing, and just plain terrible, Hindi TV). We headed back to our room, stopping only to look at some sort of luminescent glow-worm off sorts.

We returned to the snooker hall (by now, full of lamas) and were baffled by another game (not snooker) which, it seemed, involved a multitude of players hitting various balls without any sense of order at all. Just when we thought we might be getting it, they took all the potted reds out the pockets again and played with them again! Most confusing. Whilst pondering on that, we played a chess game (which, I should note, I would have won if we hadn't been invited to take part in this confusing game). The game is called kitti, and is played like this: there are six players, and each one must pot four reds, then draw a numbered bottle cap (2->7 corresponding to yellow-> black) and pot their colour. Simple enough, but there are some extra rules. Any foul means you have to pot an extra red (so potting a colour, missing everything, potting the cue ball, etc.), you may only pot the coloured ball in a corner pocket (a rule I, thinking I'd won, realised I'd fallen foul of just too late). Once you've got your colour, you may go for any ball you choose, meaning, that you can pot other people's colours, making them 'dead', meaning that they have to pot two more reds and get a new colour. If the bottle caps are all taken, I assume that means you're out. You keep your colour a secret, so no one knows which you are going for. Also, as earlier indicated, the reds can be recycled. Clear as mud? Well, it's a good game, at which we got thoroughly trashed. Whilst chatting with the monks, I was invited to go and play football in Palampur with them the next day, which I gladly accepted, expecting it to be a bit like the game at Sanjauli. We shall see...

The next morning I got up fairly early, but sat around most of the morning. I had a shower, did my first ever clothes wash by hand and skipped lunch (11.00am was too early for me – that is the Sunday time). I caught up with those going off to play football, and got the bus to Palampur with them. The pitch was quite good, with posts at both ends, grass, mud and a bit of cow dung, whilst the game seemed a lot more serious than the kick-about in Sanjauli. Everyone was wearing football shirts and shorts, one or two even had boots! Not to mention the fact that someone mentioned positions somewhere along the line. I was reassured, however, not to judge their skill by their strips. One of the lamas lent me a shirt (England, No. 7, Beckham), I was lucky enough to be wearing zip off trousers, and I joined the non-monks team (all TJ locals, plus me and maybe one monk to make up numbers). The play was alright (better than me, but I wouldn't call that any achievement) but there was a decent enough helping of school-boy errors (kicking and missing the ball, etc.) and not all from me. I showed off my skillessness, but did manage to get an assist, which I will, of course, now describe since it's probably the pinnacle of my footballing career. One of the guys on my team missed a long pass, which I stuck a foot out at; the ball bounced off my foot, into the air and back to my teammate, who volleyed it from far out; I chased the ball, just to see it bounce over the keeper and into the goal. I'd like to imagine that the sight of a skilled player such as myself thundering towards him put the keeper off and made him fluff the save. I'd like to.

Anyway, after a while, fairly tired out, I left with Kidup (an, I think, Institute monk) with pretty decent English. We bussed it back to TJ, happening somehow to get on the bus with a creepily-friendly conductor (towards me). He smiled inanely, insisted I was his friend, and shook my hand through the window as I got off the bus. Back at TJ, I read a little, then fell asleep.

Waking, luckily enough, at 6.40pm. I went off to dinner, which was thenthuk (the pasta-like thukpa mentioned earlier). I was also given some bread by one of my advanced class lamas (despite trying to say no, which just doesn't seem to work around here) and sat and talked with Jimmey. My parents chose this moment, whilst I was eating, to ring and tell me some provisional dates for a trip to India (using seeing me as an excuse). After dinner I came back to the room and read a little more. Mike returned and told me about his day with Ngawang, a really friendly and cheerful monk, who I may have mentioned before, who is neither at the school, nor the Institute. He works with the Ven. Popa Rinpoche (TJ Vice-President) at the Friends of Nub Gong (a monastery in Tibet). His job involves, among other things, making and packing incense (which can be bought on the net, search for the Ven. Popa Rinpoche, Tashi Jong, or Friends of Nub Gong). Mike got to help out packing incense, and got a tour of the place, which is where the mummified body of a senior togden/yogi is kept, and revered. Mike was taken to one room and, thinking it would be just another room, walked in, shoes and all, to find a whole load of people surrounding this dead togden, praying. Big no-no, shoes have to be removed for temples (Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, etc.). Jimmey and Ngawang have both offered to take me up there sometime, so I'll try to remember to de-shoe first.

That evening, I got another phonecall from the parents, saying that they'd booked the flights for December to come and see me. If you know my family, or indeed me, at all, then you'll realise what an achievement this is! I talked with them about various things, including India, Shimla, Amritsar, etc. and encouraged them to stay at the plush ex-Maharajah palace Taragarh Palace Hotel, just a couple of kilometres down the road from TJ.

I spent some time outside the snooker hall (no monks inside) talking with various lamas (including Jimmey and Suldim, who was one of the ones who'd invited me to play football). I found out that in November there is a week or so long puja where the monks do the lama dance, for which Tashi Jong is fairly famous (that, and mummifying a togden, the only time it's been done I think). I also learnt how they celebrate Lhosa (Tibetan New Year, in February sometime) – it involves far less raucous behaviour and alcohol (i.e. none) than our parties (be they at Pebbles, the Self's, or Monya's) and a lot more praying. I ended the night by playing Jimmey at chess (and winning).

On Monday morning, I got up at about 9, convinced it was an hour later. So, after kicking around a little, I went and had breakfast (roti & jam and sweet tea). My clothes were still wet, since I was asleep on Sunday when it rained, so didn't take them in off the line.

During the morning, a bus load of British tourists arrived. And they were most definitely British! Apart from the accents, they gave themselves away by being white-haired or balding middle-aged men, who were overweight, with red faces dripping sweat, whilst wearing khaki starched shorts and almost-but-not-quite-matching shirts. And very very silly sunhats. The wives wore ankle length floral summer skirts and large-brimmed straw hats, as the wives of the British Abroad often do. I watched them a little, and talked to them a little. I was compared to one of their grandsons (I don't know whether or not to be flattered).

I left them to go and plan my lesson for the day (including the advanced class's first piece of written work!). My homemade worksheet about travel verbs had to wait, however, as Norbu's Cyber Café was shut. I read a little more, and went to lunch: tingmo and potato stuff. I've decided I don't really love tingmo, especially compared to, say, rice and dhal. There was a fairly amusing incident at lunch, when one of the chefs was trying to move a distinctly unimpressed dog. Every time he lifted the dog's paws, dragged it around, prodded it, etc. the dog merely raised its head, blinked twice, and went back to sleep. The Brits left sometime after lunch; I saw them perusing the local shops and getting, of all things, some sort of first aid demo from the nurse. One of the monks told me it would be nice, from a financial point of view, if they stayed, and stayed in the monastery guest house. But no. My clothes were still drying at this point, if you're interested.

I brought them in (continuing the interesting saga of my clothes) maybe ten minutes before the rain came. Which was lucky. My lesson went quite well, considering it was the first for a week and a half. I will soon start teaching the littlest lamas (the total beginners). After my lesson, I had tea with some of my advanced guys, who gave me an unopened pack of biscuits, for no particular reason. I couldn't refuse (I tried). I had a visit during that afternoon from three of Mike's little lamas. First one turned up, and I thought it was just him after a chat, then his mates arrived, so I offered them a biscuit, told them Mike was away in Paprola and they left after not too long. Dinner that night was rice and dhal, which was very nice, after which I planned out my lessons for the next day (or so I thought...). I got two phonecalls that evening. The first was from Thomas, with whom I talked about India and all that jazz. The second was Rohit calling from his school near Delhi. He was asking about travel arrangements and all that jazz. Some of my clothes were now dry.

Late in the evening (maybe 10ish) we had a visit from Ngawang (see above) along with another worker from the incense factory. He wanted to type an email with Michael's help. His friend was rather on the odd side. I'm certain he said that his wife was his sister and that his brother had some sort of problem. It was a little disconcerting. He then gave a sort of open invite to eat with him sometime, and to visit the incense factory (and, I suspect, help out a bit).

We also found out, to our great lack of shock, that our friend at the office (who always tells us the mealtimes) is a drunk. It has been confirmed by two separate, and reliable, sources. The story goes that the girl who he had his eyes on married another man, and so he turned to drink, and his once excellent English filled the bottles he emptied.

Monday night through to Wednesday are summed up in one word, pretty much: 'ow'. I spent most of this time transfiguring my innards into my outards. In liquid form. I discovered that Boot's blackcurrant rehydration solution tastes very salty, though I am still in debt to Boot's PLC for their life-saving tissues (they saved me both in Shimla and at TJ). On Tuesday, I ate dinner only, which was thenthuk (the pasta-like thukpa). On Wednesday I ate all three meals, and evacuated something vaguely solid at one point (you'll be glad to know). The nurse gave me some medicine which has definitely helped, though I was drawn to a certain warning on the back which, reassuringly, said that 'Metronidazole has been shown to be carcinogenic in mice and rats'. Still, lesser of two evils and all that.

Wednesday also saw a visit from Ngawang from the Institute (tall guy with very little English), who said that they had an afternoon only holiday that day, though I couldn't work out why (something to do with a house, water, a toilet and a bath – I dread to think). He also told me about their festivals – one is a debating competition in Varanasi (which Jimmey had mentioned before) where they debate with other sects; the other is a prayer for world peace at a place (I think) called Boddhgaya (which John had mentioned whilst we were in Shimla). Dinner has moved to 6.30 now, so I nearly missed it on Wednesday. I arrived to find all the monks had been shaved that day, which was rather odd (like walking through a sea of slightly stubbly eggs). We now own some speakers, and I finished 'Don Quixote' (now onto 'Midnight's Children' despite what Grubin may say about it).

Since I'm now very experienced, I should mention two things about wiping: 1) no two sheets of paper on an Indian loo roll are ever the same size, seriously; 2) lemon zest wet wipes, which one might expect to be soothing and slightly zesty, sting like hell. I have had that Johnny cash song in my head the past few days (you know which one).

There's little else to say about those days (less said the better), but that Mike got a parcel from home containing jam, chocolate, dvds, vegemite and old German textbooks (to help us remember how we learnt, or didn't, a foreign language). The textbooks are stupidly '90s (bad haircuts, terrible clothes and a failed attempt to connect with the youth).

Today then, Thursday. Feeling better and better, I decided to take my class today. After a jitter over whether or not there were classes today (there were) I went for breakfast at the restaurant – omlette and sweet tea – before photocopying my worksheet (to be used tomorrow) and chatting with the nurses for a while. Lunch was rice and stuff, and afterwards I got roped into giving an impromptu lesson to one of the kitchen monks. For about ten minutes I tried to clear up the different ways of using 'would' for him, which was fairly difficult, then he went off for some praying. I played some table tennis with some of the other monks, then went back to the room to get ready for my lesson. It went fairly well, though I discovered that the monks aren't so good with descriptions (though they liked playing a quick-fire game of 'the minister's cat'). And that's pretty much it for now. So, until next time, bye bye!

Various Things, and Other Stuff

OK, firstly, if you haven't already, read the five posts below called "The Shimla Adventures". This post just mentions a few random things.

1) I mentioned Indian men holding hands, but forgot to mention that, in contrast, couples almost never show any affection in public. I also forgot to mention that Mike got the hand-holding treatment from a random wanting a photo, which was amusing.

2) To those of you who went to Beadnell (all that time ago, I know) I have two questions. Firstly, who left pizzas in the cupboard by the oven? Because my Mum found them and was suitably amused by the green pepperoni. And secondly, apparently someone left a pillow case behind. It is a patchwork style, denim-ish pillow case (says my Mum), so if anyone recognises that description, email me.

3) I was thinking, as an idea, I want to get you lot to think of things that are typically Indian (e.g. the Taj Mahal, monkeys, etc.). I want to make up a checklist, so that I can tick off the things when I see/do them. This is just for fun, to see how true your ideas of "typically Indian" are.

4) To those of you off to university, I want to know for certain where you are going, and what you are doing. This is what I can remember off-hand. If there are any mistakes, or if I miss anything, email me. Also, tell other people about this, if they haven't been reading the blog.

Grubin - English & Latin, KCL
Wilson - Psychology, UCL
Laurence - Classics, KCL
Adam - History, KCL
Martin - Economics (?), LSE
Ros - Lameography, Durham
Purdie - Politics (?), somewhere in Scotland I think, either Edinburgh or St. Andrews (??)
Slav - Physics, Oxford (Lincoln)
Doco - English, Oxford (St. John's)
Clare - Something philosophical, I think, Oxford (Worcester)
Jim - Maths (haha), Cambridge (can't remember which college, but if it's King's, then I met one of your maths lecturers in the Viceregal Lodge in Shimla)

Everyone else, I can't remember anything about what you are doing, which is probably my fault, unless you said Chemical Engineering, then changed to something else, then changed again, or something like that (which, unless my memory has totally gone, is what Monya did). SO, email me with your uni details if I've missed them out, or if I've got them wrong, or to confirm them. And, of course, feel free to email me anyway.

5) I messed up the fonts in some of the lower posts, I might sort it out when I have time, but right now my internet bill is probably rocketing.

6) The whole Shimla/Simla thing is sorted out in a comment on the post called "Shimla, or is it Simla?", so read that to find the truth!

7) Again, read The Shimla Adventures, if you haven't already!

Until next time, keep reading, pass on the message, and I'll update soon(ish).

The Shimla Adventures Pt. V - Chilling in the Institute

Ok, so these aren't technically the Shimla Adventures any more since we're now back in Tashi Jong, but I'm grouping all these posts together since I've made them all today.

If you are counting days, we are now onto Thursday, and from here onwards there is (a little) less to say. Having paid for the taxi, I collapsed into bed for a couple of hours whilst Mike lesson-planned. I woke up and he informed me that, actually, there were no lessons that day after all, and they began again on Friday (later confirmed by one of my advanced class lamas). So, after everything, we didn't really have to rush back at all. So, whilst Mike went down to Paprola, I read a bit and had lunch with the monks (rice and some veg stuff, to which I added a bit too much chili sauce!). I then went for a walk up to hill to the higher bits of the monastery complex (where the Rinpoche's residence is). I met a very healthy looking (and very bouncy) puppy with a collar on, so I assumed it wasn't a stray like most dogs here, but belonged to someone (Sanjauli also had puppies, which were not strays, so were infinitely healthier than ours). I also saw a white-terrier-like dog which was also very healthy. The puppy stopped following when I came back down (he obviously knew which house his meals were coming from). Having found none of the monks (or at least none in groups playing football, or anything like that), I returned to my room, wondering where on earth they were.

I went off again in search of lamas, and found a bunch of them (mainly Institute monks, with a couple of advanced class lamas) in the snooker hall. Outside, there were some locals playing a game which involved throwing coins about. Inside, the queue was too long to get a snooker game, but I played Jimmey (an Institute monk – see earlier posts) at chess (winning 3/3) and then his friend (losing 1/1). It turns out that the Institute monks are on holiday until Sunday. I then went with Jimmey to a restaurant in TJ (really just someone's kitchen) that I didn't know, until then, existed. I had some chai and watched a bit of Bangladesh vs. the Windies in the Twenty20, which was (and the monks there agreed) pretty boring.

I then got a tour of the Institute from Jimmey. They have a main teaching room with three statues: the Buddha, the founder of their lineage and one other Buddha who was a famous commentator on Buddhist writings, and some khata-adorned photos of the Dalai Lama, the 8^th Khamtrul Rinpoche (founder of TJ) and the 9^th Khamtrul Rinpoche (current president of TJ, more on whom in a bit). There are benches up and down the room and a comfy looking chair for the lecturer. He then showed me his room, shared with one other lama, which was smaller than ours, but quite nice. All the usual stuff like beds (well, mattresses barely raised off the ground), cupboard, book shelf and personal things like posters and photos were there. I was shown a poster of Jimmey's home village in the Kinnaur Valley (Eastern Himachal Pradesh) which was pretty beautiful with it's snow-topped mountain background. He gave me some dried fruit from his field and his brother's field (what fruit, I don't know as he didn't know the English for it, but it was very good). Both looked and tasted different due to different drying processes, and I was warned not to have too many as it can be bad for your stomach if you're not used to them. We talked about all sorts of stuff, and I helped out with his English. As it is very good, I tried to explain the subtleties of various words (like difference between enough and sufficient). I helped him out with his informal/slang as well (things like hold on, go ahead, etc. as opposed to swear words). His friends dropped in at various times and we got food at the Institute (a different sort of thukpa – there are apparently three – which was bit like cubes of gnocchi). I enjoyed the meal, as always.

We were joined for dinner in Jimmey's room by a lama of his age (about 25) and a mini-monk of just 11. It turns out that, contrary to what I thought, there are some little lamas in the Institute as well as the bigger ones. He was very shy about using English, but was coaxed into asking some things (what's your name, etc.). I did some reading practice with Jimmey from a book called 'The Big Win' – one of three books by Rob Childs which appear together in the anthology 'The Big Football Frenzy'. I can now (but won't, for your sanity and mine) recite the first two paragraphs from memory. Not, you understand, because he had to read it repeatedly, but because I did it again with someone else, and had to explain various phrases (like “he'd rather”) to them both. I was also asked by Lekshek (another monk with whom I read these two paragraphs) what 'frenzy' meant (harder to explain than you'd think) and what 'even' meant (when it meant despite, but he didn't know that word, so it was very hard to explain).

During the evening various monks and mini-monks came in (the little ones had to be encouraged by the older ones to try out some English) for a bit. Jimmey called Lekshek a sponge (Bharaat, one of the last pair of GAPpers, taught him that) for borrowing all his stuff, and our conversation took in every imaginable topic from who created the stars, to the movement of the sun and earth relative to each other (and hence night and day), to the Romans and Latin and its influence on the languages of Western Europe, to normal stuff like family and biscuits. Jimmey bought a pasty, which they called a big momo, and a pack of biscuits and I was obliged to eat all they sent my way, until I eventually had to politely refuse. It was a really good evening (though I dare say dull to read about) and it was good to chill with the monks. Mike missed out, saying he was tired from the bus ride (understandably). When I got back (probably 10pm or so, late by TJ standards) he was asleep already, so I went to bed as quietly as possible.

And so, to Friday. We got up late, but ready for lessons, only to discover (and are you surprised?) that there were no lessons. One of the Institute monks (Ngawang, probably mentioned in an earlier post) came along to chat (despite his very basic level of English). We found out that the Rinpoche returned from retreat on Friday, but that there was to be no party or celebration because of this.

Mike went off to Palampur to get his camera fixed, whilst I stayed around at TJ. Before lunch I met a Scottish nun who is based in TJ, who was looking for her Canadian friend who is staying in the hospital block where we are. She was very nice, and it was good to find another English speaker (even if she was Scottish!) to chat with. I did have to correct her, though, when she said Liverpool was north England, when everyone from Newcastle knows that the North stops when you hit Sunderland. Lunch was tingmo (anyone remember those from earlier?) and cabbage. Not exactly my favorite Tibetan food, I must admit. I then came back to the room and spent a good few hours typing up all of this on Mike's laptop. I've discovered that doing it this way saves me a lot of rupees in internet fees!

That evening was fairly uneventful. I went to dinner (Mike was asleep) and had rice and dhal (which I do like, far more than tingmo and cabbage). Later on, after reading a little bit, I went to the snooker hall to see what was going down there, whilst Mike went down to Davat's Tourist Restaurant in Paprola (see earlier posts). I found a bunch of monks, a mixture of my advanced class and a few I didn't recognise. The queue for the snooker table was, once again, too long, and I played a couple of games of chess, getting beaten twice. I really should have won the second match, and indeed would have done if I hadn't let the other guy get away with (accidentally, I think) cheating to take one of my castles. I'm just too kind, no? It was odd being surrounded by people speaking Tibetan and/or Hindi, and not understanding a word, but at least they try a little bit of English with me when I'm around.

And so, finally, we come to today: Saturday. And there is really nothing to say. I got up, read a little, walked down to Paprola. Was stopped on the way by five Indian men with virtually no English, who were working on the road. They made all sorts of gestures I didn't understand, and shook my hand to introduce themselves. They were a very odd bunch - one old guy with few teeth, and the few he had stuck out in all directions, two fairly well kept middle-aged men, one younger guy with the tiniest smattering of English and another chap with the most disconcerting right eye in history - it was, I think, a glass eye, as it was a totally different size and wasn't looking at anything in particular (certainly not at what the other eye was watching), it had a tiny pupil and iris, whilst the white of his eye was massive and visible all the way around. Anyway, I made my excuses and left them (they said something about a picnic and money, and I claimed I had neither of those).

I reached Paprola, came to the Internet café and waited ages for blogspot to load, whilst checking out the news and emails, etc. I saw two things of note: firstly England getting trashed by S. Africa (and Scotland trashing someone rubbish), and secondly that this week's NME comes with a free copy of the 'Delivery' 7" (by the Shambles).

Anyway, there is one more post to come, which concerns various unrelated things.

The Shimla Adventures Pt. IV - Sponsoring Monks, and Other Assorted Fun

Just to break the mould of a day a post, I've tagged the stuff about our journey back to Tashi Jong on to the end of this post.

The next day (only up to Wednesday, I'm afraid) I woke at Sanjauli feeling like death – a mixture of my cold, sore throat and a bad neck (I always wake up with one when I'm ill), not to mention a fairly poor night's sleep. But hey ho, after having a go on John's squat toilet (I mean a proper go, good fun by the way) I was right as rain (or something like that). We were invited to watch Mongolian wrestling of all things with the monks – which was surreal, confusing (the wrestlers would periodically start dancing for no apparent reason) and actually fairly dull (with US wrestling, it may be fake, but at least they make it interesting for people dumb enough to believe it (i.e. Americans)). We then headed on down to Sanjauli. I should mention that John has a squat toilet, and intermittent/no running water (hot water is probably totally unheard of there), and thus no shower (bucket showers it is!). In Sanjauli, we stopped off at a coffee house where I had a nice healthy breakfast of chocolate fantasy cake with hot chocolate sauce, with a nice hot chocolate at the side.

Suitably fed, we went all the way back up (I'm not kidding about how tiring a walk it is) to the monastery, where the monks told us they wanted to play football now, not after lunch. And so, we prepared to head back down again to Sanjauli. Luckily enough for us, things at monasteries are chilled and they happen at their own pace, so we didn't actually walk down again for another 15 minutes or so, instead sat around apparently waiting for something, whilst the lamas played with yo-yos. Eventually we walked down to Sanjauli and to a playground just outside an Indian school (stopping first, for no perceivable reason, outside a jeweler's for about ten minutes). It was dusty with quite a few stones, but we could live with that. The playground was on the hillside, so that one and a bit sides lead to a decent enough drop. The fence around the pitch covered one side, so, predictably, the ball was off down the side of the hill within a minute or two. We went down and searched, but to no avail. We suspected that perhaps it had been nicked (the area down the hill was very poor, with shacks and animals inside houses). Monks were dispatched (with money) to get a new one and, eventually, they returned with a ball. The game commenced again – it was a hectic, large game which was fairly confusing and great fun. The monks had boundless reserves of energy, while we were able to astound and amaze with our lack of any skill or motor control. The ball made its way down the hill again a couple of times, though it was recovered these times.

Then the school came out for lunch, and we stepped aside to let a million and one cricket games start. There is no way to understate just how crazy about cricket they are over here – it's mental! With the exception of the girls, and one or two people swotting up for tests, they all played cricket. We (as in us 3 Westerners) received a bit of attention from the girls, who approached us with giggles and fairly good English. We have been told that fair skin is a bit of a turn-on over here, so in addition to our irresistible good-looks, was it any wonder they came over to us? Anyway, we had to disappoint them on that front since they looked decidedly underage.

Lunch soon came to an end, and we began to play a three-way football tournament (each of me, Mike and John being a team captain). The monks pick teams very fairly; instead of the 'fat kid picked last' phenomenon in England, they get together in twos (or this time threes), and choose which is, for example, banana, orange and apple, then come over to us and we choose blindly one of the three fruits. Very fair. They are also very sportsmanlike, so there are none of the normal playground arguments over handballs, posts, professional fouls, etc., and they don't bother to keep score. It's a nice change to play with people not hooked up on winning all the time.

We eventually finished up and the monks took us to a Tibetan/Chinese restaurant where they all had chowmein and we got meat momos (I'll put the record straight now, momos are the dim-sumesque dumplings with a filling, tingmo are the thick bready dumplings that are more like English ones – I may have mixed them up in the past). We questioned the monks on who was paying, and were greeted with a shrug of the shoulders. There's always a catch! Monks have no money (unless they want to play PS2 at the internet café it seems), we were landed with a bill for about 21 monks and ourselves. Ouch you might think, but it only came to Rs350 each (i.e. for each of the three of us) which is less than a fiver (about £4.40). Still, those freeloading monks owe us! Mike made friends with an Indian guy there who had never left Himachal Pradesh (look at a map to see how big it is), whilst the lamas borrowed my phone and slashed my top scores on Street Race.

We went back to the monastery, got our bags, and said our goodbyes to John and his monks. We then got a bus to Shimla, after first stopping at the coffee place for a cold chocolate (very nice) and a sandwich (not bad). We made our way to the ISBT (Inter-State Bus Terminal) in Shimla to buy our tickets home. We were there some time around five, thinking we'd get an early bus back as we'd promised to teach the next day at TJ (the next day being Thursday). The ISBT is crowded and populated by a handful of shady-looking characters. The ticket office had a sign above it saying “please wait in line for your turn”, but that made about as much difference as Mr Rashid to the RGS lunch queue. After much pushing and queue-jumping in front of us, we got out ticket, having to settle in the end for a 9.30pm bus (we decided that the 'normal' quality bus at 8.00pm was not what we really fancied). So, with a long long wait ahead of us, we moved away from the ISBT to a step for a few minutes, to be assaulted (not literally) by the world's most persistent begger. Trying the “wear them down 'til they give you money to go away” technique, this 6 year old girl stood there, hand outstretched, saying “hello, sir” every two seconds for about ten minutes, maybe more (I'm serious). We tried shooing her in Hindi (“nhai” = no, “chalo” = go (away)) and in English (hoping she'd get the gist of what we were saying, if not the words). We also tried ignoring her totally. All to no avail. I got the feeling that she was, in the end, just doing to amuse herself, rather than with any hope of getting any money. We got some sympathetic looks from passers-by but that didn't make her leave. When she finally did, we wanted to leave anyway, so went up to The Mall (first passing her again, though she just shouted and smiled this time).

Up on The Mall, we sat about, and I read while drinking Mountain Dew. At a restaurant I had a good Thai fried noodles (which I alas couldn't finish) and saw a bit of Scotland against Pakistan in the Twenty20 World Cup. In India, even hermits living under rocks in caves without the use of any of their five senses know about the cricket. In shops and restaurants, it's on the TVs. You usually have to wait for the cricket before you are served.

Mike knowingly bought some totally authentic tourist stuff (a Ganesh picture – now on our wall in TJ – and a Ganesh statuette – on our desk) and I met some guys from Punjab who claimed they were in Shimla for a chess tournament (which did exist, we discovered). We then went on down to the ISBT again to get out bus. We were led down by a random (though we could have done it by ourselves) who got us almost there, but then went the wrong way at the last minute. We noticed, told him, and he queried some people in a shop. Three different people all pointed (as is to be expected) in three different directions, before deciding finally that we were right.

At the bus stand, Mike found the bus while I sat and watched the bags. A guy with zero English (almost) talked to me a bit. We then discovered that our semi-deluxe bus (that was why we waited until 9.30, if you remember) had been swapped for a normal bus. So, we'd waited an hour and half too long. We were a little disappointed, considering we wanted to be back at TJ on the Thursday morning to teach again, but on the bright side, we did get some money back for the downgrading of our tickets.

Actually, the normal bus really wasn't that bad. My main complaints were 1) the guy next to me lying on me so that, a) his head resting on my shoulder, and b) my arm was constantly crushed again the window frame (painfully so), 2) my head constantly hitting the window and the window frame whenever I tried to sleep, and 3) the guy behind me getting a bit uppity in Hindi whenever I opened the window and shutting it himself.

Apart from all that, we got into Dharamsala bus station with no problems to speak of, though we didn't stay there long (see earlier posts to refresh your memories on how wonderful a place it is). We got into a taxi there to go to TJ. The driver didn't know where that was, but claimed he knew Paprola. Another driver reassuringly told us that it was our driver's first time to TJ. Needless to say really that whenever I woke up, we seemed to have stopped for directions. That said, we made it safe and sound to Tashi Jong not long after 8am.

The Shimla Adventures Pt. III - Wanderings in India

The more perceptive of you will have noticed that I'm dividing it all up into days here, which I think is the most sensible way to do it.

The next day (which was only Tuesday, and today is Saturday, so this really is a long update!) saw us getting up at 8.30am and eating breakfast at the hotel again (it was included...). At breakfast the Palampur University promoting Indian man added his phone number to my information. We may, in fact, actually end up going to this uni at some point, we'll see.

After packing up and checking out, we walked over to Sanjauli, which was far more tiring than the night before! We got up to the monastery (up that hill again) totally shattered by the walk. We met John up there and played a bit of badminton with the monks, which was good fun even though the shuttlecock fell off the side of the building a few times. We got permission from Lekshey back at TJ to stay a night at Sanjauli, then set off for Shimla.

We caught the bus there, which was totally packed. A lady handed her toddler to the conductor who slipped him under some the bars and gave him to John to look after. In England, no one would ever trust a total stranger (never mind a foreigner) to have their child sit on the stranger's knee on a bus, but this – as you've probably realised – is not England. The bus cost us a massive Rs4 (about half a penny). In Shimla, we went to a restaurant at a hotel (the Combermere Hotel, if you wish to know). First we went to their posh restaurant, which didn't have what we wanted (and was expensive), so we went instead to their rooftop restaurant (which is street level to the main street in Shimla – eight floors or so up from the next street down), which served pizzas (how Indian...). I had a pizza which was very nice, despite its lack of tomato or tomato pureé, but didn't join the other two in having a Foster's (Rs100 a bottle is cheap, but still). After paying, we discovered that it was already 2pm, so all our plans were fairly disjointed (no big deal, really), and so we left sharpish.

After a quick stop at the HPTDC office, we walked off towards the Viceregal Lodge (and botanical gardens), after first passing a dog in the streets that was having a fit and foaming at the mouth (possibly rabid, we concluded). I should mention that, in addition to its monkeys, Shimla also has a lot of dogs, who spend literally all their time asleep on the streets (pedestrianised streets, so they don't get run over). It was a long way out, and took us longer to find than it should have done. We took wrong turns, were misdirected, had to backtrack, etc., etc. and finally ended by taking a long loop back round to the start of a road we'd previously decided not to take (which was, as I'm sure you've guessed, the correct road). Before we hit the lodge, however, we did mistake some other building for it first (it was actually part of the Indian Institute for Advanced Learning). We found it eventually (hurray!) and after paying our entry fee were just in time to tag onto a tour around. The tour was good: both interesting and short (long tours do, as you know, get fairly dull, no matter where they are). The lodge itself is a very nice building (pictures of it, and of everything else, will appear in good time) with a bit of history – it was from there that the viceroy of India ruled the whole country during Summer (Delhi and Kolkata (Calcutta) being too warm for us English types then). It was also the setting of the 1947 Shimla Conference, which discussed independence and partition and was attended by all the usual suspects – Mountbatten, Nehru, Gandhi, etc. I also found a photo in the lodge of a lady who was granddaughter of Earl Grey, so that's the Newcastle connection to Shimla. The lodge also contained photographic evidence of the British influence on the Indian mustache – and a great influence it was. At a café, we saw some of the much cooler, apparently less vicious and very camera shy grey/white monkeys. I got (that is tried to get) a couple of pictures of them, then we got ripped off for a taxi (ripped off, though still much less than a pound) to Summer Hill – a small village from where we began our search for the elusive Chadwick Falls (a waterfall, as the name suggests).

We walked for ages in every direction possible; we asked many people, who all, typically, pointed in different directions; and we eventually, as night would come soon enough and we were no closer to finding it (the last estimate from the last helper was about an hour's walk), gave up and caught a bus back to Shimla. Instead of braving the walk up the hill to Shimla's main streets, we caught a lift up (run by the HPTDC, full of adverts – mainly for their own hotels – and costing Rs7) to The Mall (the main street). We stopped at a bookstore full of antique books, which I had to resist (among them was 'King Lear' and some book called 'Theologica Moralis' which sounded like a bit of a laugh), though Mike picked one up on Hinduism.

We then walked back to Sanjauli and went for dinner at the same restaurant as the night before. I didn't quite like the meal as much this night, but it was still very good. We were told by Bobby that he takes nothing but love (when we confirmed that there was to be no tip), but that, to signal our approval, we were to ring a bell in the doorway – which we gladly did. We then got a photo of us with him, before going back up to Sanjauli.

The monks, being as they are, had gone out of their way for us, bringing mattresses, sheets, duvets and pillows for me and Mike to sleep in one of John's rooms (he can spare them, having three and all). Despite our attempts, the monks were quite unwilling to let us make the beds ourselves, so we helped as we could (i.e. not very much). We were then called on by the monks to help out with their mp4 player, after which we retired to John's flat and chilled out for the evening.

The Shimla Adventures Pt. II - Brother! Come sit on my yak!

And so the Shimla Adventures continue. I doubt I need to explain this to you clever people, but part I, below, comes before this part. So, read it first.

Anyway, the next day was a good day, though it began with a decidedly average breakfast at the YMCA, at which the Indian chap gave me the details of him and his Palampur Uni professor friend (as promised). We then went off on a tour of the surrounding area by coach. The way this all worked was as follows: we went to the HPTDC (Himachal Pradesh Tourist Development Commission, or something like that) office for twenty to eleven (as instructed), went inside and asked (good thing we did too, instead of waiting there for something to happen), were then directed to a man outside, who gave us directions (quite quickly too, I should add) to the bus stand, and the number plate of the bus. We then make our way (stopping for many directions) to the bus stand, to find loads of buses, but, typically, not ours. At 11 o'clock (when it was meant to leave), it staggered part of the way up the road, stopped for a few minutes, came a little further up (we did consider going down to it, but were censured quickly for this), stopped, and eventually made it to where we were to board and get going.

The trip itself was quite good, and decent VFM (Rs 190). We first made a few stops around the village of Kufri. First was a decrepit looking HPTDC run hotel or restaurant of sorts, where we stopped for the views of the valley. Next we went to a bus stop in the middle of nowhere to be greeted by, lo and behold, people with activities for tourists. We got a Rs250 horse ride up to the top of the hill on fairly emaciated horses who seemed in constant fear of their master's fists and forceful encouragement. We reached the top to find a totally contrived tourist trap of a place. Yak rides and photos, saffron sellers, an apple garden, a temple and a bunch of cheap roadside eatery places were crammed onto this hilltop. We, being tourists after all, got photos sitting on yaks (owned by a crazy lady who was a cross between an American cowgirl and an exuberant Asian woman, who called us brother a lot – which is, I should mention, used as a term of endearment and friendship, as well as meaning brother). We went up to the temple (that looked fairly rubbish) and someone asked us for Rs100 to go in. It goes without saying that we turned and walked. He dropped to Rs10 in no time at all, but it really didn't even look worth that much. There was a good view up there (our time in Shimla was full of good views), which was free. We hopped back on our horses and were lead back down. The ride was actually quite fun, though the route was rocky and steep, as well as very muddy in places. Our steeds did seem constantly on the verge of slipping over, but we survived unscathed.

Back down the hill, we went past a (closed) nature park that claimed to have snow leopards. I should probably point out that in India, a lot of things are closed on Mondays. The next stop was a place called Naldehra which is the site of an historic golf course (yes, that's right, historic), a school (with kids in three totally different uniforms), a half-completed, totally empty restaurant (where we had a cheese pakora that was alright), and, of course, some very good views. From here the views reminded me of French/Italian countryside, except with added drama, steeper valleys, and all the dotted vineyards and châteaux replaced by clusters of Indian houses. The bus dropped us off at Sanjauli (a town near Shimla, maybe classed as a suburb thereof?) where we had arranged to meet John.

He took us up to his monastery, which was a nastily steep climb up the valley, which really takes it out of you. His monastery is smaller and a bit shabbier looking than Tashi Jong, and is not part of a larger Tibetan community. Despite this, it's still a really nice monastery, and the monks are really cool (of course!). Many of them are Mongolian orphans who have been sent to the monastery (where they, I'm sure, have a much better life than in an orphanage). John's monastery does have one thing TJ doesn't – wind operated prayer wheels! When we arrived, the monks were all out in front of the monastery's main building, playing various games (including badminton). John introduced us, and took us (with a couple of monks tagging along) on a quick tour of the place. There is also a Hindu temple up there, in addition to the Buddhist monastery and some more outstanding views (as there often are at 2500m). It was hard not to like Sanjauli monastery, though I prefer Tashi Jong (as you might expect).

John has bonded really well with his monks, in a way that we haven't really had either the time or opportunity to do so. For example, during their free time, the monks play in the area in front of the main monastery building, which is just outside his room (more on which in a second), whereas the TJ monks sometimes seem to evaporate when not in class or at meals. I think, however, that the main reason is that our stay at TJ has been interrupted by this long puja so that (at the time of posting) we have spent almost as much time in Shimla as at TJ.

That evening was spent firstly in his room, which is less of a room and more of a flat (apparently it's not part of the monastery, but is rented for him – a fairly important monk lives along from him, called Namja, who was very friendly and very welcoming). He has three rooms (each, by themselves, is smaller than our room), and has set about decorating them a little with photos and drawings done by the monks (some of whom are very talented, it seems). We then engaged in that most English of pastimes – tea and biscuits! Just to exemplify what I've been saying about monks, the tea was brought over by Namja, without us asking, without him expecting anything, or even staying to have it with us, and merely a gesture of friendliness. We were joined by a few monks, who were, John told us, a bit shy about speaking much English with us newcomers there. We did, however, discover that they love rap music and Shakira (as well as, for some reason, wrestling, more on which later).

We then made the trek down to Sanjauli for dinner, stopping at the first restaurant we saw – a tiny place with three tables squeezed in, the chef at the front, and totally open at the front to the street. The owner and John had already met before, as he had been down (though he hadn't eaten) with some monks. We chatted with Bobby the owner's brother for a bit, who was a tour and trek operator in Shimla. The meal was fantastic. We three ate very well for just Rs220 (= less than £1 each), and when we tried to leave an extra Rs20 as a tip, Bobby wouldn't take it, saying it was a family restaurant that didn't take any extra money.

After leaving John and the restaurant, we walked back to Shimla and the YMCA (about twenty minutes) to find the New Zealander in the lobby with a new Indian friend, and a pair of hapless Germans. She soon turned the conversation to her experiences at a Buddhist monastery in Darjeeling, telling us of the horrendous beatings she had to treat among the young lamas (she was a nurse), administered by a couple of the older teachers. With that in mind, we headed off to bed. We had been offered a room the night before by Namja at Sanjauli, so this was our last night at the YMCA – 3 nights, 2 people, 1 room, Rs1200 (=£15).

The Shimla Adventures Pt. I - Monkey See, Monkey Steal

I'm sure you've all been missing me, wondering desperately when the next update would come. Well, here it is, and it will, as always, start where I left off last time.

So, here we were, in Shimla. After typing up all that stuff in the last blog, which was Saturday, if I'm right in my calculation of days, we eventually made contact with John (at Sanjauli monastery, very close to Shimla). I should first say that I'm writing up this day entirely from memory as I didn't type it up earlier on like the rest of this post (I thought I'd already posted about Saturday) and forgot my journal (I'm onto a different book already), so I'll probably miss out something or other. Anyway, John we arranged to meet John at Christ Church on The Ridge in Shimla. I don't expect you to know where that is, but I'm saying it anyway. For lunch we went to an expensive seeming restaurant run by the HPTDC (Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation) which was sparsely populated by one family (as in about eight or ten people out for a family meal of sorts) and a few business-type people. I had a fairly OK sweet 'n' sour chicken, which alright for the price.

We probably did something during the afternoon, though for the life of me I can't remember. I think we probably played a little bit of snooker (in which I got thrashed again) before going to The Ridge to meet John. Unfortunately, I'd given him the wrong phone number and we hadn't really set a definite time (relying instead, as you do, on mobile phones), so we didn't see him that day at all. Still, we had a decent time in Shimla, I had some candy floss and Mike went back to the YMCA. When I returned he was asleep, so I read for a bit and then went out for dinner. I went to Devico's - a restaurant with three floors offering Indian, Chinese and other foods in a slightly fast-foody feeling setting. I got a nice masala dosa, surrounded, I should mention, by English (some of them at least were English) backpackers who, I suspect, had all followed their Lonely Planets there as well.

The day was generally fairly uneventful (as I recall), though we got more stuck into the sights the next day.

We rose at some point during the morning, though I don't remember when (at the moment, I'm still working from memory) and I believe I had breakfast at the Indian Coffee House (which doesn't serve tea) and had an average omlette and a very nice pineapple juice. I returned to the hotel, after meeting Mike in the streets and then setting off for a cyber café which was, of course, closed. There I was mistaken for Mike by the receptionist, and asked if I'd finished using the internet yet. After correcting her mistake, we eventually went off to the Jakhu Temple. Here ends the failed recollections of my memory, and begins what I'd previously written down from my journal.

Jakhu Temple is a Hindu temple to the monkey god Hanuman. It was a steep walk up a nice long hill, which took about 20/25 minutes, which, according to the Jakhu Temple Walk Fitness Challenge thingy makes us (and I quote) “absolutely fit”. We had heard much to be wary of up there; it is renowned for its (appropriately enough, and unsurprisingly given their prevalence throughout Shimla) monkeys. We were warned that (I kid you not) they will steal the glasses right off your face, which appears to be fairly true, as we saw a monkey chewing on a pair of sunglasses whilst we were there. On the road up I picked up a stick, and Mike bought a special monkey stick (that is, he hired one, which was then borrowed permanently by someone). He was understandably a bit worried about these monkeys, given that they had, at this point, attempted to steal his bag not once, but twice. An old lady tried to sell us something (I think nuts) in newspaper, to help ward off the monkeys, but we declined (the sticks seemed good enough).

And so we made it to the top and to the temple. And the monkeys really were all over the place, though we soon discovered – to our great delight – that they are very responsive to threats. If you raise your arm with a stick in hand, they run pretty smartish; the same thing happens if you brandish a stone or rock at them

The temple itself (for that was, apparently, the reason we were there) was actually fairly small, compared to what I was expecting, but, that said, it was still worth the visit. The inside was full of pictures of Hanuman flying through the air like some sort of Superman/Planet of the Apes cross. There were almost no Western tourists up there, though I think there were a handful of Indian tourists, and a couple of locals too. They – being real Hindus and all – were there to pray and ring the bells that hang from the ceiling. Inside there was also a priest-like fellow, who sat there giving out whatever it is to the worshippers to give as offerings to the gods. Whilst doing this most holy of jobs, he was also very much engaged on the phone (which was a pay phone of sorts, except portable).

The views, as would be expected at that height, were pretty damn good, but I doubt that my pictures have done justice to them. And on the subject of photos, we got snapped with two groups of Indians, including one lot from Manipur (near Myanmar (Burma)). They looked more Nepalese than Indian, but that just shows what we know. It seems that all these tourists wanted photos with the white man to show their friends back home. It is rather interesting being as much of a tourist attraction as the temple itself!

We then went to a small café and got a veg pakora (basically battered veg) and chai, before heading back down to Shimla. We stopped off at a book store, where I picked up another new book. I am now banning myself from buying books until I've finished off a couple more. We went back to the YMCA again, and played a couple of games of snooker. Big news: I won one!! Finally! I then lost the next one, but that is beside the point. It was 76-49, though down more to Mike's mistakes than my skill.

After a little more reading (still on 'Don Quixote'), we went out to Baljee's (see last post) for dinner. When we saw the menu, there was really no choice in the matter, and we immediately ordered the mutton brain curry. The curry itself (as in the sauce) was fairly good, but the brain was disappointingly bland in taste. What we thought would be a taste adventure, turned out to be fairly boring. Oh well, we live and learn. The butter scotch ice cream that followed was very good. I should mention that ice cream cones and wafers over here are, instead of that light brown/almost peachy type colour we get, are a deep orange. It's ever so slightly disconcerting. This, I should say, was the first (and so far) only ice cream of my trip, because you usually have to be careful (with water being a source of death, disease and diarrhea).

When we got back to the hotel, I was roped into being a computer guru for an elderly lady from New Zealand. Mike escaped quickly (possibly due to antipodean friction), so I was left to deal with both her and the computer. I showed her how to send an email and taught her to rip CDs (being the genius what I is). After some time an Indian friend of hers came out to talk with us, and insisted that I visit Palampur University sometime, promising to give me the name of his friend who is a lecturer there. He also, having elicited what I was doing in India, commanded me to investigate the Tibetan psychology and discover why they spurn the Indian education system he so loves, preferring instead the monasteries. I was as neutral as possible in answering him, whilst trying to subtly hint that maybe Indian schools didn't provide all that Buddhist monks require to train as monks. I also said “I don't know” a lot, hoping to deflect his inquiry. Our party of fun was made into four by the arrival of a Danish cop with a cold and a 7.30am bus to Manali the next day. The Indian gentleman went into great detail for us all on the muscle structure and general physical appearance of US cops compared to those of other nations (in short, he assured us that in America all cops are 6ft 7 and built like brick shit houses – as they say). The lady from down under went off and fetched some walking sticks and a jumper, whilst the Indian continued with his discourses on America. I learnt, during the course of the evening that 1) all, (I questioned that, and was assured all) Americans eat five meals a day (five big meals) and that's why they're so fat ( that was the Indian gentleman), 2) the single and sole reason for traveller's diarrhea is not washing your hands (the lady from NZ insisted that nothing else was to blame at all), and 3) (from her again) Kingfisher beer over here is made with some sort of nasty acids that make Western drinkers sick pretty quickly, but, if you turn it upside down in water, you'll see a yellowy fluid come out and then you can drink it. I am yet to get an opportunity to test or confirm these nuggets of fun. I politely declined the offer of joining the Indian fellow and the New Zealander for a drink, opting instead to go to bed.

At this point, I had been in India for a fortnight (already) and was (still am) loving it!

Shimla, or is it Simla?

I don't know the official spelling (I've seen both), nor the real pronounciation. I've heard Tibetans and Indians saying it "Shimla" and some Indians saying "Simla". Like everything in India, everyone is very adamant that their version is right, but no one is able to agree with each other.

Anyway, here we are in the YMCA in Simla. It's clean, comfortable enough and cheap. But anyway, after posting that last missive, we hung around McLeod for a little bit; a beggar attempted the "I want to be your friend" trick on us. He talked with us all nice and what not, and when we asked what he was up to in McLeod (he was, he said, from Varanasi) he said - in an oh so off-hand manner - "oh, just begging". Well, he didn't get any of our precious money, but he did give us some good (and true) information about the bus to Dharamsala. Which was our next adventure. For Rs7, and half an hour of your valuable time, the bus goes from McLeod Ganj (nice place, full of Tibetans and tourists) to Dharamsala bus station (seedy and scummy, though apparently less of a hole than Delhi train station, I am reliably informed).

On the bus down to the bus station, we spoke with a lovely cheerful Tibetan lady of about 25 called Tsering. She is a baker at the Hotel Tibet, so we promised to come see her before my birthday to get a cake. She told us she was born in Kham, Tibet, which is where the 8th Khamtrul Rinpoche had his monastery before fleeing to India in 1965, in 1969, setting up Tashi Jong monastery. Where, if you hadn't already realised, I am teaching now. Tsering gave us her email address and insisted we email her at some point. The Tibetan people genuinely seem to want to just be your friend (in general), without wanting anything from you, which is such a nice change from a lot of the people you meet. Not to say that you don't meet helpful and friendly Indians, which we most certainly have, it's just that this sort of openness seems more intrinsic in the Tibetans. I should also note her English was very good, which helps.

At the bus station in Dharamsala, we went to a fairly seedy place called "Canteen", where we had thali (not knowing what it was) for Rs20. It turned out to be flat bread with various sauces to dip it into (with free refills of sauce and bread). It was fine really, as these things go. We were stared at relentlessly during the whole time we were in the restaurant (and really the bus station in general), us being the only whites - pretty much - in the whole of Dharamsala (unlike McLeod Ganj, Dharamsala is not a touristy area). We met a handful of Tibetan monks at the bus station who helped us find the right bus (the sign said to go to stand 7, which, of course this being India and all, didn't exist). We were, again, stared at by the rest of the bus station. After a little wait there, we boarded the bus - me feeling a tad on the squiffy side, but that died down eventually. The bus itself (semi-deluxe) was a bit crap, no air-con, the door was open at least half the time, frequent stops, etc., etc., but it was made bearable by Patrick Wolf, Final Fantasy and Beirut.

We arrived in Simla some time after 6am but before 7am (I think) and, before we even got off the bus, were assaulted by touts and taxi drivers ("room, sir?", "taxi, sir?", "good price", etc.). We ignored them as best we could, but had to ask for a little bit of help with walking up to the main area of Simla. Somewhere along the line we went East instead of West, and found ourselves in a complex of housing blocks of a slightly (only slightly) dubious nature. We eventually (after some time) rectified our mistake and made our way into Simla proper. It was fairly surreal, none of the shops were open, and the streets were vacant but for a small army of street cleaners sweeping and tidying. The streets of Simla really are very clean - spitting and smoking are banned, though I've seen some people ignoring the former. I should mention Indian spitting habits; they chew something red, then snort up as much mucus as is humanly possible, then spit the whole lot out. Pretty vile.

We found the YMCA alright in the end, checked in and showered and dressed in clean clothes (hurray!). I believe I mentioned earlier that a Nepalese friend of the main nurse at Tashi Jong washed our clothes for us. It cost Rs40 to wash almost all of my clothes, which is stupidly cheap. I then went out to a restaurant the LP (Lonely Planet - how backpacker am I?) recommended for breakfast, called Balijee's. I was tempted by masala dosa (see one of the earlier posts to find out what that is), but I thought I'd go Western again, so I ordered sausages, chips and egg (and a nice cuppa). It was exactly what I needed - fairly greasy and tasty (and cheap)! After that, I came back here to type all this. My impression of Simla is very positive so far (since I've had breakfast and a shower and feel a whole lot better than when I got off the bus). We are going to try and meet up with John who is a Sanjula Monastery (very close) and maybe Bo (one of the Aussie girls) who is a whopping ten hours away in Dhera Dhun (middle of nowhere, not even in Himachal Pradesh!) but who has a week long holiday now as well. So that should all be fun.

I wanted to mention a couple of other random things. Firstly, the touchy-feely nature of Indian men. It is not uncommon at all in India to see men holding hands (including interlocked fingers and just holding pinkies), but we were assured by Rekha when in Delhi that it doesn't make them gay, just friends. They also often walk with hands on each others shoulders too. Coming from England, this is slightly weird to get used to. The other, far more important, thing I wanted to mention is that the hot water revolution seems to have bypassed Himachal Pradesh. At TJ we have cold showers. Here at the YMCA in Simla, we have cold showers. I hear too that those in the NE have cold showers too. So be thankful you lot in England with your excessive luxury!

Anyway, that's all I have to say, but more on the adventures of Simla as and when they happen!

On the road to Simla, and other exciting fun

Ok, so I'm now sitting in an internet cafe in McLeod Ganj, whilst Mike gets his hair cut down the road. We are getting a bus to Simla (9 hours!) at half nine this evening (time now = 5.20pm). This is really our first bit of independent travelling, so it's all very exciting. However, as always, I should really pick up from the end of my last post.

So, on Thursday we decided on Simla for our holiday, and we booked a room at the YMCA (stupidly cheap, Rs1200 for a double for three nights) and organised everything as necessary. We were told by the nurse at Tashi Jong (a very friendly Tibetan lady called, I think, Ani Dawa) that there's a Summer Picnic (yes, Summer) on Sept 12th, however we learnt today that it has been cancelled cue to the death of a high lama last month. Alas. Lekshey in the office at Tashi Jong said we could take off and be back at TJ for classes either on Wed or Thurs, which gives us plenty of time to enjoy Simla. In the morning on Thursday, we didn't do much: Mike went to Paprola and I had lunch with the monks (momo and a stew-like stuff). I chatted with one of the monks we know (called Dechen), who told me the puja was four days long. Eventually we sorted out the actual length of our holiday from the three times we were told (3 days, 4 days and 7 days).

Later on in the day, I played Mike at snooker (and got beaten - three times!). We then had a visit from two of the monks from the Institute who had good English and were really friendly (like everyone in TJ it seems!). They told us that they had had to fake an illness to be allowed to come and see us (our room being in the dispensary)! Apparently if their teachers were to find out, they could get fined up to about Rs15. The monks in the Institute (who are all over 25 or so) are also banned from playing football, snooker and cricket. To get round this, they go to a football pitch a few kilometres away to play in secret! Mike dragged me off to the tourist restaurant again that night, which I didn't mind too much, and I had a decent enough meal (lots of bones in the chicken mind). The taxi back to TJ (driven by the brother of the guy who owns the restaurant) was a rip-off, but we didn't feel up to walking back that night.

Friday, today, I think was when we did most of the booking for our holiday (not yesterday). This morning I went to tea at 9am, and was given a bit of chapatti (bread) by a monk to go with my sweet tea. I chatted for a bit with some of the more middle-aged monks, who are - you guessed it - really nice! The monk in charge of buying all the food for our meals asked if we would teach him English - I think it's only fair that I agreed!

Later on, two bus loads of what I thought were Japanese tourists (turned out to be from Singapor) turned up at the monastery. It's odd, but good, feeling no to be a tourist (not really anyway) when I'm at Tashi Jong (unlike now in McLeod Ganj). I also watched the monks doing their prayers which was very interesting - they sit in a large circle on low seats and chant various Buddhist prayers, to the bakcground music of trumpet-like instruments and drums.

Mike bought a bag for our trip to Paprola (I got all my stuff in my little 15litre bag), which broke about an hour or two ago. We arrived in McLeod Ganj after a fairly quick (less than two hours) taxi ride, and bought our bus tickets. We ate (after finding our first choice was shut) at Jimmy's Italian Restaurant. It was nice enough, though the pizza did remind me somewhat of a Tesco pizza. It was fine, and fairly cheap. It was a change to have something Western again (pizza and coke).

In other news, Pavarotti is dead! It's the end of an era, alas. I suspect his death wasn't totally unrelated to the fact he was so fat. I also hear that Kate McCann is officially a suspect in the Madeleine McCann case - and about time too, if not for abduction, she should at least be done for child neglect and abuse.

Mike has just turned up with his hair cut. It looks different.

Anyway, that's about it for now, but I will have more to say about Simla in a few days time. Bye for now!

I'm a teacher, I am

And so, to pick up where I left off. In an internet café in Paprola. After I typed up all that stuff in the posts below, me and Mike picked up a couple of bowls from a shop, then taxied back to Tashi Jong (Rs40 which is an OK price...).

Later on that day, we had a visit from Ngwang (pron. Nawang), who is a 28 year old lama from the philosophy institute. We're going to give him some private tuition in English, to help him improve. He stayed a while for a chat, which was a little bit difficult, but I think he understood what we were saying in the end; that said, our conversation was (like so many in Tashi Jong) comprised of lots of nodding and smiling. Hopefully in a few months time, he'll be much better. Hopefully.

I finished off 'A Clockwork Orange' and moved onto 'Don Quixote' (much longer - will keep me going for more than two days). Dinner that night was rice and dhal, which is really nice. The monks thought the bowls we had bought earlier were very small though. Amusingly so.

We had another visitor (before dinner), called Jimmey Lodoe (real name Jingme, I think, but he said he gets people to call him Jimmey - spelt like that). He is another institute lama, who's English is fairly good. He is also going to come along and talk with us when he's free to do so (usually Sundays only for them). He also reassured us that if we correct his English, he won't take it personally. Apparently Mike met two more monks from the institute whilst out and about, also after a bit of teaching. So, we are quickly getting busy it seems.

That evening I planned out my lesson a bit more, by the light of my headtorch (we had a power cut).

And so to Monday. I slept in a little (my lesson was in the afternoon 2pm-3pm), then had a shower. A cold shower. A very cold shower. I look forward to those in Winter... I went for a walk up the mountain a bit again, and came across a nice waterfall when I wandered off down a side track.

Mike had his first lesson, which he said didn't go perfectly at all (which made me feel less than perfectly confident about mine to come). His class (the baby lamas) were apparently a very mixed bunch of abilities, and - as I imagined earlier - they weren't all well-behaved little Buddhas (though I don't think they were too awful). Lunch was rice and beans (not baked) - again, very nice. I prepared my lesson a little more, whilst ike went off to Paprola. The power, meanwhile, was very sporadic.

The first lesson then. Exciting times. It could, in all honesty, have gone better. I turned up for 2pm, to find no one there, so at about 2.10 I went over the main office to ask Lekshey what was going on. He wasn't there so I had to make do with the guy who first showed us round (whose English is, I'm afraid to say, patchy). I tried to explain my quandary; his response was to reassert the timetable to me. Eventually I got him to come over to the teaching house, where he went in and spoke to the main lama teacher. He then explained to us the real schedule:

10.30-11.30 -> Baby Lamas
1.00-2.00 -> Middle Lamas
2.00-3.00 -> Big Lamas

So, Mike's class (as he found out by total luck earlier that day) started half an hour earlier than we thought, and we also had an extra class to teach. Well, after all that, I did get to teach the advanced group for the last half hour or so of their slot (though I'd planned for a middle lama class, it didn't really matter as half the lesson was aimed at gauging their abilities). I told them about me and Newcastle and so on. The lesson plan itself totally fell apart, but I learnt from this that I had to stick to it to do a good lesson.

We decided (by flipping a coin) to split the classes so I have the big lamas, and Mike the other two classes (more on balancing the hours later). I prepared another lesson for the advanced guys, involving lots of drawing for me. I have discovered (as if I didn't already know) that drawing pictures of modes of transport is not my forté. At all. Especially bikes and motorbikes.

Dinner that night was noodles (as ever with chilli sauce). This was supplemented with a nutritious Milkybar (Rs10).

Something I don't think I've mentioned so far is Tashi Jong's animals. There are lots. The first morning at TJ, I woke up to find a cow outside our window (very literally outside the window), chewing away at the grass quite contentedly. The next it was a horse. The place is also full of dogs, puppies and at least one or two cats/kittens. Some of the animals are pretty ill-looking, patchy and mangy. At lunch, we sit inside and the dogs (which belong to the monastery) come inside and sit in the middle of the canteen-type room (the tables and seating is around the outside, looking in) and they wait, in the hope people will (and they do) toss them some food.

On Tuesday we had breakfast in the restaurant by the monastery (chappatti, very sweet jam, and sweet tea). We thought about going to Paprola, but the only cabbie around wanted Rs50. Which is a rip-off. Mike's lesson in the morning went much better this time. For lunch we had bready dumplings (more like what we call dumplings than dim-sun) with a meat and veg stew-like thing (I'm good with words, aren't I?). It wasn't quite as good as everything else has been so far on the food front.

I tried (not very hard, mind) to learn some Hindi numbers. I've got a handful of the first ten sorted. Then it was lesson time. I tried the yes/no game (when you ask someone questions and they can't answer yes or no). Let's just say I won't be trying that again for a little while. It took a while for them to understand it, and even then the questions they asked weren't quick enough to catch anyone out. I also tried out a code with them (I'm using word games as a respite from the travel verbs I'm teaching them - we don't have the space to do other games, unfortunately) which totally stumped them. All it was was when you change each letter for the next one in the alphabet (i.e. a becomes b, b c, c d, etc.). Dinner that night was rice plus something nice, supplemented this time by Magic Masala crisps (which, I should tell you, aren't as nice as Spanish Tomato Tango ones).

On Wednesday (nearly done!) we got up lateish (i.e. after 7.20 or so). I walked into Paprola, to find that the internet wasn't working. I bought a new T-shirt (Rs150 = less than two quid) which is red with some random slogan on it. The shop keeper introduced himself and shook my hand, so I told him my name and said I was teaching at the monastery in Tashi Jong. His next question was "what qualifications do you have?". Ouch. I couldn't think of how to say "virtually none" and still seem like a potentially decent teacher. I should also mention the "fitting room", which was a dusty back room full of boxes and next to the door out into the back street. No light or mirror, so I couldn't see how my shirt looked... I was intending to go to a restaurant (branded "tourist restaurant" but recommended by Mike) for lunch, but it was shut so I went back (on foot) to TJ for lunch - rice and some sort of onion-like veg. I noticed some of the mini-monks (when I say mini, I really mean it, some of them are about two foot high) chucking away the veg bits - reminds me of how Thomas used to pick out his onions when we had mice and onions, etc. As they say, boys will be boys!

I then had my lesson, which went better. No one worked out that code I mentioned (I'm not sure if they looked at it at all after the lesson, to be honest), so I explained it to them. That took more effort than I was expecting - I had to write out the alphabet for them and demonstrate it. We also found out that starting today (i.e. Thursday) the lamas have a 7-day puja (special prayers) which is (I'm told) often followed by a party. So we are on holiday until next Wednesday or Thursday, at which point we may have a party to look forward to! We are going to go away for the week, to one of McLeod Ganj, Simla (pron. Shimla) or Manali. We'll plan all that out today.

That night we walked to the tourist restaurant which was alright. I had a korma (boring, I know) which was OK (nothing hugely special, in my opinion). The price was right, as they say, though because the two of us had a curry, rice and a (non-alcoholic) drink for Rs255 altogether (=£3.20). There were no taxis, so we walked back in the pitch black. The cows on the road looked very odd in the dark!

During the day I had two visits from monks (one was Ngawang who I mentioned earlier - he was in the hospital bit, where our room is, for a nosebleed). The other monk was nice, but his English was very patchy. A friend of the very friendly nurse came and took our washing off to clean (thank God), which was helpful and kind of them (I don't know how much it'll cost, though).

Not much to say today so far. Except that the owner of the internet café here in TJ is watching some US game-show full of absolute idiots. I'll give you an example:

Questioner: What is the capital of Iraq?
Contestant: How do you spell that?
Q: I-R-A-Q
C: I'm gonna say... Afghanistan.

Ah well. At least I knew the answer...

Anyway, I'm now going to sign off. I may have much to say next time, so keep your eyes peeled, and tell people who might be interested to have a look too!