Hello again, remember me?

Happy New Year!

I am still alive, just too lazy to update. I should mention that this blog is pretty much as up to date as my own journal, so everyone - including myself - is two months behind when it comes to what I've been up to.

I'll quickly (a style we're not used to at all!) sum everything up.

I have celebrated Divali, been to a wedding, met the family and been to various places in the north. I finished teaching on Dec 16th and flew down to Mumbai for a day or two there. From there I went on to spend a fortnight in Goa doing nothing. I'm now in Kerala for about a week or so more, before heading up to Rajasthan and possibly hitting Bodh Gaya and Varanasi (again, but for more than a half day this time) before going back to the monastery for Losar (Tibetan New Year). Then, finally, my travels will come to an end - for now.

So, now we're all up to date in a totally unsatisfactory way. Nb, I'm judging the number of readers of this by the number of comments, so I imagine I'm mostly talking to myself here.

Until next time (if I ever get round to it)!

Unfeasibly Large Update 4 - Lamas Dancing, Mahakala Burning

With my trademark promptness, I am back for another little update. This time it is about Mahakala puja (the last day thereof).

As you may recall, I got back to Tashi Jong at about 11.30pm. The conch shells marking the start of the day's puja were going already (the day's puja started before the day itself). The puja hall had been lavishly decorated inside, and the outside was festooned with multi-coloured lights (with a slightly Indian sense of tackiness). The monks came in, including the Khamtrul Rinpoche and the Dorzong Rinpoche, and began their puja. There was nothing, at this point, out of the ordinary (though the rinpoches don't come to every puja) - there was the usual mix of horns and drums and cymbals and the odd bit of chanting too.

A few of the monks who had been involved in setting up the decorations and preparing various things for the puja were excused from taking part. I hung around, watched the puja and talked with them for a while. I also got to watch some of the behind the scenes work taking place - such as the making of the tormas. Tormas are sort of dough sculptures (made with the same stuff as the life-lengthening zitrills that I mentioned some time ago, I think) and then decorated with dyed butter. They make a lot of sculptures, including one very impressively detailed one depicting the god Mahakala.

As you might expect, I also spent a bit of time seeing what was happening at the kitchens, just to keep in the know about whatever food was coming our way.

Mike turned up at about 2am, accompanied by Loz (the British gapper from Bhuntar, near Manali and Kullu). His monastery is the lineage and sect as ours (Drukpa Kargyud) and the founder began his studies at Tashi Jong, so the two monasteries have a very close connection.
They watched the proceedings for a little bit, before going to sleep. Having just had a 6 hour bus ride (during which they had no seats, and stood about half the way), they were understandably tired. I stayed awake a little longer and got to see, around 4am I think, a special section of the puja, which many of the villagers came up to see (many of them prostrated themselves into arthritis as well - their devotion is incredible).

In this section of the puja, some of the monks - armed with drums - formed a circle around the open area of the puja hall where the sand mandala had been created, and where the tormas and altar stood as well. They circled round this area, stopping at for the rinpoche to mount a low platform at each of the four compass points and for some mantras to be chanted. This went on for a little while, whilst we normal folk watched through the windows (and took photos - especially the Taiwanese visitors). I was beginning to feel the strain of not haing slept for so long, and found myself, with the help of chanting and drums, falling asleep a few times. But I fended off sleep for now.

There was, at some point either before or after this section of the puja, some food going (meat and various veg) which I obviously got a bit of. Eventually, at around 5.20am, I decided to call it a night - as it were - and get a little bit of sleep.

Loz got a proper tour of the monastery in the morning (well, we showed him around a little bit) and, after lunch, we watched the lama dances.

Just as with the black hat dance from so many posts ago, a marquee was put up to shade the dancers and the rinpoche from the sun. Also, as this dance was more important and had more spectators, a few smaller ones were put up for us, and, thankfully, chairs were brought out too.
Parts of the lama dance were the same as the black hat dance, but there were a lot of sections that were new (and a lot of new characters too). Apart from the circle of dancers that was the same as the black hat dance (to the idle spectator), there was also a group of four little lamas in skeletal costumes who came out and did some very quick dancing with lots of spinning. There was also a group of lamas dressed in more elaborate dress and with various animal (and other, more weird and scary, creatures) masks on - the head of whom appeared to be the one dressed in a deer. An important part of his dance was with a knife, stabbing into a box of some sort. I later found out that inside there is, apparently, some sort of model that represents all the bad things of the past, and all the obstacles that lie in our way, and that the stabbing is, obviously, meant to help defeat those obstacles.

The whole dance went on for a good few hours and was well worth seeing. At one point, for the first time in more than a month or two, the heavens opened and we had some rain. The whole atmosphere was really good, and the rain quite welcome. It helped reduce the soporiphic effect of the sun.

That took up the afternoon; the rest of the day was spent doing something, but I don't really remember much of importance. We had dinner down at Davat's restaurant, before returning for the closing ceremony around midnight.

To fill in some time before that, we played a few game of snooker. On the way out, we were invited to join the people outside the shop next to the snooker hall. They were sitting around a fire and were equipped with a half emptied bottle of 8am whiskey. The gathering was a strange one - the Tibetan shop owner, a Tibetan-American school teacher of about 60, an Irish guy called Oliver and the 9 or 10 year old Indian kid who helps out in the shop. They also invited another friend along (who came with more alcohol) to join the party. With this being our monastery and all, there was no way we could join in drinking; when Oliver began making a joint (telling us that "life is good"), we again had to refuse his kind offers. We spent a while with this very strange group, listening to the teacher telling us about his daughter's problems with crystal meth (she's over it now, though) and how he has given up smoking cannabis (before accepting the offer of a smoke from Oliver's joint).

Whilst they got steadily drunk, and more, the closing ceremony got steadily nearer. Not wishing to miss it, we eventually left them and went up to the main square outside the temple. The monks were lined up there, with the tormas, and were chanting various things. Meanwhile a bunch of the local kids (by which I mean those in their 20s), with some of the monks who aren't in the school and are only loosely connected with the monastery (such as our friend Ngawang Palzang who works at the incense factory) leading them, were setting off a load of firecrackers and fireworks.

This being our first, but not last, encounter with Indians and fireworks, we were a little perturbed by them setting off pretty loud firecrackers right next to you, and throwing firecrackers at each other. Not to mention that they set off small spinning fountains on the ground so that they throw out sparks in all directions - and then they play in the firework, jumping over and stamping on the sparks it sends out. It was fairly nuts, at least for us.

Eventually the procession began and they carried the tormas ceremonially down to the school playing field. A pyre had been set up there in preparation for burning all the tormas. The monks formed a large semi-circle on the playing field and began chanting again (accompanied by the drums, horns, etc.). The whole atmosphere had this sort of secret cult feel to it, enhanced by the fact that it was midnight. They then started burning the tormas, increasing further this secret cult aspect of it all.

The only thing that detracted from this was that the people with the fireworks were still going. Now, however, they had added rockets to their arsenal. In England, you plant the rocket in the ground, light the fuse with care from as far away as you can, then run. In India, you hold the rocket in your hand and light the fuse with a lighter, holding on until it launches. Pretty crazy really. When the main Mahakala torma was added to the flames of the pyre, a huge string of firecrackers and a load of other rockets and explosions were all set off together to celebrate it. The chanting faded away against the noise of the fireworks.

And after all that fun, everyone went to sleep, including us. Next episode, when it finally appears, should cover Divali and maybe the Indian wedding as well. Until then, goodbye, and sorry for being so useless at keeping you up to date!

Unfeasibly Large Update 3 - Momos and More in McLeod

And so this epic update continues, though I dare say we've lost some readers half way through due to exhaustion. Can't be helped I'm afraid...

Anyway, I arrived into McLeod on the Monday morning and stayed until Wednesday, during which time I did a good bit of shopping - McLeod is very good at taking away your money - and some sightseeing too. I went down to the offices of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile via a nice little shortcut which is, in my opinion, one of the nicest walks I've done here. You go along a small path which encircles the Dalai Lama's temple and is decorated with hundreds of prayer flags and with rock paintings of various Buddhist mantras (especially Om Mani Padme Hum). The path splits in two after a couple of minutes - one to the government area, the other continuing round the DL temple complex. The latter first goes past an amazing area where there are a couple of elaborate stupas, a long wall of prayer wheels including a few large wheels, some inscriptions in Tibetan, Hindi and English about the Tibetan cause, and more prayer flags than a hundred people can shake a hundred sticks at. It is a fantastic place to see, especially in the late morning, when the sun shines down on it.

As I said, the down path takes you to the CTA (Central Tibetan Administration) area. The government buildings are, as you'd expect, nothing special. Much more interesting are the non-government (or at least non-administrative) buildings: the Tibetan Library (technically the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives), Nechung Monastery and, a little further down, Men-Tsee-Khang - the Tibetan Medical and Astrological Society. I visited the library museum (the library itself is just a bunch of books...) which was pretty interesting. It was full of statuettes of various Buddhist deities and a few thangkas. There was also a sand mandala, which, I think, wasn't as good as our one at Tashi Jong (but then that may just be a bit of parochial pride slipping in).

Nechung monastery, where Patrick (an Aussie gapper) is, is a nice little monastery, home to the Tibetan National Oracle (more on that in a later post). Despite being a nice monastery, it doesn't really have much (other than the oracle, of course, and Patrick) to set it apart from any other Tibetan Buddhist monastery. I didn't see Patrick as he was away on a ten day vispassana meditation retreat - ten days of meditating under strict rules (waking up at 4.30am and no talking, reading, writing or eye contact for the whole ten day period). Men-Tsee-Khang (a general term for any Tibetan traditional medical centre) is worth a visit for its museum. The ground floor is fairly dull - a whole bunch of minerals and herbs used in tradtional Tibetan medicine - but downstairs is an interesting collection of thangkas instructing people, in explicit and graphic detail, on various medical complaints. Also at MTK, you can get your entire life planned out for you in a detailed astrological prediction. All for the low, low price of $60. Well, I'm not about to fork out £30 for some astrological bullshit (or so I perceive it) and anyway, I'm not sure I want to know my entire future, it would ruin the surprise. Either way, though, it didn't matter as they weren't accepting any more requests as they already had a waiting list to rival the worst of NHS hospitals.

I also visited TIPA (the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts) whilst here. The LP told me that I could go and watch the lessons at TIPA. A very big sign on the gate begged to differ. It was a little disheartening given the kilometre or so walk up there, but the miser in me was glad I didn't take a rickshaw ride instead. A 2 minute walk down some stairs from McLeod leads you to a lovely little monastery called Dip Tse Chok Ling (or Dipsy, as I call it). It is very nice because it is quite small, with about 50 monks, and, despite being within 2 minutes of McLeod, feels like a totally detached other world because it is down this short flight of stairs.

A long kilometre (longer than normal ones, but the sign insists it is only 1km) out of McLeod is the Church of St. John in the Wilderness. This, surprise surprise, is a Christian church. It has a decent-sized cemetery which you can wander around. Among the graves of interest are a host of people who fell victim to the 1905 quake and a large monument to Lord Elgin (he of the marbles), who was Viceroy of India (as well as, at other times, governor to various other places, including Jamaica). The church itself was locked, but didn't look too special (something about corrugated iron roofing doesn't really befit a church), though the LP insists the stained glass windows are nice. But then the LP insists that TIPA's lessons are open to visitors, and that a run-down, dilapidated building in Amritsar that is undergoing much-needed renovation is a "must-see museum".

And so we come to the momos I mentioned in the title. I did a cooking course on the Wednesday, all about momos. I learnt to make veg momos, potato momos, spinach & cheese momos (which are bloody good) and chocolate momos (which are also really nice). As the only pupil on that day, I was, alas, forced to eat almost everything we cooked.

A couple of hours before leaving McLeod to go home, I ran across one my institute monks, Ngawang Sangpo. He had been in McLeod visiting his cousin (I think, my memory and his English are both less than perfect). I got the bus back to Tashi Jong with him, which was good as I had some company. Also, there's nothing better than walking through the streets of McLeod with a monk by your side. We arrived home at 11.30pm, and thus began the Adventure of the Last Day of Mahakala Puja. Which, just to keep you on edge, I will cover in the next episode of this frankly disgustingly long update.

Until then, goodbye!

Unfeasibly Large Update 2 - Dalhousie and Chamba

I've remembered one more thing I had forgotten - I was nearly pickpocketed. The audacity of it! We were at a tea stand which was crowded with people (like the rest of this country) when I felt a hand making its way into my pocket. Without waiting to see quite what it was after, I crushed it up against the tea stand, then put my own hand into my pocket. The would-be thief quickly pulled out, empty-handed (I checked). I turned round to look at him, and he did his best job of not noticing.

Anyway, as promised here comes the story of Dalhousie and Chamba.

After returning from Amritsar, I had a couple of day teaching (Monday and Tuesday) before a surprise holiday on Wednesday. I took this opportunity to try and send a parcel. I first went into Paprola, where no one spoke enough English to tell me what to do to get my parcel wrapped, so just told me to go to Palampur. What fun that was, I had to go to four different shops to get it done: first the cloth shop to get the fabric to wrap it, then the tailor to actually wrap it, then the book seller to get some wax to seal it, and finally a shop that was pretty much bare and had no real purpose, as far as I could see, to get the sealing done. Finally, once all that was done, I managed to get it sent.

The puja began in earnest on Thursday. The mandala was all finished (and it was amazing) and the puja hall was being decorated. I left for Kangra in the morning to see the temple and fort there. I navigated my way through a maze of alleyways of shops selling offerings (such as garlands of money) which was very interesting. Also, with it all being religious products, I wasn't hassled at all. The temple itself was fairly unspectacular and, despite what I'd been promised, there were very few hornets on the floor (the one you walk barefoot on). I purchased a clay black, red and silver scary religious mask thing on the way out before going up to Kangra Fort. It was fairly good, though largely ruined (thanks to the 1905 earthquake). After that I went to a Jain temple opposite the Fort. The temple was fairly similar to many Hindu temples, but with different idols and all in marble. I communicated with a couple of Jain women living in the temple via sign language, and was shown their rooms and the view from the roof. They then gave me a red wristband (which they had to get a man to put on for me). Very strange, but very interesting nonetheless.

I stayed in McLeod that night and left earlyish for Dalhousie. I walked the long way round to my hotel (that's what happens when you let an Israeli direct you from an LP map) which was pretty nice. It had a good view of the valley from the terrace, and my room was a double with a TV at the price of a single (off-season prices). I then explored Dalhousie a bit. And found virtually nothing. Dalhousie, or Dullhousie as it should be called, has a massive zero sights and activities in the LP (though it says that the place is "nicer (some would say) than Shimla". Buttered rollocks. The only thing half worth seeing were a handful of Tibetan rock paintings (which took up about five minutes), a pair of churches (one closed, the other nothing special) and the views (nothing I hadn't seen before). The most entertaining part of my stay in Dullhousie was going to a dhaba and trying to ascertain just what was "special" about their "special dhal". I was told that it was "very special, sir, what I mean to say, sir, is that it is extraordinary"; I feigned ignorance and got something else.

The next morning I fled Dullhousie and took the bus to Chamba. The bus ride was quite fun as the views going down into the valley (Dullhousie 2200m, Chamba 990m) were pretty good (I was on the wrong side of the bus, though, to really appreciate them). I got another cheap double with TV in Chamba before exploring the town a bit. It was very Indian (Dullhousie has a worn-out, dilapidated ex-Raj-era town feel to it), in a good way. After lunch at a dhaba (the real name for the "road side thali" places I talked about in an earlier blog) I went to a museum. The free admission has been augmented to the tune of Rs50 since (perhaps because of) the LP visited. It was a pretty interesting museum nonetheless, with lots of H.P. cultural relics.

I then went to the town's main attraction (or I believe it is meant to be): the Laxmi-Narayan temple complex. It is a complex of six Hindu temples in the sikhara style, which, for those of you who aren't Himachali Hindu temple architecture buffs, means there is a tall stone monument, ornately carved with various deitific (probably not a word, I know, so I'm coining it now) images, fronted with a porch of sorts. Inside each temple was another (kind of tacky really) image of a deity. It was very good to see, but not amazingly special since Chamba is absolutely chock-a-block with temples in this style (I found loads just wandering around) and Baijnath, just a few km down the road from Tashi Jong, has a really old temple (c. AD800) in a similar style.

Wandering the markets that evening I came across a must-have maharaja hat. I was sorely tempted, and resolved to buy it the next day. I had totally forgotten that the next day would be Sunday, and so I unfortunately left Chamba empty-handed.

On Sunday I did a lot of, so to speak, street-walking. Chamba's posse of backstreets and alleyways, dotted with traditional style houses and a good smattering of temples, was very entertaining to walk through. I hiked up a mammoth staircase to reach another two temples at the top of the hill that afternoon. The next morning I got a bus back to McLeod Ganj at 8am. Typically, for India, the day before I'd been trying to work out what time the bus was. The LP says 6am, the hotelier at the place I had dinner said 7am, my own hotelier and the HPTC (HP Transport Corporation) chap said 8am and a group of foreigners talking in English with their Indian guide whom I couldn't help but over hear said 9am. I plumped, correctly, for 8am, arriving in McLeod Ganj at a decent time in the afternoon.

And then...

Well you'll have to wait for the next episode. I've already racked up a fairly substantial internet fee writing all this, so you will have to wait a little longer for the rest of the tale. Plus, I haven't written it into my journal yet, so it would take even longer to write about. I have a lot to tell you, still, including McLeod Ganj, my cookery course, the end of Mahakala puja, Divali (anything goes), an Indian wedding and a visit to the Tibetan National Oracle. Not to mention yesterday's fun: DGL nunnery, Baijnath and Bir. Yikes!

Unfeasibly Large Update 1 - What I Forgot Last Time

I must admit that I completely forgot a few things from Amritsar, many of which I've since forgotten again. This is what I've remembered I've forgotten, so to speak:

On our last night in Amritsar, we were sitting around in the GT, when we soon found ourselves totally surrounded by Punjabis, who were fascinated by Westerners. At the centre of the melée was a kid of about 7 or 8 who was leading our interrogation. Everything he said was greeted with howls of laughter from the others, though we didn't get a word as he spoke no English. We had a large (i.e. fat, a sign of wealth in Punjab) guy of around 20 next to us translating (he said) what the kid was saying. Most of his questions, apparently, were just the ordinary "what is your father [sic] name, sir?" and so on; either Punjabis are very easily amused, or we weren't being told something.

On the other hand, the joke was still on them as, bored of being ourselves, we adopted fake names. I was Björn from Iceland for an evening; it was more fun that way. Eventually we had amassed such a crowd that the easy-going Sikh guards (they were happy to pose for a photo with us earlier) came along with their spears and dispersed our admirers. Even after that, we were trailed by some of them until we split up, doubled back, and eventually lost them.

I had, amazingly, forgotten a little incident at the Mata Temple on the way back from the border ceremony at Attari. We noticed that a recitation or teaching of some sort was being filmed, so we (of course) sat in the small crowd watching it. Perhaps sensing that Sikhs had won us over with their langer, we were provided with some good food: a potato curry with a pastry biscuit. Very nice. Still, it wasn't the same as a free 24 hour kitchen...

Anyway, that's all I can remember having forgotten off the top of my head. Next issue: Dalhousie and Chamba!

Sorry...

I promise to do a big series of big updates some time soon. I've been very busy recently, so there is lots to write about - the puja, my holiday and Divali. By the time I next write I may have an Indian wedding to add to that (fingers crossed). Anyway, just so you know, I'm still alive and having fun. Hope all is well at home!

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!