India Stories Sent from Canada

even though I'm back in Canada I've been reflecting on and writing up more of the India Adventure. For those of you still interested I'll be posting these stories up in instalments.. to keep the creative process rolling. Happy Reading.

Change: One More Day in Amritsar (part 1)

When I arrived at the Departures at 3pm, seven hours ahead of on-time the same station façade greeted me with nothing overly memorable as it had three days prior. There was general chaos of hundreds of Indians bustling about the Amritsar train station; an abode for eight platforms of nomadic track not content with being housed so constantly running off into the horizon. And I was here alone, just trying to find a luggage locker so I could take advantage of my last day in the city of The Golden Temple, but being shouted at “ma’am! Ma’am! Hello!” I was no novice to the calls of unwanted sales persons, tour guides and photo-mongers. I kept walking towards my soon-to-be incorrect assumptions of the location of the luggage lock-up.

I didn’t expect anyone would remember me let alone see me off. Especially not him… how could he recognize me? I was without my original distinguishing feature. Granted I had a few other subtle differences from the mass around me: solo blonde-foreigner with too much luggage and the wearing-the-same-clothes-as-yesterday well-travelled look. But what I did not have was the Girl-Who-Has-No-Change look. The only reason I had assumed myself to be memorable yesterday. Something that had been accurate for fifty four of my fifty eight days in India. At the Amritsar train station this Saturday it was decidedly untrue. So it was with only the slightest of annoyances and very true scepticism I halted apprehensively, turned my head and readied my negating reply to “ma’am, do you remember me? We met yesterday!”

I was on guard. I was wary of the old “we met yesterday can I take a photo?” and “we met yesterday, 10 rupees please” ploys. Despite my best intentions to be disinterested I looked around for the source of the voice. The man’s face looking eagerly at me from a long white tunic and baggy white pyjamas smiled to help my recognition process. I hesitated to reach into my memory bank for fear of being caught off guard looking pensive in a stolen photograph or being perceived as an interested customer for wares I had no interest in.

Surprising only myself two minutes later, I had found a match for this man. Luckily, only to me, it was only because he had the sense to inform me where it was exactly we had met yesterday. He had been the friendly one just outside the Maharaja Ramjit Museum (of battle-scene dioramas) at the gate of the Company Gardens who was thrilled to find out I was from Canada and laughed that I didn’t have the correct change for the entrance fee. It was he who had organized a bicycle rickshaw afterwards too, and insisted on sharing lists of Punjab natives who were now experiencing great personal and professional success in my home country. In the words of the rickshaw cyclist he recommended and I hired, “he has beautiful English, doesn’t he?” I had to agree. The well-informed and good-humoured fellow was the sweetest old(ish) stranger I met in all of India (in my rather limited scope of it). It appeared as though he was a cycle rickshaw operator too. As he stepped away from his bike I gave him a smile, acknowledged the commonality of our previous day’s paths, and then caught up on the last 24 hours since we’d last spoke. Mr. Rickshaw asked me what I’d seen and wanted to know where/where my train was headed, “10:15pm, Dehradun.” I almost had a chance to say I was looking for the luggage lock up when my newest friend exclaimed with an untranslatable mix of shock and delight, “Oh! Oh, you have a whole day left in Amritsar! You can still see so many things! Oh! You must lock up your luggage and come with me. I will show you all of Amritsar!”

Since that was precisely my plan, I was happy to have it validated with such exuberance. My next steps were, instead of struggling lost, directly escorted to the chaotic-looking but ridiculously orderly Luggage Lock. And I only had to step over two piles of gushy garbage to get there! That’s when I learned the 7 Rules* of Luggage Lock-up-ing:

1)      Must have OWN lock (double check)

2)      Must show passport (no prob)

3)      Must pay 10 Rupees per item upon pick-up (fine)

4)      Must provide a COPY of passport (in #2)

5)      Must carry own bag to designated, dirty shelf

6)      Bags are assigned a number for itemization

7)      Bags are tagged with the number (as per item 6) with semi-permanent or permanent ink (permanency directly proportional to owner’s fondness of said bag)

*note: these are not actually, officially listed but rather are learned-as-you-go rules.

Further to item 4) photocopies can be procured at the bag/passport owner’s hassle, expense and bafflement of the improbability of locating a photocopier in the area of the parking lot that was indicated by the Luggage Lock-up official with a vague wave-of-hand.

Exit Lyndia with all her bags.

Enter Mr. Rickshaw. Both meet in the photocopier-free parking lot.

Mr. R – Why not leave your luggage? What happened?

Lyndia – I need a photocopy of my passport. I don’t have a photocopy.

R- Oh! Is that all? I know where just come with me.

Lyndia is cycled through the parking lot (see! NO photocopier) across one busy street and is let off in a haphazard strip of parking and led down a side street, turned down an unmarked unlit alley and through a door that has “ICP, STD. FAX. CELL. PHOTO STAT.” stencilled on it.

We go in.

They have photocopiers (two). I pay 2 rupees and my problem is solved. It is also explained to me by the ICP, STD. FAX. CELL. PHOTO STAT. owner that the passport copy is for Verification, Authenticity and Security – all words I appreciate on the topic of Me and My Luggage.) Back down the alley and across the main street, I am re-dropped off at the Luggage Lock-up. Over garbage pile #2, since I found a way to avoid the first fetid puddle, and learn lesson number 7. It went a little something like this:

I passed over my newly acquired passport photocopy and answered three questions about the bags I wished to drop off I was made to fill out a little slip of paper. I was required to write out all the information from my passport and visa (exactly what was ON the photocopy I’d just handed-over) into the little government boxes on the sheet. Next I looked up to see the results of Authenticity, Security and Verification and ran smack into Lesson 7. I was surprised when I noticed that my black backpack had a chalk 212/2 on the bottom and I couldn’t help but shout when I noticed that my purse had been tagged with the same number but in black permanent felt marker. Needless to say, I was shocked and demanded an explanation along with “THIS IS NOT GOING TO COME OFF!” However, due to language barriers and bureaucratic functioning in place of actual intelligence the only clarification I received was a shrug, a smug smile and an ambivalent power-wielding, “compulsory.” With that, I downtroddenly transported my 2 212/2s to an empty dirty shelf that, I mumbled under my breath, “had better be Verified, Authentic and Secure.” At least my purse and I would never be subjected to the oh-so-common dinner-party problem of identical-purse-identical-contents, thanks to my Bag-Tattoo of 212/2.

Lyndia Without Luggage finds Mr. Rickshaw and hops back onto his cycle with only the essentials: camera, wallet/passport (with a Medusa-face pin as a criminal deterrent) and my journal with a third class train ticket bookmark. I am free to explore! Even more than that I am happy to have a friendly transport operator/tour guide that also assisted in my current luggage-free status. I’ve already determined I will buy this Cyclist-in-White a chai. And ask him his name… again? I can’t believe I’ve already forgotten, but then again so much has happened. Since I’m already on the back of the bike and we’re back on the road again, it seems I won’t be needing his name just yet anyway.

10 Farewell High-Fives

Good bye India. Today I start my journey home and have a flight to catch (with a 10 day stop over in Germany, of course - yipee!). However, I wanted to make a final (FINAL) post to re-cap Lyndia's India and high-five all I have loved, loathed and learned. I keep having ideas for lists pop into my head so... here is a list of the 10 Lists (so 11 lists in total?)

1. India-isms I'll Miss

2. India-isms I won't

3. Energetic Events of Powerful Personal Significance

4. Straight-Up Unexpected Sights

5. Most Memorable Quotes (from Others)

6. Stupidest Questions (byMe)

7. Food!

8. Photos I Took

9. Photos I Juuuust Missed:

10. Unbelievably Grateful for...

1. India-isms I'll Miss

a) walking-trains of sari-clad women    b) year-round growing season that provides vibrant greens & flowers

c) chai on every corner!                       d) 25 cents for a day's worth of produce

e) sunrise chants, songs and calls-to-prayer.

2. India-isms I won't

a) endless advertising overload      b) shouting as normal-volume

c) walking on-guard of potential poop underfoot      d) bucket-bathing

e) children with permanent dirt stained skin and teary eyes pulling at my pant leg and pleading for rupees.

3. Energetic Events of Powerful Personal Significance

a) moments on the serene beaches of the Ganga    b) feet soaking meditation in the pool of the Golden Temple

c) breathing in the prana of the Rishikesh hills         d) playing Holi in front of the Rosebowl

e) early morning Chakra-chanting                       ... f) Vishnodevi hike & all of Mcleod Ganj!

4. Straight-Up Unexpected

a) Hawks soaring over Delhi rooftops at breakfast    b) Hare Krishna Temple dance party

c) (as mentioned) seeing the Dalai Lama    d) (caution TMI (too much information) here) learning the fine art, uh science of bidet-style toilet-ing...
e) finding seats on the Hemkunt Express to Jammu (story coming soon)

5. Most Memorable Quotes (from Others)

a) "Ma'am? For how long should we hold this asana to attain Enlightenment?" - Doon yoga student.    

b) "Now I want to show you something Not in Lonely Planet, okay?" - awesome guide in Amritsar (story coming soon)

c) "For 13,000 Canadian dollars, can you take me to Canada with you?" - husband of a woman in the Ladies Waiting Room at a train station.

d) "Eat whatever you want. Do whatever you want. You are still young. You are fine." -Dr. Aurora as a summary of my first-ever Ayurvedic assessment

e) "If you aren't laughing four or five times a day you're not living, only breathing" - Yogi Vishvketu

6. Stupidest Questions (by Me)

a) "What do you call those little, tiny, baby mangoes?" A: Yes! Mangoes.

b) "Then how do you say "excuse me" with respect to someone younger than you?" A: Excuse me.

c) "Why is it called Chakarta Gate?" A: Because it's on Chakarta Road.

d) "Oh! What's happening at that village with all the fair rides and people? Is it a festival? Does it happen often?" A: It's a village fair. Usually once a year. (Me: Ah, just like at home...)

e) On seeing a black bear on a hill as pointed out by the driver. "Whoa! That's cool! Is it very common to see those here?" A: Umm, yes. That is the zoo.

7. Food!

a) parantha b) shahi paneer  c) malai kofta  d) Mystery grain porridge e) Chai! & Mithai! (trans. tea & sweets...but I already knew that)

8. Photos I Took (5 or more... of MANY more)

(see next post)

9. Photos I Juuuust Missed

(see next next post)

10. Unbelievably Grateful for...

a)...the ability to feel calm and one-ness in the chaos of an uncontrolled line of Ladies buying train tickets (story coming soon)

b) ...the month of hospitality at #83 Veejay Park in Dehradun!!

c) ...my Yoga Family who accommodated and understood my silence and self-relationship development

d) ...the nick-of-time guidance and spontaneous friendships!

e) ...a myriad of instances of clarity, confidence and connectedness in my own life

& f) ...poems, energy, flowing water, sunrise-skies, songs and colours, direction, dreams, advice and inspiration that I'll carry the rest of my life.

I <3 You India. I <3 You.

High Five #9

Photos I  Juuuust Missed:

(As such... these are the ones I have in lieu to remind me of those lost photo-treasures)

1. A mother teacher her two young daughters (about 6 and 8 years old) to carry 20L water vessels on their heads

2. An elephant in front of a fruit stand... here's a fruit stand at least? And some rather cool sleeping goats...

3. A surreal looking cow on a cliff-side garbage heap that is smoking and smouldering or just this cute non-garbage cow.

 4. The Doon school dining hall just before food is devoured! Or... some of the boys at an assembly?

 5. Two Buddhist nuns laughing on a stone bridge with burgundy robes flowing in the breeze... or one monk at the temple prayer wheels...

 6. THIS monestary like, 2 seconds in the future when the lightening bolted in the sky!
 










photos property of LyndiaP April 2011

High Five #8

For the pictures I thought I'd post separately... and more than five:

Photos I Took:  

(in no particular order... or slightly chronological)

Bath of the Nataraj

Street Smart and Sunglasses

Principal Sari

Chai for Four

Goat Friends

Cycle Rickshaw Silhouette

Gold fish. Golden Temple

Rose Coloured Sunset

Attending the Lama Dance

Taj Frame

Goddess 2

photos property of LyndiaP April 2011

What the (Taj Ma)hal?!

Today I took on Agra. And 'sensation over-load' might be an accurate description. Instead of regaling you with a long prose piece I made my single goal (besides seeing the Taj itself) as making three observations per hour of this adventure and using them as "poetry notes." As such, here are the (first draft) hourly-poems I crafted about my excursion:

4:00-5:00am

today felt ripe for a double dose

of anti malarial pills

as if they'd bring me stamina.

Along with addition to the morning routine

of sunscreen,

purple t-shirt the only thing clean.

My room with a view

of the early morning market

shops closed

guarded by owners sleeping on their rooftops.

5:00-6:00am

frightened at the first corner

by the motorcycle ghost

but found comfort in barren morning bazaar.

Walk to the once-daunting train station

Mystery cyclist dismounts to escort me

then vanishes into the dark crowds.

6:00-7:00am

Too early young foreign lad?

His platform vomit.

My platform mantras.

Captured

by the dedicated-to-authenticity

Japanese couple

each with a video cam.

7:00-8:00am

Bhopal Stbdi departed on time

Coach 8 seats me backward

Chair 74 treats me kind.

As neighbour no. 75 inspects newspaper adverts

with such intensity they must predict his life.

Ripened wheat fields blow past us

Tea is served.

Tea is removed.

Making room for two rifle-toting guards

to sweep through.

8:00-9:00am

Free in First Class?

Breakfast toast, red jam

that is not Red Jam.

A bite of contentment at Kosi Kala

to the no-charge song of Hindi PSAs

with all the money I just saved

I'll buy myself three extra photo-opts.

9:00-10:00am

Your wrinkled arm

her block-print sari

trying to tell me a story between the train seats.

A tale cut-off by the HindustanTimes

and chair 84-occupant snores and sleeps

as we race past people-blurs whom I'll never meet -

Express train

where passenger 12 insists on standing.

10:00-11:00am

Disembark from my chauffeured A/C chariot

for which I bartered well.

Agra-guide with grandkids

cuts long-lines and 

takes copious well-poised portraits of me

in front of towering domes

empty minarets

"The Taj has lots of angles"

and stories of marble inlaid with precious stone.

Most unforgettably told 

by the baby in the security line

who punched me in the left eye.

11:00a-12:00p

Shopping sprees well-planned

not by me.

Mosaic demos, local jewels

Cottage industries explained.

All my guides get kick-backs

every time I contribute

to the web of Agra-tourism

12:00-1:00pm

Solo dining at a table-for-four

 beside one likewise table

accentuates the Lonely Luncheon

delivered with delicious food.

Where napkin wrapped fresh-lime-soda

sliver serving dishes

don't come cheap.

Next time omit the private butler and

stock the soap in the bathroom!

The punjabi hip-hop was nice though,

it took up at least one empty-plate-space.

1:00-2:00pm

with the Yamuna river trickle

inexalted Taj-face

hanging as my backdrop

I'm the tourist making faces

for (the kinds behind) the camera

who already thought me strange-

might as well make their tale worth telling.

2:00-3:00pm (at Agra Fort)

  Rosewater fountain in the Jasmine Palace

Kashmir-imported garden soil for vineyard grapes.

You'll know you're Daddy's Favourite

when he renovates your room in marble.

3:00-4:00pm

After ticket-counter chaos

in the safer (?) Ladies' Line

preserving queue integrity

with English arguments and backpack barriers

To secure my second ticket

for a train I'll never board

and earn my questionable seat

on the Train Station floor.

"A/C Here" sign is fallacious

when the power is on Strike.

Dazed by smells and flies and unnamed spills beside me

as my skin is liquified.

4:00-5:00pm

A free pass to be invisible 

 at the product-less cafe.

Its empty tables. Empty chairs.

Brief respite for this tired traveler.

Until there's eight freeloaders at my table

the unsavoury seven watch me 

as they buzz and fly.

Waiting in the dark

for a milkshake

or a cold drink

or just the power supply.

5:00-6:00pm

At the same sweltering snack-bar

my tour guide finds me:

a final lesson, last farewell.

Agra pyramid-scheme education

that now I'm mixed up in.

For my information,

if his compensation

could be quoted as "200"

he explained with gratitude,

he'd avoid a reprimand &

could take home the cash in-hand

I had paid to him  

and not his over-seeing boss-dude.

6:00-7:00pm

Eating figs in relative-silence to pass the time but

Platform 2 has conversation:

family values and bank exams.

Until I board in the Second-Class cram

I never anticipated.

"Seats 6" holds 10.

but a reservation saves me

(plus my sex and novelty).

So I'm pried in W-55

as centre-attraction- soon too see

just how boring I can be:

sipping water, gazing outside

wedged in hip-to-hip, knee-to-knee.

7:00-8:00pm

Cool outside circulation now humid

turns to rain, 

soaks my window-side

provokes a train-wide chanting cry

when we try

to close the window.

The ventilated Train-Wash.

8:00-9:00pm

Just as I found comfort and the perfect scheme

to be friendly, to be me

all co-seat-dwellers exit our fair train.

Mathura Junction is their stop.

Spaces quickly turn-over

company changes face and name

forcing me to re-plot and wait

to share my cookies.

9:00-10:00pm

First attempt failed

all the coconut treats still mine.

But I have time.

When the hoarse voiced chai-walla comes 'round

he brings me success:

I produce the cookies

and the Indian chaps've got the rest.

10:00-11:00pm

 A photo-shoot requested

by new, live, Facebook friends

professing the Internet is perfect

for linking people 'round the world, both ends.

With the train's REAL late arrival

my eyes are tired...

but my smile still sends.

11:59pm (seriously, to the minute)

this Princess of Endless Journeys

is back at the Prince Palace Hotel,

the nick of time

to avoid turning into a squash of some kind... 

as I'm sure you can assume these were actually finished/posted the next day but let's just pretend I had the capacity to do it all in 24 hours.

And, of course, photo-proof of the Taj-visit (with many MANY others poses too):

Lyndia & SpongeBob storm the Taj

The Silly-Face from "Hours 1-2pm"

photos and poetry property of LyndiaP April 2011

Next Door to the Prince...

...Hotel is an Internet station. So I'm gonna post again today too. I really can't bare to let this India blog go.



Most critical point of the day? As confirmed by a palm reader: I am lucky. Yep. I agree.

1) on the bus from Mcleod Ganj it was my aisle counterpart, not me, who got motion sick. Luckily he spoke enough English to get me to switch seats with him urgently so the vomit went out the window instead of in the aisle. *shudder*

2) BEFORE getting on the bus in Mcleod Ganj I was happily cafe hopping and decided to try a new street... and ran into a friend from my hometown. Seriously! I knew she was in India but not in THAT restaurant, on THAT street, for only 2 hours and on my LAST DAY in Mcleod Ganj! Amazing. Thanks for seeing me Nicole! :D

3) Got off the bus in Delhi and was not, as was previously guaranteed when the ticket was purchased, in Old Delhi at the affiliated tourist office. She was in Somewhere, Delhi. Yeah. Not the good luck part. BUT the bus driver associate-guy was fixing up to take me to the right place (in a likely over-priced cab) when a co-bus rider asked if I needed to share a cab with him. It seemed a bit easier since he actually had a location in mind that was central and safe instead of my hope that the place I was being recommended to me was either of those things. So it all panned out and I got a hotel room at The Prince at 8am... and the fellow who helped me? Is actually from Ireland. Galway, Ireland. Like... the place I am going to do my Masters' Degree Ireland. Yeah. What are the chances??

So he showed me around the area today a bit - a great breakfast place, some bazaar-lessons, we struggled to the National Museum via the super clean/efficient un-Indian feeling Delhi Metro (and then a rickshaw since I didn't quite get the stop right) and then pre-dinner palm readings in a book store. Authentic, I know. But a BOOK STORE! And I was told I was lucky and the Golden Times of my life are just about to begin! So I say bring it on life. BRING. IT. ON. (however, I also want to say "I called it." Since I think on my other blog... I posted something just along those lines...nope, it was just a Facebook status: I will be winning the Gold Medal in Life this year. Now it's verified (by the book-shop palm reader).

Tomorrow: Agra. Strike that. Eight Hours: Agra!

Letting Go Again

After moderately successful meditation this morning to silence my mind I am sending one last blog post from Mcleod Ganj. I had really hoped to post another short story but that doesn't seem likely. Today I've got a full day of packing up my room at Snow Heights and lugging my backpack around until 6pm when my bus leaves for Delhi. The plan is to be minimalistic with movement so it's possible I will cocoon in to a computer terminal but I think I'd rather do some cafe hopping. I've got some great books to read (a library of choices!) and I'm sure I could even finish off another story in handwritten form. The cafe hopping will be slightly essential since last night I paid a visit to the Moonlight Thali for tea and take-out and only this morning realized I didn't pay for my tea(s). I can't leave with that kind of bad karma! Plus the place was really cute & friendly! Oh and had THE BEST take out bags in the world (you'll have to wait for the photo because I am not ruining the surprise with a description).

Tonight I sleep on the bus and tomorrow I sleep my first of three nights in Delhi. For those of you worried I was going to skip out on the Wonder of the World I have also secured a train ticket to Agra to see the Taj Mahal on the 17th. That leaves me 48 hours to explore Delhi (excluding sleep-time) and about 8.5 hours to wander Agra. I was also convinced to take the "Tourist Train" for one direction of the journey - which is, apparently, even better than "First Class" - fancy seats, a good view and even food and tea service. Fine. One way - in the morning, when I can actually see stuff. For the way back I insisted on the cheaper seats. Classic frugal Lyndia style.

I hope I can post once more in Delhi after I check out the Taj Mahal but who knows what the Flow will deliver. I have had such a wonderful trip and can't believe the India portion is so close to over. I'm certainly sad but I feel so lucky to have experienced all I have. Would I do it all over again? Yes! (Well everything I blogged about and stories I've written but not shared - there were some instances of um... uncertainty, I should say, that might make my loved ones a bit nervous and some of those I would not chose to re-do, except I know they all turned out alright!)

Without a doubt this has been a Journey of A Lifetime! My heart-felt thanks and E-love to all of you who have been reading along, commenting or emailing me about the adventures. It makes it all way more worth while to know people are out there reading what I've written and caring what I do :)

Sunrise From Snow Heights

p.s. even though it doesn't fit with the blog-name I will also add any Deutchland-adventures I have time to post as well. I'll be back in Canada by, about, May 1st (if I don't change my ticket or something... and I'm thinking about it).

Seasick (1/4)

The editor of this blog is delighted to announce that there will be a new feature given the author has had more time to, well, author and wants to share something that became a short story instead of a short blog post. Since it will still be published on the blog the editor wishes to a) make it manageable and b) create suspense by publishing the story Seasick in several installments.

The only apology that must first be made is that the pictures are not yet available to load but do check back and maybe by the end of the week they'll be up too! Oh and the author notes the "spell check" isn't functioning and repents spelling sins in advance.

Seasick (part 1 of 4)

Although I am currently in a land-locked location I am feeling a bit seasick. I've been Going With The Flow a lot lately and haven't quite got my sea legs... this relinquishing control does not come without rolling waves of confusion. At first I wasn't going to disclose all the details but after a resounding two-day sail, I changed my mind (for good reason, you'll soon see).

I arrived in Mcleod Ganj yesterday (April 8th) as noted in my travel blog. Before I came I did a bit of research (and infinitesimal amount compared to my usual standard) and read that one could "easily find accommodations near the bus depot." I was soon disheartened and sorely disappointed (emphasis on the sore) to find out both easily and near were relative in this case. Trekking up the first hill from the bus stand and into the main bazaar I found myself at a triple fork in the road. I could not choose. Mostly this was due to my ridiculously low capacity for decision-making as 99.729% of my bodily energy was consumed by standing, breathing, holding my second piece of luggage and fighting for my life... against gravity with my arch nemesis Forty-Liter-Backpack weighing me down like a small planet (slightly bigger than Pluto, of course, which is sadly no longer of planet-status). Before my demise I swayed forward and picked straight. Walk. Straight. My teetering course also managed to stay within a rough estimation of "the left side of the road" as is technically appropriate. That's two for two.

Down this road I passed so many tourist-apparel shops, coffee/Internet cafes and wooden-metal-jade trinket stands I nearly blacked out... no, that was the backpack again. But there WAS an extraordinary amount of these spots to spend money. Sadly I only noted two SIGNS for hotels but with no discernible doors... one more that looked 5-star swanky and I nearly inquired but had enough coherence to assess the risk: the shock of their potential room rates and my current physical strain could be enough for a fatal heart attack. I walked further. WAY FURTHER before I saw the Happy Home Room Available sign AND an arrow pointing to door. I refrained from weeping with joy and made my approach. I was first greeted menacingly by a narrow flight of stairs. Halting I turned back assuming I would neither FIT or SURVIVE said stairwell. But... I did it anyway. Reception Office? SECOND floor. ugh! At least the walls and stairs were an energizing, encouraging florescent orange?

I smiled weakly at the man at the desk on the other side of the glass Reception door, feebly pushing it open. Then in the most friendly pant I could muster I spurted, "Rooms available? ... for me? One. Can... you. Show. I see?... Ijustneedtoputmybagdownfirst!" And would have smothered an Adorable Animal Parade with the massive thing if need be, but luckily for the cute creatures they were not in the office but a sturdy bench was. Unsnap. Unclasp. Thud! GASP!

"It's on the second floor," was the first thing I remember the accommodating and understanding manager saying once I was free. In this case it meant the third floor but who's counting? That set of steps was like floating up clouds of whipped cream and angel dust - no bag? No problem!

And it was a lovely room: bed, TV, private bathroom, big sunny window with a view of the street and some hills. Done. For one night the necessities were here. I needed to clean and I needed to rest. Happy Home delivered. Back in the Office we talked costs - the charge was decent but a bit high at 550 rupees/night. Though I had enough foresight to negotiate a 50 rupee/night discount should I stay the whole week (if the meditation course fell through). He agreed and also suggested I take a rest, relax and have lunch before we sorted out all the details. I informed him I'd be out to use the Internet and we could finalize everything after that. Done and done.

I "ran" back up to room #204 and washed my hands and typically stained the sink grey with the grime of travel. After the dirt display of my hands that were NOT affixed to bus seats for 7 hours I knew that a wardrobe change would be required as well. The revoltingly dirty pants were thrown in the wash bucket for soaking and I noted the drain was more of a suggestion and noted that for the future washing process. I was excited: clean pants, checking email and rest!

As an aside I can't believe how simple it is to feel refreshed after a hard day of travel in India. Scrape off the dirt of the hands/feet/face (literally), go from pants rating 10 out of 10 on the grime-o-meter to ones that are a 6 on the same scale and breath in some fresh air from a sunny window: KAPOW! I'm brand new baby! Bring on the adventure. Well, not yet - let's just saunter to the nearest Internet cafe first. Result? Within six "doors" I found a place with a price breakdown that was reasonable and more prominent than the actual name of the place.

Most notable: 0-10 mins = 10 rupees and

60 mins = 50 rupees.

Sold! and directed to Computer #6.

Some catch-up with Facebook which informed me of some 'suspicious activity' on my account from the other side of India...ugh! And long-awaited email! Annnnd? No spot in the meditation course. Shoot! It (they... there was two emails) said if I hadn't paid by (first email) 4pm yesterday it wouldn't be held for me and (second email) 10am today they'd give it away as there were people 'in-person' to take it. That's fair. I wouldn't wait for me either if someone was there to pay immediately.

So I somewhat disappointedly updated my blog and emailed an apology email saying for polite-ness and without hope that I'd be in the next morning for the drop-in class and check back then but that I assumed it wasn't meant-to-be. (Look at that! Now I'm imposing my message of Go-With-The-Flow on other people!) Now course-less and backpack-less I decided to ACTUALLY look around a bit before going back to Happy Home. Basic exploration to get the lay of the tourist-land, scope out other accommodations (see if I was getting hosed), buy a juice - y'know. I went back to walking down Tourist Road and found Book-A-Bus-to-Delhi shops, Better-than-that-last-One Buddhist book stores, my juice (apparently 5-star as the price indicated, maybe because it included that delicacy 'apple') and a triple turn down-hill road. I took it for adventure's sake; past a Shiva temple (Hindu), a trail of prayer flags (Buddhist) and a breath-taking view of the snow-capped Himalayas (Mother Nature wins)! I realized THIS was what was missing from my current accommodations and since I was now 90% certain of needing a place for a seven-night-stay the phenomenal-ness of the view would be essential. Because if I go around the world to stay in a Shangrila setting... I wanna see the main attraction 3 times a day from the comfort of my own bed. Seriously! Or, at least, from the common rooftop patio or something.

Down the hill were a few selections:

the first was too snazzy (like valet parking)

the second was too-many stairs (like 40, really!)

the third was (potentially) juuuuust right!

to be continued...

by LyndiaP April 2011 (part 1 of 4).

Seasick (2/4)

My enquiry at the (potentially) juuust right third option Snow Height Apartment for Long and Short Term Stays Attached Kitchen was for kicks. Experience tells me words like 'Apartment' and 'Kitchen' are expensive. BUT cooking-for-oneself usually saves money. And it would make my upcoming days of silence more do-able. I popped in.

The office was also mostly a convenience store stocked with chips, pop, instant noodles and powdered milk. Stock actually worthy of note were cold juice and bottled water - could be handy to have nearby! I was shown room #7, up only 12 low-grade* stairs: do-able(*low-grade as in low-incline not of low-quality). It was nearly twice the size of #104 at Happy Home and also had a private bathroom and a sunny window... attached to a PRIVATE porch... looking out onto the hills and MOUNTAINS! Damn it! It was perfect! Clean too - and probably totally unaffordable! With its cute purple bedsheets, nice black counter-top in the kitchen area, bigger TV, two lovely wooden lounge chairs, most spacious bathroom I've had in India! Boo. Now I'll have to face the budget-breaking cost, say no and go back to ironically sulk at the Happy Home. Surely I'll also be cursed with jealous dreams of these richer folks with balconies overlooking idealized scenic wonderlands (always slightly exaggerated in dreams, of course).

I asked if there was "anything smaller? Opposite brick-wall facing? Less Awesome!?" with a tear in my eye. My chaperon doesn't negotiate room rates but he does know another room on the 'first' floor (relatively speaking, it's still one storey above ground) which is currently occupied but available soon. Considering this, I ask to stand on the not-so-private balcony to assess the view. It's even sunnier than the last room but the mountains aren't as instantly visible. That makes me feel better. Not ALL the rooms at Snow Height are Awesome with a capital A.

Back at the 7-11 of Hotel Lobbies I get down to business. Since I didn't see a cooking element/stove in the kitchen I note it for potential leverage in cost negotiations. The moment of reckoning: first round prices.

"Well," says the 7-11 clerk/hotel manager, "you get it today or tomorrow?"
"Is there a difference?"
"Room 7 is only open today and number 1 only tomorrow."
I consider this and reply disappointed already, "oh, not all week?"
He seems confused. "Yes, all week too. You need how long?"

Oookay bring on the miscommunication. "I guess it depends on the price. I have my bags somewhere e..."

"400 Rupees."

"What?" I shake my head slightly to help me hear correctly.

"400 Rupees," he repeats.

"Per night?" I clarify as if he was giving me an hourly rate for REEEEALLY short-term stays. Surely my eyes have already told him there will be no haggling from this customer.

"Yes, but after 400 and 400 and 400 then 800."

"ah, okay," I say knowingly but utterly confused. The price is awesome but only for two days? Ugh. Time to employ Tactic #1. "But the kitchen didn't have the stove..." I get a blank look. "Uh, stove? The cooking element." More blank-ness. "For cooking..."

"Gas?"

oh right. Gas. "Yes! Gas. Gas wasn't there," my syntax mutating like a chameleon.

"We put that in."

There goes that barter... "Oh, oh. Good. Yes. So the room is 400 rupees for the two nights but 800 after two?"

"No."

As usual I am stumped. No? 

I'm quite sure I didn't just fantasize paying double for no reason, unless this is all a dream... but it feels more like a rocking riot in a dinghy on a stormy Universal sea of Going-with-the-Flow... I feel a bit queasy. "So I pay 400 rupees for today and 400 for tomorrow. Then 800 rupees?" Learning from past experience rewording the question can be a bit like taking a Gravol and even out the waves of confusion. Here's hopin'.

"No. You pay only 400 rupees a night. 800 rupees later."

He almost had me there. I liked the first part and then got lost again, but getting closer. Wait! Maybe the first 'you' was singular and the second was plural. Maybe? One more Question-Gravol: "How much then is it for one week? From today 8 April until April," counting on my fingers, "14. Seven nights?"

"That is," tabulates on the calculator, "2800 rupees." YES! Internal fist-pump and attempting not to look desperately excited. I ask with all the calm I can muster, "and gas is 500?"

"No, gas is 300," the 7-11 manager sighs.

"right, 300 rupees for 5kg gas," I almost giggle with happiness. I would have actually giggled but as it stands this is the second room I am procuring for the same one night and the thought of Happy reminds me of the Happy Home where my bags are. Where the key in my pocket belongs. Some where in my mind I register the comment he makes, "and 5kg gas is enough for you."

"Okay. So. Now. ... My bags are somewhere else. So. What? Can? ... Is there something I can leave to hold the...?" In my head I'm also trying to work out the cost-recovery excuse/plan for the two-room situation.

His reply is resoundingly logical, "you pay in advance. Pay one night and after pay more." Clearly. The concept of a DEPOSIT had eluded me - the giving of money is certainly the customary manner of ensuring one's space be held in a transaction like this (something I clearly have had trouble grasping lately, as per the meditation course). I just hope I won't be paying for two nights accommodation tonight... I get my Official convenience store receipt and feel giddy that now my 400rupees/night is in writing (which, for those of you converting to Canadian dollars is roughly 10). I dig out a 500 rupee bill. He asks my name. I ask one more question:

"So is it pretty quite here?"

"Oh yes!" he assures me, "mostly all girls right now. And one monk. This is before all Indians come on holiday. Now is before April 16."

"That's good. Good." NOW I get it!! This is off-season = 400 and next week the price is jacked up = 800! Why didn't he just say that? Or, rather, why did he say anything about the week for which I WASN'T inquiring. No matter. He says I need a photocopy of my passport/visa and tells me where to get it. I'm also informed he can book taxis if I want. I confirm the location of the former ("straight" back up the three-turn hill) and reject the non-human-powered-conveyance.

BAM! Thank-you Flow! You've done it again! But... maybe over done it. I'm grateful for the 100 rupees change in my pocket but 2 rooms for one night? Wait. 100 rupees in my pocket. Like "to spare"... have half-conceived plan is brewing in my mind... and I'm not proud to say it but the first version of this plan was... Here I am in the town of Buddhism, religion of compassion and moral mindfulness, within 10 km of the residence of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama and I concoct a plan... to lie. Yes, my first idea was to lie to the people at the Happy Home! AND it was a good one. You'd've believed it! I even practiced it once on the first turn of the hill (which took my breath away as it was significantly more taxing than on the way down!)

Luckily for my conscience (nay, my soul!) by the top of the hill a new, more honest plan hit me like a burst of lactic acid in my hamstrings. It took until the orange steps of Happy Home to finalize it but I figured that I'd say something simple (like the truth) "I'm sorry for the inconvenience but I have other accomodations" and offer 100 rupees for their initial kindness/luggage storage. After the first flight of stairs though I pre-bartered my peace offering and decided to start it at 50 rupees in case that was considered enough for 3 hours storage (and the bit of secret laundry I'd wrap up in my towel and hid in my luggage to be unseen on the way out).

Fifteen minutes and 50 rupees later it was done, I was Happy and Happy Home-less... but not room-less. I was already half way back to Snow Height and thinking "a cab mighta been nice right about now," but struggled through it with the compassionate smiles and few cheerful, encouraging comments of random strangers in heavily accented English. (Really, three people commented in a friendly, non-hassling way and at LEAST five gave me the "you go girl" look... or at least the "you Crazy girl" look but I'll remember them all as the first version thankyouverymuch).

Plus passing on the cab probably saved me almost 50 rupees anyway. I figure I broke even for the day.

Now I sit here today at Snow Height (whoa! just realized... it rhymes with White, Snow White... and I'm "door" number 7: Snow Height, 7th Door! Ha! oh man, I'm funny) with my spacious room with a dedicated yoga-mat corner. Some laundry is now washed. My shawls and various souviners are displayed decorating wherever they can: I LOVE IT!

Oh and best of all... yes, I CAN see the snowy Himalayas FROM. MY. BED! (with purple sheets that match my earplugs). BooYeah!

To The Rockin' Flow of the Universe - Thank you! But the giving of all kinds of opportunity (and confusion) doesn't stop there, oh no! I also got pretty pumped about making my own Solo "Life-Meditation Course" schedule and made a plan with lots of yoga, writing, contemplation/meditation, (some) silence, (some) exploration and lots of Flow-Going. Very exciting indeed!

to be continued...

by LyndiaP April 2011 (part 2 of 4)

Seasick (3/4)

I failed to mention earlier that this course is actually "Intermediate." Something I am not actually qualified to take, but after three or four emails with the school professing my interest and providing my background they made an exception (thank you!) I Reeeeeeheeeely wanted to do a meditation course while in Dharmsala!!

Background: while in Jammu I got the email just in time to say I was accepted to take this course and emailed my thanks. Then I went on my pilgrimage to the Vishnodevi temple (wireless in the most literal sense) and didn't check my email for a bit. Sorry I didn't change my "out of office" to On Pilgrimage. I guess I didn't think of that. But the next email also said I need to pay a deposit online (okay, I skimmed over that part and definitely WOULD have paid my deposit...buuuuut didn't). So now that I re-read things I realized there was no luck for the course. BUT now that I had a GREAT room lined up I'd make my own course!

Thus the not-so-hidden talent of list-making was called to centre stage and last night I thought "I'll make this work! I'll throw something together!" and then it hit me - like a tsunami wave (no current event reference intended): the perfect schedule. I trotted down my 12 moderately inclined steps and promptly paid for two more nights and the cook-top/gas. Done. I mean, I was going in to the meditation centre for the free drop-in class and my "inquiry" for the course was really just going to be an apology for wasting their time in my initial assessment. The class was full and I was satisfied with the way things were working out.

My course approximately as follows:

5:15am - wake up alarm (with a 15 minute buffer)
5:30am - meditation, mantra and toothbrushing/related duties
6:05am - yoga asana practice
7:05am - mindful breakfast (fruit and porridge)
7:30am - go for a walk
8:00am - do some writing (stop for tea)
(9:00am - drop-in meditation class)
10:30am- alternate: silence or exploring or reading
11:30am - lunch
afternoon - some combination of the morning (minus waking up) ... let's not get TOO carried away with this planning stuff! I AM trying to Go-With-The-Flow here.

Except for today, the first day... I already changed the schedule - with 24hour hot water the temptation to do laundry was too great! At 6:00 I was scrubbing clothes and pushing my schedule back a bit. But it was the right choice judging by the colour of the post-wash water. Ugh. One bad thing though... the detergent I bought must have been super-strong-ultra power and my new grey pants turned white! Oh... wait.. no. Those were the white pants. Ewww. Nevermind.

While eating my breakfast (not on schedule) of an overpriced and under-ripe mango I observed with sharp accuracy a delightful cut on my lip. While getting dressed I noticed yet MORE grime on my allegedly-laundered clothes. While stretching in yoga postures I realized just how steep these hills really are! And after all this mindful observing I noticed I should get going since it was already 8 o'clock and planned to walk the approximately... uh... triple-than-the-bus-depot-on-my-free-(potentially)-not-to-scale-tourist-map distance. On uhh.. meditation-centre road? Yeah, I needed to give myself a bit of "getting lost" time. At least an hour! I put on my shoes and for good time's sake even tossed the map into my bag (and an orange should I get REALLY lost... or just need to re-locate that Lip-Cut again) and headed out.

After about 10 minutes of walking (backpackless) I was at the bus depot. I made a note and removed my previous hatred to and mental curse on the author of the subjective phrase about "accommodation," "near," and "easy." It was really just the pack-horse role I had been playing last time. This distance twice over? Ha! I was practically whistling on the main road out of town towards my second check-point: the church of St. John in the Wilderness. I was glad to see the meditation centre was past this way because I wanted to see when the service was because for some reason I felt drawn to it when I had first read about it online. I guess it was the Flow-in-Advance. There had been a government sign indicating it was only 1 km past the bus depot so I was confident I'd see it in about 15 minutes. The landmark that shouted to me on the way into town would be easy to spot again: the Only-One-I've-Seen-In-India Cemetery.

With my shawl wrapped around me the sun was starting to feel warm, but the air that ran past my arms was a contradictory chill that managed to keep things homeostatic. There was comfort in the quietude of the morning walk and adventure in the unknown road ahead. Then I heard some footsteps coming up behind me, quickly, and the comfort evaporated like spit on a Las Vegas sidewalk in August. People, generally do not "go jogging" in India so my usual explanation was out. My real first thought though, I'm proud to say as it makes me feel well-adjusted culturally-speaking, was "Grumpy Monkey(s)!" I was scared for a second but knew what I would do, kinda. Before I could pick up my Don't-Come-Any-Closer Rock (that-I-could-never-actually-hurt-you-with-cute-little-monkey) something was at my left hand (which I slipped into my pocket (for safety?) only to find a very non-threatening raspberry lemonade chapstick). A dog.

At this point I didn't feel at all relieved but HAD re-assessed the value of my purse as a weapon of force with the wallet, camera and journal spinning around me as the centrifuge. Trying to avoid any use for violence my steps quickened... and the dog's slowed. Until it matched my pace. Great. But at least it wasn't attacking (yet). It politely listened to me say "Stop!" and "NO!" in both English and Hindi (Hindi first, of course) and then circled behind me once and happily led the way. I took a breath and again felt secure with my choice NOT to get the rabies vaccine back home. I kept walking and it occurred to me that maybe this four-legged lone blonde female had just wanted company and I was a safe choice. I decided this was it and changed my projected-energy field of hatred to one of appreciative satisfaction. At least this company was not staring at me, trying to sell me something or asking awkward personal questions. Simple camaraderie and a bit of guidance. I could use that. After 10 minutes my mammalian friend knew I'd be alright and wandered off back to town just as the first stones of the cemetery came into view.

It was really beautiful too. Crumbling concrete crosses, one hundred years in the sun shine-y hills just Allowing. No paths to guide. No judgments to make. Accepting all that came from the ground and the sky and the blunt force of the Universal Flow. The caretakers were not far off though. I could see the three of them working close together - dark skin contrasting all the bright glowing greens and light memorial stone. They tended a set of four graves: two with small up-standing headstones and two with stone partially outlining the rectangular plots. All were flat as pasture on a small plateau of this Himalayan hillside, which was particularly convenient for the custodians' hooves and the grazing process they performed habitually, effortlessly, fluidly.

Walking on I passed the stone church with a red roof and noted the service time posted on a sign near the road: tomorrow, 11:00 AM. Then I greeted the little town that was introduced to me by a sharp left turn of the road. The atmosphere was relatively quite but I was once again the Oddity. It surprises me that this still, well, surprises me. The discomfort grows in my torso somewhere and then triggers an emergency maneuver to "look busy" to avoid the onlooking stares. Staring (as a woman FROM India told me) is something of a National Past-time here. That is hilarious because it's true. ONLY because it's true. This time my tactic for avoiding the acknowledgment of said past-time was to pull out my map and look engrossed. Within five seconds I wasn't faking it. I was riveted. I was confirming I was going in the correct direction: turn right soon and then second left... turns out I should have pretended to need my map a lot sooner... that right turn had been just BEFORE the bus depot and the second left not far after. Ooookay. I am definitely not meant to be at that meditation centre. By my watch I barely had enough time to get back to town and find that left hand turn, let ALONE get lost three more times which is my personal average. But. Maybe. One.... ofthesetaxis? no. They are not stopping for me. Alright. Alright! You win, I'll go with the Flow.

Then the third taxi stopped, let everyone out and called to me, "taxi?" Well, my name's Lyndia but let's talk. "How much to the meditation centre?" 100 RUPEES! You've GOT to be kidding me! Yeah, I am definitely not going to make it on time. Sorry. I politely declined saying it was too expensive and walked on. He called again, "just into town?" That was also quite appealing and likely only half the fare or less. I considered but skeptically asked, "kitana?" To which he nodded, "Free. I'm going there anyway." I couldn't refuse that kind of wave pushing me in the right direction.

Uncharacteristically I sat in the front seat. Uncharacteristically the driver spoke quite a bit of English. So we chatted. Nothing fancy but more conversation than I'd had in two days. He even indulged my question about the distance from the bus depot to the meditation centre. (3km, uphill). Judging by the time that was not going to be possible without some automobile convayance. And I really did want to do some meditation here in Dharmsala... I concented to the outrageous fee and was driven up to my destination. Five and a half kilometres, steep incline (he threw it in at least second gear for parts) AND my propensity of getting lost? Probably worth the $2.75 Canadian. I'm sure I'll find a way to recover from the dredges of bankruptcy this luxury is leading me to.

Two small white buildings and a chain between were the main entrance of the meditation camp. The welcome "May All Beings Be Happy" was painted with a floral flourish on the clean concrete. I walked into the biggest building with the biggest door assuming size mattered and would lead me to the place to ask questions. Wrong. But there was a kindly sign announcing it was SATURDAY (which alleviated my fear of this all being in vain if it were no-drop-in-class SUNDAY as I have been known to be a day off in my arrivals...). I walked out again. I saw a fairly obvious sign with a very informative arrow "reception." Ah. I went around the corner and readied myself for the apology I was going to make.

"Sorry we're closed" was smiling back at me from the glass office door, as it would be for another 45 minutes until 9:30 as the Office Hours sign indicated. I casually read the posters and notices on the windows with course details, annual schedules, rules and likely began to look suspicious but wasn't sure where to go or what to do. In the course of my readings I also learned that the 9AM drop-in class was actually at 9:15 so I had a bit more time to kil...enjoy. Then a staff person snuck through the door beside me with a tea in hand. It was definitely the "darting" style of movement which felt as though to say, "oh, we are definitely still closed." I could wait until after the drop-in class. I had time.

I opted to do this waiting on the patio with a few other uncomfortable looking people who I assumed were also there for drop-in. They were sitting on the plastic patio furniture enjoying the natural surroundings and watching the monkeys. It's always wise to keep one's eye on the monkeys. So I did the same - sat down, enjoyed the beautiful trees and hills and kept tabs on the monkeys, but they were calm so I pulled out my journal. I had a table to myself because I was in the corner. Corners are places where I feel safer for awkward waiting situations so that brown plastic chair was all mine. After three lines of writing about how I finally made it to the meditation centre the atmosphere changed with the shouts of perturbed monkeys. I was about to look up when my peripheral vision announced it would be better to stand up, quick! as one of the feud-ers (a big mama monkey toting her infant) was headed toward... my head. As casually as can be assumed with a potentially aggressive, nursing wild animal is in close proximity and all human eyes are turned toward it (in this case 8 including my own) I picked myself up, avoided eye contact with the monkey by spinning around it and found myself a new brown-plastic, non-corner chair. Turns out my theory of corner-safety does NOT always apply. One pair of eyes I did make contact with belonged to a compassionate dread-locked young woman who smiled knowingly and compassionately.

By 8:55am my unofficial-BoyScout-ness kicked in and the "Be Prepared" motto was in full gear. I had to go to the not-yet-open-but-still-staffed office. I didn't know where this drop-in class was happening. I peeked in apologetically and was informed the class was "upstairs." Okay good. I could deal with the other bit about missing the course registration later. But now, which stairs? The stone steps back by the front gate seemed accurate but not appropriate but I climbed them anyway to get a better view of how many other steps of stairs I might have to choose between. More than three. Shoot. I felt a bit of panic at the potential of having to go back to "Sorry We're Closed" to clarify this, likely obvious point. But having no idea I resigned myself to ask again and was back on the ground when obvious arrow caught my attention, this time with the message "Meditation Hall." Ha, yeah. Of course. The stairs right above the office. That makes sense.

Meditation Hall door is not open so I sit and wait. This time the sitting is more comfortable because there are no monkeys around but less comfortable because I am sure the wooden bench that is both narrow and wobbly will not hold both me and the spray bottle of glass cleaner that was already seated there. I hold out for the Windex to move and sit precariously mentally noting a few things:

a) I can't see the mountains from here. This is, apparently, a big deal to me. I can see the trees and hills which are enchanting but it feels a bit like being in the Rocky Mountains - nothing wrong with that, of course, I'm a fan actually. But I'm pretty sure I didn't take 7 busses in India to feel like I was in my home province for a week.
b) it's not just this bench... but I don't feel comfortable here, not Right Now. Something is making me anxious
c) the sign says "Silence Please" but so many people seems to translate that as 'whisper.' Hmm.

The teacher arrives and the class starts. Three quarters of an hour fly by and the meditation practice is really good. There is a chance for questions and answers and all of a sudden... I'm feeling anxious again. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan, a HUGE FAN of listening and contributing to discussions about Religion, really! But something isn't clicking. The room is beautiful but a bit foreign. The energy is positive but also a bit daunting. Then I realize this opportunity for processing all-kinds of new, intermediate knowledge drains the post-meditative rush right from me. It's not anxiety I'm feeling... it's a sort of dread. Another question leads to an announcement about a fundraiser calendar being sold for Tibetan-prisoners. My mind is re-occupied with the present and leaves the dread behind: 12 great Buddhist images and 365 proclamations of the type and intensity of daily auspiciousness? For 100 rupees? Cool! The point-of-sale is the library and I wanted to check that out anyway. I'm 90% sold on the calender too, as long as "May" has a good picture and my birthday happens to be Auspicious this year. I'm unabashedly judgmental of calendar this way. But for two dollars??

The Meditation Hall empties and the dread returns. I'm going to have to return to the office to be directed to the library. Shoot. I *should* simply be excited: a library, a calendar, an easy apology. But it's all dread. Of what? The only way to find out is to go in... and make the apology and get it over with. They aren't going to lynch me or fine me or jail me! I'll just walk in, introduce myself and ask to speak to the author of the considerate emails I received, apologize to her and float on over to the library. "We're Open" has ousted it's other half and someone's already taken advantage of the office hours. An older gentleman is talking with the staff person from earlier. Super polite Lyndia waits outside a minute but no break in conversation. However, I do notice it's about country of origin and recent countries of residence - not too critical - so I knock and ready my apology, "Excuse me again, sorry to interrupt but I'm... not sure of my way around and want to go to the library." Reply. Close door. Walk off.

Wait. What? That was it? I didn't say anything? I ditched out? No. Sure I didn't. I'm just waiting until the office is empty and will return after I visit the library. Yeah, after the library.

It checks out, the library and I check out, two books. May 12th is auspicious this year and I also have a copy of the calendar in hand. I also learn that although my birthday Thursday is gonna be a great day the typical-celebratory Friday is totally inauspicious for having guests over. So DO NOT expect a party that day! I head back to the office with my stuff and take a slight detour, following yet another new sign "Shortcut to Mcleod Ganj" instead. Yup. I walked away. I totally did not apologize. What a jerk!

Now the Flow is back to stable. Good. I know I'm not going to be in the course and probably that I'll have a bit of bad karma for being so mindfully rude too! I head to the Internet cafe to do some blogging and will then go back to rest in my room (it WAS a 3km walk back!). Email #2: "yes there is one more space left. Please come and see us in the office this morning." Wha?! Holy Crap! If I would have said something I still could have registered! I could still register! Maybe I could run down and get my bags and be out the 800 rupees for the two pre-booked rooms and the 300 rupees for the cooking gas and the 100 more rupees for the taxi back up to the centre... wait. Wait! Think for a second here. I was just there. I didn't even ask.! Actually, I don't wanna go. Yes, after ALL that. I don't even want to take the course!? FLOW WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!

to be continued...

by LyndiaP April 2011 (part 3 of 4)