|
Greetings dear One,
In the mountains the same out fit becomes more sleek, the scarf wrapped in a way that allows for mountain work...... gathering firewood and food for their tough cattle. We cross deep ravines with rushing rivers of crystal green water. The monsoons were extremely heavy this year. There are places were the roads are still rough and it may not be possible to get large busses all the way up to Dharamsala. Our large car makes it with ease. We shall see how they are in a couple of weeks. On arrival our taxi driver opens the back door without checking the status of the stuff inside. One of our instruments hits the earth with a horrifying crash. On inspection nothing is damaged but we are a bit shaken. Interesting omen. The luggage is carried up to our rooms, but the manager is out and we feel somewhat disoriented. We decide to go for food before bathing and resting. We meet one of our shawl ladies who holds our hands without letting go murmuring how wonderful in Tibetan. Her daughter translates for her. We get our favorite food at a lovely Indian restaurant. The streets are as dingy as ever. We are again reminded of the horror of being a refugee, how difficult the Tibetans have it here, really. We spin the prayer wheels and go back up the rutted road to our room. The road is at least level now. Last year this road was dug up impossible to do anything but scramble through the mud and stones. At least now the ditches are filled in. Who knows how long it will take to get the road covered with asphalt. Things move at their own pace here Back at the guest house the electricity is out. Fortunately the water is still hot enough to wash off and we lay down on the hard matresses. They are the same all over Dharamsala. We resolve to get some padding the next day. Before we rest I ask the Manager how long it will take for the electricity, and why is there no cooking stove in our room? The Electricity.....half an hour he said. The stove.....I will do something tomorrow. Tomorrow which is today comes but still no power. They are preparing a buffet though so we know we will be well fed. The stove.....he says reluctantly, ok. But only for your room. There is not enough water. I am amazed. How is that, the monsoons I heard were heavy this year. The monsoons washed out the pipes in the mountains, he tells me. The Indians are repairing but you know how they work. They started a month ago. Perhaps in ten days, two weeks....... In the meantime we are trucking in water. We go to the Bhagsu Hotel across the road to check out the rooms most of our pilgrims will stay in. The hotel is old and a bit rough around the edges but the rooms are spacious and workable. They are resurfacing the dining hall to accommodate our large group. We asked about the convention center where we were hoping to dance.......not yet finished. They have been building this building for the past five years. Come madams have tea with the manager. We go to the office several plump Indian men chat with us about the world situation. "Why is your country helping Pakistan" we are asked. I know that tone of voice. Why is your country in Vietnam I used to hear. No amount of discussion will change that view so I simply change the subject. They tell us that the government has withdrawn funds for the convention center because they have run out of money and now the tourist industry has taken a nose dive. We ask to see it anyway. The big Hall is wonderful and clean enough for us. No electricity but Anahata has arranged a power system that runs on batteries. We can set up there......It would be perfect. Now we need to persuade the manager.
Just thought I would give you a taste......
Sending so much love, |
The journey to Dharamsala is
long. Five hours to Chandighar, then seven hours up the winding
mountain roads to the foothills of the highest mountains in the
world. The heat of the plains is left behind and the nature of
the people we see changes. Driving through the Punjab there are
men in colorful turbans, women in their selwar chamise outfits,
blousey trousers, below the knee matching dresses, scarves around
the neck and shoulders and often over the head.
And so the work begins. Jessica
and Donna arrive with Tsering Dorje and his friend Dawa who escorted
them around while in Delhi and rode the train with them. They
pile out of the taxi making happy sounds of getting somewhere
after the long journey and delight in the beauty of the sights
on the way up. They are starting to gather their own adventures
I am sure they will be writing them up soon.