 |
| Sherab Gatsel Lobling |
The background:
The ads say Incredible India but that doesn't begin to describe the people, the sounds, the colors, the smells, of the little bit of northern India that we saw.
 |
| Gate at Sherab Gatsel Lobling |
The MY STORY photo project was invited to McLeodganj (or upper Dharamasala) by Trinley Palmo, a Tibetan working for the Health Dept. of the Tibetan govertnment in exile. She is a Fullbright scholar who has set up a program at a transit school for young Tibetans who have sought refuge in India. Sherab Gatsel Lobling, or Garden of Knowledge, is a transit school located 20 minutes down the mountain from McLeod Ganj. The school has about 400 students between 18 and 30 and offers courses in Tibetan, English, computer, tailoring and painting.
 |
| Art studio at the school |
McLeodganj lies 6120 feet above sea level and is where the Dalai Lama has his residence and temple. It is also where the Tibetan government in exile is headquartered. So there are lots of Buddhist monks from all over the world, lots of foreigners who have come to study or volunteer, and a few Indians. Prayer flags flutter over very narrow very steep streets, every coffee shop and restaurant has wi-fi, and street vendors sell everything from henna tattoos and prayer bowls to fleece leggings and silk gowns. Cows have pride of place on the street, with little Tata cars and motorbikes beeping their way ahead, or often backwards when the road is impossibly narrow. Then there are the mountains, a presence even when you aren't looking at them. Snow capped, sharp against a blue sky or dressed in billowing fog, we couldn't stop looking! Did I mention that there is no such thing as FLAT LAND in Dharamsala??? We discovered muscles we didn't know we had.
 |
| Prayer flags and mountains |
 |
| Henna tattoo |
 |
| It's either up or down... |
The photo workshop:
10 students, ages 19 to 24, greeted us on Monday, March 4 at 4:30 pm. The training would take place after their regular school day and we would have them for 1 1/2 hours. We had picked Trinley up from her office on the way down the amazingly twisty and narrow road from McLeodganj. Guard rails? What guard rails? Cows, monks, people, cars, carts, Hindu temples, and an enormous cricket stadium in the distance were the order of the day.
Classes took place in an echoing auditorium, adorned with a giant mural of the Potala Palace in Lhasa.
 |
| Trinley translates for us during class |
These are the students, many of whom walked from Tibet to Dharamsala, over the Himalayas in winter, when there are fewer border patrols.
 |
| Jampa, head student and provider of all things |
 |
| Rinchen |
 |
| Rinzen |
 |
| Tsering |
 |
| Dhethong |
 |
| Drukmo |
 |
| Ngawanag |
 |
| Dawa |
 |
| Tsethar |
 |
| Kalden |
And here is some of their work:
 |
| My bed photo: Drukmo |
 |
| Mother is sad because daughter is leaving Tiber photo: Tsering |
 |
| Dhethong photo: Jampa |
 |
| Kitchen photo: Dawa |
 |
| 6:15 pm March 15 2013 Outside Sherab Gatsel Lobling School |
To get to Dharamsala we flew from Bangkok to Delhi, having completed the massive visa form, with photo to exact specifications. Our arrival in Delhi at 10 pm on March 6 was not auspicious; driver that was supposed to meet us only showed up after 2 irate phone calls from a local tourism person who kindly made the call for us. After what seemed like hours of driving ( really about 45 minutes) we pulled up to the Royal Mirage Hotel....and oh how I wished it had been a mirage! In the middle of nowhere, on the side of a highway construction site, not a restaurant in sight, the hotel seemed more office building than hotel. After filling out the register, another gigantic undertaking, father's name, etc etc we were shown to our large windowless room that might to have been cleaned in the distant past. By now it was midnight and we were hungry; could we get some food and what was the wi-fi password. One of the two young men who seemed to be the only staff pulled out a crumpled menu and told me the password was, and I quote, " Mr. Dimpy 1101". He then went off to get us some dal and rice while I tried to log on. Mr. Dimpy 1101 wasn't doing it in any of the myriad combinations I tried, so when our dal and rice appeared at 12:30 I asked again. 'Yes, maam,' was the answer to everything it seemed. Finally after a phone call to someone we got the right password: Dimpy! We immediately booked ourselves into another hotel for the following night and fell into bed.
 |
| Hotel Grand Godwin |
The next morning we went downstairs in search of breakfast. We found what looked like a big office room containing one desk. We sat down. Neither food nor humans were in evidence. After 10 minutes, our two young men appeared. 'Breakfast?', we asked. 'Yes, maam,' was the answer. But to get it we had to return to our room. Chai, toast and jam appeared. We ate it, bid farewell to Tweedledum and Tweedledee, and headed off to the Hotel Grand Godwin, near the New Delhi train station, on a street full of hotels, ATMs, corner stores, and an English wine and beer shop.
 |
| Room 107, Hotel Grand Godwin |
Rested and breakfasted ( the hotel featured something called 'live omelettes'), we took the clean and very cheap Metro to the Red Fort ( think Maharajas, Mughal Shah Jahan, Masterpiece Theatre, the Raj, Lord Mountbatten ). No sooner had we stepped onto the path to the main audience hall when soldiers waving guns, guys with sniffer dogs, and more soldiers blowing ear-splitting whistles in our ears appeared, saying in Hindu, 'Everyone out! Security alert! Out! Now!' We stood to one side, hoping it might all blow over, but to no avail. Finally a young Indian man said, 'You must leave now. I'm only telling you this because you look like my grand-mother! Really, I'm not kidding!' So we took his advice and left.
 |
| Outside the Red Fort, Lal Quila |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
| As far as we got at the Red Fort, first time around |
A cycle rickshaw took us through the back lanes of Delhi to Connaught Place, Delhi's 5th Avenue, where we ate at Haldiram's, Indian version of a NY delicatessen.
 |
| Cycle rickshaw Delhi |
At 5 pm we went to the Nizamuddin Temple to hear Sufi singing (thank you
Lonely Planet!) Crowded with families, beggars, a few Westerners, and lots of guys standing around, this was like a village bazaar. Nat was
accosted by one of the guys, asked to sign the guest book, make a
donation, and enter the inner sanctum of the famous Sufi saint buried
here (no women allowed). Soon another bunch of guys appeared and the
singing started.
 |
| Nat gets ready to enter the temple |
 |
| Donation time |
 |
| The form for a SIM card |
And then there was the saga of getting a SIM card. Each Indian state
has its own mobile system, so if you get a card in Delhi and use it in
Himachal Pradesh (where we were going) you pay roaming fees. OK. We
decide to buy a Delhi card anyway and are taken to the phone shop by
staff guy at Hotel Grand Godwin. That's when the saga begins. To get a
SIM card you must fill out an enormous form, asking for your family
history back several generations, provide a photo, pay a few hundred
rupees, and then.... wait 24 hours to see if your application is
approved. You discover this by calling a certain number and shrieking your name into to phone, as the background noise of the boiler room you are calling is deafening. But we succeeded!
On to Dharamsala by overnight sleeper train:
 |
| New Delhi train station 6 pm March 9, 2013 |
Our train tickets to Pathankot, 3 hour drive from Dharamsala, were about $30 for the 2 of us; half-price due to our advanced age. We had a comfortable 4 berth roomette, shared with a couple of Indian gentlemen who took one look at us and disappeared into the upper berths, not to be seen again. The porter gave us sheets in a brown paper bag that assured us they had been washed....and so they had; crisp and white!
Pema Thang Guest House sent a driver to meet us at 6:30 am and drive us up the windy, narrow road to McLeodganj, or Upper Dharamsala, about 10k north of Dharamsala proper. Have I mentioned the mountains? Snow capped, jagged, breath-taking, they were to dominate our view for the next 10 days.
 |
| Shop McLeodganj |
As the home of the Dalai Lama, McLeodganj is a pretty sophisticated little town. Built on the side of a steep mountain, we did a lot of ascending/descending, which helped offset the amounts of delicious food we consumed: momos (steamed or fried dumplings filled with veg) bought off a street vendor, dal mahkani, jeera rice, breakfast porridge with bananas and honey, all the cappuccinos we could drink, KitKat bars, and the occasional cold Kingfisher beer.
McLeod offers all kinds of yoga/meditation/ayurvedic doctors, and of course the opportunity to listen to the Dalai Lama teach, if he is in town. There are also a good number of NGOs and CBOs based here, working with the large Tibetan population, most of whom came in 1959, along with the Dalai Lama, when he escaped from Tibet. There are remnants of the British Raj in Christ Church, a lovely 1 km walk through the pine forest, and a water fall to visit further up the mountain at Bahgsu.
Pema Thang is perched on the side of the mountain, overlooking the valley and the Dalai Lama's palace. We had a wonderful large room, with big windows and a small balcony. It was a comfortable place to sleep and work. While it was very cold at night, the sunny days were warm, although you needed a shawl in the shade.
 |
| Pema Thang: our room is on 1st floor, behind pointy thing |
 |
| Marvellous Mita at Pema Thang; she smoothed our way |
 |
| Working at night....brrrrr! |
 |
| Best coffee in McLeod |
 |
| People waiting for the Dalai Lama to arrive from a trip abroad |
| . |
|
One afternoon, on the drive to school, we noticed many people waiting by the side of the road. They were there when we returned 2 1/2 hours later, and still there when we went out for dinner that night. They were waiting with candles, incense, and white scarves to greet the Dalai Lama on his return from a trip
abroad. We saw his car whisk by outside his palace about 8 pm.
 |
| No chance! size 10s... at the Dalai Lama's Palace |
 |
| Prayer wheels at the Dalai Lama's Palace |
Trinley Palmo, our host, and her brother, Karma, not only organized and translated for the workshop, but made sure we saw everything there was to see around McLeodganj. Karma drove us to the Tibetan Children's Village School, where he had gone, 2000 students strong, neat, tidy, and well-funded. The school has several campuses in India and offers academic and vocational education.
 |
| Tibetan Children's Village School |
Next stop was the Norbulinka Institute, where traditional Tibetan arts are taught; thangka painting, woodworking, sculpture, quiet gardens, and cafe. There is an elegant shop selling elegant hangings, clothing, sculpture, elaborately carved wooden boxes... I came away with a cushion cover.
 |
| Thangka painting, Norbulinka Institute |
 |
| Oh those mountains! |
 |
| Metal sculpture making, Norbulinka Institute |
On another Sunday afternoon, Trinley invited us to her home for lunch along with Karma, to meet her husband Tashi. We ate rich curry, dal, and salad on the veranda while watching black rain clouds roll in from the mountains and let loose over the valley!
 |
| Rain clouds from Trinley and Tashi's veranda |
 |
| Tashi, Trinley, Karma at home |
The Canadian connection:
A kilometre a long a shady road leading out of McLeodganj
there is a stone church, legacy of the British, beautifully cared for, trim garden and polished brass plaques. Look what we found in the graveyard:
 |
| James Bruce, Governor General of Canada buried at McLeodganj |
 |
| Another shoe warning |
Snap, please:
 |
| Snap, please! |
 |
| Nat after helping this woman down off the hill in back them where she had gone to pick a mountain rhodedendron |
On the way to the church we were stopped by a group of young Indian women, standing by their car and saying, 'Snap, please.' What did that mean? A dress needed doing up, something wrong with their car? No, it meant we want to take a snapshot with you.
 |
Henna tattoo
|
Department of 'had to post these!':
 |
| Sign outside Korean restaurant |
 |
| Don't know about the dippers, but horn blowing is an essential part of driving! |
 |
Prayer flags everywhere
|
 |
More black clouds
|
 |
| There's a woman under that bundle of leaves; animal fodder |
 |
| I think I'm getting a headache! |
 |
| Well, well, well... |
