OUR ADVENTURES

Dalai Lama's Backyard Part 2

... Inside Om, perched on the mountain so the grand view of the misty green valley filled all of it's big windows, we were greeted by a pleasant and young Tibetan woman who informed us there was only a small chance for a room (at noon). Too bad, the place was colorful with all rooms having balconies and a view of the valley (150 rupees). Instead, we decided to first fill our bellies and take in the very different atmosphere as they played meditative Tibetan music. It just felt wonderful.

The tables surrounding us filled up quickly with sleepy tourists up early to get to volunteering, trekking, meditating, classes and/or shopping. First we exchanged travel stories with a Dutch couple while over-hearing American accents to my left. After the Dutch people headed out, the three American women seating to my left asked us a few questions about travels. Rebecca, Teri and Laura (3 Dakini Acupuncture) are the names of these delightful women from Seattle in India volunteering as acupuncturists. They were a wonderful source of information on McLeod Ganj and entertained us with their travel stories.

Michael, the eggs were okay. The butter on the toast tasted funny as usual and the jam tasted a bit like thick KoolAid. The coffee was good, but the milk reacted in one of the many funny ways it does in India when I poured it in. Later we learned the French toast (american style) was a nice break from the eggs as honey is a wonderful substitute for syrup. God I miss syrup. The filter/boiled water which we refilled our plastic water bottle was good especially for 5 rupees. Kidding. You're right, I will include more aspects of our experience in the future. Unfortunately, there's not much variety in food, so I forget to include our first impressions and experiences with it.

The Om Guesthouse referred us to the Loseling Guesthouse run by the monastery. A Tibetan man shortly appeared, offered to carry Stephanie's bag and quickly walked us to his place, through the dusty streets with a shortcut through the barber's place. The room was clean, cozy and priced well. It had hot water 24 hours and a decent view. Stephanie and I were excited to shower and smiled at the thought of an afternoon nap.

Outside in the narrow streets lined with cement gutters and exposed utilities the town was alive and geared for another day. Tibetan women in their traditional Tibetan dresses and colorful (and hip-designed) marriage aprons stocked their make shift stalls with Tibetan handicrafts while store owners swept the area outside their store fronts and sprinkled water to keep the dust down. Cows roamed aimlessly with only interest in nibbling on small piles of garbage, rotting vegetables and cardboard boxes, dogs slept everywhere restoring energy for the next night's howl-a-thon.

For our visit, it was sunny and clear with occassional clouds high in the sky while other times the clouds swept right through town. The mornings and evenings were brisk and required us to wear our fleece while at night we snuggled up in the ample blankets. 'As Luck Would Have It..." Stephanie and I arrived after Dharamsala experienced many gusty rain storms that had dampened many of the travellers' stories.

Shopping Spree

We walked up and down Jogibara Rd and immediately felt the urge to shop, and further more were happy to give these people, refugees and exiled Tibetan government what little money we had to offer. Dharamsala and specifically the McLeod Ganj area is popular with philanthropists and travellers as a place to volunteer for several weeks, months and even years (6 months at a time due to visa limitations). So, we were only there a few hours and already checking out the prices of handicrafts sold by the side of the congested road (more like an alley). Stephanie was drawn to the aprons the women wear when they are married. If she hadn't bought one, I would have bought two. The aprons are comprise of three vertical rows, each vertical row is made up of thin horizontal stripes of semi-monochromatic colors scheme -- browns, greens with a dash of yellow -- blues, grays, perrywinkle with a few slivers of a bright yellow-green -- beautiful and inspiring color themes.

I also investigated the wool shawls, which were large enough to be used as small blankets. We eventually bought two at the same time as I had to replace the thin brown pants we had tailored in Madurai a few weeks back. Of course, the materials and prideless craftmanship of the pants did not last our hand-washing and intense use. In Dharamsala, Steph also bought a skirt, fabrics, some bracelets, cards, paper and some gift items. Denise, you would have been proud.

I managed to drag Stephanie into a few carpet shops where we quickly determined we didn't like the wool on cotton designs and would start considering silk on silk. Mustafa showed us one 3 by 5 silk rug from Kashmir which we vocally admired and then learned just how expensive our taste is, 45000 rupees, about $1000. Uh, our budget for 3 months in India is $3600 and we are happily living on half of that. We had seen many carpets from Morocco to Turkey and plenty in India, we had some idea of prices and couldn't understand why this was so high. One of the hardest things for me in India is dealing with the fact I feel we are always being made a fool for paying too much. So I grappled for as much information on as many types of carpets, their sizes, knot count, material, design, color, dye type, etc and worked the numbers in my head to find a reasonable price.

The next day I offered Mustafa less than a third of his asking price and he said nothing. We asked if he was sure he couldn't let the carpet go for his asking price, because we really liked it. He had corned himself with a few of his comments, and I thought if he knew we really liked the carpet, perhaps he would "let it go" for less than his "minimum price," and save face. We left him with our "budget," and hoped he would reconsider as Stephanie and I only planned to stay a couple of days in Dharamsala.

Carpet

We visited a few handicraft "emporiums" to check out other design and prices. On one such visit we met Mel. Self-proclaimed lucky woman and half year resident of McLeod Ganj who divorced her wealthy husband and has been travelling ever since. No world location was discussed without her modestly adding how many times she had been there. A pleasant woman with a wonderful outlook on life and always spoke with a smile.

Great Food, People and Movies

That evening we found Nick's, an Italian restaurant recommended in our guide book. Nick as it turned out was a larger than average Tibetan man, that to our taste buds really knows pasta. And since pasta (like pizza) is not rice or dosa we were excited. Actually, Dharamsala and specifically McLeod Ganj and Bhagsu areas are full of wonderful western amenities including cuisine from all around the world including Israel, internet cafes every 5 meters (with decent connections and prices) and three make-shift cinemas playing indi and foreign films on really large TVs and projection screens. During our visit we saw only 3 movies, this is surprising to us since everyday we planned to go atleast once; Frida <--- great, Talk To Her <--- great and Bollywood/Hollywood ('same wood, different tree,' a good segue to Bollywood for westerners). This place just keeps getting better. The handmade spinach and cheese raviolis, vegetarian lasagne and fettucini alfredo of Nick's were wonderful, but not as wonderful as their chocolate brownies, banana-, carrot- and coffee-walnut cakes.

The local Tibetan cuisine was also delightful and fittingly hardy for trekkers and cold shoppers. The Tibetans have mastered thukpa (noodle) soup, and we love soup. The bowls were half the volume of a basketball, piled high with tasty noodles, vegetables and sometimes chicken; the broth light, but savory. Hot lemon tea, hot ginger lemon honey tea and Kashmiri tea were our choice beverages for our many chai breaks. The cuisine and snuggling up in the cool temperatures made the two of us homesick for the wonderful season our family and friends must be experiencing in the USA, especially as we approach our first ever anniversary.

During our visits in Dharamsala we had great breakfasts of American style French toast, eggs all styles, toast and (crappy) jam, porridge, cakes (well, it's like banana bread), hot teas, hot chocolates and good coffee with hit-or-miss "separate" milk. We enjoyed these breakfasts at either the Green Hotel Restaurant, different valley, same inspiring view or Om Hotel.

One great thing about India and other developing nations is their proclevity to chai breaks, in our case we called them cake breaks and during several such breaks we met the wonderful, inspiring and entertaining travellers and locals of McLeod Ganj. On the sunny patio overlooking the waking valley as the eagles (or falcons or hawks) and crows soared above us, a small group of monkeys were creating some excitement in the nearby trees and a dark-haired woman asked if she may join us since no other chair was availabe. "Please," we said. It's practically impossible not to strike up conversation with another traveller, especially one sitting at the same small table. We spoke with the animated Gloria from Mexico City and she just charmed us with her energy, humor and philosophy on so many aspects of life. She seemed quite wise for her age and extremely well travelled, lastly we learned she is an actor. Damn! She's been in a few movies we will check out (perhaps again), soap operas and knows a few directors of our favorite Mexican Indi movies. Unfortunately, we did not cross her path again.

Stephanie and I were also interested to see the Dalai Lama temple, His Holiness' residence nearby and do a little trekking. We found our way to a nearby waterfall just passed the Bhagsu area, we thought it would be a trek. It was only a short distance to walk through the fragmented village until we hit the Hindu temple and stream fed pool. The days are warm, but not what Stephanie and I considered a swimming day, but the Indian locals/tourists felt the spiritual need to take a dip in the cold swimming pool complex a part of the temple.

The pool was sectioned into three parts, the first and smallest pool was for looks. Cow heads mounted above the pool with their mouthes spewing water kept the water clean, the cleanest we've seen. The second pool was also not used because from here the water was diverted via canals and pipes for human use and consumption. The third pool was the largest and enjoyed by a few brave Indians boys, men, fully dressed little girls and Tibetan monks.

We took a few pictures and moved on passed the women beating their laundry. Around the bend on the backside of Bhagsu the scenery just bursted with a view of the mountains from our relatively low position. The layers were just impressive. The mountains in front were the greenest with shining silver rocks reflecting the sun, the mountains in the back were taller and taller, snow covered and without any apparent vegetation. My god, these are the Himalayas and just the beginning. We felt so high but we were only at 1770 meters, nothing. We had wanted to visit Leh had our time in India not been quickly slipping away via the highest commercial airport in the world at about 3500 meters (checking fact), altitude sickness is a concern there. I just can't imagine what Mt Everest must be like. Huge.

The waterfall was in full view and in the valley below we could see dozens of red-robed monks doing their laundry in the river and enjoying the inspiring view. As we neared the falls, it became apparent many of the monks were actually girls, or women. That would make them nuns, of course.

Tashi Delek

Next we checked the Dalai Lama Temple, seemed appropriate. Had I not made it clear before, for those who don't know, the Dalai Lama resides here in exile after several weeks of walking here through the Himalayas with his entourage. The Tibetan government, 300,000 Tibetans and monks are also in exile here and in other areas of India. The Dalai Lama was still in NYC and meeting with Bushy so chances were dwindling of a spotting.

On the way to the temple while trying to capture the many old men doing their thing, a Tibetan monk looked over our shoulder in amazement and disbelief of our little digital camera. That thing really affords us some interesting opportunities with the locals, sometimes unwanted inquiries of its value in US dollars. The monk asked where we were headed and quickly invited us to follow. He had a unique walk, something about the way his arms were swinging. The temple was a large pale orange-yellow complex of cement layers sandwiching many rooms, offices, temples and open spaces. The trees were not sacrificed for the construction and they continued to grow through the several stories and roofs. The Dalai Lama's residence was across the way, a guarded home serenely nestled on the top of the hill amongst the tall pines.

The monk in his draping deep red garb, over his matching fleece jacket and hat gave us a tour of the temple, pointing out the attractions like where the Dalai Lama sits and important dieties in broken English. There was much we knodded yes to which we did not understand. You can only politely ask "what?" so many times. We followed him out as we seemed to all going in the same direction. On the way we met Claus, his German English teacher of whom he showed great respect. Claus was very casual and must have felt it was too much.

Before the chance had left, we invited him for tea. He accepted but expressed he couldn't stay long. In Om, we asked questions and got answers which were difficult to understand, mainly because the subject was beyond his vocabulary. He asked if we could continue tomorrow at 3, and we were happy to oblige. His name is the same as the Tibetan greeting, Tashi Delek.

We met Tashi the following day and offered him lunch and tea, he only accepted the tea. Our conversation was ennuciated and his answers a bit broken as we asked questions about Buddism, himself, and the escape from Tibet through Nepal. Stephanie and I were quite pleased with ourselves when we could decipher his pronounciation and make sense of his response, we learned he was not of any Dharamsala monastery but from near Mysore in South India. He was here for the many free classes offered to monks and refugees. He was pleased with our help on his conversational English and pronounciation. We continued to meet Tashi five or six more times with practicing his English in mind.

Since he was a monk living a meager life of pooja payments and sponsorships, his family and normal source of supplemental income was still in a small village in Tibet, we were curious as to how he lived, ate, prayed and travelled. To the questions about his recipes, he drew a long pause and then invited us to meet him at the bus stop tomorrow, a typical central meeting place, so he may take us to his apartment for a homemade noodle soup lunch of much "manual labor."

"Okay. Sounds great."

The following day we were early to our meeting place since punctuality seemed important to Tashi's schedule of classes, prayer and meditation. We followed him through the town and its bizarre network of alleys, steps and mountains paths as he shopped for the fresh ingredients. It was easy offering to pay for groceries -- he even was comfortable keeping the change. After a few visits, we followed him down and up the hill, through the littered landscape out of sight of many of the visitors, over make-shift bridges, ducking under structures through a quiet residential area surrounded by tall grass, shrubs and small trees and over crevasses which in the dark you would easily not see and surely kill yourself. We would never be able to find our way home or back the path was so obscure.

Finally, we reached a door which he unlocked. The door opened and the well lit and airy room came into our view. We were amazed at its cute and tiny size, a bit bigger than the area of a queen size bed. The room was tiny with a small hard bed, another sleeping area was apparent on the floor, in a corner, in front of the door and on the floor was a minimal gas stove, a few scattered stainless kitchen dishes, utensils and a couple of cooking oils and spices. He shared it with a Finnish woman who was currently sponsoring his visit in Dharamsala while she learned Tibetan. He invited us to sit on the bed as he quickly began to prepare the lunch.

Tashi got right to work since he had little time before he had to attend the pooja, he had about 30 minutes to prepare and cook lunch. He first peeled and sliced the potatoes, then the green onions, all organic waste was thrown out the window. Water was found not far from his front door which worried us at first, it was first used to rinse the vegetables, which he plopped in a medium sized pot with a dash of oil and a glub glub of soy sauce and topped off with most of the remaining water. With the rest of the water he rinsed the used bowls and washed his hands. A generous portion of barley flour in a separate bowl was kneaded by hand with a little water and a dash of oil until it was the right consistency to stretch out, flatten and rip off into aproximately 2 inch squares. He dropped these right into the frothing soup. Next he cracked on the floor 5 eggs each in their own place and pouring the contents in the soup, the shells out the window with the peels. Soon he was mixing and testing the soup til perfection. Tashi offered us boiled water to drink, filled two bowls too much of the thick, high carb "Tashi Delek Thukpa Soup," and a smaller bowl with just a little for himself. The lunch tasted wonderful and was tremendously filling. I couldn't finish the entire portion and found it difficult to walk the treacherous path back to our hotel for a food coma nap. We were not ready to eat again for the rest of the day.

Stephanie and I met Tashi two more times, both at the temple where we also met Hanna, Tashi's Finnish friend. He invited us to a non-stop, week long pooja at the Dalai Lama Temple. Curious, we said okay. First of all, Buddism is a wonderful and logical religion, but the all you could drink chai sealed the deal. People lined themselves in rows around the temple, sitting cross-legged on mats and blankets, prayer books in front of them, chai cups (any containter will work) and even some snacks. A PA system broadcasted the priest reciting the mantras while the temple filled with the deep, eery throaty echoes of the monks, just haunting. Older monks and seniors spun their prayer thingy-ma-gigs instead of mouthing the actual mantra, most kept tallies of their recitations on their orange or red rosaries.

As if the chanting wasn't haunting enough at intervals throughout the pooja monks dressed to signify they are participants in the ceremony added the chest vibrating sounds of these long and enormously deep-sounding horns. Higher pitched trumpet/horns followed while other monks kept beat with some large vertical drums. Amazing. The environment was inspiring and completely conducive for lifting your spirits. I turned my energy and thoughts toward deisgn. I miss working on good projects, so I focused on a project Stephanie and I are considering for the end or our trip, a book perhaps.

At first it was hard to spot Tashi, he hadn't been wearing his fleece hat which was part of the way we could identify him. Surprisingly we noticed him from the back as we recognized his rather unique walk. He sat us down right in front so we had a clear view of all the action.

We stayed a good bit until our western joints and butts had too much. It was obvious we had been there a while since even the old folks and monks started dozing off, interrupting their naps neighbors might wake them and they would just continue on counting their beads. We excused ourselves and interrupted Tashi to arrange to meet one final time. Same place, same time.

The next day we met Tashi already in prayer. Stephanie and I had a gift, a monetary donation we wanted to present to Tashi in a traditoinal Tibetan way, wrapped in a white silky scarf. At the lunch break where the temple staff served the entire congregation from a 3 foot high, 6 foot diameter pot of rice and some lentil gravy, we pulled Tashi aside and handed him our gift. He thanked us simply as we expected and he went looking for his lunch.

Carpet

One another visit to an emporium we again met Rami, his daughter Sunanda and his son Gul; a Kashmiri family. Actually, Rami was also on the bus from Delhi and had already subtley pitched his guesthouses or Asian huts as we neared our destination, now he invited us to see his store which he pointed out we hadn't seen yet. They pulled everything off the shelves -- shawls, bed spreads, table covers, carpets, chain-stitched anythings -- unpacked it, unfolded it, displayed it to us on top of a growing pile and eventually refolded, repacked and reshelved each one. While we mulled over some options Rami offered us lunch to which we replied that we had just eaten with a monk. Rami then offered us to join his family the next evening for a genuine Kashmiri meal.

The following evening, we first went by the store and purchased a few items. We decided not to haggle since Rami, the philanthropist ran a school for 17 poor children which has made him very popular in his home town. His friendly and trustworthly adopted daughter attested to this, so we believed him and hoped the extra money was for a good cause. (suckers)

The dinner was good, the conversation was unnatural. It seemed more like Stephanie and I were interviewing them and with the exception of a few questions for Sunanda there was little interest in our lives, travels and culture. The conversation did end up on money and how much we made and paid which left me wondering if we were being played. We answered the questions but tried to put these enormous quantities of money in perspective as so they didn't think money was just oozing from our pockets as so many Indians seem to believe.

We excused ourselves and said goodbye as it was already quite dark and we had a couple of kilometers to walk home in the dark. The cliff side road was a bit treacherous, speeding rickshaws and motorcycles blinded us with their headlights as their engines ripped through the serenity of the peaceful night, the stars were out in full intensity.

Volunteering and Dorothy

Since our friends Kathleen and David had been here and volunteered it seemed a wonderful solution as to how to deal with India and its social issues. Since we feel handing out rupees to beggars on the streets only keeps them coming back for more, we discussed volunteering as a more practical solution to the poverty. Dharmasala seemed the perfect place to offer our skills in visual communications to the many organizations helping the Tibetans refugees, the government in exile and the lepers. This was no easy task. For all the wonderful efforts by people from all around the world, there exists a certain lack of organization and communication. Perhaps the change over it too high, we can't know for sure, but it was hard to find the right people.

We eventually got the word out and for all our efforts met one Tibetan man at the bus station, after Stephanie expressed our interests the day before with his organization the day. We followed him down several set of steps on the backside of McLeod Ganj through colorful residential areas of stacked concrete homes into a small, dark computer room facing the majestic Himalayas. We sat down at a PC and expressed our long term interest in volunteering our time, mainly from abroad (on a Mac) in helping this area with logos, brochures, websites and visual communication strategies. He proceeded to listen as he began opening files in Pagemaker. He interrupted us to show us how the black bar behind knocked out (white) type was too short. "Can you fix that?"

Uh. Like I was saying... "Did you trying pulling the nodes up and down?" Done.

Also, "we need to proofread these stories here," as he hands Stephanie and I folded notebook paper wrinkled of much handling full of chicken scribble and terrible grammar (this coming from me). Okay.

He thanked us for our help and criticism before inviting us to a "Volunteer Dinner." It seems a bit much to be invited to this dinner thanking volunteers with a good homecooked Tibetan meal for what little we have done, but we said okay.

We read the materials and had no idea how to fix it, we did our best in one hour over coffee and decided that was enough. That night we attended the dinner with a bunch of self-important do-gooders, actually we met two really nice people, Ben a Princeton University student studying Buddism and philosophy, and Dorothy an inspiring artist, poet, bookbinder (artistically speaking) and handmade paper specialist who's travelled the world thrice over. It was Dorothy who really peaked our artistic interests and opened a few doors to opportunities in McLeod Ganj. Excited to see a small example of her work we arragned to meet the following day for dinner at Nick's, unfortunately the same day we had Tashi's really filling lunch.

We left the dinner with a bit of confusion and disappointment, apparently it was not an appreciation dinner for volunteers but a fundraiser. Of course, this was never mentioned to us. It turned out to be, by far the most expensive meal we enjoyed.

When she arrived right behind us the following evening, the place was packed and so we nestled in between two other couples. The cramp seating didn't stop us from enjoying all she had to say about her art, travels and paper consulting with the Tibetans for new products. The piece she had shown us is beautiful; uniquely bound, handlettered poetry of her own inspirations and cleverly illustrated. Talking to her was easy and we soon found ourselves in her room to see yet another beautiful example of her work, this time letterpressed poetry hand bound in a small series. Lastly we discovered she took a class with one of our university professors and brilliant artist/printer, Eric May. Dorothy travelled the world for handmade papers, she has even worked with some now extinct exotic paper from Japan (?). Perhaps you've seen here work at the Center for Book Arts in NYC.

Dorothy advised us to see the handmade paper factory in McLeod Ganj where they also assemble paper products. There we could meet the person in charge and discuss any possible logo redesign and the designing of a series of Tibetan greeting cards. This project is open to any willing designer or illustrator interested to donate their time for the Tibetan refugee effort, there's no time constraint and open to the future. For more info please email us.

The factory was a pleasant surprise. The dilapidated patchwork building of blue lumber and rusty corrugated sheet metal clung precariously to the side of the hill (with a wonderful view, of course). On the lowest level two men and a woman were cooking pulp and making paper. One level up, wet paper hung where ever to dry. People in a tiny blue room and surrounded by paper clippings and bound paper hand assembled beautiful journals of various designs.

While attempting to locate the person to speak with about the cards, we found a q of people holding their passports waiting in line. We learned the Dalai Lama was going to give an audience this Sunday. Though Stephanie and I planned to leave a few days ago and replanned to leave soon to meet Angela in Jaipur, we took advantage of the small line and made a good opportunity in case Angela could not meet us in the north. The process was quick and painless.

Carpet

I was constantly thinking about the first carptet. It was beautiful. Since we have seen many carpets of various knot count, materials and design and have found none better we asked Mustafa for his best offer.

38,000 rupees.

"Let me talk to my wife," as Stephanie was conveniently trying to get a knitting lesson.

Dro Lom Ki Poh Shung

Tashi translated Travel Joy for us and since we were in some type of little Tibet, we were excited to have another rubber stamp made. On our first attempt we walked the 4 km to lower Dharamsala on Monday midday and crossed paths on the broken road with Rebecca and Teri returning from a clinic where they offered their services. We had a nice conversation by the side of the road. We said goodbye and hoped to run into them again. We reached the town and found the only place that made rubber stamps closed, some Tibetan holiday.

On the second attempt we first called the printer. We asked, "do you have Tibetan fonts? Tibetan typefaces?" The voice on the other side sounded bewildered, "I don't know."

"Well, how later are you open?"

"I don't know." We assumed this was not the right person and decided to do the 30 minute, 9 km human brusing ride to lower Dharamsala anyway. Upon arrival he said he could do the job but would need a week. Stephanie and I could not afford that. So we retreated back to McLeod Ganj via the same awful bus ride.

Earlier in our visit we had poked our head into MoonPeak where we met Noriko, a kind Japanese girl designing the most sophisticated materials we've seen in India, and Tenzin, a Tibetan trouble-making activist and poet . We were passing their single room office when we decided perhaps Noriko could create a hardcopy of our design. She whipped it up in 20 minutes, since designers can do that. We offered to pay and in the end gave her a small token of our appreciation. Thank You Noriko.

Stamp production pending.

Carpet

After much discussion and reasoning and dreaming and laughing, we returned to Mustafa's a few days before we left Dharamsala and made an offer double of our original. He rounded it up a few rupees and we shook hands. Shit! We bought a carpet. We were happy. We were unsure. We dreamed how it might look in a treehouse.

We converted $500 in traveller's checks and handed over a 114 100 rupee notes. $752. The two of us could live on this in Asia for 5 weeks.

In the evening, we returned with all the other McLeod Ganj purchases to be professionally packed and sent by air mail (6kg, 2800 rupees) to the states. All our eggs in one basket, we nervously await its delivery and disregard the horror stories.

3 Dakini Acupuncture

Stephanie had grown quite fond of Rebecca, Teri and Laura as did I, so we left them a note on their hotel door inviting them to meet for dinner or breakfast. That evening we found a postcard response attached to our door to meet at 9 am at Om for breakfast.

I was out the door a few seconds before Stephanie and I was excited to get a hold of the Cole family to get a mobile number so I could contact Eric and Erin during their wedding reception.

Stephanie should have passed me on the way to breakfast, but I did not see her. I headed to Om and was shortly met by Rebecca, Teri and Laura. Stephanie was very surprisingly 30 minutes late. I grew worried since she was ready and should have been right behind when I left to make the call. I returned to the room and found it was latched from the outside. Oops. Doors here have a sliding latch on both sides of the door. Out of habit I latched the door as I left to make the call. Stephanie was inside patiently waiting, knitting another cool hat.

When the two of us returned to the restaurant we joked that's how to keep the wife at home. The five of us shared more wonderful experiences. The three women offered us many tips all of which turned out to be helpful. Our long breakfast unfortunately ended as they headed to their appointments.

That same day a line of hippies and tourists grew down Bhagsu Road. We continued to pass the line throughout the day which never seemed to change position but only grew in size. We asked what it was for and now the rumor was spreading the Dalai Lama would give an audience tomorrow, a day earlier than expected and the same day we had to leave to meet Angela.

The following morning we met Rebecca, Teri and eventually Laura once more and were happy to share the news, or possible rumor. During this breakfast we exchanged contact information and asked that they be a part of one of our design projects, they agreed. We eventually said goodbyes and they invited us to keep in touch so we may possibly meet in Thailand, otherwise Seattle. We agreed.

Dalai Lama's Backyard

Our continuously lengthened visit to McLeod Ganj, Dharamsala was a wonderful breath of fresh air and a true vacation from India. The small relaxing village was filled with so much life and culture with its colorful temples, prayer flags, roaming cows and sleeping dogs, old tibetan men sipping tea and Tibetan women shopping for vegetables or selling handicrafts in the road. We were always running into familar faces and had such wonderful conversations with inspiring people. It was our good fortune that we may have the opportunity to meet the Dalai Lama just before we board the bus for Jaipur via Delhi.

On that last day we had breakfast with Rebecca, Teri and Laura, then met Dorothy and the person in charge of the handmade papers at their place about the Tibetan card deigns. We left inspired and rushed to the temple to meet Tashi one last time so that we could give him our gift. We joined the pooja for about an hour before doing so, wished him and Hanna well before getting in the security check q for the Dalai Lama's audience, apparently the latest rumor is true.

The line moved surprisingly quick and to yet another waiting location outside His Holiness' residence. There we met Dorothy once more who introduced us to a few friends of hers, one being Jenny Holland. Stephanie and I introduced ourselves and answered Jenny's questions about what it is we do and where. Graphic designers, NYC. As it turns out her sister is a designer in NYC. She was a high up exec at Pushpin Studio (only one of the most famous firms in the NYC, if not the world). We were surprised. She proceeded to tell us the legacy of her sister's efforts including founding the Artists' Guild. Her sister's name was DK Holland. Of course, we know her. She then informed us Debbie was also to be in Jaipur and since she was travelling alone might be interested to meet. Stephanie and I were excited at the chance to dine with such a prominent person in our field.

As we continued waiting in line familar faces returned our smiles. Finally we were moving forward into a now silent, single, spaced line where we made a large arc until finally we each greeted the Dalai Lama, shaking his hand and receiving his warm and inspiring smile. It happened so very quickly as he had so many people to meet. Stephanie and I tried hard to commit the details of the experience to memory, but it they are blurred. I can only say it felt tremendously special, spiritual even to have been in his presence.

We paid the "service charge" for our bags, boarded the bus and wondered how long til this experience and our smiles were shook from our bodies. It didn't take long.

Phew.

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Happy 5th Birthday Hannah! We love you.

Posted by John at October 7, 2003 03:47 PM