Why I love the Sikhs (it begins with L)

Hello again! Since our last conversation, I have indeed been to Amritsar, so I have some fun adventures to tell you about. As promised, I got up at 4am on Friday morning and walked down to meet Patrick and get the 5am bus from Dharamsala bus station to Amritsar. We got into Amritsar at about 11am, and were immedaitely latched onto by an autorickshaw-wallah, who was determined to take us to the temple for just Rs20, and suggested we check out his hotel on the way. I make a point of never staying anywhere with a name like 'Tourist Guest House', so we found a different wallah to take us to the temple. By the temple, I mean the Golden Temple – the centre point of the entire Sikh religion. We went in straight away, so I'll tell you about it now.

You have to remove your shoes and socks, and cover your head (we purchased novelty Golden Temple branded headscarves) before going in. You go through a small pool of water to clean your feet and head on in. The temple complex is a huge square pool of water with a walkway around the outside and the Golden Temple in the middle, connected to the walkway by a long bridge. Around the outside of the walkway are various sparkling white buildings, including another temple building, the Akal Takht. The Golden Temple itself is gold on the top half, and white marble inlaid with pieta dura (the same carving style as the Taj Mahal, so my guidebook tells me) for the lower half. We didn't go into it at this point, because the queue was ridiculous.
We left the complex in search of accommodation. The LP's suggestion, that the post office at the temple would be able to furnish us with rooms, turned out to be wrong. This was made more annoying by the fact that it took ages to find the post office! We chose to stay away from the grimy looking free dorms for foreigners. We later discovered that a host of buildings all named 'Sri Guru Something Something Niwas' were accommodation houses connected with the temple. Instead, we went and got a room in a hotel very close by at a fairly reasonable price.

We returned to the temple. It is a really peaceful and serene place, even though there it isn't too quiet (there are lots of people walking and talking, and the Sikh holy book, the Guru Granth Sahib, is sung out over a PA system from about 5am until 9.30pm). It is the sort of place where you can (we did) just sit and enjoy it. Unlike many big religious tourist draws (such as the Sistine Chapel) it hasn't lost its religious feel; it is still very much a place of genuine religious feeling and belief. The Golden Temple itself is beautiful, and rather entrancing. The complex is guarded by Sikhs with spears in orange robes (the Sikhs, that is, not the spears).

We went along to the langer, a 24 hour free kitchen and dining hall of phenomenal proportions, for some lunch. It wasn't exotic, but it was very very good. We were given as much dhal, chapati, and kheer (a rice pudding like dish) as we could eat. Everyone, regardless of who they are, sits together to eat in the langer. It's an amazing display of equality and generosity, the likes of which I don't think I've ever encountered. When we went along, it was lunchtime, so the place was packed. Afterwards, we had a look at the kitchens and washing-up facilities, which were equally stunning. I can safely say that the temple brought me to tears as we went past the army of onion choppers.

Next, we checked out the Sikh museum in the temple complex – a gallery of gory paintings of Sikhs killing and being killed and a whole load of photos of prominent Sikhs (including the photos of 13 Sikh martyrs having just killed themselves – very strange and unnerving). We stayed at the temple to watch sunset and also went inside the temple itself. It was magnificently decorated inside, with patterns of gold adorning the ceilings. There were four priest in the centre of the ground floor, who dealt with singing the book (with a host of musicians), sorting out donations, and other such things. Upstairs was a small gallery allowing you to sit down and watch the proceedings below (down there you get rushed through). Another set of stairs takes you onto the roof, from where you can see the whole temple complex. I sat just outside the temple for a bit, and was surprised (but delighted) to be given a free sweet of some sort. It was a crumbly orange ball which possibly had almonds in it somewhere along the line and was very sweet and tasty.

We went to a restaurant for dinner before returning to the temple complex to watch the book being put away in the Akal Takht. First of all, a group of people circle the walkway praying loudly, playing a horn, and waving the Singh flag. They then take a golden litter out of a special room and, praying and singing loudly, festoon it with flowers. It is then carried up the bridge to the Golden Temple where the book (the original copy of the Guru Granth Sahib) is place inside. They come back down the bridge (slowly, due to all the singing and prayers) and all the Sikhs do their level best to try and help carry the litter, which the priests allow for about a second before moving you away. They continue up to the Akal Takht, where a priest takes the book inside on his head to a special locked chamber where it is kept overnight. With much ceremony, praying, singing and kneeling, the book is put to bed (literally) and the ceremony is over. On the Friday night, I watched from outside, then went into the Akal Takht, but could see very little due to the crowds. The temple itself is then shut (though the complex, including the langer, stays open 24 hours a day).

The ceremony was very impressive, and after that I just sat around the perimeter and watched for a while. I was guarded, part of the time, by one of the Sikh guards (that is to say, he stood in front of me, spear in hand). When he left, he was replaced by five Punjabi kids, who sat around me and barely said a word. The usual format with Indians is thus: 1) what country?, 2) cricket, 3) name (possibly), and we experienced this a lot in Amritsar.

The next day, we got up at 4am (again!) and went to the temple to watch sunrise. It wasn't massively impressive as they left the lights on at the temple until it was quite light already. We went to the langer, but seeing that it was just soup on offer, went for breakfast elsewhere. The morning was spent sightseeing – first the Mata Temple. This place was fairly crazy. It was full of pictures (and a statue) of an old, ugly, facial-haired, cock-eyed woman who we guessed to be Mata (which means mother). To circumnavigate the temple upstairs, you have to crawl through a tunnel, paddle through ankle-deep water and go through rooms of mirrors and coloured plastic, which give a sort of odd retro '70s disco feel to the place. There were a lot of statues from across the country too. It was a fun and funny place.

After a little wander, we then went on to Ram Bagh, which has a “must-see” (LP) museum. Our cycle-rickshaw driver went the wrong way (we had to correct him) and headed over the railway tracks. The barrier was down for an oncoming train, but everyone was just going underneath it. The “must-see” museum was a dilapidated building that was closed for renovations. Which was nice. So instead we headed, by foot, to the Sri Durgiana Mandir (stopping first at the Crystal Restaurant, an LP recommendation, and running when we saw the prices on the menu). The Durgiana temple is a dirty knock-off of the Golden Temple. Seriously. It is an unashamed copy of the Sikh masterpiece. And it's a bit rubbish. Its golden temple is only gold from the front, and the temple is far smaller. The walkway has none of the ornate buildings around it, and the whole place is much emptier. There are a few other religious buildings around it. We were astounded by just how much of a filthy rip-off it was. Inside the temple were some more mirror pictures (an Amritsar specialty it seems) and two child gods. I took a photo of them and they waved at me.

Next stop was Jallianwala Bagh, the site of the 1919 massacre of more than 300 peacefully protesting Indians (they didn't like the idea of imprisonment without trial, which the British had just brought in) and the injuring of about 1500 more, by the British. The place is now a memorial park, but you can see still the well into which many people jumped to avoid the bullets (and from which 160 dead bodies were recovered) and walls with bullet marks in them. The focal point of the memorial is a large redstone sculpture that looks immensely phallic. A fitting tribute. There is also a “martyrs' gallery” with a handful of portraits and a large painting of the scene of the massacre. Someone has defaced General Dyer (the British officer responsible for it all) on this big picture, and, unsurprisingly, no one seems in any rush to repair it.
Lunch was once more at the langer in the temple complex. It was different today – a different dhal, another savoury dish, chapati and an orange sweet – but was still really good (in fact it was better, though I preferred kheer to this orange stuff).

That afternoon we headed to Attari, the border between India and Pakistan, in a shared taxi from the hotel. By shared, they meant about two people to each seat. Driving back, I was basically on the gear stick, and I can tell you that second gear was rather uncomfortable. We left late, and stopped at the Durgiana Mandir (we weren't expecting this) on the way (me and Patrick didn't go in again, but got some samosas instead), so couldn't get good seats (or standing places) at the border ceremony. There are massive grandstands on both sides of the border, the Indian one was full to bursting (like the country) and bathed in colour, the Pakistani side stayed fairly empty until a few minutes before the festival and was decidedly more sober in colour. The rumour is that the Pakistanis send buses to nearby villages to top up the crowd when necessary, but that may just be an Indian rumour. The ceremony involves lots of marching, saluting, shouting, cheering and so on from the border guards. They shake hands, shut the gates and lower the flags. At the same time, we in the crowd cheer on our side. It's all good fun, then you go. I got a cheap Rs5 Indian flag to wave.

On the way back, we stopped at the Mata Temple (we didn't know it was an Amritsar tour), so we did another fun circuit of this fun park temple. On arriving back at the hotel, we went to a restaurant for dinner (including some wonderfully named idli sambers, which weren't that nice) then watched the book ceremony once more. I stayed in the Akal Takht this time and saw the book being put away. I was surrounded by singing Sikhs, which was amazing. They then all began to fall to their knees and bustle about trying to get to the front. A boy of around 16 told me “sir, please bend your knees”, but I wasn't really prepared to bow down to a book, so I skipped that bit (they only bow down at the front, so I wasn't standing in a crowd of people on their knees). He commiserated me afterwards, saying “better luck next time, sir”.

The next morning we went to the bus station for about 8am, took the bus to Pathankot, and then got one to Dharamsala. Patrick left me there (his monastery is nearer Dharamsala than McLeod Ganj) whilst I waited (for a long time) for it to go on up to MG. Once there I ate and shopped, picking up all the necessary Tibetan goodies. I left MG at 7.30pm, and hung around Dharamsala bus station for a while, waiting for a delayed Manali bus (which went past Tashi Jong). It finally arrived, and was absolutely packed. After a crowded 2 hours, we got to Tashi Jong and I was home again.

Monday was, if you didn't know, my birthday. I'm now 19. Golly. At the start of my baby lesson the monks from both classes (who I think Mike had told about it) came in and shook my hand and sang happy birthday (well, they couldn't get past the first two lines, and the tune was a work-in-progress, but it was nice all the same). One little monk gave me a pack of biscuits as a present, which meant a lot to me, even though it was just a pack of biscuits. After lunch I went up to see Ngawang Palzang at the incense factory. When he found out (he asked, knowing it was around this time) he ran off and got me a pack of incense wrapped in a khata as a present, which was really kind. Whilst I was up there, I met a German and a Russian; the Rushkie had been in TJ for four years and was a student of Popa Rinpoche. The rinpoche came in and the Russian kissed his hand. That was oddly interesting.

In the afternoon I had my big lama lesson, which was only three monks today. After my lesson with Dechenwangmo in the village, I went up to see Ngawang again and do some incense packing. I tried my hand at longer incense sticks and at the outer wrapping, but my manual dexterity is basically zero. Popa Rinpoche came in and had a little smile at my attempts. After dinner I had my “lesson” (not really a lesson, more just talking) with Sondup Gyamtso (who I mistakenly called Thupchen in a previous blog). He showed me photos of his trips to Malaysia and Indonesia, accompanying the Dorzong Rinpoche on visits. Two littler lamas (including Dechen who I may have mentioned a long time back) came in and we had biscuits and milk. They celebrated my birthday with the oddest song I've ever heard – they clapped and sang “happy birthday Robbie” atonally over and over. It was very strange, but also very heart-warming. Apparently, they don't celebrate their birthdays, so it's even more special that they did anything for me.

Thank you to all of you who sent and signed my present and card (and those who were signed for), it was great to have something from you all! And to those who wrote on my Facebook wall, thank you too. I may reply eventually. Thank you all.

Tuesday, today, has been rather normal. I had lessons and have come down to Paprola to sort out various things. And that, as they say, is that. We have Mahakala puja starting on Friday, replete with lama dances and so on. I look forward to it.

Until next time, goodbye!

Black Hats and Sub Divisional Magistrates

Hello again! I am now in McLeod Ganj once more, though only for the night. I've just informed a slightly dischuffed, but still helpfully friendly, hotel owner that I'm leaving tomorrow morning. At 4am. Why? Well, as he guessed straight away, I'm off to Amritsar tomorrow, taking the 5am bus from Dharamsala bus station (and I have to walk down there). So, expect lots of fun soon enough.

Anyway, Monday and Tuesday passed off without much of note happening. We have been invited to spend Diwali with an Indian student of Mike's, and then to go to a relation's wedding for three days after that. It's not confirmed for sure yet, but if it does happen, it will be pretty amazing, I imagine.

Wednesday was good fun. In the morning, I had no class. Instead, the monks were busy practicing for the Black Hat Dance on Thursday. I watched them dancing - it involved lots of twirling about and waving of hands. More on the dance later. I also went up on the prayer hall roof to watch some of the monks making the coloured powder they use to make a mandala - a large picture made using this coloured powder. They mixed up dyes and water and fried up the powder (which I was told the day before was sand, but it was very fine and white). Interestingly, the brand of dye they were using was 'Ganesh'. Fitting for a Buddhist monastery, ey?

After all this was over, Choepal Sangpo, the monk who runs the monastery guest house and who I have given a few ad hoc lessons to, asked me if I was free to go off to Baijnath (about 10km away) with him. It was 11am, my next lesson was (probably, but no one knew for sure at this point) at 2pm. I went with him and he explained on the way (as he was driving) that we were going for his driving test. Interesting, I thought. He explained, though, that he'd been driving his motorbike for about 14 years or so (he didn't say about the car, but he was a decent enough driver), and that whenever he got pulled over he'd slip the cop a Rs50 note, or do a runner. He said they only bothered pursuing once, and he got summoned and fined Rs500. So that's a fine of £6.25, or a bribe of 62p, for driving without a license. He said, however, that the fines and the punishments are going up, so it's not really worth it any more.

So, we turned up at the Baijnath e-Governance Office, the office of the Sub Divisional Officer cum Sub Divisional Magistrate. A rather grand title for someone whose duties include overseeing driving tests... Choepal had to go and sort out papers, get his file submitted, etc., etc., and then we waited for a little to be told various times for the test, before going and having some lunch from a roadside thali place.

Then came the test itself. And what a challenging test it was! About 40 or so people (all men) were taking a test today. The SDM and another official came out into the car park (I use the term fairly loosely) and sat at a low table with all the relevant files in front of them. Then one by one, the potential drivers were called out, and had to reverse their car back about 10m, and stop between (not even between, really) four bricks set out on the ground that formed a parking space. And, er, that's it. If you can't do it, or touch the stones, then you fail. Some people, amazingly, did fail. And quite spectacularly so, in some cases. A few people had trouble starting their cars, stalled a few times, then careered off into the waiting crowds of people to one side. These crowds of people were the others waiting to do their test - they watch while you have your half minute test.

Choepal passed. This was his second time, having scraped one stone the first time. He said that the first time, he'd brought along his car, which is far larger than a normal car, and that the gap between the stones had been narrower (perfectly believable, by the way, because the stones were laid out arbitrarily and the gap wasn't measured at all, nor was any of this checked by the officials in charge), so he didn't have a chance really.

Anyway, all went well this time, and we were soon off on our way. We made our way back to Tashi Jong, stopping to make a mysterious Rs5000 payment to someone. Choepal explained it was for the gas at Tashi Jong, before saying something about it being hard to get, the deal being "black" and needing a certificate of some sort... I didn't question further, but he hurriedly added that this guy was their "friend" at Tashi Jong, so they paid him extra. These monks, ey?!

The whole adventure took over 3 hours, and I was a little late for my big lama lesson. We had a short lesson and they finished off their talks that they have been doing recently.

And so, finally, to today. Thursday. Today was the Black Hat Dance for real. Like many good days (such as the picnic last week), the day began with tsampa (and about 4 cups of tea before it was 8.30am). I was up early and spent some time hanging around the monastery and the kitchens with the lamas. When I got up to the temple, a large number of the monks were outside the prayer hall, which opens out onto the square, in a semi-circle, with the rinpoche in the middle, dressed up in an elaborate costume. They were performing a puja (complete with drums, cymbals and horns). As often happens when I watch pujas, the lamas got a little distracted, and started waving at me, when really they should be being holy. I'm a terrible, terrible influence on them. Some of the lamas had been up at 2am this morning for their puja, but were thus freed from doing this one.


I also got to see how the puja system works a bit. While hanging around the kitchens with Choepal and, later on, Ngawang from the incense factory, various people came with requests and money to have pujas said for them, their friends, their families, or even their business ventures. All very interesting.

Not long after that, I headed over to the prayer hall, where the monks were putting on the costumes for the dance. They wear magnificently colourful robes, inlaid with patterns, and the eponymous Black Hats, which are black, in the style of a Mongolian sheep herder's hat (so I decided) but with a larger brim, and massive coloured ribbons hanging from the top, upon which there is an ornament that, on some hats, is surrounded by peacock feathers. Most of the monks' costumes were predominantly dark blue, but the leader of the dance wore a lighter blue robe with a lot of coloured pictures on it, whilst four others (representing North, South, East and West, though I can't remember which is which) wore red, blue, green and yellow. Pictures will come soon enough.

The dance is divided into two parts (separated by lunch). The first is a lot less active and a bit longer. They spend a lot of time walking in a circle and spinning slowly, saying a few lines of Tibetan here and there. The second half is much more active, with fast spinning, stomping, jumping and all sorts of fun stuff. The whole event was watched over by the rinpoche, who was also controlling it, as he was armed with the cymbals. He plays those and the dancers and drummers respond to that. It was very impressive, but was the sort of thing that really has to be seen.

The dancers were mainly guys from my advanced class, and monks no longer in the school, those there was one (only one, I think) exception. The younger monks were either not involved, or had more minor roles. Some of them played the drums (whilst making faces at me - the rinpoche didn't see...), others helped carry the larger horns, and three had the strangest role of all. Two tiny monks wore a maroon robe each, a middle lama wore a creamy coloured one. The three of them all wore very strange masks which were of random Tibetan faces - sort of like those masks people wear at political demos to mock whoever they are mocking (usually Tony, Gordon or Prince Charles). The rest just watched. It was really interesting to watch.

After the dance I left Tashi Jong for McLeod Ganj, hitching a lift to Palampur with some monks and getting a crowded local bus on from there to Dharamsala. There were no more buses up to McLeod Ganj, so I had to get a taxi there (which was a few times more expensive than my bus fare). I got a hotel and then had dinner at Taste of India, which was fantastic.

Tomorrow morning, like I said, I'm getting the 5am bus with Patrick (an Aussie GAP teacher at Nechung monastery here in Dharamsala) and possibly Hugh (who is likewise an Aussie in Dharamsala, he's at Kirti monastery) to Amritsar. There we will see the Golden Temple (Sikhism's most sacred site, and a fairly awesome sight, I'm assured).

Anyway, more about that, as well as pictures of everything, will appear very soon (I have the card reader now, I just need to remember to bring my camera and reader to the internet café next time). Until then, goodbye!

What do the Dalai Lama and the Megazord from Power Rangers have in common?

Actually, nothing, except for appearing in this blog entry.

Hello again! This is just a quick update really, as there is only a little out-of-the-ordinary to talk about – life in Tashi Jong is continuing mostly as normal really. Mostly.

Well, Monday night (I last wrote on Monday afternoon, I think) saw the appearance of a couple of couples of Russians, who stayed in the room next to ours. It also saw the reappearance of everyone's best friend, Tashi the druggie. He turned up in the evening, but Mike entertained him (outside) by playing guitar. I, being that kind and considerate citizen you know me to be, thought I'd warn the Rushkies, just in case. One of the couples obviously come here quite a bit (I've seen them once before), as was evidenced by his declaration “Who is this? I know everyone here!”. However, it seems that the KGB are quite as well informed as they'd like to think, since he'd never even heard of Tashi before. Anyway, my good turn for the day done, I went back to whatever it was I was doing (probably lesson planning and reading). Later on, I hear, Tashi was going (staggering) home and fell and cracked open his chin, needing four stitches.

Tuesday was quite strange, as the monks were in the grip of a Power Rangers (Mystic Force) obsession, and consequently spent most of lunchtime attempting to beat each other with wooden sticks, bamboo poles and, in one case, a fairly large metal scaffolding pole, whilst shouting “Power Rangers Mystic Force!” every four or five seconds. In some ways it reminded me of Ascham House Junior School, where we used to play Power Rangers at break time (I have a distinct memory of five of us wandering round the playground pretending to be the Megazord – the big robot that the rangers become when they bond together using their special powers, for those unenlightened ones among you) until the killjoys in charge decided to ban playing Power Rangers. I also remember being (falsely, I should add) accused by someone (I don't remember who anymore) of playing Power Rangers after the banning, and I think, though I'm not certain, that that was the trigger to my spending one lunchtime sitting in the hall with another miscreant (again I don't remember who for certain), with dufflecoats on, believing we were being sent to see the headmaster over the road. As we all know – though I was too innocent to at the time – however, the head was far too busy to see petty offenders like us, since he had a lot of, ahem, work to get through with the secretary...

Anyway, fuzzy memories and dirty (but true) rumours aside, it was quite funny to see these kids, monks on the other side of the world, playing the same schoolyard games I used to play. I also began to teach Dechenwangmo (a local lady) again after a break for my holiday, however my lessons with Khedup reading 'Northern Lights' are, unfortunately, postponed until after the next puja, as he has to practice because he is leading it.

I should take this opportunity to mention the next (real) puja. It is called Mahakhala, and is the lama dance puja. I have tried to get dates and information from various people, most of which was predictably conflicting, however I think I have it all tied down now. On Wednesday or Thursday of this week, they perform the Black Hat Dance, and have a two day puja. There is then a week's break from puja (so I will be teaching then) for the week of my birthday (29^th). Or at least part of a week's break. I can't quite work out whether the main puja starts that Thursday or that Friday, but I think it's one of those two (probably the Thursday). On each day of the Mahakhala puja, the lamas perform a different, short dance in the puja hall (so not really public, but I can watch if I want – the biggest problem will be finding out what time the dances are each day). The last day, however, is a sort of big dancing blow-out. The monks, in large elaborate and very colourful masks and costumes (I have seen pictures of the puja two years ago), perform a long series of dances in the main temple square, just in front of the temple. The whole thing is watched, I think, by the Rinpoche and the rest of the monks, as well as a bunch of tourists, monks from other places and, I imagine, the one Tashi Jong yogi who is not on retreat (and is thus allowed to see and be seen).

Of course, half of that information may be totally wrong. We'll see.

Wednesday, again, was not hugely special, though it was a good day. My baby lama lesson went very well, as I had them drawing all lesson, which kept them amazingly quiet and entertained. I also got a package from home, which was nice, containing a memory card reader for my camera, which means you can all see some pictures now! It also contained (if you're interested) a Private Eye, the new Bill Bryson book on Shakespeare (which I've just finished and came as a nice easy read between 'Anna Karenina' and Vikram Seth's epic 'A Suitable Boy', which I found in our wardrobe and is recommended by the LP as a good novel to get a sense of India – it's certainly has the epic proportions of India, coming in at an off-putting 1400 pages) and some baby wipes and diarolyte (rehydration solution). The last two items were either a kind gesture by my parents, thinking that I used up all my rehydration solution in my first bout of illness, or a nasty joke at the expense of my innards. I'm tempted to think both.

Thursday was an awesome day, and something worth mentioning. If you pay much attention to the news, you'll know that it was on Thursday that the USA presented the Dalai Lama with the Congressional Gold Medal (their highest civilian honour, or, as they and my spell checker would have us believe, honor). It is impossible to overstate the respect and adoration that H.H. commands among the Tibetan people, even those, like our monks, not of the Geluk sect (that of the Dalai Lama and the Panchen Lama). As a result, the day was given over to a big party/picnic for the entire village. Meanwhile, across South Asia, I imagine that most, if not all, Tibetan Buddhist monasteries and nunneries were having similar celebrations of their own.

For me, the day started at around 8am, when I wandered up to the kitchens, just to see what was going on. There, an army of village people (an image which doesn't bear thinking about) were all chopping up vegetables and so on. I found out that the food and the celebrations were being organised by the village as much as by the monastery, so that was why it was locals and not monks doing the chopping. I was given, whilst there, some tsampa, which is a sort of porridgey like stuff that comes as a powder and to which you add tea and mix it up with your fingers, then eat/drink it, before adding more tea so that the remaining tsampa forms the porridgey like stuff. It takes a while to get through a full cup of powder, but it is very nice (better with sweet tea than salt tea).

Much of the day I spent playing football and table tennis with the monks, but I don't remember exactly what order the day took (nor does it really matter). In the morning, following a sort of general movement of people, I ended up at the temple, where, for once, the front gates had been unlocked and opened (I'm told that the gatekeeper, an elderly monk who owns two dogs, is too old/lazy to open it very often, since they are stiff sliding iron gates that take a bit of effort to open). The temple was filled with monks (at the front) and locals (behind and on the steps). After saying a lot of prayers (and, in some cases, doing a few prostrations), they all (monks, locals and even kids) laid khatas (one per person) in front of the Dalai Lama's picture, and bowed their heads to him. I was offered a khata by three different people, but I felt that praying to the Dalai Lama (which was what they were in effect doing) was not really right for me (I would have felt a bit of a hypocrite). Evidently Mike felt the same, as he didn't take a khata up either. I respect the Dalai Lama greatly, as a man, but I'm not ready to pray to him just yet. By the end of the ceremony, there was a ridiculously large pile of khatas in front of the picture (the local kids and smaller lamas had to be lifted up to lay their khatas down). The pile, inevitably, fell over at least once. I couldn't help but wonder what happens to them all after the ceremony (and, indeed, what H.H. does with the many he must receive). Perhaps they get sold back on the sly to shopkeepers, so that they can then sell the same khatas to the same people again? That could be a good scam for the monastery to run, but I imagine Buddhists are above that sort of thing.

From there we went out onto the temple square where a large marquee had been set up with rugs running up and down the length of the square, and a few small low tables towards the top with a large throne-like chair in the middle at the top where, unsurprisingly, H.E. 9^th Khamtrul Rinpoche, president of Tashi Jong, was sitting. We were then given tea and a small plate of rice with nuts and raisins in it, which was tasty but was more a token than a meal (that would come later). I felt rather privileged as the monks insisted I sit on the rugs under the marquee with them, whilst the locals (including those who work in the monastery office) were sat on the grass around the square. Needless to say, then, we (Mike and I) were the only people under the marquee not dressed exclusively in red, orange or yellow. With one exception. At the top, near the Khamtrul Rinpoche (there is more than one rinpoche at Tashi Jong, like most monasteries, I believe) was one of the yogis, the only one who had come down from where they live, since he was not on retreat, whilst the rest are and thus cannot see or be seen by anyone (besides each other). Food gets taken up there at every meal, and left outside for them to take later. This yogi was dressed in a robe of white with red edging, and he, unlike the monks, lets his hair grow. It was done up in a sort of tower above his head, with the bulk of it in one large dreadlock on top of his head.

After – or maybe before, I don't recall – this plate of rice, the Khamtrul Rinpoche gave all the monks a blessing. They cued up in a line and bowed or knelt in front of him and he touched their heads. The monks insisted that I go up for a blessing, so blessed I was. It was a little strange for me, but kinda cool at the same time.

Lunch, a little later on, was an impressive feat of mass catering. Huge vessels of rice were produced and buckets (many auspiciously marked with swastikas) of some meat & beans (as in runner, not baked) stew, or of boiled spinach and cheese, or of cauliflower, pepper and other vegetables. It was amazing that they provided for all the monks and all the villagers, with plenty left over for seconds and spares. I spent much of lunch talking with a middle-aged monk who was telling me about a school in China, set up by someone connected with the monastery, which was in need of English teachers. Don't worry though, I won't be jetting off to China any time soon. When I return, my bank balance will require a long time to recover. And university is hardly the most profitable time of your life, is it?

Later on in the day, in their quest to really fatten us up, we were served sweet tea and a cherry bun. I talked with Jimmey, Khedup and a few other monks about food, trying to explain roasting, grilling and bacon, as well as telling them all about the French and their crazy foods. We just got onto the subject of tea, when we were all served butter tea. As if I wasn't well fed enough already! Dinner that night was the remnants of lunch, with dhal as well. And there was still some left over the next day!

As well as football and table tennis, I also played badminton, under the watchful eyes of the rinpoche on his throne. Apparently he has been known to play, but only very rarely. Today he merely watched. I have to say, though, that he did look rather isolated and lonely on his throne, with very few people talking to him. This was due, on the most part, to two factors. Firstly his seat was some distance from anyone else, making easy conversation not so easy. Secondly, most of the normal monks and lay people would never approach him to talk to him out of the immense respect they feel towards him. Instead, he sat there overseeing the whole party, reading (at first I thought it was something intellectual, but I later saw him reading comic books, namely a Hindi translation of Dragon Ball Z) and occasionally picking at the carefully sculpted tower of rice in front of him.

I stuck around the marquee after dinner with the monks, demonstrating our various double jointed freaky fingers and so on. I was given some bubble gum and, for the first time ever, worked out how to blow bubbles. Eventually the Khamtrul Rinpoche decided it was time to go and he went back to his residence. He and the other senior monks had barely left their seats, when the monks stormed the fruit bowls in front of their places and got what they could. In England, I dare say kids wouldn't think of rushing for the fruit, but here they did. One of the lamas, Kalzang, gave me an apple and a banana he'd pilfered. The banana was very good and the apple superb.

After H.E. 9^th Khamtrul Rinpoche had left, I helped out with dismantling the marquee and so on before playing a bit of kick-the-bottle-into-the-bin. I was then induced into playing a variation on tig, with the square and all around the temple as the field. Suitably worn out, I then went with Tukchen Gyamtso (probably misspelt and mispronounced), a middle-aged monk who I must have mentioned before, though not by name, to help him compose a text to Malaysia. We then talked a little about money; he has a small collection of various currencies and asked if I had a £1 note he could add to the collection. I had to disappoint him by telling him that a fiver is the smallest note we have, and he said he could never ask for that much from me (though, to be honest – and this shows our comparative wealth in England – I would probably have been willing to part with one).

After all that, I went back to my room, as all the monks were gone (to bed). There were a few locals a few years older than us, I think, out playing loud music (bad stuff too, like Sean Paul and the Black Eyed Peas) and dancing. Still, it made a change from the Tibetan music we had playing all day at the picnic (of which I understood one song, the lyrics to which were “tashi delek, tashi delek, tashi delek”, which means something akin to “good luck” and is used as “hello”).

In my opinion, the Dalai Lama should be given more awards, because I had a really good day at our picnic! Maybe he should get an Order of the Garter or something?

After lunch, I have no idea where Mike got to, but he managed to miss the whole afternoon. I know that at one point he was teaching a class of locals, but beyond that I don't really know. He, in my opinion, really missed out!

Friday, then, could hardly be expected to live up to the day before. I got back into the old routine of teaching, which was fairly uneventful, with the exception of one kid hitting Tsewang (the ADHD kid) in the face accidentallyonpurpose at the start of my baby lama lesson, and, as you'd expect from a seven year old, Tsewang bursting into tears. Beyond that, they finished their drawings, making three nice 'About Me' posters that are now on the classroom wall. Friday was also shaving day, and my big lama lesson was punctuated with the newly baldened monks coming in in dribs and drabs.

Saturday was a half day of teaching. I tried to teach the little ones how to tell the time, though if much more than “o'clock” has got through, I'll be very pleased. The lesson was made slightly interesting because they came along with these little things that looked like sweets (imagine greyey-brown parma violets) called Hajmola, which came in orange packets with cartoons on them. So naturally one would assume they were sweets. I was given two, and they were absolutely vile. Turns out they are ayurvedic digestive medicine. I spat mine out, they were that bad. Tsewang, on the other hand, enjoyed them too much and had so many that he had to leave the lesson to go and be sick outside. Nice.

Mike departed for McLeod Ganj after lunch, whilst I opted to stick around Tashi Jong. The afternoon was fairly uneventful; mostly reading and spending time with the monks. One of the monks, Yeshi, who is in my advanced class, showed me his photo albums, including photos of his village and family in Nepal, and photos of him and his friends at the monastery over the past seven years or so. It was quite odd, as it is looking at old school photos, to see them just a few years ago. It also showed just how big a part of their life has been dedicated to the monastery. After dinner I went along with Tukchen Gyamtso to his room again, as I am now giving him conversation lessons (less lessons, more just conversation practice) in the evenings. We talked and listened a little to the cricket (India vs. Australia, T20). He also boiled up some milk to drink, the first time I've had milk as milk in India, I think, though I have had a lot of chai and some milky porridge.

Next in this not-so-quick-after-all update, we come to Sunday. In the morning the monks had a half day puja. I watched the end of this from outside, and was interested to note that there was no sort of overseer or elder monk directing anything (from what I could tell). It had a lesson-like feel to it in so far as the monks would talk to each other at various points, disregard what they were meant to be doing, stare out the windows, etc.. At one point, one of the monks came round with a plate of (and I think I've remembered this word totally incorrectly) zitrill, which were slightly sweet dough balls. In this particular puja, offerings of sculptures made with this dough and what looked suspiciously like white chocolate buttons were made. That is why the monk came round with the dough balls, which are meant to ensure a long life. I was forced to have two. So, unless they cancel each other out, I may well be around long enough to bore you with more blog posts! These dough balls were followed with a sort of holy nectar that was in a special bowl and was spooned onto your hand, and then you lick it off. In English, the word for this ambrosia is Fanta. Yup. Everyone's favourite (unless you prefer Irn Bru) orange stuff. Apparently it also had a tiny bit of alcohol in it, but given how little of the stuff you get, I don't think there's much possibility of the monks getting hammered. It was all really interesting, especially seeing a large tray of this zitrill sculpted into large slabs of cake, topped with what seemed like red icing and white chocolate buttons, being carried off to be given to the gods, who obviously have a bit of a sweet tooth (perhaps explaining the offerings of Hide & Seek cookies I've seen in various gompas). Exactly what happens with the offering I couldn't exactly determine, but someone or some animal somewhere may well be tucking into mounds of zitrill, and probably tripling their life-span as a result.

I spent much of my time typing up all this, though you'll be reading this on Monday (or at least I'm be posting it then). I have also spent time in the usual Sunday pursuits of table tennis and football. If you're interested, my table tennis has got a whole lot better recently! I no longer get crushed in less than a minute anymore. As for today then, Monday. It has been a fairly normal day really. My little lamas only want to draw now, and are having a hard time with 'quarter to' and 'quarter past'. I have had three lessons today: big and small lamas, plus Dechen in the village. She's reading 'Alice in Wonderland', which is interesting. I haven't seen fit to explain Lewis Carroll's “special” relationship with Alice yet. Nor will I.

I will mention a couple of other things. Firstly is about the word lama. I've used it, like every other Westerner, as a synonym for monk, which is not technically correct. A lama is really a high ranking monk or reincarnation, though rarely is it used by itself and has little meaning by itself. Instead it is usually attached to another word, such as in Dalai Lama and Panchen Lama. The Tibetan word for a normal monk is transliterated as 'trapa', but is said almost as 'tawa'. Despite this, everyone understands what you actually mean when you use the word lama. In addition, the school here is called 'Khampagar Young Lama's School'. Given all this, and the fact that no one would really understand me in the West if I talked about trapas, I will keep on using the words lama and monk interchangeably. Secondly, on the subject of Tibetan words, I've picked up the phrase “inchi gheylah” which means “English teacher” and the term they use to refer to me when they talk amongst themselves in Hindi or Tibetan. They use the same phrase no matter which language they are in (Hindi usually). They also call the Tibetan and English teacher (the one at the office who has turned to drink) as “gheylah” as well. I guess it's not too dissimilar from saying “sir”, which is what they call me in English. On the subject of my lamas, I often think of my beginner class as the baby lamas, or the little lamas, yet the oldest of them is fourteen. In contrast, one of the guys in my advanced class is only fifteen. Odd, that.

As I've mentioned before, Tashi Jong has loads of dogs. When I first arrived there were a few little puppies around. These puppies are quickly growing up, and have now been usurped by some midget puppies with a much greater awwwwwww factor. These new ones were born whilst we were in Manali, and are still at the stage when you can pretty much get a hand all the way around them. One of the older puppies was quite ill a few days back, and I haven't seen it since, so I may be right in suspecting the worst. On a totally unrelated note, we've had a lot more meat recently than usual. The opinion of one of the monks I spoke to was that the new puppies may well not make it through the Winter. If I start talking about being served minute chunks of meat in my lunch, then maybe we'll know how right he was...

Anyway, that's all for now. What started as a quick update has become a bumper issue, so I apologise to you for that! Talk to you soon!

The return from Manali, and the return of the fajitas

I'm back in Tashi Jong now, but I still have things to say about Manali! After my last post, I went off and wandered through the streets, side-streets and markets of the town, which were quite interesting. Whole streets seem dedicated to one single thing, such as shoes, or fruit & veg. I sat outside a tea shop, and was mistakenly given a chai (a welcome mistake, however). I ate that evening at a restaurant recommended by the LP, but was disappointed by my meal. Ok, so I chose my meal at random, but it was still too cheesy, and the chapati and rice were tepid. The best thing about that place were the logo and the owner, who revealed his plans for eliminating Indian corruption (good luck to him) and his disgust for the concrete jungle that Manali has become.

I then met Mike and Bo, and we went off to the Alchemy Lounge, a pub about 5km from Manali. The taxi was a rip-off, but we had no other way of getting there and back, and it was a good pub. Mike was overjoyed at finding some scummy Aussie beer that cost more over here than at home called Victoria Bitter (VB). That night my hotel owner (in Vashisht, if you remember) came up with extra blankets, unasked for, which was very kind.

The next morning I was ridiculously lazy, getting up around 11am (which, I know, is early for you students). I checked out the three temples in Vashisht, which were fairly average really, before having some bright orange veg pakoras at a restaurant that had flies, not-quite-all-there locals, and “special lassi” on the menu. For those what don't know, a “special lassi” is also called a bhang lassi, and is a lassi (a sort of yoghurty drink) laced with bhang (a derivative of marijuana). A quick read of what the LP says on the subject of these drinks is enough to put any would-be users off (it talks about travellers being ill for three days afterwards and getting robbed in states of delirium).

I met up with Mike and Bo again, who were checking into the expensive and fairly swanky looking hotel opposite mine (TVs in the room! What luxury!). In Manali, the two of them spent ridiculous amounts on souvenirs and so on, compared to me, who spent almost nothing.

My hotelier had a very good collection of DVDs (including 'Kids' and 'Dr. Strangelove'); I watched, on his recommendation, 'Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai' which was slightly better than it sounds. In places it was pretty funny, such as an old mafioso mimicking an elk. It was odd to see the mafia, samurai philosophy and black US gangs all mixed up into one film.

That evening I braved the public baths at one of the temples, which was quite good actually. It had water pumped from naturally hot springs in the area.

The next day I went over to see the other two, who were watching, of all things, a US spelling bee. On ESPN. As in the sports channel. We went to the Rainbow Café for a largeish breakfast, before walking back, via shops, to our hotels. I bought (yes, me, buying something!) a hippyish sackcloth hoodie type thing, just to fit in with the Vashisht scene. I went all the way back to Old Manali for a Dylan's cookie (they are good), before heading back into Manali. I saw there a sort of street gig being set up, sponsored by Idea (an Indian mobile company). That was fairly rubbish, so I went to Van Vihar again, which was, this time, full of school kids. Which was bad, because I wanted to go on the swings...

I met up with Mike, Bo and Troy in Manali, where they were debating whether or not to sing in this Idea gig (which was more of a talent scouting thing, it seems). Keen as they were to do 'Waltzing Matilda', they chickened out in the end. We went instead for some food at Chopsticks before Troy left us (their orphanage has a 7pm lockdown).

Back in Vashisht, we went out for dinner to a restaurant called the Freedom Café. I had chicken fajitas which were very nice, but will make a reappearance quite soon. We also got some Foster's, and I gave up on not drinking, though it was only for about two pints' worth. Bo, by the way, is a terrible drinker and was fairly gone after about a pint!

I woke up the next morning very early, to find that those fajitas were not in full agreement with my stomach. During the morning they exited both ways, leaving my feeling less than perfect. I checked out and then had some breakfast (porridge). We went down to Manali and booked our bus tickets for that evening, then hung around Manali doing not very much (internet and eating). We went to the Club House, an HPTDC venture that is basically an overpriced tourist trap. We did some go-karting (for that authentic Manali experience) and played some pool. After a quick dinner at Chopsticks (chowmein) we headed for our buses. Mike didn't travel, in the end, as he felt too ill to travel, so I got the bus back to Tashi Jong alone (we couldn't refund/change tickets or anything like that). The bus ride was fairly dull, though we had to stop twice to change the tyres (worrying? Nah...). I also managed to recolour the side of the bus in another shade of green, only 20km from home. I got to Tashi Jong at 4am, and went straight to sleep.

The next day, Sunday, was lazy and uneventful really. I chilled a bit with the monks and played football. Mike got in in the afternoon. Today we got back into the old routine of teaching and so on. And that, as they say, is that.

McLeod, Manali and something else beginning with 'M'

And so I feel I should continue with the account of my holiday, starting off in McLeod Ganj. If you remember, I'd just been a metre away from the Dalai Lama in our last chapter, before hearing him teach and then typing all that up. I followed that up with lunch at this fairly terrible French place, where I had an overly cheesy pasta thing which would suit a child of about three. Possibly.

I then went back to the Dalai Lama's temple, thinking (correctly) that the crowds would have dissipated by then and that I would be able to have a little look around. It was fairly nice, with some decent sculptures and art work. I then went to the fantastic Tibet Museum, which was small, but full of interesting information and bits and bobs. For the Rs5 entry fee, it was great value for money, though I was disappointed that there was nothing on pre-1949 (pre-Chinese invasion) Tibet, about which I know nothing at all.

We met up with Patrick again and went for coffee that evening at a place called Ogo's. We were met there by Hugh and then went down to meet up with Jeremy and the GAP reps for a GAP dinner. There was the four of us, plus Jeremy, the two GAP reps in Dharamsala (Nyima and Migmar) and the fairly high-ranking official from the Tibetan government in Exile who met us in Delhi over a month ago. He is, basically, a legend. He kept us all entertained and in fits of laughter for the entire evening. He was only partially aided by the vodka. He invented the word yakshit (Tibetan version of bullshit) which we decided to adopt and use from now on. We were on the point of leaving, standing by the door, listening to him yakshitting (as he put it) when the party sort of kicked off again as we took coffee. In the end we returned to our hotel at around 1am to find it shut and locked with the grill pulled down. After ten minutes or so of waiting in the deserted dark streets of McLeod Ganj, ringing the bell to the hotel, we got let in by a member of staff who was too tired to be angry. We were lucky though. Nyima had to stay with Migmar and Patrick on Jeremy's hotel room floor as they couldn't get taxis back home (Nyima) or to his monastery (Patrick). Jeremy told us the next day that Patrick also got stuck in his toilet at 5 or 6 in the morning (broken door). So a fun night all round.

On the next day I got up and had breakfast at Ogo's, where I had (finally!) bacon! It was slightly smoked, but still pretty good. My eggs and tomatoes were also pretty good. I then packed up and left the hotel to meet Jeremy and Migmar to go and see Hugh's monastery (Kirti monastery). We met the monk who acts as secretary at the monastery, and were given khatas. Jeremy asked a bunch of questions about Hugh and was told he was the bewst gapper they'd ever had at Kirti. This was followed by a tour of the monastery, which is very different to Tashi Jong. Whilst TJ is quite open and spread out, Kirti is enclosed and slightly labyrinthine, with passageways and stairways leading off to various bits. We watched the monks doing some pujaing for a little bit (or not as was the case with some of them). Jeremy and Migmar then took me to a Tibetan children's school where GAP are trying to work out a new placement. It was shut. I had lunch at Jimmey's, which was a bit uninspiring.

I then went for a pleases ant 20 minute or so walk up to the village of Baghsu, where I went to the Baghsu waterfall. I walked there with a Brit who wasn't a hippy (a rare find). It was a nice place and there were quite a few tourists (both Indian and Western), whilst further down the river there were loads of people washing clothes and so on (including lots of monks). After chilling there for a bit, I walked back to McLeod bus station. Our bus left at 5pm, so we had to be there by 4.30pm. While waiting for Nadine, I saw Hugh and Patrick texted me. The end result was that we all met up at Nick's for a coffee (Jeremy was there too, we saw Nyima on her way out, and I saw Migmar just after Hugh), so I got to see everyone again before we left for Manali. I also saw some real barefooted hippies. Cool.

The bus left at 4.45pm, so it was a good thing we turned up at 4.30 (as we were told).

The dull bus journey deposited us, unfortunately, on time in Manali at 4am. I was hoping it would be a little late and so we would get in at a half-decent time. But no. A Korean lady who was a totally incompetent traveller, and quite frankly extremely vulnerable too, attached herself to us, so we took her to her hotel, negotiating with the autorickshaw-wallah and the hotelier, and then stayed in her room for a couple of hours before finding somewhere open for breakfast. We went to Johnson's Café which opens at 7am (compared to the rest of Manali: 10am or so) and I had porridge (very nice it was too) and hot chocolate. Johnson's is a rather nice hotel with a very nice restaurant, bar and café as well, so it cost a little bit, but it was worth it.

I then found a hotel in Old Manali which Patrick and Loz had recommended (Rs150 a night for a room that's really a double, including hot water!). The owner, or at least the most prominent member of staff, asked me knowingly if I like “smokes”. I said no. Manali, on a totally unrelated note, as I'm sure he was talking about cigarettes, is infamous for its cannabis culture (the LP even has a special bit warning you about it).

The only drug for me that morning, however, was God. I went to a bit of the mass that Nadine's kids (she is at an orphanage near Manali) go to. It was disappointing, to be honest, as there were very few tears and shouts of joy for an evangelical church. I was expecting miracle conversions, the curing of the disabled and the harrowing of Hell, at the very least, so needless to say, I felt a little let down. An American woman talked to the masses too; it was mostly yakshit that didn't make much sense at all and didn't hold up to any logical thought. But who am I to doubt what she was saying? Praise the Lord and all that. Lunch was chowmein. The folk from Dehra Dun were delayed a bit longer as one of them got ill and couldn't travel straight away.

After a lazy Sunday afternoon, I went for dinner at a place called Mom's Kitchen. If the LP hadn't recommended it, I would have stayed away, and I wish I had. It was overpriced and disappointing. In defence of the LP, the restaurant has moved to new, bigger premises since the review in there; it used to be in a small shop that looks a far more promising place for somewhere with that name. I went pack to the hotel again, stopping only to amuse myself by pretending to be interested at a jeweller's. He was trying to convince me that this ring he had was solid gold, set with real diamonds and sapphire. He started at a price tag of about Rs7000-8000 (less than £100), which doesn't seem that realistic to me, though I know nothing about jewels. Remember, however, that he would probably slash that price by up to half for me and still be making a tidy profit on it. He assured me that when I came back (he obviously took me for more of a sucker than I'd like to think I am) we could talk and have some “smokes”. I haven't gone back.

On Monday morning, I went up to a restaurant called Pizza Olive and had a chai & omlette. It was, admittedly, better than what I have in Tashi Jong, but I paid more than double (Rs 35 = less than 50p). I was a little let down as they didn't have any pancakes or hot chocolate left, but aside from that it was a very nice place to eat. I went for a walk and soon found myself, almost by accident, at the Manu temple. I went in and looked around. It was alright, though nothing special. It had some scary looking statues of various Hindu gods and goddesses inside. I did get a few good views of the hills and mountains (and passes) that form the backdrop to Manali. The mountains are pretty cool, topped with snow and in the clouds in some places.

I ate lunch at Chopsticks in Manali, which was good, before heading up to the Hadimba temple (a.k.a. Dhungri temple, though I may have misspelled that). It was a nice walk up, so I refused a “free” taxi lift. The driver pulled over in front of me after I refused the lift, and pulled out a fairly large bag of some green herb (I can't begin to imagine what herb...) and offered me some. You can guess what I said.

The temple itself is a four-story building made with wood and stone. It has three pagoda like rooves, with the top one being a metal cone on top. It is smallish and square and is covered with intricate carvings of various Hindu myths as well as having loads of animal trophies fixed to the outside walls. Inside was small and pretty dark (you can't go upstairs). There was a small overhang under which the devotees could crouch and make offerings and prayers. Close to the temple is a “fun park” which I ignored (just like I ignored the saffron sellers, despite their insisting they were selling for “good price, sir, very cheap”) and a tree which is a temple. Yeah, that's right. It was festooned with more animal skulls and horns and other offerings. Incidentally, it has been interesting to see what people offer in temples. In my experience, whilst the Hindu deities go in for all sorts, the Buddha appears to have a liking for big packets of biscuits, including my personal favourite: Hide and Seek cookies (the World's Best Moulded Chocolate Chip Cookies).

I went into the Himachal Culture Museum (or something like that) next to this holy tree (Rs10) which was alright. It was empty of people, but full of what you would expect in a place like that (traditional clothing, pots, various things from traditional homes and jewellery – including a couple of necklaces made with Victorian British coins). There were also some scary-looking masks that are worn for a mask dance celebration, photos of HP (especially the Kullu Valley) and some models of various temples (including the Hadimba temple), forts and traditional homes.

I walked down through the woods and back to my hotel before going back to Manali proper. I went to a bookshop down a side-street and broke my rule about not buying any new books, before going for dinner at the Original Sher-e-Punjab. It was a diner-like joint where the owner was watching a service from Amritsar's Golden Temple (Sikh, if you didn't know) on the TV. My food (spaghetti something or other) was a little burnt on the top, as if it had been microwaved a little too long, had indistinguishable veg in it, and the spaghetti looked like it had come from a tin. Despite that, it was still edible.

On the way back to Old Manali, I stopped at another shop where Mustapha offered me a pendant and chain (made with REAL silver and REAL black onyx) for a bargin price of Rs450 (=£5.60 or so). He told me that he wasn't going to go below Rs600 until he found out that I was helping the children. After a discourse on the importance of education in modern Indian society, he told me to name my own price and that he didn't care if he only made Rs40 or 50 profit on it. He revealed (and this I believe) that he was packing up for Goa in the next few days, which is what many people do around here as Old Manali and Vashisht (a village close by) shut down in Winter. I am still “thinking” about it.

I went for breakfast the next morning at Café Amigo's in Manali, where I had an overly milky banana porridge and a very good chai. I then went down to Manali's two Buddhist gompas, followed by a shoe cleaner who just wanted to be friendly (I'm sure). The first gompa was a Nyingma sect one which had no monks and was really a collection of buildings in one complex, surrounded by a load of rubble. There was one hall with a large prayer wheel and nicely decorated walls, and a main prayer hall with prayer wheels around the outside. Inside was a very large Buddha and some pretty scary statues of a couple of Buddhist deities. I paid my Rs5 and got some photos, which will appear in the next two weeks or so.

The second was the Gelukpa Cultural Centre. It was slightly smaller, not a building site and had monks, so all-in-all it was much nicer. They had a little bit of information regarding the Chinese invasion, Tibetan oppression and the fate of the 11^th Panchen Lama (read up on that if you don't know about it). Inside the prayer hall were some nice decorations and statues, as well as a lot of pictures of the Dalai Lama and the 10^th and 11^th Panchen Lamas (there is only one photo of the 11^th in existence, as far as I know), which is true of many Tibetan gompas, especially Gelukpa ones as the DL and PL are of that sect (TJ is Kargyu).

I then went to a wooded natural park called Van Vihar, which had children's playparks, toilets and paddle boats. I missed out on one of those opportunities as the lake was small and stagnant (I have a nice photo of a dead rat/mouse in it). I saw some gentlemen in one of the paddle boats rolling and passing something between them to smoke. Grown men don't usually pass cigarettes between them, do they? (I know 12 year old chavs outside Oddbin's do, but that's different).

I headed back to my hotel after that, but was stopped by an Indian guy I'd met before a few times. He works at a place called Pizza Hut (a rip-off of the fine institution we all know and love) and has an American boss. He invited me to dinner with him (we were to have some vegetables, he said) and that Mike and Bo, who were now in Manali but were catching up on some sleep after the 15hr or so bus ride from Dehra Dun, should come too. I said I'd get back to him. In the end I refused, but at least I did get back to him. I also stopped at Dylan's, a café in Old Manali that is famous for its cookies. I had a marvellous chocolate chai and a sumptuous chocolate chip cookie (freshly baked). I chatted with a Canadian couple before finally getting back to the hotel. That evening, after making my excuses to my friend, I met Mike and Bo and we had dinner at Chopsticks. After a good meal, we wandered around and Bo bought a ridiculous rainbow hat and scarf set (with tassels).

I checked out of my hotel today (Wednesday) and decamped to Vashisht, a small village about 3km up the road from Manali (and so a nice 5km or so walk from Old Manali), a walk that offers great views of the hills, snow-topped mountains and the Rhotangla (Rhotang Pass). It is a bit of a travellers' haunt, though many places are now closed for the Winter, despite the continuing good weather and the handful of tourists still kicking about. I got a room for Rs100 a night and found an open café for lunch (a decent chicken burger and chips – hey I can't eat Indian every day, can I?). The owner and a member of staff (or at least that's what I took them for) offered me a drag on a lit joint they were passing between them and had rolled quite happily in front of me. I was once again forced to politely decline the offer. I went to an internet café in Vashisht, but the connection was down. The internet-wallah tried to charge me the minimum fee for this, but I explained that he could take his minimum fee and insert it in his Rohtangla (though I didn't put it as strongly as that). I wasn't prepared to pay for the 30 seconds it took to discover the internet wasn't working. He relented and I walked down to Manali to the Café Digital (very good and very reliable) to write all this for your viewing consumption.

And with that, I must sign off, but look after yourselves (and each other, as Jerry would say), keep reading the blog and passing on the word to those who aren't, and keep in touch via email too!

I'm Not Dead, Just Busy

That's right folks, despite my absence of more than a week, I'm still alive and well. I have been very busy at Tashi Jong, and my routine there doesn't allow me time to get down to the internet café in Paprola much. I am writing this from McLeod Ganj, where I am starting off a 10-day or so holiday. After a couple of days here, I'm off to Manali (whilst the monks at TJ have a 7-day puja). I have forgotten my journal with the last week or so in it (I'm on to a new one) so I can't really tell you about all that yet - not that there's too much of interest to tell you. So, instead, I'll tell you about this morning's fun.

I got up at 6.45am and we went off to the Dalai Lama's temple to see him teaching. We went with Jeremy Bard (GAP project co-ordinator for NW India) who is visiting us all at the moment and Nyima, our GAP rep in the country who I haven't seen since we first arrived in McLeod Ganj (that's good, though, it means we haven't had any major issues). Nyima knew how these things work - what happens is we are at the temple, and His Holiness walks over from his house, about 20 metres away, opposite the temple. We were standing right next to the steps up to the temple, and so the Dalai Lama walked right past us, perhaps a metre away. He stopped there too, right in front of us, to talk to a lady in a wheelchair. We were close enough to hear him speaking to her (in Tibetan). It was fairly awesome.

The next couple of hours was spent listening to his teaching (and the radio translation) about the post-meditative state, the nature of emptiness, etc.. It's fairly deep stuff, and the translation wasn't exactly perfect, however I did my best to follow it. The teachings were followed by a mass feed of rice and dhal for everyone there (who had a bowl - we didn't). I'm going to find somewhere to eat in McLeod soon, though it's only 12.15 or so.

McLeod is very nice, though full of hippies and people on spiritual-awakening trips (or some nonsense like that). Beyond this, since I've left my journal behind, I have nothing more to say. I will try not to leave you all on tenterhooks for so long again, and I'll certainly pop on the net in Manali at some point. I hope all of you who have just started are settling into to uni well, and that all is well at home.

Talk to you soon!