Yaks and Yetis

Our bout at the wildlife centre ended and we hopped onto a tiny little bus which Sarah refers to as "the most stupidly designed bus in the world." With each stop (and stops in Indian traffic are all too frequent and sudden) my head would slam against the handle for the window to the point where I thought I was bleeding or my skull would crack.

So why didn't I move, you ask?

Cus there were 10 other people, apart from my huge backpack and my duffle bag and my daypack and my camera bag all wedged up underneath, beside and infront of me. The lady beside me was sweating just as much as me (no air con of course) and our arms would intermittently stick with each swerve of the bus, then detach again as we swerved the opposite direction.

Then the lady's little son who had been whining all trip suddenly got really quiet and next thing you knew, the lady frantically tries to convey to me that her son is sick and needs to vomit outside the window. Before I can comprehend, she tosses him over my lap and whips open the window and shoves his head outside. I pray and hope that he doesn't vomit all over my lap and its with relief that I see the bile streaks on the glass beside me, streaming away onto the road.

I offer gravol but they figure I'm a drug dealer and refuse. I take two instead.

I was on that god-forsaken bus for FIFTEEN HOURS STRAIGHT. I mean, not totally straight. We had five minute pee breaks here and there but honestly. FIFTEEN HOURS.

We arrived in Dharam sala at 3 in the morning. It was pitch black and since we were in the Himalayas, fog was washing over the road and into our bus. We bargained to get a taxi to our hotel for 250 rupees. We piled all our bags into the trunk and went to get into the damned thing only to find two japanese tourists sitting in there already. We climbed in anyways and since all 6 of us couldn't cram in the back together, I sat up front with the driver.

Fifteen minutes later, I noticed a smell and sniffed the air a bit. It was coming from the driver. It was totally unmistakable . . . alcohol and weed. Meanwhile, our taxi was swerving through crazy mountain roads where one side was sheer cliff drops and the other was solid rock. I didn't start panicking till the taxi driver started ranting to me in Hindi and then would suddenly blank out and ask me other questions and then lingered with his hand a little too long on my thigh when he was shifting gears.

We eventually stopped. The driver got out and instantly lit up a doobie.

We got out of the vehicle and noticed we were in the middle of butt-f*ck nowhere and asked where the heck our hotel was. After five minutes of trying to get him to comprehend us he murmured.
"No hotel. This is bust stand! Hotel extra 300 rupees."
"It's four in the morning! We need to get to our hotel. You said 250 rupees to get us to our hotel!"

Meanwhile, the poor little Japanese tourists were sent off to find their hotel and later, after we'd finally convinced the bastard to get back in the taxi and get us to our hotel, we saw them huddled in front of their locked hotel gate pleading with the guards to let them in.

Suffice to say, getting to our hotel was a big nightmare as our driver didn't even know where it was and after much hassling (at one point, he pointed to a sheer drop down the cliff into fog and darkness and said "Here hotel. Just go down there!") we emptied out in front of our hotel.

It was locked. We banged on the door and yelled for someone to let us in.

"NO VACANCY!" was the only answer we got. The lights went back off leaving us in the middle of the street, pitch black and foggy, alone with stray dogs and donkeys and cows everywhere at 4:30 in the morning.

It was decided Sarah and I would wander down the street knocking on the door of each hostel until we found one to take us in. Unforunately, the next day was the Dalai Lama's birthday and the place was jammed pack full of tourists and visitors. We tried five different hotels before we finally found one to take us in at an exorbitant price. We had no choice but to accept. After an ice cold shower which left me shivering and had my teeth chattering, I finally got to bed.

The next day, we wandered out into the town. It was a lot different in the day time and I have to say, it looked a lot more friendly. Tea and coffee shops and strange Tibetan shops were everywhere. Buddhist monks in the full ornage and maroon getup wandered around nonchalantly while the fattest monkeys I've seen yet scampered around on the rooves. Ladies in the Tibetan chupa outfits walked around serenely and little children with rosy red cheeks and their black hair pulled up in that adorable little tuft on top of their head were running around looking dazed like chilren do.

I wandered around and fell in love with the place and everything and one in it.

I bought everythng I could find and somehow in my frenzy, tried on one of the local tibetan outfits and thought "why not?".
Judy and Ronalee wandered into the store while I was trying it on and were like "when are you ever going to wear that?"
"I dunno, but doesn't it look great on me?"

They had to agree. It's like I was made for these outfits. At 700 Rupees, I thought I had it made.

I had to fight with myself not to get two.

It was only afterwards when I got back to the hotel at night that I had buyer's remorse and realised, "when the heck am I ever going to have a chance to wear this?"

But the answer to the question was obvious. I would wear it here. In the Tibetan town. For the Dalai Lama's birthday. Of course!

The next morning, I donned my fancy new outfit and wandered out. I felt so cool. We went to the temple where people were celebrating the Dalai Lama's birthday all day and crowded around watching the festivities. The morning fog rolled over the rocks into the temple and I joked that behind the building, a whole batch of monks were busy pumping dry ice machines to make it look that cool.

The Dalai Lama was unfortunately not actually in town, but the celebrations went on like he was anyway. I found I like Tibetan opera a lot better than Chinese opera and the other thing I like a lot better than stuff I'm familiar with is . . . the monks.

That's right. I'm confessing it now. MONKS ARE SEXY. (obviously, not the old, wrinkly ones or the prepubescent ones, like ew!) .

I know I know. You're thinking I'm crazy but it's true! There's just something about that one shouldered saffron coloured outfit and their toned arms, shaved heads and total serenity and self-reserve that is so, well, attractive!

Naturally, I would choose to be attracted to men who have taken a vow of celibacy for life. Go figure.

I enjoyed the celebrations very much, monks, dances, fogs, crowds and all. Almost every local lady there was wearing an outfit like mine and for the first time in India, I felt like I blended in perfectly.

Too perfectly.

By the end of the day, I had been mistaken as being Tibetan exactly nine times. But the problem is that I'm not Tibetan. I'm Canadian, and a Chinese Canadian at that. Being Chinese in a Tibetan town? BIG NO NO.

So I spent the rest of the day dodging questions about my ancestry. I tried best as I could to pretend to be Tibetan but obviously, as soon as they tried speaking to me in Tibetan, my game was up.
"Where are you from?"
"Uh, Canada."
"Where are your parents from?"
"Oh, uh . . . Canada?"
*long pause as they look at me suspiciously*
"Both your parents?"
"Yup."

I bolted out of the store and sped walked to catch up with the rest of my travelling group.

The rest of the day was spent shopping again and I got to design my own necklace at this one place and then I had a lovely tibetan dinner before finally settling in to this cyber cafe. I look ridiculous in my full Tibetan get-up and sitting at this computer typing but I think tha'ts part of the fun!

Tomorrow, we head to Delhi again and then to the deserts of Rajasthan again to do some horseback riding. My ass still hasn't recovered from the last ride I was on so that saddle had better be triple padded!!!!!

Gotta go now.
Ah! Hour's up.

Peace out everyone.
Free Tibet and for goodness sakes, free those monks!