Adventure to India

Amritsar, Our Home and Panjab University, Chandigarh

2012-01-13T19:45:00.000-08:00

I received some fantastic news today... but you'll just have to wait.

As you may remember, Eric and I had two weeks to roam through northern India. We chose to spend our first week in Amritsar. We spent the first night in the hotel that we adored so much (primarily because of a little boy, Chinpreet, who treated each of us like respected ambassadors visitng his father's hotel. (Keep in mind, this young man is 7 years old, but acted like he was 35! A little gentleman/business man, that's for sure.)

Anyway, our first week of vacation started with a mini "road trip" to Amritsar. Eric and I were sick (quite literally, for me) of the bus trip to Amritsar from the first time we went, and so we decided to be a little more venturesome while avoiding the local bus. So what did we do? We took the local train! (also known as the Toy Train).

Why do they call it the Toy Train? Well, it quite literally looks like a toy train enlarged just for real people to take a ride in! That's how they want you to feel, but really, it's a toy train because once you're inside with the other million people going to Amritsar, you feel like you're a doll packaged inside a Christmas train ready to be set under your tree. In fact I was lucky to have a seat... but then again I was sitting on one butt cheek, yup! Count'em ONE BUTT CHEEK the entire way from Kangra to Pathankot. That's 4 hours! My left quad was sore just from holding myself up!

Now as crazy as this sounds, I'm always up for a workout, so I guess this didn't bother me as much as you would think. The duration of the train ride ended up being quite pleasant actually, the scenery was breath-taking and some nice girls painted a henna design on my arm, starting at my right hand and ending at my elbow practically! Then the last 30 minutes was filled with a little boy trying to get me to dance (and sing) even while crammed together like sardines. I must say, this was one time when asked to dance, that I desperately refused the request. Then our journey ended with lots of pictures of us with our neighboring seat-occupiers. All-in-all a nice little adventure. Oh but it didn't stop there.

We were in Pathankot, still another 2 hours from Amritsar. While waiting for our next train we ran into a little trouble. One man who spoke English stopped to talk to us while we were seated on the cement floor of the outdoor train station. After just speaking with us just a minute or two, it caught me by surprise, but I suddenly noticed a large gathering of Indian men (only) around us as we remained seated on the ground. We were not seated for long. As you can imagine, we felt quite intimidated by the at least 50 men surrounding us so Eric and I stood up and gathered our belongings closer to us. The original man who spoke to us was just curious, and meant no harm. Honestly, I think everyone was just curious onlookers since we were the only white (*ahem half-white) people in the train station.

The conversation remained harmless until a young man around the age of 25 dressed in an all white kurta and pyjama, with a bold purple colored turban, and a thick black beard butted into the conversation. He heard me say that I am Panjabi, and I explained to him that only my father is from Panjab and my mother is American. He seemed fine with that, but was disturbed at the fact that Eric and I were together. He decided to test our nerves (mine for sure) by disrespecting our relationship. Needless to say this discussion didn't last long, not with me around anyway.

He then discovered I don't speak Punjabi (I was doing really well understanding his melange of Punjabi and English, until he asked me whether I speak it... I, ofcourse, said Main Punjabi bol thori thori. Apparently little little just isn't enough. He spouted out, "You're not Punjabi if you can't even speak the language!" And that was the icing on the cake.

You know what I did?

I threw him onto the open train tracks.

Ah, just kidding!

I did what any respectful American would do when they're fired up...

I let out a "Yo Momma" insult.

That's right. I said, "Yo Momma (Note: "Yo Momma" is just for writing flair.) didn't raise you very well," I said, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. Just leave."

(Thank you, Thumper!)

And would you believe it? That man left without a word. When I told my Dad this story, all he could say was God bless that man because he didn't harm us. Dad's right. God bless him, for listening (cuz I was ready to give him a piece of American Hoo Yah! (Hey. I can dream.)

Let's hop to our time spent in Amritsar... we stayed with my Uncle Master Bua Singh, Auntie Manjit, and my cousin, Harmeet. This was a fantastic next few days! Eric and I were spoiled by our family... drinking fresh water buffalo milk everyday, fresh butter, yogurt... I mean you name it, and it was fresh! We were dining at some of the finest restaurants in Amritsar. Eric gained about 10lbs in 5 days! You know him and milk... he was downing this stuff like crazy! A friend in Amritsar told me that people who want to be smart drink cow's milk and people who want to be strong drink buffalo milk. That just means buffalo milk is a lot creamier than cow's milk.... but damn it's GOOD! (And that's coming from a girl who rarely swears.)

Another funny thing about Amritsar was that we basically had a bodyguard wherever we went. Eric and I would even scheme how to escape him. One time we wrote notes in the back of the car making plans of how we'd get away in the mall. Later we were meeting with a friend in the neighborhood my Auntie lived and the father who spoke decent English was looking at my little notebook. I discovered that he was reading our notes about how we would lose our body guard. Imagine me trying to explain that one.

After Amritsar, was our journey to Chandigarh, the home of my Dad's university stomping grounds, Panjab University, Sector 14. Yup, Chandigarh is the only planned city in India. It's divided into sectors and based on the model of a human body. Pretty freakin' neat, huh?

We went to Chandigarh almost solely to get my Dad's degree certificate. This was an adventure on its own. We started by trying to find the Pharmacy School, which was at least a mile from the centre of campus. Once we reached the Pharmacy school we just barely found the Dean of the Pharmacy School. He was just arriving to his office, and invited us in for tea and cookies. We stayed there for about 2 hours, getting a letter of confirmation saying my Dad graduated from Panjab University. We still needed the actual certificate though. This was like a wild goose chase. We were sent to the Certificate Section, in the main administrative building. The guards outside would only allow one of us in because we didn't have a badge (highly secured place for some reason) so I went in, while Eric waited on a bench nearby (this happened atleast 4 times). I found the Certificate Section after walking up 5 stories. Here, I found the head of the Certificate Section, Mr. Soni. I can only describe him as that Bank Manager on Mary Poppins who is really cranky, and tries to get the kids to save their Toppins instead of feeding the birds...don't worry he turns good. By the end he enters a never-ending laughing fit due to a joke about a man with one leg. If you don't know what I'm talking about then you're quite confused, but if you do know then... God bless ya, because you're just as crazy as I am. :)

Anyway after waiting in boundless lines, shoving impatient students and commuters out of the way, walking up and down five flights of stairs 3 times in a day and just praying that all the people who told us we wouldn't be able to get the certificate were wrong. We finally completed the application after 4 days, and signed a paper confirming that the University will send the certificate to our address in the U.S.

This brings me back to the beginning. The news we received today was that the certificate actually arrived! My Mom was the first to tell us! I can't even express the feeling of accomplishment after going through so much. Honestly, we spoke to about 10 people about getting the certificate and every single person told us that we were going to need to bribe the adminsitration, others said that we had to have written consent from my father. But we were persistent and it paid off! Just goes to show you that one approach isn't always the best, and just because one way doesn't work, doesn't mean there isn't another method to git r' done!

Not Your Average Trip to the Border By Eric

2011-07-30T04:32:00.000-07:00

The Atari / Waggah Border

We arrived Sunday late afternoon to Pammi's Auntie Manjit's house. They live in a neat little farming village where the narrow streets are paved only in brick. Cars cannot pass through the narrow corridors so we must walk about 3 minutes from their car carriage. Pammi and I had just shelled out 400 rupees for a rickshaw which should have cost 20 (the hotel reserved it for us and we thought they would have been more honest about the price). Arriving into their home we were welcomed and immediately taken into their living room and offered customary chai and some snacks. There was a short pause in the discussion and it seemed no one knew what to say. That's when Harmeet, Pammi's cousin, said, "OK, now let's go to the border."

We drove for only about 20 minutes until the highway approached the border. Suddenly, instead of dodging dogs, cyclists, and scooters who are driving against traffic, we are trying to follow orders given by military traffic cops strapped with machine guns while 10 year old kids are banging on our windows trying to sell us water and Indian flags. After parking, it's a 1km walk to the border, but there are two lines; one for men and one for women. The women's line was non-existent and they could just walk at their own pace freely towards the border. The men's line started near the parking lot and looked as if it was as long as the road. Well, we weren't going to let Pammi waltz off to the Pakistani border by herself while we waited in a line with no end in sight, so we decided to head home and come back the next day, vowing to leave much earlier to avoid such a long line.

On Monday we made our 2nd attempt to see the border and left just as late as the previous day, as any of you familiar with Indian time would expect. We parked and walked back out to the main road to find the line just as long as the day before. Apparently you can skip the line if you have a passport, so Pammi and I were told to walk with all the women. Of course the Indian men weren't happy to see me passing them as they waited in line in the 90 degree evening sun. 5 pat-downs and 4 passport checks later, we arrived in the VIP section of the stadium. Yes, stadium.

I guess I should explain. India and Pakistan each have huge gates blocking the road just on their side of the border and a ceremonial arch straddling the road about 150m back from the border. In between, is stadium seating all along the road except for the last 50 meters or so to prevent the crowd from throwing objects at the other side. The India side must have sat 5,000 or so, and the Pakistani side slightly less. The Pakistani side actually had a much nicer arch, painted all white and designed in historic fashion, with a portrait of its leader hanging over the road. The women and men sat on opposite sides of the road, with the women's section noticeably only half full. The Indian arch was actually quite plain looking, made of brick and metal - kind of ugly.

India had the crowd though. Led by what I can only describe as a male cheerleader dressed in white with a referee's whistle, the Indian crowd would clap along to the music and chant "Hindustan Zindabad" (India, Bravo!) every now and then. Women and children took turns running Indian flags down the road to the border and back. As only women were allowed on the street, Pammi bounced into line while I sat back to take everything in. When it was her turn to run the flag, she carried it full speed ahead like she was sprinting for the endzone in her bright yellow salwar. When she came back to our seats, we talked about how awesome it was that you get to participate in the celebration. I didn't know how much of an understatement this was, although with Pammi maybe I should have seen it coming.

About a minute later the running of the flags was over, but the music continued. The Indian and Pakistani sides both had music blaring from their stands, but the Indian women danced freely while on the Pakistani side they stood still. Soon a number of women took their dancing out on the street, and you know Pammi bounded down the VIP bleachers as quickly as she had run the flag. She danced and danced, and once she was in her zone, you know nothing could stop her! A circle formed around her as the Indian women took turns dancing with Pammi. The crowd took notice. By the time 'Jai Ho!' played on the loudspeakers, the crowd was hers. The men whistled, the women threw their hands up and danced along in their seats and everyone clapped along. After this song, the guards ushered the crowd of dancing women off of the street so as to start the show, but Pammi kept on dancing. They let Pammi and the other best dancer stay out on the street for another 3 songs. They were literally the center of attention, and they played off each other and off of the crowd while dancing their hearts out.

Pammi finally took her seat and the ceremony began. The eight biggest Punjabis in the whole military took turns marching in two, as fast and proud as they could, toward Pakistan. Upon reaching the gate, they each did a high kick and stomped twice at the Pakistani side. They took turns doing this for about ten minutes while pumping up the crowd. The Pakistani's were doing the same. Then all of them marched to the border and flung the gate open in unison with the Pakistani gate, and did some more high kicks, stomps, and salutes to the Pakistani guards. From our angle it looked like the Indian and Pakistani soldiers were taking turns kicking each other in the rear, but in actuality no one crosses the line. The two sides coordinated a spectacular show synchronizing every kick and salute, and finally they guided the flags down from the flagpoles at the exact same speed so as not to offend the other side. Once the flags were down, the gates were slammed shut, as if to say "you're not welcome" and the Indian flag was carried Lion King style back down the road through the roaring stadium.

The show was then over, and immediately hundreds of Indians rushed forward to get their pictures taken in front of the Pakistani border. As Pammi and I had not been allowed to sit with Harmeet and his friend, Bicki, we started down the road for our 1km walk back to the car. This proved to be a much harder task than we thought, as Pammi had obtained a semi-celebrity status during her dancing act. She was also wearing the brightest yellow dress making her easier to spot in a crowd than a 6'4" white guy. "Hello ma'am, one snap." "Beautiful dancing ma'am, one photo." "Hello sir, please one snap with your friend." There were at one time fifteen phones and cameras out taking non-stop pictures of us as new people jumped next to us for a second, said thank you, and immediately was pushed aside by the next person eager for a photo. After a few minutes of this I decided we had to go, and pulled Pammi away from the crowd. Walking at a brisk pace, we only stopped for two or three quick photos with a nice family here or a horny teenager there, making sure to continue walking before another crowd could gather.

The sun set over the rice fields as we drove back to Amritsar sweaty, exhausted, and exhilarated from the excitement at the border.

We will miss you, McLeod Ganj!

2011-07-21T04:27:00.000-07:00

We've left McLeod Ganj; finished our 2 months of volunteering; and said goodbye to our new friends from all around the world whom we met on our short stay in the Tibetan colony. It's bittersweet leaving McLeod Ganj. We couldn't have asked for more from our experience given the timing and location. For those of you who aren't familiar with exactly why Eric and I decided to venture off to India for 3 months, here goes.

Both of us had our reasons, I should not speak for Eric, but as for me. I felt like this... I'm 25 years old and still felt too naive for my own good. I'm this crazy ambitious woman who wants to find the best way to help the world, but I didn't feel like I knew enough about what was wrong in the world to really know what needs attention. Honestly, you can read as much as you like, but without experiencing it for yourself, it is hard to identify or relate with the people you want to help. Very simply put, this is why it was necessary for me to volunteer in a developing country. Yeah, I know that's so vague...developing country. But I got what I wanted out of the experience!

McLeod Ganj is a Tibetan colony, but not only Tibetans live here, the original inhabitants called Gaddi Nomads still live here, in addition to Kashmiris, and Indians from Dharamsala both poor and wealthy. We taught a class of Tibetans (and sometimes Japanese, Korean, and Indian) students 5 days/week for 1 hour, then directly afterwards we facilitated the English conversation class for another hour (which means we posted discussion topics, instructed volunteers on what to do, and ensured volunteers were spread evenly throughout the room).

In the morning, Eric's primary responsibility was volunteer coordination, meaning he and Rabsel (one of the our favorite favorite LHA employees and good friends) corresponded with prospective volunteers, interpreting confusing and sometimes absurd e-mails, ensuring all expenses and volunteer positions were covered, and that all volunteer arrival and departure logistics were taken care of. They dealt with many situations throughout their time, and built a trusting relationship with each other. Eric and Rabsel will certainly miss each other! As will I, Rabsel is a hardworking, honest man. A man whom I would trust with anything. He works so hard so that his children will have a proper education. He really was an honor (and fun) to speak with every morning. What can I say, the man has a great sense of humor and can speak English really well!

Eric had more of a steady position whereas I did a hodge podge of things (basically whatever random requests they had). For the first week or two I streamlined LHA's financial statements, so that they were easier to read and easier to update. Then I wrote an article for the local magazine, and edited some letters for the Director. About a month into volunteering, I did not feel like I was learning enough on the job, so in addition to helping to edit letters at LHA, I sought more projects. I found another organization called Learning and Ideas for Tibet (LIT) and helped them to register on a new volunteer website that would expose them to a wider volunteer network. I also completed a grant proposal (with the valuable help from an Australian volunteer named Kirsty and my dearest, Eric. While I was sick, they both chipped in to finish the proposal in time for the deadline). In addition while at LIT I helped to assemble a uniform curriculum for their classes in collaboration with a British volunteer named Jessica.

I was still teaching and facilitating classes with Eric at LHA, but I needed more on my plate. Downtime, just isn't my friend. At LHA, I helped to edit two editions of the local magazine as well. This was good fun and good experience, because I was reminded of how meticulous a newspaper editor needs to be.

Eric wanted to learn about other NGOs so he sought out a non-profit called Mountain Cleaners. He met with the founder, and then proceeded to create a website map for her, making it easier to update.

In regards to NGOs that was the extent of our services, but trust me, it was a lot. We jumped right into our volunteer experience! In fact, we also helped our students outside of class. We helped one of our monk friends to write a letter in English to his friend in Australia. We also helped a Tibetan friend apply for permanent residence in another country. The application was horrendously long. I really think that the administration weeds out those who do not put the time and energy into completing the paperwork properly. But we all put our best foot forward!

We helped not only one friend, but also his cousin apply for permanent residence. This was a feat in its own because our friend's English was not very clear, and his cousin spoke absolutely no English;therefore, our friend was our translator! Just imagine trying to learn a person's life, addresses, family members, whole history in a different language, with vague descriptions... Well, we received vague descriptions at first, and then we asked the best questions to elicit the most details from our friend/translator. Throughout this we learned so much of their treacherous journeys across the Nepali Himalaya... that's right, folks, the very same row of mountains as Mt. Everest.

In order to escape from China, thousands of Tibetans hiked through the snow-covered Himalayan mountains! I'm telling you, these people have some of the strongest willpower in the world! Many Tibetans, about 1 million out of 6 million have left their families in Tibet, to seek a better education in another country. Many of them, made this decision on their own when they were teenagers! A very different decision than teenagers in the Western world need to make at that age. Many kids in the Western world are trying to find ways to get out school, while Tibetan teenagers are hiking through the Himalayas for a month to set foot in a proper classroom. Wow... the world is so different. Globalization can only assimilate some things, and willpower through blood is not one of them. Tibetans are strong people. Period. (Full stop, for Tibetans reading this.)

One of the last assignments we had our class complete was a letter to President Barack Obama! I've got to give kudos to Eric, this was his fantastic idea. We taught them the professional format for writing a letter, gave them some tips for writing the content, corrected their letters, and sent them all within about 4 days! Our students had never written a professional letter before, so we explained to them that this could be used for school, work, anything like that. They were thrilled with the assignment, and even students from other classrooms turned in letters. From this assignment, not only did our students learn how to put together a professional letter, but they were also practicing their freedom of speech, a right that they did not always have. We told them that this does not have to be their last letter they write to the President or to an administration, in fact I hope they write many more letters in their lifetime. Freedom of speech is a valuable right to practice. (And just so you know, we read an article on CNN saying that President Obama reads at least 10 letters/day that are sent to the White House, perhaps luck will be with us and he will read and reply to one of our student's letters! AH!)

We spent a lot of time volunteering, but in our spare time, Eric and I planned for our next classes, dreamed about life in Boston, (and foods we would eat once we were back in the U.S.). We played Gin Rummy (Shout out to Tenzin Dawa!), LOTS of basketball, Yoga (just me, Eric wouldn't go), dined at all kinds of restaurants (we had no kitchen at home :( ), and ate our own dietary creations on our rooftop deck. We went hiking (as you know) to Triund, Kareri Village, 2 waterfalls, and some nearby towns, attended a Cricket match with a group of energized Punjabi friends, and took a memorable trip to Amritsar. We attended 2 religious/philosophical teachings given by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and went to cultural concerts and demonstrations at the local Tibetan Day School. We even took Hindi lessons in our spare time! (Thank goodness because this was critical to getting around Punjab during our vacation time.) We helped a dear friend celebrate his birthday, the American way, and went to a few dance parties and shopping during our stay. We learned how to make Tibetan bread and pizza as well, and shared delightful memories with friends throughout our stay. Oh! And if you haven't noticed already, we learned a heck of lot about Tibetans and the local Indians! Oh! AND we washed our clothes by hand once, twice, sometimes three times a week, while trying to gauge when the monsoon rains would come so that we could hang our clothes outside. Woo Woo! No laundry service for us! So yeah... really a mix of everything, huh? Well, I got a request from a friend at home, *ahem, Nirut* to tell y'all what the heck us kids have been doin' on a daily basis around here... so in as brief a way as a talkative girl like me can do... there you go!

A Brief, yet Meaningful Walk Throughout McLeod Ganj

2011-07-21T04:07:00.000-07:00

July 13th was the 60th year anniversary of the Liberation of Tibet. On July 13th in 1951 China claimed Tibet as its own, thus starting 60 years of tyranny and infringement on Tibetans' freedom. The Organization called Students for Free Tibet put on a demonstration to spread awareness of the true meaning of this date. Sixty students, representing 60 years of occupation marched through the streets in a long queue to the beat of a Tibetan drum. The deep tone of the drum echoed through our ears as we marched, each student wearing a black t-shirt labeled "Free Tibet," each wearing a black armband, and holding a black flag. The demonstration lasted only 30 minutes, ending with a speech, from the leader of the organization, who let his heart speak aloud for all onlookers to hear. The demonstration was quite a message to travelers in the region who are not familiar with the situation in China. I hope that it makes them ask questions. Their curiosity can and will certainly give Tibetans the opportunity to return to a free or at least autonomic Tibetan region.

Trekking to Kareri Village

2011-07-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

We woke up on Saturday morning thinking that we were headed to an Indian wedding in nearby Dharamsala. But when I went out to buy our daily breakfast of homemade Tibetan bread, I ran into our friend, Rahul, who was supposed to be taking us to his friend's wedding. Rahul is one of the hardest workers I've met; therefore, it wasn't a surprise when I heard him call out, “Parminder!” and then proceed to tell us that he would not be able to go to the wedding today because he must go to work. He did say, however, that his brother, Mahinder, was going to his village, Kareri, and would be happy to take us there.

Kareri village has no road built to it, so Rahul said that we would take a bus for about an hour and a half to the end of the road, then we would hike the rest of the way... about 5 km or an hour and a half hike up the mountain to his village. We had heard about this village and had been eager to see it, so we jumped at this opportunity! Now I did consider the fact that we would be staying at his family's house, so there may be temporary consequences for our stomachs when we returned, but nonetheless were curious at what we would find. So off we went! :)

We met Mahinder at 10:25am and began our journey... which was far longer than we expected. We started off towards the taxi stand, Eric and I thinking that we would grab a taxi to meet the bus in Dharamsala... but we kept walking... through the forest, along a dirt road... it didn't take long for us to realize that we weren't just on our way to a bus stand, but we were walking from McLeod Ganj to Kareri Village! AH! Now, from what we're told this is only about 13 km, or approx. 8 miles. Honestly, that's not a far hike. But, see, Kareri Village is located on the top of a mountain that is 1800 meters, or 200 meters higher than McLeod Ganj. Not too mention that in order to get there, we had to walk over at least two mountains! So our 13 km hike through forests, monsoon rains, down streams, up and down mountains, took us 6.5 hours to complete... just you wait!

As I mentioned before, we started our trek walking through a taxi stand, then up our first mountain towards the Tibetan Children's Village (one of the best Tibetan schools in India, even partially supported financially by His Holiness the Dalai Lama). We were familiar with this path through the woods, taking it at least twice before (including the day prior). Then after walking through the school's campus we trekked through a small town area where the sacred Dal Lake is located. Dal Lake was so beautiful with its vast span of dirt and weeds... yeah, the infamous Dal Lake was a dried up crater amidst a beautiful forest... so much for maintaining its holiness. We continued along a dirt road till we came to a stone path (if you could call it a path) with stones haphazardly laid down the hill.

This is where the real fun began! After hiking another 20 minutes it started to rain. Luckily not for long, but it rained just enough to bring hungry leeches out for feasting! We started to climb down the mountain through a very shallow stream, shallow enough that we could step from rock to rock. We had been hiking pretty steadily (aside from one stop for chai) for the last hour and a half, when I felt a cold, slimy tinge on my ankle. Not knowing what it could be I knelt down to check my leg, and was horrified to see a leech latching onto me with his disgusting, sharp teeth! UGH! It gives me the heeby-jeebies just thinking about it! And not only did this happen once, not twice, but THREE times... and that's not including the times I found leeches on my shoes and pants. YUCK!

One time I saw a big one just hanging off my leg. I stopped, screamed like a 3-year-old girl, tried to desperately wipe him off my leg (My feeble attempts were exasperating and the harder I tried to wipe him off, the more frantic I got.) Eric was at least 30 feet in front of me by this point just staring back at how pitiful and frenetic I must've looked. (Yes, folks... he stood there until I whimpered a plea for him to come save me from the blood sucker attached to my leg. Thank you, honey...) Finally when he did come to wipe the leech off, he very calmly lifted my pant leg and carefully tried to flick it off. In my effort to stay calm, I almost kicked the poor guy in the face throwing him off balance and causing us to frantically yell at each other as he tried to keep me calm. Hmmm... I did say “in my effort to stay calm.”

Funny how I feel like I can “conquer the world” most of the time, and then feel helpless next to a 1-inch squirming worm-like slimy creepy lil' bugger... *brrr... here come the heeby-jeebies again!

The series of leech encounters made me paranoid for the rest of the trip. I would stop and check my legs any time I felt a tinge of wet chill only to hear Mahinder repeat (in a thick Indian accent of course) for the tenth time, “When you stopping, they are coming.” (Sounds like a line from a horror movie, doesn't it?!)

Finally after about an hour of traipsing through the leech-infested stream; climbing up and down mountains, we reached the village of Gada, the village where the road ends. We reached there just as the skies began to open up, and the monsoons quenched the Earth's thirst. We waited for about two hours until the monsoon stopped.

At the village, we just happened to run into Mahinder's mother and sister who were on their way to the wedding in Dharamsala... which by coincidence was the same wedding we thought we were attending in Kareri Village... Whoops no wedding I suppose!

Here, Eric and I also skipped across a small stream that had formed on top of the road to explore the general store nearby. Well, actually Eric just walked across because he was wearing his flip flops. I stood, staring at the small river that had formed wondering how I could possibly get through it without getting my sneakers wet. Then two Indian boys saw me and hopped from rock to rock as nimble as a mountain goat! (Mountain goats are quite good at leaping from rock to rock in case you didn't know.) They looked at me, insisting that I follow their lead. I, being the baby that I can be at times (and knowing that I am most certainly a klutz, and would probably slip and fall in the water) was not eager to follow in their footsteps, but the one boy took my hand and waited each time I jumped from rock to rock to ensure I didn't fall. And, folks, I made it! Phew! No wet feet for the rest of the journey!

I know I know... that wasn't quite as exhilarating for you as it was for me, but if you know me at all, you know I get more amusement out of the little things than most people do. :)

Anyway, moving on... after eating a few hardboiled eggs and a cup of chai, and waiting the rains out we were ready to start our journey again. We crossed a bridge overlooking rushing water, moving so fast it was white from the top of the mountain all the way down the mountain to the village we rested in. It was a brilliant sight; and as we continued up the mountain, the scenery only got more dramatic.

As we walked up we saw women carrying sacks of rice on their head (maybe 25kgs worth (that's 55lbs.!); and men carrying sacks on their backs weighing almost 40kgs (88lbs.)! They were trekking up an incredibly steep mountain carrying these awfully heavy loads! And once again, India put me to shame.

I am always in awe when I see the physical strength of the local Tibetan and Indian people. In McLeod Ganj, I've seen Tibetan women in their upper 60's, lower 70's carrying immense loads of branches on their back. I've seen Indian men, the size of Olive Oil from Popeye carrying refrigerators on their backs. I've seen Indian women, both young and old, balancing large woven baskets full of bricks on their heads in construction sites; and, now, these women are carrying 25 kg sacks of rice and flour on their heads for 5km all UPHILL! I mean, “Really!” Can you imagine doing this regularly just to be able to take food to your home? If a grocery store is more than 15 minutes away in the U.S. we groan just thinking about going there, but, here, there is no other way. Perhaps unless the family is fortunate enough to own a mule.

Continuing on our journey... after a long hike up the mountain we came to land with many mini corn fields. The combination of corn fields, lush green forests, and the cute stone path we followed created the impression that we were walking through an imaginary world, only existing in our dreams. I'm not exaggerating in the least either. There were times where I had to remind myself that what I was seeing was real and not make believe, it was that unbelievably beautiful! On the side of the mountain were three rivers of rushing white water that met at the bottom of the mountain. Also it seemed water was streaming down from so many places, adding to the healthy environment that we were passing through. I breathed in the air like it was medicine for my body; the air was so clean that I'm sure my cells were jumping for joy at its mercy!

Eric and I hiked further ahead of Mahinder and his friend and discovered a kind Indian family who invited us to their home for chai while we waited for our friends. It just so happened that they were Mahinder's friend's cousins. How about that? So we all gathered on the porch for about 20 minutes just asking each other questions, curious about the lives in which we each live. One of their daughters was maybe 15 years old, she was the most memorable. She was the one who initially invited us to their home. She was so kind, so openly welcoming. She had an outgoing yet slightly timid personality that was such an endearing and unique combination! We only wish that we could've spent more time with she and her family.

But we were urged to keep moving because the monsoons were soon to follow. We were maybe 20 minutes from Mahinder's home when the monsoon stormed through again. We ducked into a Hindu Temple, which to me did not look like a temple at all, yet more like a cement home which was abandoned for many years. Our friend had picked up a friend of his own on the way, and they delighted in some whiskey drinking to pass time. Eric and I stayed outside as I desperately tried to fall asleep, exhausted from the day's events, while Eric enjoyed the scenery. We stayed there for about 20 to 30 minutes then finished off the rest of the day's hike.

When we reached Kareri Village, we followed a small stone path through two corn fields. We passed by a few small homes with children playing on the stone patios, buffalo (young and old) munching on fresh grass picked from nearby meadows, and curious onlookers who had not seen many Westerners in the village.

Then we saw Mahinder's house standing alone on the mountainside. We ducked through trees and bushes, walked through small streams (where I was graced with the presence of yet one more leech, Argh!), we had finally reached his home! Phew! What a sigh of relief this was to my wobbly legs and sleepy eyes.

At Mahinder's home, we met his wife, two adorable children, father, and brother's wife. They were all very hospitable. We stayed for a bit, (had another cup of chai, our fourth for the day) and then ventured out to explore a little more of the village until sun down. Mahinder showed us the highest point of Kareri Village.

You could see how proud he was of his home. He explained that a road was being built to the village and by next year it should be complete. I wanted to cry though when he said that the taxi stand would probably be at the exact point we were standing. This would diminish the beautiful, untouched environment. Mahinder was happy to finally have a road so that the hospital would be easier to get to and families could open stores, and perhaps earn a better living.

But I don't think he understands how valuable the life is that they are currently living... although I don't think I understand how desperately they truly need access to a road. He is thinking about the well-being of the families in the village, and I am thinking about preserving the natural surroundings; two equally important ideals. (This could be debated by others, but we'll save the editorials for another person's blog.)

Afterwards, Mahinder took us to his friend's home who insisted on having us visit. We enjoyed some delicious mint tea (made only with fresh mint leaves and boiled water, with sugar added to our liking). We spoke and played with the many children who came from neighboring homes while our friend and some of the other men hid away and drank whiskey in the house. (Do you see a theme going on here?)

The kids we were speaking with were delightful! One boy around the age of 5 was incredibly mischievous though... to tell you the truth, I didn't like him. He would go around and hit the girls just because he thought it was funny, and he would try and spit on me so that he could see my reaction, Argh. So until he calmed down a bit, I devoted my attention to some of the older boys who were nearby.

One of them was going to school in Dharamsala and just visiting his home for holiday (or vacation, as we say in America). He was very intelligent, and inspiring to speak to because he comes from such a remote village, and yet he still maintains the ambitious dreams of becoming a civil engineer, he was also well-spoken [in English]. I love to meet individuals who are seeking more and more education than what their environment can offer. It means that either they were courageous enough to seek the education, or their parents were selfless enough to give their kids a better education, both admirable qualities, both difficult decisions to pursue.

While we stayed at their house, Eric watched another man chop wood, he was eager to try it himself so he quickly insisted on lending a hand. I watched as Eric chopped the large tree trunk with an old ax, praying that he wouldn't miss the trunk. But it was surreal sitting with the local Indian families, the momma and baby donkeys standing alongside the patio, the child peeking out the window of a small barn caddy corner of the home we were sitting in, and a baby calf standing quietly watching everyone, not a complaint in the world. At that moment, and every time I looked over the mountain into the valley of rushing white waters, and lush forests... I thought... okay, fending off the leeches was worth seeing this paradise.

Nightfall was coming on quickly so we gathered our extra happy friend from the home and had him lead us back to his house where we would be spending the night. He was so kind, insisting that we were not going to HIS home, we were going to OUR home. This was his mindset the whole time, and the Indian mindset when you are welcomed to a home, it is now your home. We reached our home just before dark and sat around the kitchen fire which also served as the stove, while we waited for dinner to be served. We sat watching in wonder as one of the women made chapattis. She grabbed a wad of dough out of a large bowl, almost 3 feet in diameter, rolled it into a small ball, slapped it onto the cooking space, and proceeded to roll it into a perfectly round chapatti. Then she picked it up threw it from hand to hand to get rid of the excess flour and tossed it on the metal plate sitting just above the fire. After cooking both sides she picked up the chapatti and tossed it into the fire! The bread puffed up like a whoopie cushion getting ready to blow! Neat, huh?

That night we sat around the small fire that was used for cooking; on thatched sacks used as seat cushions enjoying our curry, rice, chapattis, and chai. (A simple yet delicious meal, that was thankfully vegetarian!) We enjoyed some laughter, dancing with kids (of course I had to show them some of my Bhangra moves!), and hearing the eldest of the house repeat, “You are good man!” to both Eric and to me (lol). It was a memorable night.

Mahinder graciously showed us the room we would be staying in, as well as his little friend who happened to be an extra large black spider who lived in a hole in the wall just caddy corner from our bed. He could tell I was a little freaked by it so he said, “Oh don't worry. This is my friend, he will not hurt you.” Then he proceeded to scare the spider into the hole, and lodge his own arm into the hole not once, but twice to show me that the spider would not bite. I was still skeptical.

Eric laid down on the bed and the first thing he said was, “This will make us appreciate our bed in McLeod Ganj.” The bed was solid wood with a very thin cushion lain over top... it was like sleeping on a brick! I didn't sleep well that night to say the least.

We woke up nice and early, stiff and tired from the long hike the day before (and a night of restless sleep). Eric started helping to feed the buffalo grass with one of the women. I watched while enjoying the gorgeous surroundings, then I helped her fetch water from the outside faucet to take inside.

We had a breakfast of potatoes, chapatti, and chai and quickly began our trek back home by 7:30am. The morning sun was divine. And the corn fields and mountainsides were blessed with a brilliant, lively green shade, which when combined with the sunlight makes you wonder whether your stepping through heaven. As we hiked we were unsure whether we would hike the whole way home or take a bus when we reached the town with road access. Well, let me rephrase that. Eric and Mahinder were not sure. I, on the other hand, was VERY certain that we were taking a bus.

My stomach was feeling a bit sick from the curry the night before. Stomach cramps were settling in, preparing me for my friend to come any day now, and the Big 'D' had paid another visit. Oh, did I mention that my legs felt like Jello sticks every time I took a step down the mountain? I'm not proud of this, but would you believe an older woman, around the age of 65, passed me up wearing a beautiful salwar and nice sandals?! Here I am a 25-year-old wearing my sneakers, trekking down the mountain and I had to let this woman (and her husband) pass me by! Shameful to me, really is, but these Indians are tough!

So we finally reached the bridge at the bottom of the mountain near the town, and Eric wanted to get one last look at the mountain. … Before I say what I'm about to say, take note of this. Eric wore his flip flops all the way down the mountain, where we were climbing over sharp rocks, through small streams, and all; and he didn't have any issues. Okay, now I can continue... so Eric decides to point out how beautiful the mountain is. He says, “Pammi, look how beautiful the mountai--- OW!” And that's the point where he stubs his toe on the ONLY rock in the entire bridge, so much so that he starts bleeding! (Now no worries, all! Eric is okay and his toe has healed completely.) But what are the odds that he would trip on the only rock in the entire bridge the second that he looks up to point up the mountain. Hehe Oh dear.

At this point we took the bus (hehe Told you so.) from Gada to Dharamsala, then a taxi to McLeod Ganj. I was feeling fairly ill, too ill to hike the rest of the way, and I think Eric was thankful for the ride considering the mishap with his toe just two minutes before. Mahinder decided to hike another 40 minutes and try to catch a bus in the next town. I just let him be because that next 40 minute hike was up hill through the leech infested waters that I so very dreaded from the day before. YUCK!

I laid my head down for the entire 1 hour and a half bus ride back to Dharamsala because I'm pretty sure I would've had a similar episode to the Amritsar bus ride if I would've tested the upright waters. When we finally reached McLeod Ganj, we fixed up Eric's foot with some antiseptic, Eric went to an Internet cafe, and I went to bed. When Eric came back just an hour later, he fell asleep too and we slept for another 4 hours!(Trust me, you would too, after fending off leeches, trekking up mountains, sleeping in a wooden bed, and all!)

We woke up pretty well rested and only slightly ill. Eric had the “Big D” (worse than me), and my stomach only felt slightly uneasy. I knew before starting this adventure, that there would most likely be digestive consequences, but I figured the experience would be worth it. I was sure right. This hike will go down as one of our most memorable experiences in India!

Apartment Lock Down in McLeod Ganj

2011-07-13T21:11:00.000-07:00

Those of you who are wondering why it took me so long to post another blog... here's why... after returning from Amritsar, I was well for about a day, then I think my entire body just shut down. I had a high fever, the shivers, and vomited every few hours. It was worse than when I was ill in Amritsar just a few days before! These symptoms were practically unknown to me because in the U.S. I swear to you I very rarely get sick. After vomiting and being fever-stricken the first day, I decided to visit the doctor on day two. The closest doctor, was just a 10-minute walk away, but I lacked the energy to merely get out of bed, so this walk seemed to take ages. I felt like a mummy just being released from my ancient coffin after thousands of years of laying in one spot. My body ached and I was out of breath by the time I reached the front door. But I made it!

I visited a Tibetan doctor. What exactly does this mean? Well, it means that I stepped inside an office, that looked more like an administrator's than a doctor's office. I sat down next to a Tibetan man seated at a neatly organized desk. He says, “Tashi Delek,” which basically means “Best Wishes” or “Hello.” He then proceeds to check my pulse and ask me what my symptoms are. He does this for about minute or two, then felt confident enough to prescribe medication.

The medication that he prescribes is not your everyday antibiotic or Advil. Nope, Tibetan doctors prescribe herbal medications which, as he said were all natural and have no side effects. He also wrote a list of every type of food I should NOT eat which included, milk products, oil, spices, sweets, dry nuts, mango (ha, regardless of his advice, I wasn't having this anytime soon!), papaya, raw salads, green chilli, and icy drinks. So your next question may be what could I eat?! Well, the doctor didn't write that down, but when I finally felt up to eating again (about a day and a half later) I munched on Tibetan bread slathered in butter and rice. Mmm Mmm good! Believe it or not, especially the Tibetan bread tasted so magical! I could taste every grain of flavor, and my taste buds were jumping for joy at being able to fuel my body.

Oh, by the way, my visit to the Tibetan doctor was a total of 190 rupees or about $4.40 (including the cost of medication). Sure beats the health expenses in the U.S.!

But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself... I wasn't able to eat immediately after visiting the Tibetan doctor. I tried one pill that he gave me when I reached home that morning. I had to crush it up with my teeth then swallow it. It was one of the most repulsive medications I'd ever consumed! It took everything I had just to keep it down!

A little later that day Eric ran into our friend, Lee. She is an American who frequently comes to McLeod Ganj for meditation, to visit her many monk friends, and to enjoy practicing Buddhism. Eric told her that I was sick again (She had already heard about our rendez-vous in Amritsar.) Lee was very concerned that I'd had a relapse so she insisted on taking me to an Indian doctor whom she visits anytime she's feeling ill.

So off to the Indian doctor I went. Luckily he was literally a 20-second walk from our guest house. I went inside right away (I was his only customer, at the time.) I stepped inside, sat down in an administrator-like office and wondered if this would be any better. I was still feeling like a slug anytime I stood up... so fatigued I could barely make it to the bathroom. One time when Eric was away teaching our class, I had just finished in the restroom and as I walked back into the bedroom, I lacked the energy to even keep myself upright. I almost fell over right there as I was stepping out of the bathroom.

Anyway, back to my doctor's visit... Similar to the Tibetan doctor, he took my pulse for a minute or two and listened to me dish out my symptoms. He then proceeded to give me medication, tell me way too quickly what each medication was for (and these medications are not labeled with what they are supposed to be used for... they only give the name of the medication and that's it, so by the time I reached home I had forgotten which medication was for what! Argh!).

Oh, also after discovering that I am Punjabi, he really took a liking to me. He gave me a big slap on the back, which made every last bit of energy that I had extinguish on the spot.

I happened to tell him that I had visited a Tibetan doctor that morning and he scorned me for doing such a thing. He ordered me not too take the Tibetan medicine as if it were a poison that should not be tampered with. (Little did he know, after taking the one Tibetan pill from before, I had already decided I wasn't taking anymore. Why do you think I was so eager to see the Indian doctor?)

So the rest of the day went by and the next morning I wasn't feeling any better. I was most frustrated by these doctors because they were merely giving me medications that treat my symptoms. No one was telling me what was actually wrong with me, and then treating the bigger picture! I could've had malaria for all I knew and was being given medication for nausea and diarrhea. So the next afternoon Eric suggested (for the third time) that we visit the hospital. This time I took him up on his offer, in hopes of finding a Western doctor on the premises.

We took a taxi down the mountain to Dharamsala. Then grabbed a number to get in line at the hospital. We waited for 30 to 45 minutes, then I told Eric that I was too sick to sit there anymore. The patients were not moving in and out very quickly. At the rate they were going I would've had to sit there for another 2 to 3 hours! So Eric told the clerk that we would be back. We took a taxi home, and I slept for another 3 hours. Then Eric, our friend, Choegel, and I ventured back down the mountain again. It was around 4:00pm by that time and there was only one doctor left in the building. We walked upstairs, and thank goodness Choegel, who is a monk, was with us this time. Choegel has a way of being first in line. Even though there were about ten patients still in the room, he walked up to the doctors office, and told the doctor something which prompted him to bring me in right away!

I went inside to see a Tibetan doctor, a Westerner who may be a student shadowing the doctor, another patient, and two other younger Tibetans taking blood pressures. When I stepped in, the doctor took my pulse and asked about my symptoms (Hmmm... sounds familiar.). Then he perked up when he saw my shirt. It said “University of Pittsburgh.” He asked me if I went to school there, and I warily said,”Yes,” with the little energy I still had left. He said that he'd been there many times for medical conferences.

I was honestly thrilled to hear this news. This meant that he'd had some training in Western facilities! HURRAY! OH! And he proceeded to actually diagnose me! Would you like to know what I had? Drum roll please... the Stomach Flu! Yup, as simple as that and I felt like every limb on my body was ready to collapse to the ground. With relief I got up and let a Tibetan man around the age of 25 take my blood pressure. I think he was confused with the results, because I always have low blood pressure anyway, so being sick, my blood pressure was probably even lower than normal... after trying twice, he beckoned one of the other nurses to take it for me.

After my numerous visits to doctors from every part of the world, I came home and basically slept off my Stomach Flu for the next two days. It was around this time when I actually started eating again... Tibetan bread and rice at least. *Sigh... well, it wouldn't be India without a story (or two) about being sick in your stomach, right?

Click on me for some Amritsar Fun!

2011-07-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

On our first weekend trip away from McLeod Ganj Eric and I decided to see the infamous Amritsar. We figured we would make two trips. Our first trip we could go wander around on our own and get into whatever harmless shenanigans that we wanted. Then, our second trip would be to visit family.

We decided to take the local bus, which leaves at 5:00am and arrives in Amritsar around 10:00am. At 175 rupees ($4)/passenger, we'd heard this was the best value in town! The bus station representative even assured us that the bus would be empty too. So off we went!

We started our morning at 3:30 on Saturday June 18th. My stomach felt a little uneasy but I figured they were hunger pains, so I ate a mango (my last since that dreadful day). Then we made some sandwiches for the journey and packed a few cereal bars. We made our way to the main square to catch a taxi to the bus station in Lower Dharamsala. (A 10-minute taxi drive down the winding roads of Himachal Pradesh.)

To shorten this part... when we got on the bus, we “stole” a seat right out from under a Japanese boy in his 20's while he packed his hiking bag in the back, and then begged his forgiveness when he returned, giving him the single seat caddy corner from us next to two not-so-pleasant smelling Indian men. This was done so that Eric and I could sit together. The boy was very kind about it and did not seem to mind his new spot. He even spoke with us along the way until he fell asleep... he didn't need much room to fall asleep, so I felt less bad for swapping seats.

Anyway, it's a blessing that we sat with each other, eh, at least in my case. Eric may not have been so pleased. It was only 10 minutes into our trip and my stomach started churning. Now I'm not one to get car sick, if anything I might get a headache or fatigued on a long bus ride, but actually car sick... oh no, not me! This time took the cake!

I hurled a good one! First in a canvas bag which Eric quickly tossed out the window as it started to leak onto my lovely salwar I was wearing. (By the way, we in no way condone littering, even in India, but this was an extreme case. It was either toss the bag out the window or suffer the stench of something far worse than the musty smelling Indian men from the seat nearby.)

I don't know how he did it so quickly, but after tossing my first gift to nature out the window he quickly dumped all the contents of his toiletry bag into his backpack and handed me a sturdy zip lock bag. Thank you Glad ware, you are true to your word that you do not leak. I finished off in this bag.... Now obviously at this point how do you think you would feel knowing that you are at the beginning of your 5 hour bus ride to Amritsar in the only outfit that you brought, smelling like vomit (there I said it, sorry for those who are eating.), and sitting in a bus that is so full that there is standing room only left. (Yes, some people had to either find a seat on top of a suitcase or stand for the entire bus ride. India just threw every safety regulation out the window with these lovely local buses.)

I was not a happy person... but the first thing I wanted was my toothbrush! I frantically scrubbed trying to get the taste out of my mouth... sorry again for those not-so-steel stomachs. And we continued on our journey. Then about 20 minutes later, our bus driver pulled over because a passenger and the money collector were arguing over the correct price of the ticket. Yes, the bus driver actually pulled the entire bus over for these two numb skulls to come to a decision. After about 5 minutes, he started back up again and stopped at a small town where the money collector and passenger got off the bus. We waited there again for another 15 minutes. The passengers wondering what could possibly be so important that we have to wait again on the side of the road for them to come to an agreement.
Finally, the bus started back up again, the passenger never returned, and we went on our merry way. Or wait... did we? Two blocks later we pulled over next to a mechanic's garage run by a 14 year-old boy to fix a leaky tire. Yup! That was another hour stalled in one spot.

At this point I had another yucky feeling in my tummy. And me, being the nincompoop that I can be at times, figure... well, I must be hungry. I mean I had absolutely nothing in my stomach considering the events of the morning. So I decided to chow down on one of the sandwiches that we had put together. My stomach was not happy with this brilliant idea! The nausea sunk in once more, just as the bus started up again. Let's just say that I not only made me lose my appetite for the next two days, but even Eric didn't eat the entire day until around 9 at night! If any of you know Eric, you know that he never goes this long without something to eat. Well that day my man, Eric, definitely lost his appetite!

So yes, three episodes of “tossing my cookies” later; and we finally landed in Amritsar. I promptly disposed of my precious zip lock bag in the nearest cigarette butt trash can that I could find, and proceeded to a rickshaw, which took us to the Golden Temple. Eric and I headed straight for the nearest hotel so that I could be miserably sick in A/C and a clean room.

Now, at the beginning of our trip, before these series of unfortunate events... hmmm.. this phrase sounds familiar.... Eric and I had a plan to stay in the Foreigner's quarters at the Golden Temple; eat the food there, wake up at 4 in the morning to see the floors being cleaned with milk and water. We had planned all of this, but after that bus ride there was no way in “you know where” that I was staying in foreigner's quarters with no A/C and 5 strangers sleeping around me. Nope, I wanted our own room, A/C, a private bathroom, not asking for luxury, just for a room I felt comfortable moping in the misery of being ill. And so we did. We rented a hotel room near the Golden Temple. I couldn't have asked for Eric to be anymore considerate than he already was. We found a hotel right away. And Eric stayed in the room with me all day, even after I prompted him to go out and get something to eat. He insisted on keeping me company. The evening arrived, it was around 6:30, and Eric finally felt a tinge of his appetite returning so we decided to venture out of the room. I made it to the second step and quickly retreated back. My desire to leave the room was far greater than my ability. So Eric departed as a lone wolf.

When he came back it was around 8:30pm. Eric came back drenched in sweat and all smiles. Instead of finding food, Eric found a group of Indian kids to play with! Haha He told me stories of how the kids prompted him to kick a soccer ball as high as he could, dribble a basketball around them in a game of keep away, and how the three little girls pulled him aside and insisted that he take snacks home as a gift. They also insisted that he give me their “Hellos” when he reached home.

Did Eric get anything to eat? Nope! BUT! The smallest one was seven-years-old and his father owned the really nice hotel that the “courtyard” (as he calls it) sat in front of. So, because Eric made some new friends, the clerk gave us a 650 rupee discount on the room if we wanted to stay there the following night. Score!

That night I was still feeling nauseous with a fever, and did not even attempt to get out of bed unless the bathroom duties beckoned me.

Thank goodness, the following morning around 6, I felt well enough to venture off to the Golden Temple!

That's right, the Golden Temple! It's amazing, I've spoken to many travelers about their impression on the Golden Temple. Each person is overwhelmed with a sense of purpose when they arrive there. The beauty seems to captivate them. I think it it did the same to Eric. I've seen the Golden Temple once before, and was well aware of its tendency to elicit the inner spirituality out of almost anyone. This was Eric's first time, and I do believe the Golden Temple doused him with inspiration. He was quite solemn during the Cora along the white marble floors outlining the pool of holy water which surrounds a small temple made out of more gold than I've ever seen! (So much gold that at first sight, you think its gotta be fake! … Don't worry I know it's not.)

We first stopped at the community kitchen and had chai. Here there were numerous queues of people carrying metal bowls. When we reached the chai tanks, a very happy Indian man sat in a wheelchair graciously giving chai to every visitor he encountered. This man looked as if he just came off the street. His smile of half-way rotted teeth and positive energy expressed his honor to be a volunteer at the temple. This man and approximately 79999 other visitors come to the temple every day. They are able to eat three meals a day and drink chai for free. If they need sleeping quarters, if available, the Golden Temple offers rooms for foreigners and Indians. I even heard that volunteers at the Golden Temple distribute food to homeless people throughout the region. So this temple is unique because it is not only a place of worship, but a location for people of every stature to sit down and eat together, to volunteer washing dishes together, to walk the Cora together, and even bathe in the same holy water. In Sikhism, the caste is not supposed to exist. The Golden Temple holds up those standards even if society does not. I think that's part of the magic of this building. There is a sense of “we're in this together” whether you are white, brown, purple, or green. I was purple.

Yup... I was feeling nauseous again. So after taking various pictures with locals who inevitably ask anytime they see a Westerner, and sitting in silence just admiring the serene beauty of the temple and its surroundings, we retreated back home. I slept for another few hours and Eric grabbed breakfast and confirmed the room at the other hotel.

Once I awoke, I was feeling remarkably better! The remainder of the day was filled with exploring the local bazaars (or bajaars as they say here), visiting more historical sites and gardens, finding a sacred elephant, playing Pitu Garam, and having a feast at a local family's home. So I presume, at least some of you tilted your head to the left like a curious puppy after reading that last sentence.

Let's start with the sacred elephant sighting... Eric and I tend to find the path least traveled by tourists, so we were venturing off into a “hidden away” bazaar, every Indian gawking at the sight of two Westerners in their domain, when we caught a glimpse of an elephant at the end of a small street. Eric and I looked at each other bewildered as to why an elephant would be hanging out in the side streets of Amritsar. So of course we paid him a visit! We saw one men feeding him bananas. So we ran off to find a local fruit vendor. I figured we'd maybe buy 5 bananas or so... then Eric, in his excitement of seeing a random elephant pulls out 50 rupees and asks for as many as we can get. So we happily trotted up to the elephant with 25 bananas! This elephant was so neat! We relished in the fun of feeding the elephant and petting it's rough fuzzy skin. This was WAY better than any petting zoo!

While we fed the elephant, the locals gathered 'round and started insisting that we ride the elephant. The owner was not happy with this request considering this was a sacred elephant and not a joy ride for tourists, but money can inspire just about anyone. The locals encouraged the owner by saying we would pay him 200 rupees or the equivalent of about $4.50. Meanwhile, Eric and I are on the side lines just watching their interactions. We never asked to ride the elephant, but would certainly not deny the opportunity!

So the owner gave in! To get on the elephant, he straightened his back legs and Eric and I climbed up using ropes, and his dry skin to grasp on to. As I climbed up the back legs of the elephant, I hoped and prayed that he wouldn't feel the need to divulge the many bananas he'd just consumed. We sat on the elephant in absolute elation as a boy around the age of 16 led him through the back streets of Amritsar. The boy held a long stick made of bamboo to push the low hanging electric wires out of the way. Afterwards, Eric and I were so excited that we bought another 25 bananas for our new friend from the same fruit vendor. This fruit vendor was so grateful for the business that he gave each of us a glass of free mango juice! (How ironic.)

Our next adventure was playing in a parking lot (“courtyard”) with a group of about 10 kids ranging from 5 to 25 years old. (We actually skipped out on seeing the Pakistani border ceremony just to stay and play games with these kids... I know, Jamie, roll your eyes why don't you. :) )

Eric played cricket and kickball with the boys while I taught the little girls how to juggle a soccer ball; and played badminton with some of the older girls. We were there for about an hour when some of the younger girls I was with insisted on playing an Indian game called Pitu Garam (“Hot Back”). In Pitu Garam you have two teams, a tower of individual tiles, and a ball. One person from the team “at bat” throws the ball at the tower of tiles, trying desperately to hit it. Once the tower is hit the team “at bat” scatters throughout the field. It is now their responsibility to rebuild the tower of tiles without getting pegged with the ball. The fielding team tries their best to hit as many people from the opposing team as possible before the tower is rebuilt; knocking each person out of the game, and increasing their chances of winning. In short, you can think of this as being a hybrid of dodge ball, jenga, and cricket. Aside from the constant arguing over the rules that were established throughout the duration of the games, this was great fun!

While we were there, one of the kids grandfather's insisted that we have dinner at his house. So after getting cleaned up at our hotel, we ventured off to his home, and met his daughter, son-in-law, grandson, granddaughter, and a few other relatives. This family provided us with a feast like no other! We had 4 different Indian dishes, rice, chapattis, chai, and some sort of gelatin dessert. I was eating this meal after barely eating anything for the past two days... so of course I indulged entirely too much, and could barely make it home before passing out from food coma.

And that was our Sunday in Amritsar. Monday we ventured back to the Golden Temple around 6am, and explored the bazaars a bit more, but we were thoroughly pooped (literally) from our Sunday escapade. We decided to take a taxi all the way back to McLeod Ganj given our horrendous experience on the way there. I must say, despite getting sick and being padlocked in my room for half the trip, I still had a wonderful time. Eric loved it so much that he's been insisting on going back ever since. So Amritsar, we'll see you soon!

Magical Mango Mania!

2011-06-15T05:57:00.000-07:00

So let me tell you about this new phenomenon that has transformed the way I eat a mango from now until always... Eating a mango in India, the way the villagers eat it, is an experience! Before coming to India, my Dad would always say how he misses the mangos of India. I figured mangos in India were simply sweeter, juicier, what can I say, more mangoey! I was wrong. Now, now, the mangos here are deeeelicious! But that's not exactly what makes the experience of eating a mango so daggone magical.

A few months before making this venture to India my Dad explained how you could actually suck the pulp out of the mango. As you can imagine, Eric and I were quite curious, and eagerly awaited our chance to do just this! And now that I've become an expert, I'm going to take you through this magical journey!

Here goes, first prepare your bib so that it's tightly tucked under your chin, to catch whatever drool may be salivating from your mouth from the description of the proper way to eat a mango.

First things first, the best mangos that we've found here are yellow and green. I understand you may be limited by your geographical location, so follow the proceeding steps, and perhaps you will also reap the blessing of this magnificent mango experience.

Ok... smell the mango. Does it smell succulent and sweet? If not, please place the mango on the shelf and slowly step away. I'm sorry to say your mango is not yet ready for this adventure. For those of you who are still in the game, make sure that it's soft enough to put a slight indent in the outside of the skin. Then squeeze the mango many different times in different places so that you loosen the pulp of the mango from the pit and skin. Squeezing the mango will release many juices so make sure you are, one, not wearing fancy pancy clothes; two, you're over a sink or large plate; and three, that you're not trying to impress that newfound love of yours that you met at the supermarket, this will be a sloppy mess when it's all said and done!

Next, using your finger (no knife necessary) where the stub is, tear a small whole by tearing the stub off. Then put the mango up to your mouth (hopefully you've rinsed it well) and start sucking on it like a kid sucking on a freeze pop! That's right! But this is a million times better because you'll get bombarded with juice and pulp of the most delicious kind!

After you've had your fun with that. It's time to tear open the skins and scrape off the remaining mango pulp from the skin. There will also be plenty of mango on the pit for you to chomp on. (Be careful of not chomping too hard, don't let your taste buds rule your mind, there's still a pit there too hard to bite!) The reason this part is so fantastic is because you're able to take a bite of a decent size chunk of mango, instead of always just scraping it off the skin or pit like the humdrum way I ate mangoes before. Plus, the bites of mango are so so much JUICIER after you've squeezed the mango from before!

After you've scraped and sucked the mango dry... look in the mirror. You've got mango juice dripping from your chin, scrapes of mango slowly sliding down your arm, and hands slathered in mango juice. (Revel in it, folks!) If this is all correct, then congratulations you've survived Pammi's Mango Mania of Munching Fun!

You're salivating now, aren't you? Got your keys in your hand, shoes barely tied and ready to hop in the car and give it a try, right? I wish you the best of luck in your adventure. I would love to hear how it went if you try it!

By the way, I thought you might like to know that my ideal location for eating the mango is in the bathroom just above the sink. Because the hand, arm, and face cleanup is much easier, and I can look up in the mirror and see this goofy grin slathered in mango juice. Ah! C'est la bonne vie!

Gaining a New Perspective on Beggars

2011-06-05T21:10:00.000-07:00

Beggars are very different in India than in the U.S.

Of course they are! If you've ever seen a picture or scene from a movie set in India, I'm sure you're well aware of the vast number of impoverished individuals living here. They are not generally doped up on drugs or drunken alcoholics either. They are, at times, skeletal reflections of our own bodies. Some come from downtrodden villages nearby, walking 30 to 45 minutes to McLeod Ganj in hopes of finding a kind, confused traveler not yet numbed by the poverty that surrounds them. Some of these beggars are even immensely handicapped.

There is a man in town who has one finger, only a thumb on his left hand. His legs are either too decrepit to maintain the strength to stand, or else he only has one. Honestly, it pains me to look too closely, so I have yet to determine the exact condition of his legs. This man sits on a wheeled board, with a cushioned top very low to the ground. It's so low that when you see him maneuvering around town on this makeshift wheelchair, you would think that he were sitting on the ground if you didn't see the wheels beneath him. He strategically places himself around town asking travelers of all sorts for food. That's right, they want food, not money. Difference number one.

Once you've been in India for a few weeks though, you become almost numb to the immense poverty that surrounds you. There are so many beggars who have lost hope of finding a job that they find more ways for travelers to feel sympathy for them, and emphasize their misfortune so that travelers will offer food.

I already knew of the poverty that many of these people live in, but hearing about it on television and seeing it in person gives you a different perspective. In the U.S. it feels easier to pass by a homeless person without giving money, because, true or not, a common assumption is that the homeless person will use the money for booze or drugs.

When I first came to India, I had to let go of that generalized assumption, and come to terms with the fact, that these people truly need the money. Many of them do not have hot water, homes, 3 meals a day. It's a whole different mindset. And whereas in the U.S. I really think most homeless people have an opportunity to build a better life for themselves through homeless shelters, and organizations that will help them off the streets if they so wish.

In India, it's much different. I'm starting to believe that many of these people have no other choice. I'm still learning how true this is.

Do the teenage girls pinching their babies to make them cry, really not have an opportunity to work for their money? Must they use the tears of a baby to bring food to their families? Are they really this helpless or is it the easiest way for them to acquire food and funds? I'm still unsure, and hesitate to ask until I know a smidgeon more of Hindi. In English, the girls only know, “Please buy milk and rice for my baby. We have no food. No need money, just food.” These are the words they repeat day-in an day-out.

We certainly have given beggars food and money throughout our stay in India. It is a given that a couple days will not go by without offering some sort of donation to the people. Eric is boundlessly generous at times, one time buying an exuberant amount of food for one family... probably lasting them three weeks if they ration it well enough.

I aspire to be as generous as he, but I am disheartened when I give a beggar bread, and his response is, "Will you buy me chai with my bread?" Or when a shoe repair man trying to earn a few rupees to feed his family takes me to a store to buy rice and milk and picks up as many bags as he can carry, not understanding that I do not carry 1000's of rupees in my pocket. I was very disheartened by the lack of appreciation beggars had for what was given to them. But I think this is an American ideal that has been ingrained in my mind.

See, after giving the man with one finger a loaf of Tibetan bread, and then hearing he would like chai tea with his bread, a young Israeli woman walked past and chuckled. She pointed back at him and told me, “That man, he is a very lucky man. I and many others who pass by give him food.” I took note of this and said how as soon as I gave him the bread, he expected chai as well. I explained how it didn't even feel like he appreciated the bread that was given to him. The woman just chuckled and said, “Ah, yes. That is the Indian way.”

So I thought about her lax perspective on the “beggar way.” Perhaps I should take a different perspective on this. The American sentiment is that they should be appreciative of what they are offered, and not ask for me than what was given.

Now if I think of it this way... I also enjoy having chai with my bread so it's logical for him to also make this request.

It's still taking time for me to get used to their many requests, but by understanding and not being disheartened by their constant request for more, I feel that I am more open to giving one loaf of bread here, one package of milk there. Because I am starting to understand why they never seem to be satisfied with what you give them, I am still open to giving them food on a more a consistent basis. This may seem like a no-brainer to give the thin, handicapped beggar food, but when you pass by 10 to 20 of them on the street everyday, and each wants bags and bags of rice, milk, and bread; you begin to realize that you need to ration your offerings so that you don't spend your entire savings. But giving little by little helps to put your mind at ease knowing that they will have at least some nourishment for the day.

Our Trek to Triund

2011-05-29T01:05:00.000-07:00

Our journey through the Himalayas was as memorable as our first trek in India could get. We started the morning by waking up slightly later than we had hoped, and the few mishaps that took place that morning should've forewarned us of the series of unfortunate events that we were about to embark on. (I tend to exaggerate sometimes, but when I do just take a spoonful of sugar, and enjoy the story.)

The night before I felt a little feverish, and took one Ibuprofen before going to bed. I woke up tired, but with no fever and just a slight upset stomach. I took one Pepto Bismol to calm my stomach as I knew we had quite a long trek ahead of us. For breakfast, Eric and I ate mangoes on the rooftop deck of our monastery guest house. We had hoped to grab some Tibetan bread for our journey, but no one was open at 6:45am, so we landed in Llamo's Cafe and grabbed day-old chocolate croissants. (Not the best fuel for a day-long trek, huh?) When walking out of Llamo's Cafe, Eric banged his head off a metal gate that was hanging at the top of the entrance.... I honestly thought he had a concussion or something based on the loud clang that sounded from his poor head. (He is fine though, apparently he has a skull of steel.)

We met up with our friend, a monk whom we helped earlier in our stay write a letter in English to his friend in Australia. He was gracious enough to go with us on our first trip up the mountain. All three of us chomped on our chocolate croissants as we started our venture.

Our first encounter on our hike was, of course, a monkey. There was a clan of about 6 monkeys ahead of us. Being the daring guy that he is, without notice, Eric decided to chase after one of the little guys as if it were a squirrel he'd just seen in his backyard. Do you think this monkey ran away? Ohhh no... not these monkeys... this little guy stopped, turned to Eric, and then exposed his teeth while hissing at him. That was when I yelled to Eric to get his butt back here and leave them alone. Our friend went on to tell us how these monkeys were sometimes known to jump on people if they felt threatened. I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not because throughout the entire trip, he made jokes and tried to scare me. I never would've expected this kind of trickery from a monk! :)

After our near death monkey encounter (cough* cough* time to take your spoonful of sugar and chuckle), our hike took on a steeper incline up the mountain. It was rough as our bodies struggled to digest the croissant and make the climb.

At one point our friend stopped us and suggested a different route up very steep stone steps past a farmer's home. He said it was the easiest route... Well, I'll be darned! If that was the easier route, I'd hate to see what the hard route was! We spent about 30 minutes just walking up the side of a mountain. Thank goodness there were stone steps (half chipped away by the weather). Along the way we passed a farm with several farm animals. There were young Indian girls between the ages of 8 and 17 years old working in the yard. Some were washing clothes, others were gathering straw. I tried to imagine girls in America doing the same hard work that these girls do day-in and day-out... ey yey yey.. my brain is hurting! This is entirely too hard to imagine. We have no idea how good we have it!

We finally reached grounding with a steady incline and began to make better time on our trek up the mountain. Our friend was very interesting company; he sang Tibetan songs, made jungle noises, and ,boy, could this guy leap from boulder to boulder. He was so agile in his loafer shoes! Yes! He was hiking in the type of shoe most men where with some nice white or khaki shorts... not quite loafers, but the same type of style... you know, same same but different (for the Indian critics out there).

Three hours later we were nearing the top and the dark skies that we noticed from the beginning of our trek opened up with a thunderous boom! And would you believe, with our good fortune... it started to hail?! We ran under a large rock, and hid from the storm for about 15 minutes. Soaked and cold, we waited along with 5 other hikers caught in the storm until the hail seemed to let up. Eric and I clung to each other trying to keep each other out of the hailstorm as much as possible. I hadn't brought any extra clothes, and Eric brought a long sleeve top which was bound to be soaking wet by now. ..

...While we're on the subject of clothes... this is a good point to take a break and pull in our previous night's festivities. See, Eric and I forgot to do our laundry the day before, and so we brilliantly decided to wash it that evening. (Mind you, we're hand washing our clothes in a bucket.. no laundry service for us!) We hung our clothes on the clothesline of our rooftop, eh, around 8 o'clock.... at night! Yup these were the clothes that we needed to wear for the trek. Needless to say, the moon just didn't do its job. Our clothes were still wet by 6:30am.

So, what did I end up wearing? A beautiful wrap around skirt with my pink Indian sequence top, and of course hiking shoes. Yup! I was the most stylish broad on the mountain! Little did I know, my dashing attire would come in handy later in the hike.

When the hail slowed, we dashed out from under the rock and made our way up the side of the mountain to a nearby shack (or as they say, “cafe”) It was about 10 minutes away. Thank goodness it was reasonably close! The hail started up again, leaving us even colder than before as we tucked under the blue tarp that kept us dry in the small cafe on the side of the mountain.

There were at least 10 others huddled inside. Barely enough room for all of us, Eric and I nestled ourselves next to the cafe owner making chai on the stove. Each of us were thankful for the hot tea as we shivered from the cold. We waited in there for about 45 minutes, as the hail storm did not let up. Eric and I were sure that we wouldn't go the whole to the top of the mountain, to Triund. We were pretty miserable, wearing wet clothes and soaked from head to toe.

And then, our trip took yet another surprise turn. Our monk friend came over and saw how cold and slightly purple my hands were, so he started massaging them and pressing very hard on certain pressure points on my hand, so hard that it was painful! Then he took each finger and thrusted it hard towards the ground, in a snapping action. This shot an electric beam of heat through my body like nothing I'd ever felt before, and before I knew it, I had fainted. Yup! Good ol' Pammi played her fainting “trick” again!

My mind went into a darkened dream state. I even felt my body shaking in my dream (as it shook in real life)and when I woke up, I had forgotten where I was. I only saw several Indians around me, a blue tarp hanging above me, and an old gas stove atop a large stone. I didn't remember where I was until I saw a chocolate Special K bar smack dab in front of my mouth, knowing that it could be none other but my dear, Eric, who would act so quickly. I was immediately relieved. I remembered everything. I had fainted... whether it was from the cold, from the heat our friend ignited in my hands, from low sugar, or all of the above, I wasn't sure. It was incredible though, meaning the dream state that I was in for the mere 10 seconds that I had fainted. I felt like I had been out for much longer.

As you can imagine, Eric was pretty startled. Luckily I was pretty close to Eric when I fainted and so I had only fallen and hit my knee. My leg was dirty all the way up and my knee was bleeding slightly. How was I feeling? Utterly embarrassed. Of course everyone in the cafe was concerned and the cook even offered me a spoonful of crystal sugar. I refused, feeling embarrassed enough that I had fainted and was being hand fed a Special K bar like an infant.

Now believe it or not, after being drenched to the bone, huddled in a small, tarped shack for an hour, and losing conciousness; we dragged our sopping wet bodies up the mountain. Our friend and Eric traded off holding my hand for most of the way up, for fear that I would faint again and go tumbling down the side of the mountain. They were very kind, but again, I was embarrassed that they even felt they needed to help me like that.

Soon started our trek again, the sun started to shine partly through the clouds. About an hour later, we made it up the mountain (following a trail of donkeys carrying goods up to some of the shop owners at the top of the mountain).

Triund, the top of the mountain, was incredible! Not only because we could sit and relax, but also the view was spectacular. It felt like the snow-covered mountain was in our backyard, just teasing us with its majestic presence! The way the forest graced the hills was magical, leaving only openings for random houses perched haphazardly on the side of the mountain. It was these same houses and shacks that we would seldom pass, wondering how they manage to live so far away from roads. I'm sure they maintain their own livestock and vegetable gardens. They would have to, because the closest store is a 3 hour hike away!

While resting on a manja, or cot, as we know it in the States, we shared some homemade Tibetan bread with our friend and a wounded dog, drank some chai, and watched the mountains in their glory. Our friend had made the bread at 5:30 this morning specifically for the hike! It was absolutely delicious! Yet one more recipe we are determined to bring home to America!

Oh, regarding the wounded dog, he was being tended to by a couple of kind Israeli travelers who had no experience in the medical field but were determined to stitch up the flap of skin hanging from the dog's leg. It was an admirable gesture, especially considering that this was a stray dog. The stray dogs in McLeod Ganj are very kind because the Tibetans are very kind to them. They pet them, feed them, and give them water. Often we'll see dogs resting on the doorsteps of businesses and homes. They are surprisingly docile, and only get irritated with each other.

We met a few interesting folks at the top. For instance, a group of Punjabi men celebrated their climb with some rum and by waving the Indian flag as if they'd just landed on the moon. We met an American woman who will be starting her Masters at Georgetown University in the fall who was hiking alongside an Israeli man whom she practices Yoga with. All very inspiring people, each with their own intention in mind for reaching the top of the mountain. More and more, I'm finding that every traveler is looking for his or her own personal sense of fulfillment. Each has his own way of doing it, meditation, yoga, classes, reading, painting, or staring at the mountains looking for an answer.... Meeting these individual encourages me to look deeper into what I want out of life. I came to India for volunteering, but how will I be changed when I leave?

Anyway, I could philosophize all day, let's get to the good stuff, right?

After a good hour and a half of rest at the top of the mountain, I started feeling a little woozy in my stomach. Apparently, the one tablet of Pepto Bismol I'd taken this morning was wearing off. I marked my territory once on the top of the mountain and then we began our trek down. (Oh, and never did I think that I would be going to the bathroom next to a slug the width of a quarter and the length of pencil! But there it was, climbing up the tree sitting next to me. Yuck!)

Although I was blessed with the gas, bloating, and “gotta go” urges that the Big “D” offers its hosts, I actually enjoyed the hike down the mountain. I don't want to get too graphic, for fear that you may be having your mid-afternoon snack while you read this, but let's just say I made my mark on the Himalayas three times that day, and it wasn't pretty! This is where the benefit of wearing my skirt came in. Hurray for late night laundry! When I would feel the urge, I would alert Eric and our monk friend. We would find a decent region for me to “set up shop.” Then each of them would stand guard on both ends of the trail to warn me when other hikers were near. One time our monk friend tried to stop an Indian couple hiking by, and they refused to stop! Good thing I was wearing a skirt! :)

On our way down we ran into a herd of goats grazing along the path. These were not your average goats. They were stylin goats, with hairdos that resembled Ringo's, Paul's, and John Lennon's. They were quite friendly too, with horns that twisted like those American red, white, and blue popsicles!

We eventually made it down the mountain stopping shortly with some Punjabi men who insisted on taking a picture with Eric, our monk friend, and I... I guess we must've looked liked an interesting bunch to be hiking together...

After our 3 hour journey back down the mountain, we said our good-byes and thank-yous to our friend who had taken us up the mountain. Eric and I were ravenous, so after getting cleaned up, we ventured off to one of the worst Italian restaurants in town... (Dag gone it... how were we supposed to know? We just wanted some hot soup and pasta to warm us up from the inside.)

With all of the crazy events going up, and the awful discomfort I had descending the mountain, I was surprised to realize when we reached the bottom, that I had enjoyed the journey immensely! It's funny how things turn out. There was a point in the hike, when we were soaking wet and huddled up in the shack that Eric and I were sure we weren't going to trek the whole way to the top. And there we were! We made it! *sigh Gotta love the feeling of accomplishment.

A Lesson on Hospitality

2011-05-26T06:24:00.000-07:00

Tibetans give a whole new meaning to hospitality! Friday evening Eric and I went with one of our English students to a basketball court near his house. It was an 80 rupee taxi ride, and without question our friend paid for the fare even after we insisted on paying. During basketball, a storm was brewing and the clouds were ready to burst with showers as our games came to an end. We still had a good 30 minute trek up the mountain to our apartment (or an easy 10 minute taxi ride, which, based on the horrific winds that the storm we experienced earlier in the week brought, we concluded that a taxi was the better mode of transportation). Our friend insisted that we splash some cool water on our faces at his home before heading up the mountain. I was thrilled to take him up on his offer because we would have the opportunity to meet his Auntie, whom he is so close with that he calls her, “sister.”

Our friend lives in the government district of Dharamsala, which means that on our way to his home we passed by the Institute of International Relations, a small hospital, and the new Prime Minister's, Lobsang Sangay's main headquarters. Then we made our way up some very steep, windy stone steps, partially eroded away by many harsh rains. After about 5 minutes of a steep climb, we passed their outhouse and arrived at his home. We were delighted to be greeted by his Auntie, a librarian who works at the nearby Tibetan Library.

Immediately, we were welcomed with open arms, and were brought in to be seated. Their apartment was small, but sufficient for two people. As you walk in from outside, you step into their kitchen, made of mostly stone, with all the essentials, stove, sink, and refrigerator. That's right, folks! Microwaves are not a common kitchen appliance where we're staying! And it seems like ovens are not common either.

We took off our shoes and sat on the floor of the only other room of the apartment, the bedroom/living room. This room was very neat, and was adorned with family pictures, books, and a High School Musical poster (Yup, Zac Effron and his teener-bopper phenomenons even managed to woo fans in McLeod Ganj with their talented voices and moves!).

By the way, sitting on the floor instead of chairs is very common in this region. Even the classrooms in which we teach have individual floor cushions so that everyone can sit comfortably on the floor.

Anyway, in an effort not to get too sidetracked from our new friends' hospitality, let's get back to the apartment... between the television and desktop computer was a small altar dedicated to His Holiness, the Dalai Llama. The altar was fascinating! Several pictures of the Dalai Llama were showcased along with a line of silver bowls turned upside down, and a fake orange flower in a pot. As a practicing Buddhist, our friend and his Auntie perform prostration every morning. From what we gathered, this means that they fill each silver bowl with water, light incense, and then bow to the altar three times by getting down on their knees and sliding their arms out to the side and all the way up over their head while praying in a “child's pose” (for those yoga addicts out there) to His Holiness.

Shortly after sitting down, his Auntie (who had no idea that we were going to be coming), served us each a glass of water, assuring us that it was boiled. Then about 10 minutes later she brought some of the best tasting chai tea we've had! (I had four cups of chai as the evening progressed, obviously forgetting the high caffeine content... thus the reason I am writing this blog at 2:30 in the morning, after tossing and turning in bed due to being woken by the need to pee THREE TIMES in the last hour.) Then, although Eric and I planned to stay for just a short while, his Auntie insisted that we stay for dinner. Honestly, we already felt that they were being hospitable enough, and did not want to take advantage of their kindness, but she insisted that she was already making rice for dinner and two more mouths would be no bother.

So our friend asked if we wanted to splash our faces with some cold water while we waited. We followed him outside to the faucet (and the dear guy even brought his face wash out for us!) The cold water felt wonderful after an exhausting evening of running around on the court.

We watched a cricket match between the Mumbai Indians (Real creative name, eh?) and Bangalore Royal Chargers while waiting for dinner. And when dinner came out, we were delighted to be handed bowls of noodles with chicken, vegetables, and broth with a pair of chopsticks placed carefully in the noodle bowls along with a salad of tomatoes, onions, and chilis sprinkled with salt and chili powder. This meal was fantastic! Quite spicy! So spicy that that pearly white skin of Eric's (which has gradually turned into to a golden shade of peach) turned BRIGHT RED from the heat of the chilies! hehe :)

After good conversation throughout dinner, we left their house that evening with happy tummies and inspired minds. Our friend walked us back to where we could find a taxi, ensured that we got the proper price for our ride up, and even slipped the driver the payment without taking money from us to cover the cost. So, he not only walked us back to the taxi, but then paid for it! Above and beyond any expected hospitality!

Also, keep in mind, it was 9 o'clock at night and the power went out just as we reached the taxi, so our friend's walk back alone would've been in the dark. Completely. Luckily, Eric convinced him to take our flashlight on his 5 to 10 minute walk back home.

Not wanting to leave any of their kind gestures of hospitality out, I want to highlight that while we waited for dinner, our friend insisted that he pour the chai for us, and when he heard Eric mention the heat, he started to wave the hand fan in Eric's direction, to help cool him off. Our Tibetan friend is a 20-year-old male! How many 20-year-old men do you know would be so kind to another male friend?? (Perhaps that kind of treatment would be reserved only for a woman friend, hehe) But see, what I mean... he and his Auntie go above and beyond the ordinary expectations of welcoming new friends to your home!

One of the first things that I said to Eric when we got into the taxi was that we should learn from their boundless generosity when welcoming friends to our home in the future. They simply stunned us with their kindness. This is one of many lessons that we will take home with us, to practice in our own lives.

Our Cricket Match Experience!

2011-05-19T23:04:00.000-07:00

It was Saturday night in McLeod Ganj and I made one request, to take part in the Indian dance party taking place in a "fine dining" restaurant called Black Magic. *Note: This is the one restaurant in town that we have no interest in eating at, due to unusually forward hosts who beckon us to come in off the street as if we were strolling through Little Italy. Not to mention, it has a cheesy ritz about it (no pun intended). (Eric made me write that!) Anyway we got to this dance party around 11pm and were quick to notice that I was the only woman there! Against my better judgement, we decided to stay. (Who could possibly resist the crazy bhangra music?) We weren't there more than 10 seconds and were invited to dance with some very happy Panjabi fellows. In fact, we were treated like long lost friends; they were taking pictures with us, dancing, laughing, everything... It got a little out of hand though. We managed to take care of ourselves, but not before being befriended on facebook and invited to tomorrow's cricket match between Kings XI Punjab and the Delhi DareDevils. Of course we accepted and we planned to meet them the next day around noon.

Around 9am the next morning we walked through the main square on our way to breakfast and ran into the same gang who then invited us on a hike to Bhagsu Waterfall (approx. 4 km away). This hike included a short taxi drive with 10 of us crammed in a hot jeep, through awful traffic that eventually landed us in the same spot we started at. Eric and I just chuckled at our new friends' attempt to reduce the amount of walking involved in the hike, only to lengthen our hike by another 20 minutes anyway. When we started our hike again, despite the time crunch we were in. We made a pitstop for some pani poori... well about 30 pani poori (AKA. Gul Gupay) that was shared amongst 5 people!

Once we got to Bhagsu Waterfall Eric jumped into the ice cold pit of the fall with the others, while I stayed dry, and entertained the paparazzi (eventually dipping in as much as was fit for a woman). Keep in mind the Cricket game we planned on seeing with these guys was at 4pm. Traffic was horrendous in that direction and we were told that we should be there by 2pm to ensure we got a seat (even if you have tickets, you are not guaranteeed a seat in the stadium). Eric and I didn't even have tickets yet and it was 2:00pm by the time we left the waterfalls. Our new friends didn't seem in a hurry at all though, so we went with the flow. By the time we got down to the bottom of the hill (and made one more pitstop at the pani poor stand) our friends were getting more anxious about getting to the Cricket game. We all started looking for ways to get Eric and I tickets. After discovering where to buy them in McLeod Ganj, we started in that direction around 3:00pm. The walk there was so funny because our friends said that we were in a hurry, but then on our way to the ticket center, this group of Sikhs made their rounds through the Buddhist prayer wheels (adding on another 5 minutes.) And before Eric and I could finish our way through them, they insisted that we were in a hurry again. This was a common theme throughout our journey up and down Bhagsu Falls and to the stadium. Definitely an interesting dynamic compared to the Western perception of hurrying.

Once we arrived at the stadium, the guards almost confiscated Eric's camera battery so that he couldn't take pictures at the game (because he is a foreigner), until one of our friends insisted that he would keep the battery until afterwards. I guess they don't want spies or something in the stadium. Then we walked through these bamboo lined walkways that led us through the old cricket stadium. This stadium resembled an ancient Roman colosseum! Especially with the bamboo lined walkways tied together with rope, I felt like I just took a step back into the Middle Ages!

On to the Cricket match! This was seriously one of the best sports games ever! Primarily because of the energetic audience. I swear to you, Eric and I probably got more exercise jumping up and down and dancing than the players did! Every other play, whether the batter hit a four, six, or the fielders got an out, the crowd would start dancing and singing! It was an incredibly celebratory atmosphere no matter which team you were rooting for. I must say that I was very proud of my heritage due to the crazy happy and celebratory atmosphere that the Panjabi crowd cultivated. Also, our new friends that we came with were so much fun and carefree! We immediately became close with them. To sum it up...This entire weekend was absolutely confusing and exhilarating at the same time. We loved it! :)

It didn't end there. Afterwards, they offered to take us home, but Eric and I insisted that we could get a taxi back. (They had a long drive back to Delhi.) Little did we know how difficult it would be to find a taxi, bus or even a proper direction as to how to find our way back to McLeod Ganj. After asking about 3 police officers and some Indian fans who all gave us conflicting and misguided information, a Tibetan monk at least pointed us in the right direction of the town. We walked for about 45 minutes to an hour around the stadium and in the direction the monk pointed us. A taxi driver ended up finding us as Eric pulled me out of the way of some crazy motorcyclist preparing to run me over. It seemed like a dash of luck, but honestly I was so worried that we couldn't find transportation that I took my Auntie's advice and started repeating the Sikh prayer to myself. I repeated it 3 times and less than 5 minutes later we found a little restaurant and the taxi driver who needed our business as much as we needed his help. Thank you, Auntie Salwinder!

After getting home we caught some highlights from the day's cricket games knowing that we had been captured on TV a couple times throughout the game (the guy next to Eric received a call on his cell and told us his friend had spotted him on the TV dancing with some white guy...turns out this friendly guy owns a travel agency we pass by everyday)... And when we got back to the room, I was so exhausted that my legs were aching from the day's festivities. I don't think we even changed clothes as we fell fast asleep.

First Few Days in McLeod Ganj

2011-05-16T01:05:00.001-07:00

In the 5 days we've been in McLeod Ganj, we've managed to really get to know the area and the people. McLeod Ganj is kind of like a hippie town made up of mostly Tibetans as well as many Indians. There are many travellers seeking refuge from their daily lives, taking yoga and retreating to the mountains for some fresh air. The main square is pretty lively for a small Tibetan colony such as this, especially since the Indian Premiere League (IPL) has 3 cricket matches just 10 km away. (More to come of this later!)

Eric and I have dined at many cafes (we don't have a kitchen and the food is fairly cheap... 20 rupees for scrambled eggs with tomato.. that's only 40 cents! But the prices are not the best part of our dining experience. The view is magnificent! Imagine this... sitting on a rooftop with a view of the Himalyan mountains, both forest and snow-covered... yes, we can see 3 snow covered peaks not too far from where we stay.

The people here are very nice as well... we've taken quite a liking to the Tibetans in the area. Our volunteering correspondent took us around the town and showed us the Dalai Llama's residency and primary temple and museum. We've also started our first day of volunteering with him! We helped a Tibetan monk write a letter to his friend in Australia as well. He and a friend will be hiking with us next weekend. In addition, we started playing basketball with some Tibetans who play pick-up games on a court nearby. We've made many friends there as well, and already feel at home when walking around.

This is town is lovely and there's something new to discover around every corner. We went to a cricket game yesterday! Stay tuned. That adventure requires its own entry!

Bus Ride from Delhi to McLeod Ganj

2011-05-16T00:25:00.000-07:00

So I bet you're wondering how our 12 hour bus ride from New Delhi to Mcleod Ganj went... to start things off it ended up being a 13 hour bus ride...due to a flat tire and a few random stops. Our drivers felt the need to make up time by driving like a maniac throughout the winding roads that lead us up the Himalayan Mountains to Mcleod Ganj. So here's the summary of our memorable voyage... We jumped in the bus early to avoid the beggars waiting at the stop who were clearly attracted to Eric's pearly white skin. Then soon after leaving Delhi we realized that this would be one of the most frustating bus rides of our life. "Why?"you may ask. Let's just say it's hard to sleep when a little boy is pulling your hair, his Mom is potentially trying to pickpocket you while sleeping (she regained her coolness when her cellphone played "Wave Your Flag" from the World Cup), it's hard to sleep when another kid is singing to every American pop song imaginable in his Alvin and the Chipmunk singing voice, (it took us a while to figure out who was singing because he was wearing a dust mask and would start singing softer when we turned around).

Not to mention this bus gave a whole new meaning to reclining seats. The man seated infront of Eric was reclined basically into Eric's lap... poor guy was trying to sleep and woke up with a sudden bang to the knees from the seat infront. Oh and our drivers seemed to have their own business on the side picking up random people and dropping off packages throughout our journey. Anytime someone was picked up they would assemble in the cabin of the bus... I'm talking at least 8 people were in the small room at a time. And as if that wasn't enough of a distraction for our bus driver, through the winding roads of the Himalayas I caught him chatting it up on his cell phone!

In regards to making up for lost time from our late departure, you had to be on your toes when at a rest stop. The horn sounds twice and if you're not on the bus, sorry Charlie. While at a rest stop, Eric and I had just received our dinner and we heard a bus horn sounding outside, we leaped out of our chairs, food barely touched, left some rupees for the meal, and sprinted out the door only to find that it wasn't our bus that was leaving. Phew. It was that same rest stop that our bus got a flat tire, just 3 hours into our journey. After some roti, chai, and washroom our drivers decided to change the tire... We agreed that once they got started, our team of drivers could change a tire for a Nascar pit crew.

So how would you have like to be on that bus ride, eh?

Taking Delhi by Storm

2011-05-11T05:24:00.000-07:00

We ventured off into Delhi at 6:30 in the morning. The rickshaw drivers informed us that just about everything we wanted to see was closed until 9pm...yup we tried to correct them, but they insisted everything opened at 9pm. :) So based on the huge gathering of people we saw at the Indian Gate the night before, we decided to make that our first destination! And guess what we found?

Kids playing cricket in the park! We watched them for a little while then decided to introduce ourselves and ask if we could play. A game that started with 3 kids turned into a larger game as curious kids wanted to join the game with these strange foreigners playing cricket. How about that for exercise in the morning? A little cricket and new friends! Not too shabby, and it wasn't even 8 o clock in the morning!

Afterwards we discovered what being pushy, generous, and conniving means in India. Through our varying methods of transportation such as a rickshaw cyclist and rickshaw motorbikes, we had the cyclist tell us we owe him nothing at the end of our journey unless we are completely satisfied. He ended up asking for about 3 times more than he had suggested in the beginning. Then we found a rickshaw motorbike driver. We told him we need to hurry to get back to hotel... "jaldi jaldi to hotel." You know what this man did? He took us to market so that he could eat breakfast and have a smoke regardless of my initial request to be "jaldi jaldi" about getting to the hotel. You know, this man sure loved America though! "America, Strong Country," he would say... about every minute of our drive. While he was chatting it up with his friends, my dear Eric hopped into the driver seat and tried to figure out how to drive that daggone contraption! Our driver helped him as a crowd of curious onlookers gathered 'round. It was an interesting sight! I stayed in the backseat in case Eric got the hang of how to drive the rickshaw then we could traipse off together! (Pish, riiiight, Pammi.)

Later in the day, we ventured off Pahar Ganj, a large outdoor market... Between Eric and I... in a 1 hour period we drank 7 glasses of the most fabulous iced "thanda" mango juice we've ever had! Done! Our mission at the market was complete.

First Night in Delhi

2011-05-10T16:56:00.000-07:00

Here we are! Sitting in our hotel room in a Tibetan colony in New Delhi. Last night while we were waiting at the airport in Newark, we ran into a woman whom we'd spoken with at King of Prussia mall 2 months prior to leaving about Ladakh and Dharmasala, India. She was sitting at a cafe passing time before her flight to India. Funny, she was on our same flight!

Once we got into India the organized chaos of the Indian roadways or 'Marg' began! Our driver, sent from the nonprofit we're volunteering through shimmied through the tightest spots on the highways, narrowly missing rickshaws, pedestrians, cyclists, and other autos. While waiting at a stop light (at 10 o'clock at night, a man tred to sell us sun shades for our car, women adorned with beautfil saris and suits were sitting behind there husbands on motorbikes traveling through the dust of Delhi traffic. Last night we stepped into 93 degree heat at 10:15 at night. Insane, huh?

When we finally reached the neighborhood of our hotel, it was like a scene out of Indiana Jones. We were walking through a narrow alley, dogs were seated everywhere, one was laying right in the middle of the walkway, Eric and I narrowly missed stepping on her! As we reached our hotel, I heard for the umteenth time from Eric asking when we'll be heading out tonight? I asked the hostess at our hotel whether it was safe to venture out in the market at this time of night. She insisted on us staying in the hotel till daybreak. I knew she would say that.

Now it's about 4 o' clock in the morning and we're wide awake waiting for the sun to rise so we can venture out into the fruit stands and crafts of the market just below us. I'm dripping with sweat right about now so first I'm going to get a shower... well, a human version of a bird bath actually... using a bucket and cup. Can anyone say, "Refreshing?"

Here we go!

2011-05-03T20:35:00.000-07:00

After becoming officially engaged (check out my profile photo), my fiancee and I are venturing off to McLeod Ganj, India to teach English to Tibetan refugees for about two months. We are both 25 years old, recently quit our jobs in the finance industry to satisfy this never-ending urge to test our adventurous ambitions!

We leave May 9th and will be returning on August 8th. After volunteering for two months we plan to travel (basically backpack) throughout Northern India. That part fo the trip has not been determined yet, but I hope to share all of our adventures with you throughout our journey.

Right now it's a matter of preparation... I've packed just about any medication I can for any ailment that I could think of! Hopefully we won't need to get so doped up on medication at anytime during the trip, but it certainly can't help to have it handy!

Aside from that, I'm packing about a week's worth of clothes... tons of toiletries, and a itty bitty netbook for blogging (compliments of a very dear friend).

We will fly into New Delhi, spend the night, and.... get ready for this... begin a TWELVE-HOUR bus ride from New Delhi to McLeod Ganj... no toilets on board, folks! I'm very seriously (half kiddingly) am considering bringing a diaper for this bus ride! Ok, that's probably a little farfetched... how about I'll just deprive myself of caffeine and exorbitant amounts of water for a day? Done deal.

Stay tuned... Into India We Go!