MCLEOD GANJ & DARAMSHALA, INDIA | LETTERS & PICTURES FROM ASIA, 1988 | PART 8

In 1988, when I was eighteen years old I set off from New Zealand to Asia on an adventure. Accompanying me was my high school friend David. We were inspired by Tintin comics and National Geographic magazines. Although we had never actually been overseas before, we wanted begin our travels somewhere more exotic than the usual teenage Kiwi destinations. Our plans were vague - first Nepal, then India - then, after that, as far as our meagre holiday savings would take us. Once on the road, I wrote detailed and mostly illegible aerogrammes home, which my father kindly typed up to make readable for the rest of the family. My father also generously lent me his Pentax Spotmatic camera to ensure I got some good pictures. 

This is the eighth letter, sent from the Himalayan village of McLeod Ganj. Read the very first letter from Kathmandu here.

McLeod Ganj, India
13 May 1988

Right now we are in the upper part of Dharamsala called McLeod Ganj. This is where the Dalai Lama lives. The village is in Himachal Pradesh near the winter snowline at 1800m above sea level. It is a really beautiful village full of friendly smiling Tibetans and monks. Although it gets hot in the day it is pleasantly cool compared with the plains. McLeod Ganj is perched on a high ridge and on a clear day you can see all the way to the flat dusty plains. The air is also lovely and fresh. It is such a change.

Of course I haven't seen the Dalai Lama but I have seen his house and monastery. There are lots of monks all around. This place is a bit of a "scene" with lots of freaks and hippies sitting around smoking the ganja which grows wild around here. It must be a bit offensive to all the locals who obviously regard the place as sacred. Even so, it is a lovely green, forested, happy, friendly place which has a special feeling about it. I have read the book 'Seven Years In Tibet' written by the guy who lived there during and after the war. There was a TV documentary about it once. The book has helped me understand Tibetan culture and the story of the Dalai Lama's exile. I have also read quite a few articlesa bout the recent troubles; they pin them up in the restaurants here. It's really sad what is happening there.

This place is alive with activity because the Tibetans are so creative. There are a lot of carpet factories and Tibetan medicine centres. There are quite a few westerners studying medicine here; it feels like everyone is busy enjoying doing their thing.

I hope that you haven't been worrying about me because of the unrest in the Punjab. The place that I posted my last letter to you from was called Connaught Place. Two days later there was a bomb blast there killing one person and injuring a few others. If the letter was a little burned you will understand why! I don't think that it was the same building as Connaught Place is a circle of shops with a park in the middle. It is the centre of New Delhi. Out train also went through the Punjab but I'll tell you about that later.

After posting the letter we spent some time wandering around New Delhi. It is pretty modern with a long underground shopping complex . All the signs are written in English and there are lots of Europeans about. In other cities often nothing is written in English so you don't know what anything is. There are takeaway bars and ice-cream parlours; we actually went into a Wimpey Bar, which is like a McDonalds and I felt the same as if I had gone into the Regent at home. The thing that has surprised me the most about India is not the poverty but the waelth of some Indians. I was expecting all the poverty, and sometimes it really is depressing, but I didn't realise how rich some Indians would be. T

One of the most difficult experiences that I have had relative to this was in Delhi. I walked out of an ice-cream parlour with an ice-cream and there right beside me was a row of beggars, all with no arms or no legs and all the usual deformities. This is not unusual but what hit me was the contrast between me with my ice-cream and them. 

At the New Delhi station there was a good example of Indian systems. A group of us were allocated seats in carriage S1. We guessed that this would be right behind the engine because it was number 1 so we moved up to the front of the platform. The train came in and the first carriage was numbered S15 so we sprinted down to the other end of the platform, got to number S2, and then there was no S1! We asked someone what was happening but nobody seemed to know. By now the train was whistling as if it was about to go and we were panicking. Next thing we see the stationmaster, or someone, crossing out S2 with chalk and writing S14. He then went on to change all the carriages like this and of course S15 turns out to be S1 ! Meanwhile there is complete chaos as no-one knows what carriage they are supposed to be in . It is completely crazy and people are still jumping on the train as it pulls away. I have no idea why they did that but was glad that our carriage did eventually appear.

The overnight train trip was easy. At Panthankot in the north of the Punjab and on the train there were lots of soldiers, all with their machine guns and rifles that looked like left-overs from World War 1. Every day there is fighting in the Punjab and lots of people are getting killed, as you've probably read in the papers. We fortunately onIy spent half an hour in Panthankot and then stepped straight on the bus to Dharamsala.

We have been enjoying just relaxing here. I usually get up at sunrise and go and find somewhere on a hill or in the forest to ponder or meditate, then do some study of something. I have been reading some books on Zen and on Tibetan Buddhism. Usually I buy a secondhand book, read it and then sell it back to the shop. I really enjoy doing this.

Because I used to surf a lot my body has really been craving a swim, especially in the heat of the plains. There is a beautiful waterfall with a pool here so we have been swimming there; it's great! The water is melted snow and so it is freezing, but it feels so good when you get out and lie on a rock in the sun. I think that it must get up to around 30 deg rees in the middle of the day, mild compared with the plains.
I want to do a six-day trek over to a place called Chamba and then get the bus to Srinagar from there. Unfortunately the pass is pretty snowed up, but may be clear at the end of the week due to the good weather. David has bought a guitar, which strikes me a being a bit impractical for trekking. He has also bought so much other stuff that he has no room for food, etc. 

After India I have several plans; the first and most unlikely one is to go overland through Pakistan, Iran, then Turkey and Europe. That would be great but possibly a bit dangerous. The second is to fly from Bombay to Kenya and then overland to Europe; this is the one that I want to do most but I am not sure that I will have enough money. The third one is to fly straight to Greece or Turkey and then do Europe. The fourth is to fly home via South East Asia. Of course, it all depends on money; I expect to have about $US1800 by the end of India which will probably be the beginning of August. It is all really hard to predict so I will wait and see. I think that David and I might go different ways here but I get the feeling that he is a bit worried about travelling on his own.

Well, I think that I will go and eat lunch and post this letter. Everything is so pleasantly easy here. Down in India even the simplest thing can become a major operation, whereas here it is generally no problem.

I was thinking about you all and wishing that you could come and see this beautiful place, nestled amongst the forest and the mountains. There are always things that I see that I think one of you would really like, things like birds and animals, or processions of monks ringing bells and blowing horns; just different things.

New Delhi (again)
16 May 1988

Yesterday was a fourteen hour ordeal on the bus. The buses sit three people to a seat big enough for only two. One person has to sit forward and two back. You come extremely sweaty at around forty degrees and the open window doesn't  help; it's just like a blow heater. The buses  stop very often and often for really stupid reasons. At one point we were driving along in the middle of nowhere when we stopped next to a house. The driver jumped out and went over to the house and everyone on the bus followed. When I got to the house there were about 200 people (God knows where they all came from) all sitting and standing around a television set playing at full volume. It was outside and there were so many people I honestly couldn't see the screen. The whole situation was crazy. A TV surrounded by hundreds of people in the middle of nowhere! We waited for about 20 minutes for the programme, a war movie all in Hindi, to finish. As soon as it did we were off again.

Drivers also love to stop and have a good argument. One time we came to a very long one-way bridge just as another bus entered the other end at the same time. Inevitably, the two buses both came to a standstill in the middle. We waited and waited and waited. Eventually an army truck turned up and the driver came up to sort things out. Our big Sikh driver got out and the three of them argued and argued. Everyone got out of the bus and joined in. Eventually our driver had to reverse all the way back out! It is frustrating especially when you cannot understand a word!

Buying tickets and getting the right bus is always good fun as well. You go to the ticket seller and ask for a ticket to Daramshala. He has a huge pile of tickets and chooses a few of these and some of those, and maybe some red ones and, lovely, the blue and the grey ones go well together; and in the end I had a total of fifteen assorted tickets for one ride. He then writes a random seat number in the back; David and I assumed that we would be sitting next to each other because we bought the tickets together, but no, we were at opposite ends of the bus.

The next job is to find the right bus. All the signs are written in Hindi, so we go to the Enquiry counter. "Which bus is to Daramshala?" A blank look; he sips his tea, talks to his mate, then looks up and says, "What?" I repeat my question very clearly. After thinking about it some more he waves his hand in the general direction of a row of buses and says absently, "That one". A great help!

We head in the direction of the buses and ask someone important- looking, "Is this the bus to Daramshala?" "No, that bus went two hours ago". We don't believe him, so we continue on.

At the next bus we ask the same question of one of the passengers. Slow deliberation. "No," he finally concludes. Next bus; again we ask. "It's that one" a porter says, pointing to the bus we last went to, which is now tooting its horn and getting ready to go. While we were still putting our luggage on the roof, the bus begins pulling out and so we climb down and jump into the moving bus. It is full of course, and people have taken our seats. We argue with them until the conductor comes and evicts them.