Dalai Magic

Here's my take on the teaching in Mcleod Ganj

First of all, getting to the tail end of our India section of this trip, both dreamman and I were feeling the strain of constantly moving from place to place. We even discussed cutting our Northern travel, and basically leaving out Dharam Shala. I persisted that we must go there. I just felt like I had to make the effort to be where the Dalai Lama lives. Jonathan reminded me quite a few times that just because we went there made no guarantee that we would see the Dalai Lama at all, especially since he is getting up there in age, and has not been so healthy lately. I still wanted to go.

Once in the village of Mcleod Ganj I kept my eyes and ears open for any word on the Dalai Lama. As the best way to find out if he is available is by word of mouth. Jonathan and I had spent a couple of days up in this magical little mountain town relaxing, when he decided we should go to the Tibetan Museum. He warned me that the exhibition might be depressing, but being up there, surrounded by exiled Tibetans, eating Tibetan food, feeling closer to Tibet than India, I felt it was only fair of me to go and learn more about their story.

Well, I am glad I went, but I was a mess. I started crying half way through the exhibit. It was just too much..the thing is, that's just it. The terribleness of the situation IS too much. Its real and we were walking amongst people that have seriously suffered. A suffering that is hard to grasp when you have lived a comfortable life. A suffering that did not, and does not have to happen. My emotions ran from sadness to just being mad at the Chinese government, and really much of the world for letting stuff like this happen.

After the museum, with my tear stained cheeks, we went up to the adjoining temple. The temple is beautiful, mostly open space, with elaborate paintings. The view from all around is extreme mountain beauty. I spun all the prayer wheels, and almost started to cry again. I put one out there for everyone of you, and people I have lost touch with, and those I do not know, but I know they need a prayer.

As we were on our way out, I noticed that some areas where roped off, and there were cardboard or blankets on select spots with names on them on the floor. We asked a nun what that was all for, and she said for the teaching. The Dalai Lama was due to host a teaching in 2 days!!! I could not believe this!! Our luck!!! Had we not gone to the museum, and had I not cried, and had we not turned the prayer wheels, we might not have found out about the teaching in time!!!

As I think Jonathan already mentioned we then had to register, and save a spot for us to sit too. On the morning of the teaching I put on a beautiful outfit, and we made our way down to the temple around 8:45 am. The teaching was to begin at 9:30, and they suggested you arrive a half hour early. Well...that was a little of an under-estimate. There was a mass exodus from all over Mcleod Ganj going to the temple. Once inside after a vigorous bag check, and pat down {this one was ok with me, unlike the movie theatre experience!} we walked up to the English translation section, to find a mob of people crammed in. I was so happy that my dreamman had gone up the day before to place some cardboard down to hold our spot!! As we snaked through the sitting cramped crowd, we finally found our cardboard. As lover has mentioned it was ripped in half, and there was only truly room for 1 person. I looked at Jonathan and said "Why did you use such a small piece???!!" As you know, he didn't, someone had been nasty and stolen half for themselves to save a spot. At this point we had to squish and squeeze to fit in the tiny space, all the while the girl behind me started to moan and groan at her now lack of space. I turned around and gave her a dirty look. She needed to pull it together..after all, we had saved the spot, it wasn't our fault someone had gipped us. Funny, you would think at a teaching of Compassion from the Dalai Lama that people would have a little better of an attitude.

When the Dalai Lama came out promptly at 9:30 am, he was accompanied by an entourage of Monks swarming all around in their maroon and orange robes of cloth. Everyone inside and outside the temple stood, and bowed in prayer to him. There must have been thousands of people there. In ever nook and cranny there were followers, and travelers, and local people. It was amazing to see everyone get up and bow, the power in the room at that moment was overwhelming.

Once his Holiness sits then everyone can sit. Again, the girl behind me seemed pissed to have to squish. I wanted to tell her to leave!! Unbelievably for us, the teaching was done is English. The Dalia Lama asked everyone who understood English to raise their hands, and it was well over half the audience, so he chose to begin his 3 day teaching in English.

The Dalia Lama is a funny little man. He is so jovial, and happy. He truly believes in humanity. It is wildly refreshing and amazing to see someone who himself has fled in exile, and watched his fellow Tibetans suffer, have such a positive attitude. He has no hate for anyone. He would rather sit and talk with the Chinese, and hold a personal, real, conversation to prove that they are the same, than to retaliate with anger. He is inspiring to say the least.

Throughtout the teaching he would make silly little jokes, and his laughter would evoke everyone else's in the temple. When he laughs his shoulders jumble up and down, and that is enough to make you smile and feel good. The Dalai Lamas energy is infectious. You forget that he is old, even not well. I had a tingle of goodness running the length of my flesh the whole time we were there.

Unfortunately, halfway throughout the teaching a slew of older people all had to get up and use the restroom I suppose. The trouble was that one person decided that right where we were crammed and sitting was going to be the path out, and everyone followed. Literally there were old ladies with canes, resting their hand on my head for balance as they tried to step over me, and then the old man with his giant clown shoes just missing my precious toes, and on, and on!!!! I really could not pay attention at all to what the Dalai Lama was even saying at this point because of all the foot traffic commotion in a space where there was no space to walk through. Ugh.. of course...why would anything that we do in India ever be easy, and without disturbance???!!!!

Overall, I was so happy to have gotten the chance to be present for such a wonderful person. The Dalai Lama really is a magical man of hope, and compassion, and he will not be here forever. People the world over look up to him and his positiveness, and I got to see him, hear him, and feel his presence on such an ultimate level. I will never forget this opportunity, and am so glad we went to Mcleod Ganj!!!

xoxoxox
Alicia Claire

The Sharmas are found!

Hooray! Today we went to see the Sharma's and have a wonderful visit.

We headed out from our hotel in the morning (which despite some oddities, is run by very nice people and thankfully, has comfortable beds!) for the walk up to the Sharma's house. I was not entirely sure how to get there as it has of course been eight years since I was here. We stopped to ask directions to their neighborhood and attracted an instant crowd. We were pointed down through the central market, which is what I remembered.

The central market area is a long narrow passage way through the center of town and filled with typical small shops. To me it is a perfect slice of day-to-day Indian life and something I was excited about seeing again.

As we emerged from the market my memory started clicking and each new turn along the path was looking familiar. I spotted the road the heads up the hill and knew we were on the right track. Every person we saw was surprised to see us, but welcoming and nice. A big SUV with a family in it even slowed down to give us the stare. Alicia found it funny (which it is) and I was simply reminded that during our two month stay eight years ago getting stared at was a daily occurrence.

It may help to point out that Solan, while right on the way to H.P.'s many attractions, gets very few western tourists. In 2000 there was a mention of Solan in the Lonely Planet. It is now gone, and Rough Guide or Footprint (the two other big guide book producers) have left the town out as well. So our experiences here are well off the tourist-trail.

Our walk continued up the hill with me trying to remember where to go. As we reached 'Forest Road' everything began to click and we quickly saw the Sharma's house. On the same road that we walked is Salman Rushdie's childhood home (something of great interest to my sister :).

A bit sweaty, we reached the Sharma's beautiful 1920's era home on the side of the hill, tucked right at the end of the road at the beginning of the forest. The spot was as wonderful as I remembered. I knocked on the door and it was answered by Paven and Reinu Sharma's youngest son, Nanu. He was in 2nd grade last time I saw him. He is in 10th now!

We sat and chatted for I think a couple of hours. It was amazing to see everyone and hear about the boys in school (the eldest is in Pune (a few hours from Mumbai) studying mechanical engineering. He was 12 when I was last here).

One topic that came up was that Reinu remembered me being very quiet and not over on the Sharma's side of the house very often (our rooms were in a separate wing). Eeek! I didn't remember not wanting to hang out back then, but I suppose I was busy with our teaching duties and taking lots of pictures. In any case, I was very happy I could make up for being quiet eight years ago by finding the Sharma family now!

Apparently my roommate during our stay her, Dan Ayers, also came back to Solan on a trip to meet a fellow named Manoj, who helped organize our stay here and walked Dan up the side of the mountain to a small village school where Dan taught. The Sharma's were not home when he was here, but he left a note. So I guess we're number two to make it back, but the first to be totally successful.

An absolutely divine, home cooked lunch was served to us and we all sat down to eat. Two amazing dals, a briyani, a pasta and vegetable dish, a special milk-free desert for me, the list goes on and on! One thing Alicia really wanted in India was a home meal experience, and I'm so glad we got to have one with the Sharma's.

We visited for a while more after eating and looked at our blog and pictures on the computer. Paven also found a scrapbook of thank you's and pictures from the group of us in 2000 and we got to sit down and look at it. Very wonderful to see everyone's pictures and notes. Though I was not in any of the pictures since I was taking them, though Reinu thought this was more evidence of my not-wanting-to-hang-out-ness :)

We are going to spend tomorrow in Solan as well, as we are not particularly excited to go back to Delhi with all the nonsense and absurd heat (95-98F, with 60%+ humidity) and we have an afternoon tea planned with the Sharma's. Of course, we are super excited.

Bratty drivers, crappy music, with my face covered in dirt...

Alicia and I made the journey from Mcleod Ganj to Solan yesterday. We did it in opulent style (for India) by chartering taxis. In local terms, this is absurdly expensive (around $80 door to door), but comfort and speed wise, it is amazing.

Alicia has not been feeling well (though on the mend via medical advice via our #1 commenter and super Auntie Vix!) and so we thought the taxi would be much more comfortable and allow for more sleep than the bus. We had a great experience chartering a cab from the Manali Taxi Union to McLeod Ganj, so I went and spoke with the taxi union in McLeod Ganj and set everything up.

Our driver showed up a bit late, which was not a huge worry since time here is relative. He was what we call the "Cool Guy", aka a guy in his 20s who is way, overly macho. He had a shirt on that said "Sorry, I only date models." There was a stereo in the car and he had lots of CDs and when he asked if music was ok we told him 'fine' and to be the DJ... big mistake.

After the long drive down the mountain from McLeod Ganj and the driver (Ravi) looking out the window at the front tire all the time he asked if we could stop for 'five minutes' at the car repair place. What are you going to do, tell him no?

Long story short after 10-15 minutes we head out, I think, to another repair shop. Some mumbling about 'brake disc'. Great.

After 20 minutes on the slowest country road ever we show up in a town called Gaggal and we stop at a dumpy mechanics. 'Only five minutes.' To change a brake disc? Right.

In a miracle of time, sacrificing safety, the front-left brake pad is changed in about 20-30 minutes. Mind you, when changing brake pads they need to be changed in pairs - very important. You also need to bleed the brake system for air after you are done to keep air bubbles out of the brake lines as the bubbles can take away force from your foot to the brakes. Only one pad changed, no bleeding (also the horn was fixed as it was not working right, which is a BIG problem here, no joke), I'm pissed at paying this guy who clearly knew his car was broken to get his car fixed while we wait and Alicia gets stared at by sleezy men.

We finally get going and then get to listen to the same CD for hours which has great music from the likes of Avril Lavinge, some sappy British guy singer who has a 'your beautiful' song that makes me want to vomit, some really bad Jay-Z (of whom I don't like anyway, sorry Laura). The CD thankfully had one Pink Floyd track, and a current Bollywood hit from the movie 'Singh is King'.

Ravi, the driver, keeps stopping to talk on the phone (as he loses his signal). I eventually lose my cool and tell him, 'Ravi! Che lo' (spelled wrong I'm sure, but Lets Go! in Hindi). He holds up his finger in a 'wait' motion, and I snap back that I'm the one paying him, not the person on the other end of the phone. We start moving again, slowly as he is shifting and driving with one hand. I want to throw the phone out the window.

Our lunch stop was nice, in the middle of nowhere and the two brothers who run the dhaba are happy to see us and take our picture.

As we near Shimla (the stop of the first taxi) Ravi's phone is ringing off the hook. He pulls over, talks for a bit, and then says that we are going to 'rest for a moment, 10kms from Shimla'. We both inform him that this will not be happening, and we will continue to Shimla. Alicia's voice brooks no opposition from bratty Ravi. We realize at this point my face is covered in dirt from the dust and diesel exhaust.

We arrive, get dropped at the teeming bus station and have a horrific finding-a-bathroom-experience. I'm accosted by the very same porter who bothered us to no end when we were on our way to Manali (the one Alicia yelled at). Not good.

We decide to forgo the bus and get a cab from the nice folks at the Shimla taxi union. They let us sit and watch a sexist Indian TV show about a girl with huge boobs screaming about some giant scary Indian men attacking her. The men at the taxi stand all laugh at the TV. Alicia is pissed.

Our taxi to Solan is driven at, I think, about 25 mph. We arrive behind the bus. We are of course, supposed to go faster than the bus... but no worries. The driver is nice and drops us at our weird, overpriced Solan hotel.

We went down the main road here for dinner and found a spot I used to come to with our group in 2000. We had some great veggie burgers and enjoyed ourselves.

Fast forward to AM, we have a super crappy buffet breakfast (consisting of lukewarm instant coffee and bread, not toast, just bread). There was an option of corn flakes and warm milk. Mmmm! Instant mush! Mind you this hotel (Hotel Himani) is not any better than anywhere else we've stayed, just far more expensive.

We are now, after all this drama, off to see my old host family. I'm very excited and Alicia looks amazing in her beautiful kurta that she bought in Chandigargh.

Wish us luck!

On seeing a 'simple monk', nowhere to sit, and exile

A quick post to update you all at our recent and exciting activities in McLeod Ganj.

His Holiness, 14th the Dalai Lama (who calls himself a 'simple monk') happens to be giving a teaching while we are here. This is a very random and special event as the number of teachings he gives are very few now due to his age.

Alicia and I jumped at the chance to do this which required getting a security pass from the Tibetan-government-in-exile (passport check, photos, etc...) and then staking out some ground at the main temple with some cardboard, and the purchase of a small FM radio to listen to the English translation of the Dalai speaking.

Long story short (as I don't have much time at the moment), we got into the teaching after a long security check we made our way up to the English translation section to find it packed to the gills with people. After a while we found our piece of cardboard (with our names on it) that had been so kindly cut in half but another compassionate English-speaker. Thanks! Sad, and not actually surprising. We squished in for the two or so hour morning session which was actually done in English.

Alicia's description of the teaching, and especially the Dalai Lama will be much better than mine. But I will say that hearing him speak is always amazing (this is my second time hearing him speak, the first was here:



in 2000. As usual he is funny, warm to listen to, and deceptively wise. We got to see the Dalai Lama walk out, which made Alicia super happy and emotional.

On our way out during the lunch break Alicia was nearly knocked over by a Tibetan monk making a run for the stairs and myself bowled over by an older Tibetan man wearing huge shoes (everyone else had their shoes off) and holding a big cane. Classic.

A quick word / perspective about where we are. As we've said, McLeod Ganj is where the Dalai Lama lives and there is a sizable Tibetan community. What is not obvious about that these people are in exile. They cannot go home.

Why? A quick background, forgive the political rant:

* These are people who's homeland, an international recognized independent country, was stolen by the Chinese in the late 1940s. The international community essentially did nothing about this.

* millions of Tibetans died as a result of murder, famine, etc...

* nearly all of their monasteries and associated libraries, works of art, etc... were destroyed.

* those who remain in Tibet suffer from various forms of persecution by the Chinese government (religious, economic, etc...) and our being outnumbered by Chinese immigrants into Tibet from the east.

Those who either can't stand living under the Communist yoke, fear arrest, or what to practice their religion without interference can try and leave. This usually means literal escape from Tibet over the Himalaya with outdoor gear that we wouldn't wear on an autumn hike. During this crossing their is the risk of death by weather, murder by Chinese patrols, or being turned over to the Chinese by Nepalese or Indian border guards. Once someone makes it out they typically cannot go back without risk of arrest, and the arrest of family members who didn't leave. Once they arrive they are also arriving with what they carry on their backs and whatever money they managed to keep away from various officials.

So as we walk around this beautiful place, most all the Tibetans we see, the Dalai Lama included can never go back to their homeland. Exile is a word that is very powerful, but that power is not always obvious until you stop and think about it.

I'm typing rapidly so I can go attend a second cooking class from a Tibetan fellow named Sangje. He told us stories at our last class about how he can never go home to see his parents and seven brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles... being confronted by the hard realities of the world while making momos. All rather bizarre.

I'm sure Alicia will have more to tell on the subject. We both visited the Tibetan Museum here, which got her crying and me nearly so. It is one of the worlds sad, sad tragedies. And one that is hard to confront in your brain unless you are here.

Anyway, enough sadness for now, I'm off to go make Tibetan bread!

And in more bright news, we are leaving tomorrow for Solan as I've finally made contact with my host family from my volunteer stint in 2000. If all goes well we'll get to spend part of Sunday with them and have a real Indian family moment, and a large dose of nostalgia for me. A few days after that we're back to Delhi and then off to Thailand!

simple

and stunning. Dharamshala is both of those words co-mingled.
Tonight lover and I had dinner at a local joint that is a Tibetan restaurant. There were only 3 tables, and a precious couple who served us. Normally I am not so much of a soup girl, but it had been raining and there is a quite cold chill in the air, so I went for the warm goodness.
Tibetans know how to do soup. It was everything I wanted, warm, cozy, vegetable broth, soft noodley and veg goodness. Hanging on the wall was a saying that the Dalai Lama himself had spoken. I read the passage, and I agreed with it. It is simple. It is true. I just thought I would share it with all of you:

The Paradox of Our Age

We have bigger houses but smaller families;
more conveniences, but less time;
We have more degrees, but less sense;
more knowledge, but less judgement;
more experts, but more problems;
more medicines, but less healthiness;
We've been all the way to the moon and back,
but have trouble crossing the street to meet
the new neighbor.
We build more computers to hold more
information to produce more copies then ever,
but have less communication;
We have become long on quantity,
but short on quality.
These are times of fast foods
but slow digestion;
Tall men but short character;
Steep profits but shallow relationships.
It's a time when there is much in the window,
but nothing in the room.

by His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama

Ok..thinking of all of you,
xoxoxo
Alicia Claire

If it seems too good to be true...

Then it probably most defiantly is, especially if you are in India!!!

{This is something that happened to us a while ago, back when we were in Alleppy, Kerela, but I just thought to tell you now}


As I am sure you are all well aware, I am pale. And I intended before even leaving for this trip to stay as pasty as possible whilst in dramatic tropical climates. I packed as much Banana Boat as we could fit in our over stuffed packs, with the knowledge that it would just not be enough and we WOULD need to replenish it. Most likely with something not up to my pale and esthetic standards. I just had to grin and bare it, and cross that bridge when we got to It.

Well, that bridge was here in India. In Kerela to be precise. We had picked up some extra sunscreen in a duty free shop in the airport in Jo burg, right before leaving Africa for safety. We were not totally out of sunscreen at this point, but I knew it was around the corner, and wanted to be proactive. But, I was not in love with the mystery sunblock {which contained no zinc oxide by the way}.

While in Alleppy, as we strolled the boardwalk of a usually highly trafficked, traveler spot, we stopped at a corner shop to buy some soap. There, on display was my fav, BANANA BOAT!!!!! I could not believe our luck. On op of that, the price was cheap!! I had expected it to be jacked up in price, but it wasn't. Jonathan and I could not believe the extreme luckiness of this situation. All the sunscreen I had seen up to this point was crap, and not trusted to protect my delicate skin. This almost seemed like a miracle, too good to be true, to tell you the truth!

Later, still in India, no longer in Kerela, we popped open our new banana boat sunblock spf 50, sweat and water proof, the whole time too excited for our find. The cream was of paler consistency, but I just figured that it might be a little of a different make up due to the different market in which it was made. {Colgate toothpaste here is Really pasty, and feels a little strange to us and our American Colgate taste, but still gets the job done}. I smeared the sunscreen all up and down my arms, and was hit with a floral fragrance. The banana boat I know has no such fragrance. It was at this moment, with the product soaking into my skin that I realized we had been duped!!!!! This was not my favorite sunscreen, this was CONDITIONER, put in my favorite sunscreen bottle and sold as such!!!!

Can you believe this??!??!?!?!....
Too good to be true..zztztzt
xoxoxo Alicia Claire

Maptastic!

I've made an attempt of a trip map of our route via Google Maps:

Here is an embedded-in-the-page version:


View Larger Map

or a link to a new, full page:

Full page Map

Don't forget the fun Satellite and Terrain buttons so you can get an idea what these assorted places look like.

Color codes:

I've got place markers on places where we've either stayed, or are of some interest.

The links in between are by form of transport:

dark blue are flights
brown is bus or taxi
red are trains
bright green are cars/scooters we've operated
light blue are ferries/boats

Have fun!

For reference our route so far has been:

SF to Boise
Boise to Rochester
Rochester to Boston
Boston to NYC
NYC to Barcelona via Zurich
Barcelona to Cairo via Zurich
Cairo to Zurich
Zurich to Dar es Salaam
Dar to Arusha
Arusha to safari time and back to Arusha
Arusha to Moshi and back to Arusha
Arusha to Stonetown on Zanzibar
Stonetown to Paje
Paje to Dar
Dar to Cape Town via Jo'berg
Cape Town to Wilderness
Wilderness to Port Elizabeth
Port Elizabeth to Pretoria
Pretoria/Jo'berg to Mumbai
Mumbai to Anjuna, Goa
Anjuna to Fort Cochin
Fort Cochin to Alleppey
Alleppey to Kovalam/Trivandrum
Trivandrum to Delhi
Delhi to Shimla
Shimla to Manali/Vashisht
Manali to Dharmasala/Mcleod Ganj

thats it so far!

Temple Bath

So far on our travels through India, the shower situation has not been up to par for me. Water overall has been a difficult subject. You cannot drink it, brush your teeth with it, or eat vegetables washed in it. Every time I do shower I am reminded that I am cleaning in dirty water. That's if I can even have a proper shower. So far I have had cold showers, bucket showers {where there is no shower head}, poor water pressure, too much water pressure resulting in water spraying all over the bathroom, but somehow not getting on me, and no showers at all. I long for the day when I can take a proper shower in the right temperatures throughout the entire time I am in it. With perfect pressure to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. To not have to wear sandals on my feet while in the shower! This is a constant topic of conversation I have with Jonathan.

At the moment we are still in Vashist, and leave for Darhamshala tomorrow. That should be an amazing 8 hour car ride!! We opted to go big and rent our own taxi for this ride, as the only bus option would take at least 10 hours, and is of an even lower grade than the "semi deluxe" bus we had already enjoyed. We have quite enjoyed our time here, but my shower situation has not been so good, as expected. We knew that there were natural hot spring baths here in a temple, but up until today we have been so busy with excursions, being exhausted, and planning for our next stop that we had not checked out the baths yet.

Yesterday over breakfast on a balcony overlooking the cloud swept mountains, I noticed all the steam rising up from inside the temple grounds. How could I have not thought about the pools until now??!! We had much to do yesterday, so I promised myself I would soak today.

This morning I got up, and it was a brisk and rainy day. The mist and cloud cover is very mystical and has a tinge of an eerie feel to it. I took a non sensical shower, and headed for the temple. The two pools inside the temple ground are segregated. One for women, one for men. They are in completely different walled off areas, so that you cannot see inside the pools until you are all the way inside. Jonathan had warned me that the woman would most likely be all the way covered up, since skin is not flaunted in this culture. Well, once inside it is a different story. Since the pool is all women there was no such modesty. They all had on bottoms, but that was all, and it seemed like a very natural place for the ladies to be free of all their daily constrictions.

Vashist is a traveled village, so there was a very interesting mix of women in the pool. Classic Indian women with their little ones, a group of younger village friends, 2 very old and wrinkled up Tibetan ladies, ex-pat white ladies who spoke both English and the local language, traveling girls like me, Asian, and European. I am pretty positive I was the only American though. We actually have not met many Americans here in India, most travelers are European of sorts.

The pool is fed by a natural hot spring coming out of the mountain. This was the cleanest, warmest most amazing water my body has been in in months! Attached to the pool is also a multi faucet area where the local woman bathe on a regualr basis. This is their bath.. They come with their soap, shampoo, oils and cleanse and soak whenever they please. The temperature of the pool was just right. Steam was billowing up all around me, and I just closed my eyes and relaxed. There is no ceiling to the pool, and as I soaked in the perfect water, resurrecting my muscles and joints, a cool rain washed over my head. I was in such a tranquil dream state. Listening to the quite conversations in languages I cannot understand, along with the constant trickle of fresh hot spring water and drips and drops of rain gently splashing into the pool was like a sweet lullaby to me.

I soaked, and sat on the edge of the pool, as my warm body steamed off, and soaked again. I could not have been happier. So far this is most defiantly one of my best moments in all of India. Well, at least one of the most relaxing in a country that is constantly testing me!!!!!

xoxoxo
Alicia Claire

I want to take you higher

Up to the Himalayas.
Where to begin when what I want to describe is still shifting in kaleidoscopic visions behind my eyes, and hard for even me to make sense of.

Jonathan and I woke bright and early to 6am sunshine just licking the tops of the picturesque mountain ranges outside our guesthouse window. Our room view alone was enough to make me crave high altitude views on a regular basis. We went out into the brisk morning ready for adventure. We took a quick and easy rickshaw ride to Manali proper {we are staying in Vashist} to meet our new friends, Dan and Alenka, whom live in Slovenia and came to India for a quick 3 weeks, where we waited for our driver to come and pick us up. To get up high around here, you need to rent a car and a driver, as the trek up is no easy feat.

The four of us piled into our massive jeep/land cruiser and off we went. The ride up and up and up took about 2 hours. Two wildly bumpy, roller coaster galore, rainbow streaked hours. I thought I had bounced around a lot on the bus to Manali, but this ride gave me a six pack. My abs were contracting with every bump and dip in the under loved road. Some of the way was paved..poorly, with pot holes and landslide remnants, and some was pure gravel madness. It was a if I was sitting on a trampoline that was manipulated by a very large person, resulting in my lithe being flopping all over the place!

As we zigzagged higher and higher the view just got more and more overwhelmingly gorgeous. We must have seen dozens of waterfalls spouting white capped water and glistening red orange yellow green blue and purple streaks. The pine trees and other foliage clinging to the mountains side and over taking valleys were colossal and breathtaking. For the most part the rode up was big enough for 1 car only. There were many moments when our car had to leer to the side, grazing the very edge of the road to let a giant bus or truck pass going in the opposite direction. This ride is certainly not for the faint of heart or stomach. Luckily we had good conversation to help keep the focus and keep the never ending nausea trapped inside our bodies!!

Once up top, and after our first few gasps of thinned out air we slowly, and I mean slowly went on a 2 hour hike as far as our lungs and legs would take us. The pace we were moving was extra strange for me, since I am used to working it out and being a fast walker. Up here though, every step is like lifting your leg with weights strapped to it. The temperature this high up is also very intense. The wind was whipping my delicate skin, and numbed out my fingers quite easily. It was cold to say the least. On our ride up we had seen many stands renting the most horrible faux fur coats. Ankle length, teal blue, ruddy brown, faux fur. Akin to Burningman faux furrie looks that are so too featured in Black Rock City, and are completely hideous, AND that I despise!!!! I was glad to at least have on a hoodie, jeans, sneaks, my sunhat, and a scarf. I could have gone for another layer, but the furry look was out for me!!! The sun is also no joke when you are that high up. Many of the locals, including our driver now have permanent discoloration and a leathery texture to their skin from the wind and sun.

The exhaulted feeling of being on one of the tip tops of the world though, is worth every wind chill, and bump to get up there. About 1/2 way through the ride up we passed the tree line, and at the extent of our hike we were facing snow capped mountain peaks that reach to other galaxy's above and beyond us. There are also many prayer flag art pieces, as I like to think of them. The sound of the wind flapping through multi colored flags preserving and shedding good fortune and all things lovely was awe inspiring. I really wanted to wrap myself up in the flags like a web of magic, but that would have just been inappropriate...ztztzz.

The Serenity and overall feeling of being alive is so omnipresent. Every strained breath reminds you that you are alive, and that this earth is bigger than you on so many levels.

All the drama it took to get here was worth it.

xoxooxox
Alicia Claire

Little Miss Muffet

Would have had a heart attack at what was in our room last night. Any of you seen Arachnophobia? Yeah, well this spider was that big!! It was at least the size of a silver dollar legs and all. I am not kidding you.

Lover and I were relaxing after our exhausting and exhilarating day {I will tell you all about that later} and I saw a huge black thing on the wall over the sliding doors to our balcony. {we splurged for a couple of nights on a nice place after all the badness} I sat up, and wasn't sure if I was seeing things correctly. I asked Jonathan if that was a giant bug, or a hole in the wall. I was this confused. But..it was a bug. A spider. The biggest spider I have ever seen. Jonathan turned to me as quickly as possible and said "Don't scream". He was afraid I would frighten this monstrosity, and then we would never get it. Even Jonathan was afraid of this guy. I cannot express to you enough how gigantic and black and creepy this spider was was!!!

Jonathan told me to go get the guy at the front desk for help. This was not the sort of job that could be done with a cup and a piece of paper slid underneath to get rid of it. I flew down the two flights of steps and ran into the lobby all crazy. When I told the guy that there was a spider and we needed his help he replied "Where's your husband?", thinking that he could handle it. I told him he was up there with it, and we needed his help, as I turned and bolted back up the stairs. The front desk guy followed with a towel in his hand.

Once in our room he stood on a chair and caught the damn thing in the towel. He then laughed as he went outside, and said "Manali spider". Apparently this was no thing to him. Whatever. That spider was too much for us!!!

xoxoxo,
Alicia Claire

A magical day in the Himalaya

As you can tell from our recent posts we've been having a number of trying travel days. I'd been hoping for a 'magical India day' to happen. Travel here (for people from the West, at least) is often either really amazing, or really frustrating, and not all that much in-between.

We thankfully had a day of the amazing variety yesterday at 13,000 ft via a taxi ride up to the top of the Rohtang Pass.

The day before our adventure I had spoken with Alicia about chartering a taxi to go up to the pass (which I had been over in 2000 on my way to the Spiti Valley). That idea was bantered around with a few others but we did not make any specific plans. On our way to dinner that same day we ran into the wonderful Daniel and Alenka who we rode on the toy train to Shimla with (and who also stayed at Hotel Mold (aka the Woodland). They were staying in Old Manali and were passing through Vashisht on their way back from a hike. After some converstation we found out about their plans and we were graciously invited along.

We met up in Manali at 8:00am and started up the pass. I'll leave for Alicia to describe the ride up (the words nausea and roller-coaster come to mind). Once at the top you come to a bizarre temporary village of rock-and-tarp covered huts on the outskirts with wood-and-tarp stalls selling chai, food, and renting out snow suits. There is trash everywhere. There are also hordes of young men trying to sell us 'saffron' (for .25 a gram of course - it has to be real!) and 'amber'. These guys won't take no for an answer. Nothing like high pressure sales at high altitude.



A temple about 3/4 of the way to the top.

Snow suits? Well we were at 13,000 feet, and its not exactly warm. But for the hordes of domestic Indian tourists who come up here it must be very cold. That and most of the domestic tourists take a short horse ride up to the 'snow line' (though it seemed they were a good 500 feet short of it at the end of their ride). I'm assuming that there was a un-seen to us pile of snow for the car loads of 20-ish Indian men (who we often spied buying bottles of whiskey at "English Beer Stores" on the way up). For the two hours we were at the top we heard endless shouting and whooping from people who may very well were having their first snowball fight!

We quickly left the bizarre bazar where the taxi parked. We were all moving very slowly due to the altitude and continued harassment by the saffron sellers and made our way towards a number of impromptu Tibetan stupas on the ridge above.



Alicia and I with Tibetan prayer flags and the Himalaya behind us.

We continued past the stupas to the edge of the ridge where we could see down into the Lahaul Valley below. The scenery is stark and massive beyond what you can comprehend. Keep in mind that from where the picture below was taken (~ 13,300 ft) all the mountains go UP. Really high, from 17,000 ft up to around 20,000. The ridges fall away steeply into snow lined valleys.



The view at the top of our hike.



Alenka, Daniel, and myself with the massive mountains. Note the wind bending my hat rim over.



A happy Alicia!!

After two hours of walking around and being given the 'hard saffron sell' at 4000 meters we headed back to meet our driver for the hectic and headache producing ride down.

More photos:



A chai stop on the way up.



Alicia striking a pose in the middle of nowhere.



The stark surrounds...



More flags and the mountains behind.

Throw Up Bus

As an end to our most lovely stint in Shimla we had to catch a 10 hour bus ride to Manali, leaving at 8am. I had spoken to the owner of our mold rotting guest house twice the day before, to make sure that we could have a cab ready for us at 7am to make it down to the main bus station with no trouble. We awoke bright and early after pretty much non existent sleep due to the construction, loaded up our packs {mind you Jonathan was still a little weak} and went down stairs to get in our ride.

There was no cab waiting for us. There was not even a bit of knowledge about us even needing a cab from the guy at the desk. I was furious..we could not miss this bus. I refused to be stuck in moldville another night. Instead of the guy behind the desk jumping to attention and calling a cab for us he fussed around and just gave lame excuses as to why there was no cab as I pretty much lost my 7am cool. Finally he went upstairs and woke up some guy who was sleeping to drive us to the bus station..now it was about 7:20. If there was any strain of calm collectedness in my being, it was now leaking out of my every pore as I envisioned us missing this bus.

The guy who drove us down was actually nice, and I tried not to take any of this nonsense out on him, as it was certainly not his fault. He drove like a maniac, and we made it, with about 5 minutes to spare. We found our bus, and then, of course, got the bag grab from porters wanting to put our stuff on the bus for us, then demanding money for doing so. These guys are the worst...almost as bad as rickshaw drivers. I was in no fit state to be messed with, and of course I lost it. As this one little guy demeaned money from us I made a scene and and told him we asked for no such help, how dare he grab our bags, we could have done it ourselves, and NO, he would not get any money from us, I do not care how insistent he is. By this point there is a large crowd of Indian guys all around staring at me like I am the lunatic!! {hahaa} Meanwhile the little guy probably did not understand half the words coming out of my mouth, but he surly felt my wrath!!!

I then stormed off onto the bus. Jonathan, being the good guy that he is, and not wanting any trouble with our bags, ended up slipping the guy a 10rupee note {about 30cents} as I walked off. If he had not done this, the guy probably would have haggled Jonathan till no end. I am telling you, these guys are ruthless.

I settled in to our non existent leg room seats and tried to get comfortable for the 10 hour hell trip. We had booked a "semi deluxe" bus that was to have no AC, but fans and windows that opened. Well...semi deluxe was just a bit of an understatement according to my standards!!! First of all, the fans did not work, so lover and I were trapped in a sweat box for the next 10 hours. I am not kidding you, my shirt was wet. The driver of the bus was a speed craved maniac who hit the switchback mountain climb like he was Mario Andretti. The bag at our feet that had our packed lunch and toilet paper in it went flying into the aisle every chance it got, with me having to fumble around to grab it, and re-roll up the roll. I was bouncing in my seat all pogo stick style, and Jonathan literally had to grab my arm a few times to keep me from propelling into the aisle. Nausea was rumbling in my stomach and threatening to lurch up my throat for most of the 10 hours! Then, as if the leg room wasn't bad enough, the man in front of Jonathan leaned his seat ALL the way back. I offered to trade to make his life better, but my legs are really not that much shorter than Jonathan's, in fact they are quite long. Long enough that sitting behind this guy with his seat leaned back, I was basically cradling his turbaned head in my lap. If I had had the proper product I could have given him a facial. It was ridiculous!!!!

At our first and much needed rest stop, as I was stretching out my crunched up limbs I noticed all the smears and streaks of nastiness along the buses side. It was covered in throw up!!!! I guess not everyone has as strong a gut as I do to hold it in. This was NOT a semi deluxe anything...this was horrible. Later back on the bus I even got the extra added pleasure of seeing an old guy puke out the window, adding to the outside display!!!

We finally came to the end of this nightmare ride, with, you guessed it..more annoyance!!! Before the bus even hit the station guys were jumping on and scouting out the passengers. As we pulled into the station, those same guys brought it on, blocking our seats so that we could not get up and harassing us about hotels to stay at, and rickshaw rides. We had dealt with enough for the past 10 hours, and all we wanted was off. By now even Jonathan had no patience left and had to yell at 3 different guys to leave us alone, and get out of our way. We stomped off the bus in fury, and found a decent guy to bring us to our guesthouse.

Good news is, we made it, once again. Our guesthouse is cozy, for once, and we are happy where we are, even though getting here was a disaster!!

ok..
xoxoxoxo Alicia Claire

Delhi and H.P. Photo Post

Pahar Ganj, New Delhi, at night.


A typical Indian bar menu. Note that vodka and gin are 'whiskeys'.


The Herlehy sisters in Pahar Ganj, New Delhi.



Alicia and I took the famous (to people weird people who like trains) Kalka-to-Shimla toy train to Shimla. This is a narrow-gauge train which means that the rails are very close together. This is so the train needs less room, can weigh less, and go around tighter corners. It also means the train goes very slow. We were fortunatly put in a half-full car with other backpackers which means that the car ended up being full with all our huge bags. Here we met our friends Daniel and Alinka (I hope I'm spelling this right) who we ended up going to the Rohtang Pass with while in Manali (more on this adventure soon). The train took a plodding, but beautiful five hours to get to Shimla. On the way the train passes through over a 100 tunnels and a number of very pretty stone bridges.



The train going through one of the many tunnels.



Alicia looking wonderful on the train.



On the way to Shimla the toy train passes though Solan, home for two months in 2000.



The train and I.



A yarn store in Shimla, taken by super Alicia.



The crowds in Shimla on the weekend.



Fried goo-balls spotted by Alicia.



Alicia and the moldy gross room at the Woodland Hotel in Shimla.



There is a huge elephant (plus its owners) camping out in Vashisht giving rides. The first time we saw it Alicia and I came around a corner to find the huge (tuskless) animal with florecent chalk designs on its forehead eating hay. The owners wanted quite a bit of loot for a photo so I grabbed this one of the wonderful giant walking up the narrow street with a couple of kids on top.

Moldy Blues

After we left Delhi, as Lover has mentioned we spent 1 night in Chandigarh, then off to Shimla. Shimla is a town toppling on the edge of a mountain. It is gorgeous, and literally your head is in the clouds!! The entirety of this place is clinging to the mountain side in a manner that would make Willy Wonka proud.

The views are absolutely spectacular, and for once the people did not bother me as in Delhi. The stares never cease, but there was no grabbing at me or the never ending hassle. Our Hotel was high up on this silly mountain town and thus allowed us such a scene to look at. The omnipresent mold covering the walls was not so lovely to look at.

At first glance at our room I just thought that the walls were dirty, and this being India, and after all the cockroaches and other madness, I have softened, and decided not to care about the dirt. Bad choice. Later that same day I decided to touch the wall to see if the "dirt" was permanent. Nope. It came off on my finger and at this point I understood the doom of the situation. I am lethally allergic to black mold. Within hours I was unable to breath...thank goodness for that inhaler I had gotten before this trip. After two strong steroid blasts of that bad boy I was breathing again. The only reprieve I got from another wretched asthma attack was to leave all the barred windows open, 24/7. The windows are barred because there is a sneaky monkey problem in Shimla, and they will come right into your room and either totally trash the place or steal your stuff!!!

Keeping the windows open does not seem like such a bad deal, but right next door to our guesthouse there was non stop construction on a place being built that recently experienced a massive landslide onto the site. The workers were at it night and day trying to clear the scene and continue with the project. Thus, fresh air came at the expense of our ears practically bleeding from the noise long into the night.

To make matters worse, then my dreamman got horribly ill. We had hoped to relax and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of this mountain town and instead dealt with almost more trouble and drama than two people can handle.

I did get to enjoy a slice of this beautiful place, solo, as lover rested. As I said before it was such a change and I actually felt comfortable being alone, thankfully. I could not have dealt with harassment on top of everything else. I was sad though, to not be able to truly share this place with my lover, but I at least got some good pics to share with all you. {see on of Jonathan's posts}

I also had a few monkey moments, but thanks to my magical monkey power {I was born under the year of the monkey} they did not bother me...so much. [they have actually been know to grab a ladies purse right off her, and empty the contents at will!!} After my walk around I went back to our mold infested room to sit and read next to the window for optimal breathing while lover continued to rest miserably in bed. As I was reading I heard some wicked monkey sounds, and glanced out the window to find myself face to face with one of these feisty beasts. I willed my monkey power and gave it a stern look of warning to get away from the bars, when it lunged forward, scaring me half to death. I flew across the room at lightening speed with a yelp at a pitch only I could make, and of course disturbed Jonathan even more!! I thought that wicked lil guy was going to slither right through those bars and attack my face!!!!!

Luckily...that did not happen, and after realizing how much he had frightened me, I believe the monkey laughed and was on his way!!! Unbelievable!!

okzzttzzz
xoxoxoxox
Alicia Claire

Blood Boil

One more comment on Delhi:

Rickshaw drivers in Delhi make me crazy, and being the Herlehy that I am, this is not a good thing, for them or for me. All of you who know me well know what I am talking about!!!!

Alive and Well on the Banana Pancake Trail

Alicia and I have made it into the middle of Himachael Predesh to a cute, hippy-dippie village outside of Manali called Vashisht. We've had a number of not-good travel experiences which Alicia will further explore in posts-to-come. Here is the quick version:

1. Our hotel in Delhi (Hotel Vivek) ended up being a creepy, cockroach-filled mess, even though our room on appearance, was nice. The neighborhood where we stayed (Pahar Ganj) drove us mad and we had countless terrible interactions with people out to scam us. Ick.

2. Hotels in Chandigarh (where we stayed for one night) are horrifically overpriced. The town itself seems cute enough besides the strip-mall like layout of the place.

3. Our hotel in Shimla (The Woodland Hotel) was, well, really crappy. All the rooms were covered in mold (from a long rainy season, as the story goes) and there was a backhoe outside our room working up until 1-4am each of the three nights we were there. Because of the mold, we had to have the windows open.

4. Well why didn't we move? That was a problem as I was brutally ill with travellers digestive badness with an absurd fever on top. I'm basically better after amazing care from my amazing Alicia, a round of Cipro, and lots of rest.

5. Our 10 hour bus ride from Shimla to Manali was operated by an utter madman on the worst roads on the worst 'semi-deluxe' bus known. Alicia has many more 'appealing' details about this ride. I also got only a few hours of sleep the night before due to the backhoe and blaring Hindi music all night and still could not eat much. Alicia was about to pass out from the unexpected heat (or fall out of her chair).

6. Well, no six, now things are great. We are back in a spot where I can order a banana pancake for breakfast (the title term lifted from our Lonley Planet Thailand book talking about the strip of tourist beaches that line the Thai coast).

On a non-sarcastic note: there was a recent domestic-to-India terrorist attack in Delhi about five days after we left. We are fine and our little sister Carolyn (in-law of course to me) is fine as well. A scary topic without a doubt.

On a brighter note, here is a picture of Vashisht from the porch of the great laundry lady we met who has a washing machine in her home and does laundry for tourists. A great example of what a wee bit of investment can do to kick start a good lively hood for people in places like this.

A line of decreasing (or inverted) returns

We've not been having the best luck with food in New Delhi. Probably because of the touristy neighborhood where we are staying (Pahar Ganj). We've mainly been eating either under spiced north Indian food or overpriced (but passable) versions of the same.

Yesterday we were wandering around Connaught Place, in the center of New Delhi. We were shopping for books and afterward we wanted to eat. All around us were comparatively very expensive restaurants geared towards upper-class Indians or tourists. A dish of Alicia's favorite Saag Panner at one of these places will run around 180-220 Rs. where were usually paying 30-65 depending on how touristy the spot we are at is.

None of this was working for us, due to cost and from past experience we figured the food would not be twice as good as anything else. I've figured out at these really nice places you are typically paying for the AC, nice linen, silverware, etc... and not for someone to really, really try and turn out some amazing food.

We kept wandering, past a Hindi movie theatre and past swarms of men all trying to sell us the same packets of underwear. Alicia finally spotted a sign for a vegetarian restaurant up the stairs. We walked up and sat down in the room with low ceilings and lots of fans. There were a few other people eating at 3:00 in the afternoon which we figured was a good sign.

We each ordered a 'thali' plate (set plate of 3-4 dishes) for ~60 Rs. each and in moments out came clearly the best food we've eaten in New Delhi. Each dish was very well executed. We spent most of the meal making 'mmmmm' noises.

Moral of the story - less is often more. Follow the locals, and your nose.

Escape the heat, not the drams

This is from just over a week ago, and I had it in the drafts..so not to confuse you on where we are {Manali}, this is about Delhi.

Yesterday dreamman and I decided to take a break from the madness of Delhi and go to see a movie. Our only option was Wanted, the new Angelia Jolie flick, which neither of use really cared to see but we went anyways.

We too a 1/2 hour rickshaw ride after the regular battle over how much we would pay, and got to the theatre with just enough time to get tickets before the show. There were roped off lines to purchase tickets, and here is where the drama begins!!

As I am sure you all must know by know, India is chaos, and lines are non existent. To get a train ticket, use the bathroom, order at a food stand, pay at a corner shop, there is no line. There instead, is a pushy horde of people all side stepping each other to be next. It makes no difference if you have been standing behind the person at the front of the "line" and have been there the longest...someone will always cut you. We have gotten pretty good at the hip check and nasty glare to hold our position!

Now, at the movie theatre, we were more than pleased to see a roped off line, that people were actually standing in and waiting their turn!! We filed in and took a breath of relief, to finally be dealing with decent sensibility's! Well, that breath was taken too soon. Before we knew it, "cool guy" Indian boys on date night trying to impress their jeans wearing girlfriends started walking right up next to the rope, outside the line,leaning in over the actual person in the front of the line, and purchasing their tickets ahead of everyone. And get this...the most crazy part of this nonsense is that the teller behind the desk serviced the cutting cool guy first!!!!! As if that was tolerable behavior. Ughhh India..

After many more cut ins, and finally getting our tickets we headed for the doors inside. Apparently in Delhi, if you plan on going to the movies you also have to go through a security tighter than at the airport. First everyone has to walk through the metal detector box, then the girls are shuffled off behind a curtain to be searched by a female, and the guys get the same, only not behind a curtain by a male.

I apprehensively went behind the curtain, knowing this would be a dramatic moment. First I got the frisk from one of the girls. This was no ordinary pat down, she literally smeared my body with her little hands, as if I could have had any bad thing on me. I looked at her, and said not jokingly " well that was invasive" and in return she just chuckled. After getting felt up by that one, I then had to hand over my purse to be pratically turned inside out by another girl. I stood there as she rifled through my bag pulling out all sorts of stuff I was "not allowed" to bring in. Of these items were a camera, gum, bug repellent, and sunscreen. She also kept asking if I had cigarettes, matches or a lighter, because those weren't allowed either. I looked at her all crazy, and said, "I just got felt up, and you went though my whole bag..NO, I do not have anything else on me!" She then said, "OK you cannot take this stuff in" I then picked up all my stuff, looked at her like she was fool, put it all back in my bag and said "yeah, ok" as I walked right back over to Jonathan. I was not going to let those to foolish girls tell me I was not seeing the movie we already paid for.

Jonathan was also having a hard time, as he had a camera in his pocket as well, and was told to leave it outside if he wanted to watch the movie. UMMMMM....What??!?!! Leave it outside??!! What is wrong with these people. So I started to make a fuss...a big one at that. This is something Indians do not like. They don't want confrontation, and they don't want their establishment to look bad. At that moment we were very briskly ushered to the side by one of the "guards". All this guy knew about was Jonathan's camera, since I had just put all my stuff back in my purse, and I had no intention of telling him!!. He then gave us the rigmarole of how in this theatre they do not allow cameras inside, and unless we left it outside we would not be allowed to go into the movie. Well....that was just not going to work for me. This is where I stepped forward, leaned down to read his name tag, addressed him in a stern tone, and told him that we had paid a rickshaw to get all the way out here, had paid for the movie tickets, and that we WERE going to see this movie. I think I frightened him, and he agreed to hold our camera for us, and that we could retrieve it from him at the end of the movie. I used his name again, and said "Ok..I will find YOU after the film. We handed over the camera, and strolled into the theater with my purse full of everything else. Fools.

So of all the items you are not allowed to bring inside, your phone is not one of them. Peoples phones were going off like crazy throughout the whole film. Not only that, but people were also answering them and carrying on conversatsions!!! The girl next to us answered her phone 4 times!!!! 4 times!!!!!! Until Jonathan actually had to tell her to quit it, and gave her the dirtiest look. What is wrong with these people?!?!?!!??!!

The saga continues. After the film was over, of course we had to exit out a door that lead outside. We then had to walk around the building to go back to the front so that we could retrieve our camera. No big deal you may think...wrong. We were then expected to go back through security, which I openly refused, and walked right past those stupid girls trying to wave me in to the booth. Were they kidding me?!?!?!?! We then had to sit and wait, because of course the guy who was holding our camera was nowhere to be found. After about 15 minutes, someone came up with our camera, and without a thank you we stormed out of there.

Moral of the story...there is no escape in Delhi. Not even the refuge of a thing as common as a movie theatre.

Photos from ther start of our trip

Here are some photos from when we left the US in June:


Right before our departure from Brooklyn, outside our friend's Rui and Tommy's shop (now plural), Alter. Note our amazingly stylish travel pants!


Roof view of residential Barcelona from our friend Josh's parents flat.



A fun hedge row maze at what I believe was an old palace.



Alicia looking fabulous, of course.



A number of shots from the Gothic Quarter below:







A plaza that I should know the name of. I think it is named after a famous 20th century author...



Inside of a massive cathedral that I of course, should know the name of but I don't.



The Barcelona marina. I'd be nice to have a boat here...

Photos of us at the Gaudi Park:







A beautiful little square right off Las Ramblas.



Barcelona has tons of wacky graffiti.



Look everyone: it's our friend Sarah (and gracious amazing host with her boyfriend Josh) with Alicia. Hooray for Sarah!



Barcelona has an amazing borrow-a-bike service called Bicing via a membership only for residents. The service is super amazing. Thanks to Josh's parents for letting us use their cards.



This shoe was made out of pots and pot lids. Why is it in the street? I don't know, but I do love Europe!



A Gaudi designed brick in the sidewalk.

A country without change

Merchants typically do not have small bills in India. This is often a big problem.

If you change money, or go to an ATM, you get large notes. Typically 500 or even 1000 Rupee bills. Most things, minus hotels or a decadent meal, do not cost over 500 Rs. In fact many things are very very cheap (10-30 Rs). Thus trying to buy some gum with a 500 Rs. note will seriously provoke either laughter, anguish, anger, or all of the above.

As a traveler its almost impossible to stockpile up enough change. I plot out each purchase to generate the maximum amount of change possible. For rickshaws, and at small shacks, stands, shops, etc... its usually nice to give exact change as these people really don't have it either. But for busy restaurants, stores, etc... we are always handing over 500 Rs. notes and waiting for the eyes to roll.

Two days ago at breakfast (at Sam's Cafe, in our hotel - NOT recommended) we literally had zero change minus 500 Rs. notes. The staff got all bent out of shape at this. They called people, sent people outside, and generally glared at us for a few minutes before the chump behind the counter bills out the exact change we need from his pocket! No tip for him....

This scenario is played out constantly. It is quite a bother. Our plans are often dictated around making purchases for items like water before taking a rickshaw ride so we know we'll have enough change at the end. Many (but not all) of the rickshaw drivers here in Delhi are scammers, and they have no problem telling you they don't have 50 Rs. change for your 100 Rs. note, thus doubling the fare you were supposed to pay.

I'm told the source of the change problem is that there are simply not enough small bills in circulation. I must say I'm dubious about this. I think the most practical reason is that most merchants here do not often deal with the bank. In the US a merchant will go at least a few times a week if not daily to their bank to deposit their money and get a stack of change. Not here...

I believe I've got enough change to pay for our Internet, which is good, as I think we need to head back now :)

Searching for the Sharmas

The hills of Solan. These hills strech for hundreds of kilometers until they reach the Himayala.


As many of you know, I spent three months in India in 2000 with a group of students from my alma mater, Gonzaga University doing volunteer work for two months and then a month on tour around Himachal Pradesh. Half of our group of ~18 spent our volunteer time in a smallish 'hill station' called Solan, the other half in Delhi. Thankfully I got to spend the two months in the beautiful town at around 5000 feet, mercifully avoiding the heat waves that hit Delhi that summer.



Our friends Erin and Jean Marie walking through Solan's central market.


The group of us lived with a wonderful family, the Sharmas, who were expanding their British Raj era home which sat at the edge of the Forest to be a guesthouse. Our volunteer work (which for me mainly consisted of attempting to teach English and computers) and stay with the family was an amazingly magical time in my life. And I believe for everyone else in our group too.



Some of my adorable students packed like sardines in their school at Rabon village in Solan.



One of our school and Solan housemates, Brian Krembs, laughing over a perpetually amazing meal from our live in chef, Anita, who is a member of the Sharma clan.

I've always wanted to go back to Solan to see the family and all their children, the oldest of which, Bietu, is 18 and 10 when I met him!

None of our groupmates had a working home address or email for the Sharmas. I've been scouring the Internet to try and find some sort of Indian whitepages or Solan directory to try and find them. After emailing my friend Drew, who also stayed with the Sharmas, I was reminded that Reinu Sharma (the wife) worked at a private boys high school in Solan. I figured if I could get the contact information for the school, I could track down Reinu - assuming she still worked there and the family was still in Solan.

Attempts at finding a number for the school produced an obscure five digit number which may have worked at one point, but no more. Thus I've been asking many of the nice Indian people we meet if they have any ideas on how I might find the Sharma family. None have worked out, but I kept trying.

A few nights ago we got to see Alicia's little sister, Carolyn, who is spending a semester here and living for a number of weeks with a host family. We stopped in to meet her host family (who are amazing) and had a nice chat. My story comes up and lo and behold... the host Mom (who turns out to be from H.P.) knows that Carolyn's Hindi teacher is from Solan!

The next day Carolyn talks to her teacher and it turns out that she used to work at the very school in question, and knows Reinu! She was sure that Reinu still works at the school and somehow dug up the school's number for me.

Utterly amazing. There are a over a billion people in India. The chances of this really are somewhat small...

So I'm going to call the school tomorrow morning (Monday) and see if I can talk to Reinu and line up a visit in Solan before we leave India at the end of the month. So very amazing!

-Jonathan