Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Dharamshala… Dalai Lama!








18th June, 2010

The morning we left for Dharamshala, Clodagh came down into the lobby pale with wide-eyed calm. In her distinct Irish accent she announced:

‘There’s a monkey in our room.’

I keeled over with laughter. What an awesome way to start a day! Waking up to a monkey sitting on your coffee table chewing on the remote control. HAHAHAHAHA! Tom and Clo had left their windows open to air out their room overnight, thinking that their room was high enough out of reach of monkeys. Uhhh…they’re monkeys.

The monkeys are funny here. Ha-ha and peculiar. It’s so strange to see these aggressive little red-faced creatures, freely mingling with people. They self-importantly perch themselves on over-hanging branches, looking down at us ground-ridden people, probably thinking, ‘too bad I’m not the species that throws its own faeces’.

I was really excited about Dharamshala. It’s the mountainous refuge home of the Dalai Lama! The DALAI LAMA people! He’s such a rock star. He was on tour in Japan at the time of our stay so unfortunately there was not to be an encounter. We did, however, see his Number One Groupie, sitting outside his temple grounds, digging into a full-sized watermelon, wrapped in the Tibetan flag, cackling good naturedly at passers-by. We couldn’t figure out if he was a she or she was a he. Then the mystery was solved when she stood up and waddled past us with her huge boobs knocking about her knees. She’s become well known in town. We were told she arrived at Dharmashala from America about 6 months prior, in search of an answer. What the question was…no one knows…but she is convinced that the Dalai Lama is the answer. She has sworn devotion to him and constantly demands private audience with him. Each time his Holiness politely declines. Many have criticized her craziness and don’t understand why the Dalai Lama won’t send her away. But being as gracious and compassionate as he is, he allows her on to the temple grounds with tour groups and helped her extend her Visa so that she can stay close to him.

Dharamshala attracts all sorts of people (obviously). But it mainly attracts the soul-searchers and hippies. Dreadlocks, harem pants (baggy pants that grip the ankles and the crotch hangs at the knees), beaded jewellery, sunkissed skin, the lingering scent of cannabis as they hippy-on by… yeah, man, serenity now. Looking past all that, I observed to my fellow traveler, English Adam, that the majority of these seekers were young and really good-looking. He agreed and said that these people were likely to have come from middle to upper-class families. I cocked my head with curiosity and asked him to elaborate. He said it’s a sad-but-true fact that good-lookers have more chances for better opportunities with job prospects and end up more prosperous and therefore end up with more freedom to do things such as travel. All these young, attractive people milling about Dharamshala can afford the time and the luxury to ‘find themselves’ because either their families will have their back, or opportunities will simply arise or be waiting. I nodded. They have it easier. Putting livelihood opportunities aside, being aesthetically-gifted often extends into the confidence of facing the world. The way I see it: the world is made up of people. And the world is much more accepting and willing to help when you present yourself with the confidence usually associated with ‘beauty’. But you know what I think? If you’re picture perfect, with perfect symmetry and facial proportions but have the stinkiest, darkest, unpleasant attitude- you’ll still come across pretty, bloody ugly. No one’s going to help you, or want you, or even be around you. So I don’t think it’s all about the appearance- it’s about the SMILE. A genuine I’m-pleased-to-be-in-your-presence smile. It starts from there. And then the world is a much more pleasant and everything blooms and falls into place.

Besides the hippies (Adam: I just want to shake them and yell ‘CONTRIBUTE!’), Dharamshala is also heavily populated by refugee Tibetans. The moral of the story for the Tibetans, I think, is: don’t be too nice. In a very simplified nutshell, the people of Tibet were living peacefully in their own country, doing their own peaceful thing when the Chinese stumbled across them. The Tibetans welcomed them with big smiles and open arms, said ‘mi casa es tu casa’ in Tibetan and the Chinese went all Rambo with it. Now, the Dalai Lama and thousands of his people are taking refuge in Dharamshala, banished from their own home with memories of torture, fear and despair. So, when asked ‘where you face from?’ I said ‘Korea. SOUTH Korea.’

It’s no exaggeration when the Tibetans are described as an extremely peaceful people. The perfect example of it was displayed in the Tibet Museum. There was a large, glass case that on one side held the bloodied handcuffs, torture devices, gas bomb shells used on Tibetan prisoners. On the other side were woven bracelets, small embroidered tapestries, and little beaded key-ring things done by the prisoners during their ‘rest time’. Seriously, any other race would’ve made voodoo dolls to cast hexes on the bloody Effers who fucked up their lives.

On a lighter note, this is how I looked while in Hippy Town:

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Shimmering Shimla

16th June, 2010

Welcome to Shimla! 2000 metres above sea-level and 2000 metres closer to the sky.

As nice as it is to travel in groups, I have found one major flaw: you take for granted that someone else will remember how to get back. Or in my case- if you get left alone and you have no one to follow back. I was lost for 3 hours. Three. Normally I wouldn’t mind. But in this case I was walking up and down the steep slopes of Shimla in circles with burning calf muscles and without a clue. In hindsight, it was fun, I guess. I stopped wherever I wanted, walked at my own pace, ventured down curves, stairs and alleys that I wouldn’t have otherwise. Shimla is so nice. In every sense of the word. The people, the nature, the buildings, the history, the food, the atmosphere, the vibe…nice. I felt no sense of danger or irritation. I was just left to my own devices to wander as I pleased. No beggars. No pushy vendors. No vulgar wolf-whistles or wet strawberry air-kisses. Just the odd, curious stare for looking so out of place. Very pleasant. What I love about Shimla is that it’s a complete 360 degree visual splendor. Whichever direction you look, including up and down, there’s something interesting. The multi-leveled infrastructure of this densely populated mountain city is a fusion of mother nature and man’s creation. When looked at from a distance, all the hotels, restaurants and housing look like they’re loosely placed and balanced on top of one another. From a further distance, the mountains look as though they’re snow capped with gleaming, fresh snow… at nightfall the town is even more impressive: the twinkling of nature’s stars is mimicked beautifully by the man-powered ones below.

So finally after trekking through the Mall, the Ridge, down to Lower Market, past Gossip Place, back up to the Ridge, through the Mall again, back up to the Church (on the Ridge), pausing at Gossip Place, then back down to Lower Market, and then longer pause in the middle of the Mall, I at last admitted defeat and asked for directions. Perhaps something I should have done 2 hours earlier. Turns out the hotel is near ‘High Court’, literally 10 meters away from where I kept stopping and turning back to head back up to that bloody Church on that damn Ridge. As I made a beeline for High Court, I noticed this strange figure that kept falling into step with me. A small, skinny, hunched figure in a bright green vest and bucked teeth kept reappearing at the corner of my eye. Finally I stopped and looked at him in the eye. He spoke (sort of):

‘tualekghossjgheia High Court?’

I took that to mean ‘are you going to High Court?’ I gave him my raised eyebrow look and decided he was harmless enough and let him follow me. My question was: why the hell was he following an obviously displaced foreigner when he could speak the local language? Not wanting to be nasty, and empathizing with the embarrassment of being lost, I led him to a comfortable distance away from my final destination. I stopped. Held my arm out to keep him out of my space and motioned that he stay and I go. He was a strange character. His stature and demeanor reminded me of a tortoise. His eyes flickered away from mine and looked defeated. Oh well. And I skipped down a steep set of stairs, out of sight and happy to finally reach ‘home’.

I made it back just in time for dinner with the rest of my group. We were all heading out. To the Ridge. DAMNIT!

It’s a shame we’re leaving in the morning. I only just figured out how to get ‘home’.

Transit to Shimla




15th June 2010

All aboard! Transit by train to the foothills of the Himalayas- Shimla! If I was to be sick during this 2-week trip, yesterday was the best day for it. Well rested and fully rejuvenated, albeit a little hungry, I was bright-eyed and enthusiastic for the 12-hour journey.

The streets of Delhi are a lot more bearable when one is not half-comatose from exhaustion. Although the elements of the city described in the previous entry remain true, the ride to the train station was much more enjoyable as we sputtered and jerked our way through traffic. The infrastructure of Delhi is gobbsmacking. It’s more like infra-no-structure. In preparation for the Commonwealth Games that are taking place in 4 months time, the Indians have ambitiously torn up all the main roads with pick-axes and chisels to build more adequate roads. Piles of concrete and rock litter the streets, creating new terrain for drivers and pedestrians alike. I didn’t see much heavy machinery to help with the process, nor did I see much man power, save a few skinny women scooping small piles of dirt from the ditch to the growing pile next to the ditch. I’m scratching my head. I’m no town-planner or civil engineer…but something tells me there’s going to be a bit of struggle. I was glad to be heading out of Delhi. The hustle and bustle of a chaotic, polluted, overpopulated city was certainly not for me.

Due to the rushed nature of my first day and therefore my first entry, I was grateful for the peaceful train-ride. We boarded the second-class (second best) carriage of the express train from Delhi to…not sure where…found our cushioned recliner seats, plugged in our iPods (it was too early in the day for chit chat) and looked out the window with glazed eyes and I began to reflect and absorb my presence in this colourful, mystical country.

In the immediate sense…I have no money. Mistake number TWO. Argh. I was trying for the minimal approach to travelling and extended that philosophy to cash. I waived the need to withdraw money back at home to exchange into Rupees, assuming (in typical Gen-Y fashion) that ATMs would be readily available anywhere and that my card would simply be accepted. Enter Mother Jen. Without so much as a blink, and thankfully without me having to ask (oh the shame!), she loaned me R2000 (AUD$65 or so).

In the intellectual sense, it hasn’t quite hit me that I’m in India. I didn’t really give myself time in Melbourne to register that I was leaving. LEAVING. For a YEAR. Not to set foot in Australia for a YEAR. My plan is to be in India for just shy of a month, and then head for Kampuchea to resume work with the NGO, Senhoa, contracted there for a whole 12 months. India was a spur of the moment decision that was inspired by the well-anticipated event of a dear friend’s wedding. A full-blown traditional Indian wedding! When Kiwi, the groom-to-be, mentioned casually in conversation that he was heading home to India to marry, the back of my head immediately began to tingle with excitement and I just KNEW I was bound for India. So, like the good friend I am, I invited myself to the wedding, found out the dates and organized a holiday around it. Ta Da!! Here I am!

In the spiritual sense, I’m in India to discover MORE. And where more appropriate in the world than the birth place of Buddha Himself??? As I suggested in my first entry, I was rather unhappy at home. My feet and heart were itching for something new, different and exciting. In the last couple of years I’ve developed this seemingly insatiable desire to learn more of this complex world that we live in- of both the physical and non-physical. Life in Melbourne was becoming far too habitual, routine and comfortable. Much to my discomfort. It’s strange. The times that I am most comfortable is when I’m not.

Zooming out of my pensieve of thoughts and back into the physical events of the day, the first half of our journey was smooth and uneventful. Air-conditioning, recliner seats, serviced meals, story-swapping with Traveller Karin…but it was the second-half of the trip that made the memories…

We hopped off the train of luxury (as luxurious as you can get in India anyway) and hopped on to the heritage-listed Toy Train. Absolutely adorable! It looked like a train set that Reverand Lovejoy would have in his collection. It was a no-frills ride with BYO food and drink- like a picnic on rails. The rattling rhythm of the train sychronised all the passengers as we swayed from side to side, looking out to the amazing scenery that unfolded before us. We snaked up the mountain gaining more and more height and altitude. My ears popped as much as my eyes did at the greenery. It was especially fun when we plunged into darkness through stone tunnels, and the kids would all scream with joy. The idea was that if you’re going to be fearful you may as well have fun doing it!

The highlight was the people. The local people, that is. They were absolutely fascinated with foreigners. Even me! They couldn’t seem to comprehend an Asian-looking girl speaking perfect, concise English. And also why I was with a bunch of Caucasians (one of these things are not like the others…) There were a few points of the journey where the train stopped at a station for longer periods at a time and the young Indian guys from another train would spot us (when I say ‘us’ I really mean my white-skinned, blue-eyed counterparts) scrambled up to our windows to take photos of and with us! Some even had the spunk to board our carriage to shake our hands, pose right next to us and one had the balls to raise my hand to show his mates and kissed it! The best part was when their train whistled and started rolling away from the platform. They all panicked and had to run after the train and fight each other through the tiny carriage door. Oh, the affect young, attractive women have…


Friday, June 18, 2010

Arrival in Incredible India

I have arrived. After 2 months of sighing, 1 month of contemplation, 1 month of whinging, 1 week of crying, 1 day of action and another month of eager anticipation- I have arrived. In India. Alive!

I had only been back at home in Melbourne for 6 months, but I felt like I had been trapped for years. That isn’t to say that life is shit there. Far from it. I simply knew there was MORE. Having lived 7 months in Cambodia, working for an NGO running a preschool for displaced Vietnamese children in 2009, and having lived and worked on a tropical, remote island on the Great Barrier Reef off Central Queensland prior to that- I was somewhat inspired to seek out even MORE.

So here I am in New Delhi. It has taken 2 days to get here. I travelled via Singapore and had a 10 hour stop-over. I definitely took for granted how much energy is drained when transitioning from one place to another. I also took for granted that, although young and fit, I’m still human and need food, rest and sleep to sustain that energy. Slight details I overlooked in my excitement that led to my (thankfully short-lived) demise on my first day of New Delhi. I collapsed.

On a 40-degree day we met as a group in the dining room of Good Palace Hotel at 1pm. ‘We’ being the Intrepid Travel group made up of: myself, Charming Chetan the tour guide, Jenny (who has become endeared to me as Mother Jen), Retired Nurse Kathy, Porcelain Joelle, English Adam, Knowledgeable Tom, Insightful Cloder, and Traveller Karin. I had arrived at 5am that same day and was running on 4 hours of sleep and 2 proper meals since my departure from Melbourne. Running on adrenaline and eager to start my new adventure, I powered on into the day. The eight of us scrambled onto a local bus (that wouldn’t stop) and headed into the heart of Old Delhi. We all got to know each other very well on that first bus ride, bumping and tripping into each other as the bus crudely navigated its way around the crater-like potholes, darting auto-rickshaws, and other banged up Indian buggies. All eyes were on us as the group is made up of blonde-haired and blue-eyed Angrez (Hindi for ‘foreigner’). With the exception of me, of course, with my midnight black hair and typical Asian features. Our first stop was the Jamid Mosque (the Friday Mosque)- a structure of ‘blended’ architecture representing both Muslim and Hindu faiths. The main feature of the Mosque (besides the curious stares of the locals) was the 20 meter watch tower that boasted 160 steep stone steps. My body is well accustomed to stairs so I charged onwards and upwards with my fellow tourists and down again without so much as a wobble of a knee cap. But as the day wore on, my face became more and more crimson and I felt my breath get shorter. As we walked through the rugged streets of Old Delhi, laced with kilometers of exposed electrical wires, nausea started to settle in. I couldn’t even bring myself to try some authentic vegetarian Delhi samosa! The Old Spice Market was the next venture and we boarded the local bus. It was even more crowded than the last with even smaller windows. With our arms up on the hand rail, and bodies in such close proximity, claustrophobia accompanied by a fresh wave of nausea washed over me. My hands started to tingle, my legs started to liquefy. I called out to Chetan who called for the bus to stop and I charged through the doors looking for a clear spot on the roadside of Delhi. I was faint, disoriented and flustered. I was sent back to the hotel via auto-rickshaw escorted generously by Retired Nurse Kathy. I felt bad that she’d given up her trip to the market for the likes of me, but I’m so glad she did. I was barely conscious the ride back. We weaved and zipped through the unfamiliar streets of Delhi. Horns blared, the sun scorched, people spat, and wafts of waste committed offense to my senses in my already vulnerable state. I felt awful. We finally reached the hotel and I collapsed in the foyer. Nurse Kathy fed me some salty chips and sugary drink, expertly diagnosing my condition as exhaustion. I was taken to bed in my air conditioned room and slept. Not to rise for another 17 hours.

I have arrived in India. Alive! Barely =)