Mountains, the Dalai Lama and venereal witterings with a chess-set salesman

After 13 hours the bus arrived in Mcleod Ganj, a town reached through Dharamsala, which is in Himachel Pradesh, one of India’s most northern states. McLeod is famous for being the residence of His Holiness The Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government in exile.

I had only just stepped off the bus when I was approached by a local man offering me a room for Rs300 a night.

“Yeah man, cool,” I told him, quite happy to doss down anywhere after such a long bus ride. He led me down a colourful market road where I spotted plenty of Tibetan monks mooching around, some wearing Nike air and others chatting on mobiles…..go figure!?!

A steep rocky path broke off from the market road and this is where my guy took me. The hotel was at the bottom. He led me down an alleyway and onto a balcony. I glanced to my left and was facing a huge forested valley that went on for miles ,with snowy capped mountain peaks soaring above it.

I quickly checked out the more than adequate room before he asked me, “How long you want stay sir?” handing me the key

“Shit man, I’ll stay for a week,” I replied a little awe-struck.

The next few days I spent relaxing, getting acclimatised to India in a place where I can eat well, stay cool and hang out with the Dalai Lama.

On my second day here I managed to meet up with a friend I’d met online called Travis, from Oz (or rather he met me, shouting my name out as I strolled down Temple road to check out the Dalai Lamas residence). We were both heading the same way so decided to head to his holiness’s place. The security wouldn’t let us into his house and politely declined Travis’s offer to see if His Holiness fancied coming for a coffee with us. Undaunted we made our way round the back of the temple where a large crowd of groupies were waiting for His Holiness to make his way to the cricket. The wait paid off and I briefly laid eyes on the man as he was escorted past.

The Dalai Lama giving me a cheeky wave, god bless him

Feeling a lot more enlightened we set off to the nearest coffee shop, to join the Tibetan monks on their laptops drinking cappuccinos.

The next two days I spent hanging around, eating nice food, and trying to perfect the slap-able look of forced contentment that most westerners here seem to wear on their grubby faces. The vacant stare which intimates enlightenment but implies there is nothing much behind it, except maybe a rather small lentil. All of them here trying to find something that will always be elusive as it is inside of them, and that’s the last place they tend to look, filling their time at one of the many hundred classes for yoga, meditation, raiki, chanting, bell ringing and spiritual cookery.

One of the most insightful conversations I’ve had so far was last night, with a local man called Gaia who sold me a travel chess set. I was walking through the market place after attending a talk hosted by a Tibetan refugee (He was imprisoned for five years by the Chinese government for protesting to free Tibet, beaten, spied upon on his release, and eventually fled to India on a trek over the mountains which almost killed him, so he could claim asylum). I noticed Gaia sat upon the metal table, which was his stall.

“Hey man”, Gaia shouted slapping my hand. We’ve had this camaraderie ever since we challenged each other to a chess game which hasn’t yet materialized.

“Hey man, you had a good day?” I asked.

“Oh man,” He said, baring his teeth in a rather slimy looking grin. “All day long, I sit here, thinking about putting my bone into a hole.”

What are you supposed to say to that. “Nice one man, me too,” I replied.

Every white person with a vagina to walk past was subject to the same invite to come to his party. Surprisingly no one took him up on it. “My last girlfriend, she went home and man do I need some more sex,” he laughed. He showed me pictures of girls on his phone as supposed proof of all his conquests. These pictures were obviously taken on the sly of girls walking through the street who’d had sod all to do with him. “This one say she was delicate,” he told me, motioning the movement with his hands as if he was thrusting her legs open. “I show her good sex.”

“Nice, if she has any sisters send them down to me, yeah? ” I humored him in this way for about ten minutes until my cue to leave, two sexy blonde dutch girls, walked past. ” I’m going this way” I said, intimating with a nod in their direction that I would be prowling after them to try my luck. After much hearty laughter and hand slapping I slipped away to the comfort of my hotel room to sit in my comfy chair and listen to heavy metal music.

People come to India to find themselves. All they find is the same shit wearing a different disguise.

My escape

The next morning I awoke, not relishing the inauspicious task that lay before me, mainly that of convincing Sameer to return my hard-earned pennies. As a sweetener for the Rajasthan tour I’d booked the night previous he’d arranged a short sightseeing trip around Delhi, the driver coming to collect me from my hotel at around 8am. I asked him to take me straight to the office. To cut a long story short I managed to get most of my money refunded after the two hardest hours of arguing (outside of my relationships) I’ve ever experienced. I think what done it was the fact that all the other customers left the office because of my somewhat vehement display of colorful language. He kept a cancellation fee, which I accepted as a harsh lesson for me on the way I need to conduct my business in India if I am to last.

After this difficult experience bartering for simple things like water/taxi prices became a lot easier. I was on a roll so decided to sort out some transport heading up north. Noticing a travel desk in the internet cafe I was frequenting I managed to book a seat on an air-conditioned bus to Mcleod Ganj in Dharamsala. The travel agent was called Baluyadev, Balu for short, and after drinking Chai with him for an hour managed to procure an Indian mobile and Sim for about 13quid. As I had nothing better to do until my bus left at 4.30pm Balu convinced me to sit behind his travel desk in ‘The Boss’s’ chair so I could sell tours of Rajasthan to other westerners. I felt I was quite knowledgeable at this point but my tour selling skills left a lot to be desired. Still, it was nice sipping chai and chatting until we parted ways and I boarded my bus out of there. Balu promised to ring me on my new phone every day I was up north and find a nice Indian wife for me for when I returned to Delhi.

The bus contained a nice collection of people from all over the globe; English, Asian, Iranian, Israeli and a couple of Tibetan monks. The further we drove north away from Delhi the more I relaxed. That is until I was awoke when I actually nutted the bus ceiling, having being flung out of my seat because of a rather large bump the driver must have, in typical Indian style, flew over at breakneck speed. I thumped back in my chair and shocked, glanced to the Iranian guy to my left. We both shook our heads, laughing whilst he commented, “There is a bus, but no road”.

“Aye mate, I reckon that’s about right,” I replied with a cheeky grin on my face.

Getting ripped in Delhi

View from my hotel roof

I arrived in Delhi at about 11.30pm. The hotel driver was waiting for me in a sea of Indian faces, all waving around badly written signs. Luckily I managed to pick mine out amidst the chaos. The taxi had a token Shiva miniature glued to the dashboard and when trying to fasten my seat-belt was told  “No work sir” by the driver. He then proceeded to floor it, taking off at breakneck speed. He calmly snaked in and out of traffic, narrowly missing trucks, holy cows, auto-rickshaws and the odd horse-drawn cart.

The hotel was down a dusty, rubbish strewn back alley that split off  the notorious market street of Parahanj. I dumped my stuff and had a light sleep. Maybe I’d have tried to get more if I’d have realized the following day would be one of  the most difficult I’ve had to date.

The next morning when I walked out onto Parahanj it had transformed into a crazy,bustling market place, and it was hot man, getting near to 40 and it was only about 7.30am. I walked to Connaught place, which is a series of roads in concentric circles around a dried up dusty park. Seemed to be where all the trendy western shops were situated. At first it didn’t bother me that everyone was shouting sir at me and that any supposedly friendly conversation led to the inevitable request for rupees.

India gate from my rickshaw

This led me to getting collared by the only person that day who didn’t try to scam me (although I did pay slightly over the odds because he threw in some useful Hindi lessons). He was a  friendly rickshaw driver called Ravid who convinced me to go on a sight-seeing tour of the city. The rest of the morning was a blur. It seemed I was being swept along and felt I had no choice but to capitulate to the crazy ride that Delhi was becoming. As soon as I stepped out of my first rickshaw I found myself stepping into another. This time it was a much bumpier ride as I was sat on a plank getting peddled around in a cycle-rickshaw.

“Your my big brother,” the driver/cyclist told me looking over his shoulder, narrowly missing a woman with a bag of rice on her head as he turned back to face the dirt track that for now we shall call the road. Man, it was a bumpy ride. Not for the first time my backside received a right good battering 🙂

He took me past the Red fort in Old Delhi and seemed adamant that he was going nowhere I wanted him too.

“600 rupees sir, fair price,” he kept shouting back at me.

“Too much Man.”

“I have wife and baby, your my big brother, 600 rupees, fair price.”

“I, err, don’t have 600 rupees,” I shouted weakly, my bartering skills at this stage of the trip needing a lot to be desired.

'your my big brother man, 600 rupees, fair price,'

After taking me through a maze of twisting roads, past markets selling watermelons, live chickens, multicolored dyed cloths, past computer shops, temples, pigs munching on rubbish piles and emaciated cows I found myself stood outside my hotel with my pocket 350 rupees lighter and my head spinning. It wasn’t even dinner time yet. The culture shock was slowly hitting me and I was starting to feel very lost.

After a cold shower I psyched myself up again and headed out. I was determined to find the tourist office at Connaught place, which was the only place I knew could give me the right information so I could escape Delhi, find somewhere chilled and sort out my scattered brain. I decided to take the metro. I had taken just a few steps down the road when a beggar woman carrying a small child attached herself to me. “Please sir, I need milk for baby”. I couldn’t shake her.

“No, sorry,” I started with.

“Go away.”

“I’m not giving you money, understand!”

“Look, you can follow me right to the end of the fucking road and your still not getting nowt.” I ended up giving her 50 rupees to leave me alone. Not  a good start.

When I got off the metro every person I asked for directions took me to a tour operator where they would make a small amount of commission. I found myself politely sitting, waiting for an opening so I could escape back out into the baking heat. After the third failed attempt by 3 different agents to sell me a tour around the sights of Rajasthan the walls started closing in. I rushed back to my hotel. “Sir, nice shoes sir. Where did you get your shoes….SIR!!!”

I slammed the door behind me and again jumped into the cold shower. I gave myself a good talking to, took some deep breaths and again headed out determined to get some food and find the bastard tourist information center. I took a cycle rickshaw to Connaught Place and paid him the normal price of Rs15. As I was walking along, feeling very lost, a young Indian man approached me. He introduced himself as Baset. Baset offered to show me to a nice place where he liked to eat after I mentioned I was really hungry. Baset told me he had eaten but said he would sit with me as he was hanging around for his girlfriend to finish work. I ate well, finally getting to taste the amazing Thalis I’d heard so much about (which is a dish containing little samples of nice dips, pickles and curries with bread and rice on the side). It cost around Rs 120, which is under 2 pounds. I was feeling very hot and tired at this point so when Baset asked me if I wanted a lift to the tourist office I gladly thanked him.

This guy seemed honest so my first impressions of being underwhelmed by the government tourist information center quickly dissipated. I didn’t twig when Sameer, the government employee, started trying to sell me a tour of the north yielding very little travel information.  He was charming, very friendly and I was really tired. I think I stopped concentrating on reality at this point and got swept away on the sea of adventure (and bullshit) that was spewing forth from Sameers always smiling mouth. I tried to talk but he talked fast over me. Baset was to my right giving me encouraging winks and nods. It seemed to last for hours. I was so hot, so tired. My pickled brain must have melted at this point because…. you guessed it, I bought a VERY expensive tour around Rajasthan!!  As soon as I put my pin in the card machine a cloud lifted from over my mind. What the fuck was I doing. I needed to get out, I felt dizzy, everyone was smiling at me, I MUST MAKE IT BACK TO MY HOTEL…..

Almost time….

I have sold anything of worth and am waiting for my Mother to arrive so she can take all my books away from me, leaving me with two changes of clothes and a small backpack full of essential items.  I’ll be flying for Paris early Tuesday morning then on to Delhi, arriving at approximately 10.30pm India time. If all goes to plan a year hence I will return;  Older, wiser and sporting a mighty beard that will make the Gods weep…..YEE HAAA!!!