Incredible !ndia Part 2

"Are we in Delhi already?" I asked the cab driver as we drove through a pitch black forest that ended up being a large park. "Yes" he responded as we bounced back onto a wide but pot holed road through what I could hardly believe was the capital of the country. An hour after leaving the incredible dusty (because of round the clock construction) international arrivals terminal we came to a stop in front of a metal gate set in a low earthen wall in which was set a sign that informed us we had made it to the Tibetan refugee community. The cab driver helped us down the maze like narrow alleys to the dimly lit lobby of the Tara House where a few young Tibetan men were intently watching a Indian drama on the small TV hung high on the wall opposite the small front desk. Turns out there was a room for Huyen and I in the Tara House, but because of the size of the rest of the group of pilgrims that had arrived earlier we were booked into two guesthouses. As luck would have it my mother was booked in a room in a different guesthouse. I rolled my mother's suitcase back out into the alley following one of the Tibetans from the Tara House to the other guesthouse, where, after banging on the door of room for several minutes to wake up her roommate I somehow managed to find my way alone back to my room. It was nearly one in the morning and we were about to crawl into bed as the phone rang. It was Aileen, the Vietnamese American travel agent who had arranged the whole trip, calling to see if we had made it alright and informing us that we would need to be up at 5, eat breakfast by 5:30, and ready to go with all our stuff in the lobby by 6 to get on the bus for the 12 hour trip to Dharamasala. Turns out a 5 am wake up would be a luxury as the average wake up time for the rest of the trip would be 4 AM. OK, well, we knew this wasn't going to be easy . . . . .

"Are we going to stop dinner now?" I asked Sarah, the young Tibetan woman who was our fixer for the first few days of our trip. "Well the place we were going to stop was closed, so this place will do." We had been on the road for about 13 hours, including several stops to try and fix the A/C on the bus (third time was a charm when a guy on the side of the road with some bits of wire and some pliers climbed inside the engine compartment and viola! The A/C sprang to life) when we rolled into the small collection of square concrete buildings that made up this small stop. There were 4 or 5 Indian men gathered around the front of low square concrete building in front of which stood a large tan door oven, two open burners, and a collection of large stainless steel urns from which wafted the most wonderful scents. The tallest of the men stepped up behind the tan door and started forming oval shaped naan from a huge mound of dough as all 48 of us poured out of the bus to the tables inside. Heaven. As we polished of our one and only authentic Indian meal of the trip (all of the Vietnamese on the trip decided right then and there Indian food wasn't for them, so for the rest of the trip we feasted on a Hodge-podge of quasi Vietnamese food, instant noodles, hard boiled eggs, and various snacks. Hell!) I remembered that the map we had gotten before the trip said it would only take 12 hours to get to Dharamsala. However, according to Sarah we had at least another 3 hours to go, and, unfortunately, they would be the toughest three. She was right. Though only about 90 km from our destination, it was almost straight up 1500 meters, not once but twice. I have no doubt that our bus driver could give Louis Hamilton a run for his money. He did things with a vehicle, let alone a large bus that I did not think were possible. Racing up one mountain down to a valley and then up another through a seemingly endless series of 180 degree switchbacks on road barely wide enough for our bus with a sheer drop on one side and a cliff face on the other. I was tired, but fear and fascination kept me up watching the dark world spin by as the bus spun around one hairpin turn after another. I don't think I've ever been that scared in a motor vehicle, but after nearly 17 hours after we started out we rolled into impossibly narrow streets of the McLeod Ganj suburb of Dharamsala (literally "Rest House"), capital of the Central Tibetan Administration since 1960 and home to His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama.

"Amazing!" I exclaimed as I pulled back the curtain of our hotel room and was greeted with sight of a picturesque landscape. Though this small beautiful mountain town in sight of the Himalayas was not a place that the Buddha ever visited, we had made this two day detour in order to show some solidarity with the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan refugee community that numbers in the thousands. It turns out we would miss the His Holiness by one day, as he would not return from the medical treatment he was receiving in New Delhi until the day after we left. Regardless, it was wonderful as our group gathered in the small temple inside the Dalai Lama's compound for the first ceremony of our trip. In my experience with Buddhism, you get out of it what you bring to it. Being mindful can make a simple meal, walking, or even breathing a spiritual experience, and a lack of mindfulness can even make a ceremony in the most scared temple distracting and ordinary. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I found it difficult to be mindful in His Holiness sparsely decorated temple. As would occur for the rest of the trip, several of the other pilgrims either did not participate or stopped in order to start taking photos or video of the ceremony, or for that matter, at any other opportunity. Spirituality can be hard to attain when someone is gesturing to you to smile for the camera. This was not like Thich Nhat Hanh's Buddhist retreats. A strict schedule of morning walking meditation, Dharma talks, and all meals and evenings in Noble silence are a welcome routine when you are looking for a deeper experience. I have to admit I was a bit disappointed, which is of course what happens when one's expectations meet reality and they end up being very different. We walked outside to the balcony that surrounded three sides of the temple and over-looked the entire valley and up the impossible steep Himalayas. Then as my mom walked up and asked us to get together for another photo and there with my arm around Huyen and my mother smiling brightly as she took out her camera I remembered what this trip was really about. For the remainder of the trip I was never bothered by any of the distractions swirling around us, and my smile and mindfulness came easily.