Dharamsala and McLeod-Ganj

Here's the second e-mail from my stepmom:

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If two words could sum up India, they might be ‘blow horn,’ or rather as it appears on the back panels of all trucks, /B/L/O/W/H/O/R/N/. Gaily decorating trucks with a devil to ward away evil spirits attached to the rear bumper tooting their horns night and day. The constant blow horn of India is not the frustrated honking of Canada. Rather it is a greeting to the other drivers, politely letting them know that they are about to be passed on a one-lane road... and a warning to nearby pedestrians to run for their lives! The chaos that is India is always full of surprises and somehow it more or less works.

Three days ago on our way from Shimla, we walked up Jakhoo Hill (8,054 feet) to a Hindu temple. We were warned at the bottom to carry a walking stick, not for the steep climb but to scare away the monkeys. Red monkeys were everywhere, little newborns to big alpha males the size of a medium-sized dog.

At the top of the hill, there was a beautiful view of the Himalayas, a gaily-painted temple, and quite a few local people milling about. But we scarcely had time to take in the scene as one of our agile, mischievous friends jumped on Godfrey’s backpack and nimbly made off with his glasses!

I must tell you that we awoke that morning to the sounds of monkeys galloping back and forth over our tin roof. Over breakfast, I told Godfrey and Samantha the children’s story, "Caps for Sale." It’s about a peddler who has all his caps stolen by a troupe of monkeys. So back at our temple, there was Godfrey pretty well blind, Samantha holding onto her glasses tightly, and I was watching our monkey who was now on a tin roof holding onto his prize. I decided to keep a close eye on that monkey and fished out a cookie hoping that I might trade it for the glasses. No such luck and I decided to be smart and part with the cookie when a big alpha male at my feet looked decisively at both the cookie and then at me.

By this time, all his brothers, sisters and cousins eager for a little entertainment had joined our monkey on the roof. People had few suggestions on how to get the glasses back but then an older gentleman took a stone, threw it at the roof, and the monkeys scattered. I initially thought this wasn’t such a great idea but then I saw the one that I thought was our monkey was no longer holding the glasses. A search party quickly found the glasses on the ground, not too much the worse for wear. No doubt we were the best entertainment in town that morning – for the local people and the monkeys!

Friday night and Saturday we spent in Mcleodganj (i.e. McLeod Town – those Scotsmen were mighty lost!) near Dharmasala. In northwest India, it is the residence of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile. One man told me that each January, many Tibetans trek over the mountains to meet in Mcleodganj and most then trek back to their families in Tibet. The trek takes 3-4 weeks each way and many lose toes and fingers to frostbite in the process but it is the only time of year that Tibetans can leave Tibet without reprisals by Chinese authorities. There is a large orphanage for Tibetan refugee children nearby.

I have to confess that I am completely captivated by the charms of the Tibetans. They have an unassuming manner and a wonderful sense of humour, all the more remarkable for the hardships they have suffered. We visited the Dalai Lama’s residence and the museum and monastery nearby. The monastery’s interior is covered in beautiful paintings depicting Buddhist beliefs. The monks, male and female, are clean-shaven and clad in gold shirts with wine-coloured robes. They are very friendly and the occasional one speaks some English.

They have various practices including one that I will call a debating game. At one point they broke into groups of three. One would sit on the ground and begin the discussion. As one monk explained, “This is to sharpen our minds. The one sitting will make an absolute statement such as all clouds are white. The one standing will refute it and it will go back and forth until one or the other runs out of responses.”

But this is no polite debating club and the debating is accompanied by much gesturing, good humour, stamping of feet, and clapping in an opponent’s face. I can only surmise the third monk in each group was there as referee. For monks who forsake violence, they sure are a rowdy lot!

That night we went to a vegetarian restaurant run by another monastery. The servers were monks (perhaps not the cook though) and the meal was delicious. As we were the last to leave, the monks themselves had also sat down for dinner. Much to her surprise, as we left I complimented the cook on the food and with a bit of a twist, threw in a great clap at the end of my little speech similar to what I had witnessed earlier that day.

The monks roared with laughter even though they hardly understood a word I said. And I was absolutely enchanted by people who could laugh at themselves so heartily and share a laugh with an incomprehensible stranger from halfway around the world!

We are having a wonderful time in this crazy India and despite the obvious poverty, are able to see past this to see a people filled with joie de vivre. We can't help but heartily agree with the young teenager who jumped in front of us this morning exclaiming, “I love my India!”