Summer Books

Books of Summer

My Land, My People: HH The XIV Dalai Lama

I snuck reading this on silent retreat in Ladakh, the culturally and ethnically Tibetan region in northern India. A great read, essentially the DL's autiobiography from childhood until his exile. Not just a personal story through, which does move the book along, but also includes excellent descriptions of Tibetan culture, as well as tracing the history of Sino-Tibetan relations across the centuries. I read this, then a month later watched "Kundun," which clearly used this as source material. Definitely recommended for anyone with an interest in Tibetan history and culture.

Shalimar The Clown: Salman Rushdie

And this one I read as I prepared to go to Kashmir- where much of the book takes place. (But see that entry for what actually happened to my Kashmir plans). An interesting take on historical fiction, sort of a contemporary historical fiction, mixing real people and events with fictional ones, which gave a unique view of history and offered a unique understanding of colonialism and its cold war consequences, echoed in layers of personal stories and larger world events. This was a very cool idea, executed very well at some points in the book, and poorly at others. Ultimately, though thought provoking and well written, there were just massive swaths of the book that I was incredibly bored, even though there were parts that made me unable to put it down. A mixed bag overall, with some moments of brilliance and some of utter ridiculousness and boredom.

Bangkok Haunts: John Burdett

The third (and last?) in the Sonchai Jitlecheep Bangkok noir trilogy that began with Bangkok 8. Also, without a doubt, the most ridiculous of the three. Still, I greatly enjoyed this adventure complete with the usual cast of prostitutes and Bangkok mafiosos, with the added dimensions of the Khmer Rouge, snuff films and Cambodian black magic. If you enjoyed the others, you'll read and enjoy this, but it is undeniably over the top.

Are You Experienced?

Ah, lad lit. Sort of like Nick Hornby lite, but extremely lite. I read this book in one sitting on a train in India. The story of a british lad who follows a girl to India for a gap year experience, with hilarity ensuing before he finds himself. The backpacker stuff in the bok did have its moments, like a group of Australians bragging about their various feats of derring-do, but otherwise an entirely forgettable reading experience.

The Great Railway Bazaar: Paul Theroux

Shout out to Matty for recommending this one. Paul Theroux gets on a train in London in the early 70's, crosses Europe, the Iron Curtain, into the Mid East, across India and Southeast Asia as the Vietnam War winds down, through Japan, across the bering sea and then all the way across the USSR and back to Europe. Though feels dated in its views of other cultures at times, the historical value is remarkable and observations of his fellow travellers are hilarious. Highly recommended, especially for other travel nerds. Particularly a good read on a sixteen hour train ride in India.

The Amber Spyglass: Phillip Pullman

A few years after having read the first two, I finally got around to reading this one. Not surprisingly, I absolutely couldnt put it down. Even better than the other two. I also had the interesting expereince of stopping through Oxford on the way back from India, and enjoyed seeing the sights described in the book. Most interesting was the history of science museum, complete with old maps and instruments that were so clearly the inspiration for the golden compass itself, as well as worlds contained in the books: ie, references to muscovites, tartars, and others on the maps. Worth checking out that museum if you are a fan.

What to Eat: Marion Nestle

Okay, another food nerd book. This one is ostensibly a nutrition book, about the pros and cons of various foods and a very straightforward what and how much of what to eat, and written by a well known nutritionist with no ties to industry. The book is organized by food group, and goes deeply into the politics behind the food and why we think its healthy- ie, lobbying from large companies at the FDA, subsidies that artificially lower prices on certain products that we are therefore more likely to eat (ie, corn-syrup sweetened goods), massive advertising campaigns, industry funded "science" and lawsuits against defensiveless "regulatory" agencies that are usually stuffed with industry people anyway. Utterly fascinating in the politics, extremely pragmatic and user friendly in its nutrition advice, I would highly recommend this book. Effectively answers questions like what does organic mean, what are trans fats, etc, etc. Amusingly mocks various specious fad diets, superfood claims, and other food misconceptions. On another note, I'd also highly recommend the muckraking documentary about Monsanto seeds that many people in India had recommended to me:

http://vodpod.com/watch/725926-the-world-according-to-monsanto-wide-eye-cinema-free-conspiracy-videos

And for more GOOD info on food health and politics: Center for Science in the Public Interest

The Quiet Room: Lori Schiller

Oh, the older I get the less I can abide terrible writing. This book, the mostly ghostwritten memoir of an upper middle class Tufts student who experiences a psychotic break and eventually develops schizophrenia is so riddled with idiomatic cliches that its nearly unbearable to read. On the other hand, its readable in one sitting. Writing aside, the story is a decent one and illuminates a lot about our mental health system from inside- inside the system and inside the mind of someone suffering from a very serious mental illness. Wouldnt particularly recommend it, though does have some interesting stuff. Don't blame me if you cant get past the prose.

Coming to Our Senses: John Kabat-Zinn

Hmm, Jon Kabat-Zinn may be the grandaddy of clinical mindfulness and meditation, but this book just lacked something. Although his science is great, and even his ideas are really good, the writing falls a little flat. Further, though a good concept on which to build a chapter- using our senses as a means into mindful awareness, it probably would have worked better as a book chapter not a whole book.

The Wise Heart: Jack Kornfield

Generally speaking, I'm a hueg fan on Jack Kornfield's work as one of the leading American Buddhist teachers. And this book was very, very good, without a doubt- the content was great, writing more than adequate, and the stories and examples both accessible and effective. Unfortunately, having read and listened to a lot of his other material, this felt a bit like a half-hearted rewarming of other material. If youre a fan of Jack Kornfield, you'll find more of his good stuff, but not much new here. If you're new to him, I'd recommend this, its a solid and efficient presentation of his classic ideas- many of which were previously only in his talks, in one book.

God's Middle Finger:

Hello Dalai... Goodbye India

Somehow I found the train out of Amritsar to Pathankot from which I planned to catch the bus onward to Dharamsala- home of the Dalai Lama and his exiled government. Thankfully, the bus was easier to find than the train- I just headed for the berth with the large pile of kiwi hippies. Actually, only five, and they were not all hippies, more of an assorted group of anglophones than Kiwis. Not with them was the Polish rastafarian who kept telling everyone he had just come from Pakistan. His only luggage was a digeridoo, (thank god he digeri-didn't try to play it on the bus*) and lucky me, I got the seat next to him. A bridge had gone out no the road to Dharamsala, so we had to take a detour. Unfortunately, the detour was a muddy one lane road. Unfortunately, busses and trucks from each direction had decided to take the detour, resulting in a massive traffic jam alleged to be sixty cars deep, just stuck facing each other on the top of the detour road. This made for a bit of standing around time, which was good beacuse I was also really hungry and thirsty. This was exacerbated by the fact that I had a candy in my pocket (given to me as change instead of rupees) that I had decided to try to aid my thirst, only to discoer ut was spicey masala falvored candy. Yeach! By the way, I've noticed that EVERYTHING here comes in spicey masala flavor- from Lays potato chips to cigarettes to candy. Anyway, I got my water and then got to know the group of kiwis a bit as we stood around a tea stall by the side of the road drinking chai, and they were a good group. We decided to wander around and see what was happening in the town (nothing- except that it seemed the town village had turned out to watch the army and police fight with each other about sorting out the massive knot of a traffic jam). A few buses up we discovered a number of nuns from a Korean Zen convent leading their bus of pilgrims to Dharamsala in some ridiculous looking calisthenics. Bored, we decided to join in the aerobics, much to the delight of all the nuns and Koreans. The buses then started, so we all ran back to get on the bus and move sixty feet before stopping again.
We decided to try to play gin rummy but had no table, and so the game soon got out of control, at which point we decided to go up to the roof, where we could watch the beginning of the sunset over the himalayas anyway. We all clambered up and started playing cards on top of someone's steamer trunk, and before we knew it the bus was moving again, with us still on top! Soon we were zooming through the jungle, ducking rhodedendron bushes and sliding all over the place as the bus careened around corners and tilted perilously past gorges with us clinging to the top. Still, it felt safer up there than on the bus- at least we could jump off in the event of a crash. We were just laughing uproariously, waving at the at the locals with cries of "HAL-ooooo!! howareyooooo?" before all bursting into a rowdy rendition of Sadly, after about twenty minutes of wiping tears of laughter from our eyes, the driver slowed to another stop and we were waved back to our seats. It was some of the most fun I've had- if you ever have the opportunity to play cards on top of a moving bus through the himalayan jungle- don't miss your chance.

But the hours of delays meant that a 3:00 arrival was more like 9:30, so, exhausted I found a guesthouse and crashed for the night. Dharamsala itself is kind of a dump, so I stayed where most people do- upper dharamsala, AKA McLeod Ganj- a town about 50% backpacker/ 50% Tibetan monks 10k up the mountain. As I mentioned before, Dharamsala is a small hill station that the DL and his exiles were offered by Nehru back when they initially fled Tibet following the Chinese invasion. Since then, its been the center for Tibetans fleeing oppression in China. It also happens to be full of backpackers and various spiritual seekers, and happens to be the rainiest place in India. Oh, and did I mention its currently the rainy season. It is beautiful however, when the clouds part, which they do for up to minutes at a time, stunning views of bright green himalayas appear, with terraced sides and amazing gorges. The rain is kind of depressing, and my guesthouse felt rather like a moist basement- there was even a massive slug in it, prompting me to move. (and I mean massive- bigger than the ones back in Washington state) . So, the Dalai Lama holds public teachings now twice a year- and this week was one of those weeks, filling up the town, but also really being quite exciting.

I got to the teachings late because I had to register (passport, photos, get an ID made and then through major security), and stumbled aroud until I foud a seat in the aisle. This turned out to have an excellent view of his holiness, only about 60 feet away. Then, when he left the teachings, I was in the front row as he walked by and blessed everyone!! Unfortunately I was not personally privy to a high five from his holiness, but I did get a wave and eye contact. This massively obese Russian woman next to me got quite the chat however, as the Dalai Lama asked where she was from then pounded her on the back and said "oooh, a big one... very big!"

The teachings were alternately obscure and esoteric and then kind of overly simple, but being there, with people from all over the world and the DL himself was a very powerful experience. The Audience was about 60% Tibetan, most of those monks. Then various westerners, as well as Koreans, Japanese, and Chinese and a handful of Hindus and Sikhs. The Buddhist monastics who had come ranged from the bright orange robed forest monks of southeast asia to stark brown and gray Zen monks of Korea and Japan. The temple itself though was kind of depressing, from the grandiose palaces and monasteries of Tibet, these people now had a rambling cement and cinder block complex that was rapidly mildewing, with a definitively industrial and utilitarian feel to it. Still, at least the Tibetans have something to call their own and replace what was destroyed by the chinese in their homeland.

Spent the next few days at the teachings and then afternoons drinking decent lattes and eating cake in all the little cafes around Dharamsala, and hanging out occasionally with the kiwis. They invited me to dinner at their palce in Bhagsu- the next village up the mountain, a little quieter and usually where people hold full moon raves in the shadows of the himalayas once a month. But it was a fun dinner, and I got to know a bunch of the local volunteers, as well as the various local weirdos who havent left Dharamsala in years. Met some cool Tibetans who were back volunteering having lived in the west their whole lives, and then one super standoffishly arrogant american who was literally wearing a fullbright t-shirt, which he was also wearing the rest of the week. (Its a small town, you keep running into people.)

Post-teachings I attended a major rally and then march protesting the IOC choice of Beijing for the Olympics, as well as the continued Chinese occupation and repression in Tibet. The whole town of McCleodGanj seemed to shut down to attend, and thousands of monks, laypeople and western supporters were there marching and chanting the five miles down to Dharamsala town. I have no idea how much media attention this garnered back home, but I gather not much. Still, it was powerful to be a part of, and though I won't get into using this blog as a soapbox, I do strongly encourage people to learn more about the Tibetan situation, as well as the situation of political freedom in general in China before buying made in China goods or supporting the Olympics.

Well kids, tonight I'm back to Delhi on a grueling overnight bus. Hopefully I will have a sober driver, unlike the Irish people I met the other day. They were telling that their driver had started doing shots of whiskey to stay awake. Then they said, without a touch of irony, "But it was only fair, the guy had been driving for 24 hours straight by then!" Ah, only my Irish brethren could make such a comment...

So I likely won't be writing again until I patch together the next set of book reviews- though I may assemble some assorted memories and observations about Indian culture. Thank you all for reading!

(Pics: Himlalayas around Dharamsala, HH the DL, Putting the Cloud back in McLeod, Protesters)

*Yeah, the didgeri-don't line belongs to Zack Whedon superstar.

Borderline...

Pulled into the station at Amritsar and I was pretty well asleep, only when one of the Germans tapped me did I wake up and start gathering my stuff. Five of us jammed into a rickshaw and headed straight to the Golden Temple- Amritsar's claim to fame, and the holy pilgrimage site of the Sikh religion. It was quite impressive, and since we were there at the crack of dawn, we were the only westerners there with the thousands of pilgrims milling around. The light was also impressive at that early morning hour, bouncing of the glowing golden domes. I know very little about Sikhs- save the fact that they don't cut their hair or beards, and keep them in their turbans. The other observation I will make is that they keep lots of stuff in their turbans- like, pens, notebooks, and little combs they take out and comb their mustaches with. Yeah, mustache combs. They are also very proud of their history as brave warriors and vengeance seekers. The museum had enormous photos of the corpses of the martyrs who had occupied the temple in the early 80's demanding an independent Sikh state- (the bulletholes are also still visible), an uprising crushed by Indira Gandhi. But as the caption pointed out "The Sikhs would have their vengeance!" True- Indira was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards weeks later. Similarly, an uprising against the British was crushed by a British general, who was then assasinated while in London twenty years later! The museum was full of bloody tales and bloody paintings of various sikhs being tortured and beheaded, then getting their vengeance later.
But its not all about being warriors- I don't mean to give that impression. Like many religions in India, it was a reaction to the caste system of Hinduism and the rigidity of Islam. A strong belief in the equality of all people means that everyone eats together at the same table or floor- which we did in the pilgrim hall. They dished out decent dhal and rice as well as chapatis from a machine all for free, which we ate with our turbaned brothers and sisters on the floor of the temple dining hall. That was a fun experience.

I found a hotel and crashed for the rest of the morning, and then got up to look for a restaurant. I trudged around in the heat until some Indian yuppies started talking to me in a way I knew I wouldn't be able to escape. "Which country?"

"U.S. and A" (I've taken to responding to this inevitable and constant question with a little bit of Borat) The same old conversation went on and on, then they asked- frankly rather Borat-like:
"In USA, there are many niggers?"

"Umm, there are black people-African Americans, but they don't like to be called that word.

"Yes, but there are none here so we say that now. Are they dangerous like 50 cent? Do they do drugs? Do you like 50 cent?"

Not wanting to translate the nuances of America's history of racism culturally and linguistically, I fast changed the subject. Next thing I knew though, I was sitting in a coffee shop getting interrogated about western girls, seemingly the favorite topic of eastern men. They kept asking me if I wanted to drink beer with them and go to a brothel, which I kept politely declining. I did take them up on their offer of lunch- the best khulcha in Punjab they assured me. It was delicious too- though I was having so much fun talking to them I didn't even notice I drank the tap water. Oops. (though its been 48 hrs and no sign of trouble) Like most Indians, they kept trying to hold my hand and arm while I walked down the street with them, which was kind of strange- they'd also shout to girls "Englishman!" and point to me, until the police started yelling at them. Then they explained that they liked to stand outside the girl's college and watch them get out of school, but the police wouldn't let them. "Fucking pigs! Fuck the police!" in their lilting Punjab accents. They also kept trying to impress me by trying to use their credit card everywhere- which, shockingly enough was not accepted by the various dhabas we ate at, at which point they'd start shouting "Motherfuckers! I hate these stupid bitches don't take credit cards!" I finally managed to ditch them, though I did enjoy riding on their motorbike and getting a free ride home in the heat.
That night I decided to head to the border and see the only other thing to do in Amritsar- which is watch the border closing ceremony with Pakistan at Attari- the only open border crossing between the countries. I had read that it was entertaining, and some other travellers had recommended it. Since their was nothing else to do, I figured why not spend some time heading out there for what sounded like some kind of subcontinental changing of the guard.
I took a local bus, which was running late on the trip out, and since there were no other Westerners, I figured the whole thing wasn't much to see, or else I was late. Got to Attari, and there seemed to be a festival going on. Food stands were everywhere, people selling India hats and flags, and I asked the guys next to me what was happening. "The border closing!" "Right, but whats all this stuff, is there a festival?" "No- the border crossing- 10,000 people every night!" I headed through the throngs of Sari-clad women and small indian children carrying cotton candy toward the border and what sounded like blaring pop music. I stopped and bought some chips and a soda and headed toward what looked more like a stadium than a border post.

Soon it was apparent that it looked like a stadium because it was a stadium. Imagine a football stadium with a fence running through it lengthwise and a road running through it widthwise. The fence separated Pakistan from India, and the road was for cars that crossed the border during the day. I entered and took a seat on the ground next to the road. It was 120 degrees even at 5:00- I've never sweated through a shirt before that day, and I was literally sitting still not moving. The stands were packed on either side, and ridiculous looking guards preened around in giant hats and menacing stares, the Indians and Pakistanis wearing literally the same outfits just in different color schemes. In the middle of the stadium women danced to nationalist Hindu pop hip-hop and the latest hits (including my fave- "It happens only in India") while the men danced in the stands. (People in India love dancing, at weddings, parties, etc, but the men dance with men and women dance with women). Every so often an MC would start a chant, "HINDUSTAN...." and the crowd would roar "ZANZIBAD"(long live!). Meanwhile, on the other side of the fence the mirror image was happening, which Urdu music and an MC stoking the crowd with "PAK-I-STAAAN....." and the crowd taunting back at Indians "ZANZIBAAAD!!!" Everyone was waving flags and wearing green, white and orange facepaint like it was the Superbowl. Finally, the "show" began. The peacock dressed soldiers from each side would march one at a time to the border while the crowds erupting into wild cheers and chants, goose-stepping and stomping, their faces screwed up into crazy contortions and then wait for the other side to do the same. At last all the soldiers made it up to the front, and high kicked around, almost knocking their own teeth out, before slamming the gates shut so hard one of them fell over, and then they slowly lowered their respective flags. It has to be seen to be believed, so here are some pictures and a youtube link. As the book describes, the whole thing is out of Monty Python's ministry of silly walks sketch...

Came back on another packed bus, filled with exhilarated indians. Found a pharmacy to stock up on more malaria medication, and couldn't help but notice that about half of the pharmacy's stock was aphrodisiacs, including "Spanitch Fly" and "Pusii Brand Sexy Gum." [sic] I think this says something about Indian cultural attitudes toward sex and the sexes.

For Youtube of the border ceremony, Click Here... You may want to fast forward to about 30 seconds in.... But its definitely worth watching!!

Meanwhile, here is the "It happens only in india" video as well, and hopefully will learn to embed video one of these days.

Golden Temple Express Mail

I'm hardly the first to notice that India's labyrinthyne train system, with seemingly dozens of differnt classes of travel that are impenetrable to the foreigner is an apt allegory for india's various classes, castes and ethnic groups, and that the train stations are a microcosm of Indian chaos, but I'll say it anyway. The train thing is nuts.

First, Delhi station means wading through rickshaws trying to strongarm you in, then through the crush of humanity waiting around the lobby of the station, sleeping, eating, cooking, doing anythnig imaginable. As I make my way upstairs touts and various scam artists are calling to me conflicting advice, most untrue "Sir, no foreigners allowed here!" "You must pay fee to enter station!" "Sir, you must have ticket to enter station!" "Sir, foreign ticket office is closed, come to my travel shop!" "Sir, very dangerous inside station..." "Sir, your train is cancelled!" ad nauseum. They also all literally hang on my arm until I reach my destination.

So I made it to the foreign ticket office- a relief from the chaos below and told by the "helpdesk" to take a seat and watched a bunch of sellers sitting behind desks and helping no one. The room was of unfailingly polite japanese tourists who were reluctant to get up until called, so I just approached the desk of the nearest agent, who started helping me right away. The culture clash of the Indian concept of the line and the Japanese one certainly worked to my advantage... Still though, they didn't make it easy: civil servants the world over from the DMV in the states to the ticket sellers in India are all cut from the same passive-aggressive slightly aspergersish cloth. Completely rigid, I was given no information on trains, not sold a ticket on a train because it was less than 4 hours before departure, and then booked on the less-than-ideal SL class of sleeper train, and told I could "upgrade" once on the train. (also told by others that a little baksheesh goes a long way on a train...)

Frustrated by the train business, I decided to seek comfort in an "american day" in delhi. I hit up the coffee shop for an iced eskimo blast, ate a brownie, and then went to the New Delhi McDonalds. Now if I thought the coffee shop in delhi was a scene, boy, check out the McDonalds. Standing room only, with more employees thatn I've ever seen at mcdonalds helping seat people (I was seated with a family, thank god not with chatty young indian yuppies who mostly made up the clientele.) No beef at Indian MickeyD's means a McVeggie delux and fries for about a dollar. The McVeggie was sort of like if you imagine mcdonalds made a giant pakora and slathered it in massive amounts of mayo. The fries tasted relatively normal, but I had a nasty case of Delhi belly from the bad combo of food and actually was sick by the time I got back to my room, where I showered and watched some HBO.

Anyway, waded back through the madness of New Delhi station, to try to find which of the dozens of platforms my train was leaving from. The annoucements are in Hindi and English- should be helpful, right? But it literally has the announcement in English EXCEPT the track number, as in "Golden Temple Express to Amritsar now departing from track number paangch." At first I thought I was just hearing wrong, then I realized that they were not saying it in English.

At last I reached my train, third class non AC wasn't so bad after all, I was in a section with a bunch of Japanese at first. I was seated across from a Japanese girl who was busy gingerly blotting the sweat from her forehead until it was completely dry, then moving on to her arms, then down to wiping her ankles perfectly dry. All told, the effort took ten minutes, by which point her face was again soaked in sweat, rendering her labors completely futile as she started over. Eventually another Japanese found them, and I switched seats with him and sat with some insane Germans and one american in another booth.

The good Germans had come OVERLAND from Germany- trains across turkey then hitch-hiking and trains through Iran, uzbekistan, turkmenistan, and Russia. When they reached Mongolia they bought horses and trekked across to Ulan Batoor, where they then flew to Delhi, having been denied a Chinese visa. (Word among current travellers is that NO ONE is getting into China these days without plane tickets, hotel reservations and a ticket to the olympics!) They were on their way to Northern Pakistan to try to do some first ascents of 6000m monutains. Their gear was vintage WWI army surplus packs made of canvas and leather, and they had quite the stories about securing the Pakistan visas. First they waited a week in DElhi for the interview, then got an appointment for 9am. They had to wait until two o'clock, when they were called in and asked two questions about their destination. The remaining questions were about European girls "You can really just talk to them? You can have a relationship with whomever you wish? The women have no morals?" etc etc. Anyway, the Germans were very cool guys, and after Pakistan they were planning to go back to Iran, then a boat to Dubai before crossing the Arabian peninsula and finishing in Lebanon. Hard-Core. But they were really not-macho about it, just very matter of fact, unlike some other nationalities who are constantly bragging about their ridiculous travel exploits. Maybe it was because they were all friends from scouts.

It was a decent train ride in spite of third class accomodations. In fact, drifting off to sleep I felt more content than I have in all of India, just drifting to sleep, my ipod playing my sleepytime mix on a train somewhere in northern india...

No Way Norgay...

Awoke again at the crack of dawn, this time to visit Thikse monastery in time for the morning prayers and pujas- offerings. Thikse is yet another grand tibetan-style gompa outside of Leh, and arrived there in about a half hour, just in time to hear the end of the prayers. The main hall, covered in ancient murals of demons and boddhisatvas, was thick with incense and the rhythmic chanting and signing of the elementary school aged monks, who were chanting prayers while under the strict eyes of the older monks, who would point at them whenever they became unfocused, as children naturally do. The sounds were wonderful, and the children adorable. But the chanting soon ended, and so spent some time wandering the other temple rooms within the huge complex- more like a mini-city than a monastery. It was a prayer week, so all the monks were making offerings and chanting in each prayer room, making the gompa seem far more active and alive than any of the others. We also ran into a bollywood star and his beautiful starlet girlfriend, which was vaguely interesting- though funny that and Indian probably would have been absolutely thrilled. He was probably unsure what to make of our lukewarm interest. Over breakfast some monks tried to teach us the low incantation of their chanting, which was extremely difficult, but we all had a good laugh. Flagged down a car and hitchhiked bay to Leh, in time for the bicycle descent of Khardung-La, highest motorable pass in the world (18,380ft).

Got to the bike shop in time to have no good choices of bikes left- ragged chains, flat or bald tires and cracked frames abounded. I kept bitching until finally they "found" a trek, or at least the same indian piece-of-shit bike with a legitimate looking trek decal on the side. Secured our permits (going to border zone again) and rode up in a jeep with a few folks from the retreat, as well as some crazy danish kids who were raving about how cheap travel in america is, and one american girl.

The descent began on the one-lane road that though "motorable," hardly meant "paved." The first few kilometers were mostly dirt, anxiety producing in terms of skidding on my mediocre brakes next to sheer drops. The views were spectacular- snow capped peaks leading into desert mountainsides and into green stupa-dotted valleys. The ride somewher between an adrenaline and an anxiety rush. All in all, I do think Bolivia's World's Most Dangerous Road ride (see July 07 entry) was more fun and more beautiful. Eventually reached old Leh, (pictured) the old part of the city where I finally had to pedal. (What- I paid 15$ to pedal this bike?) Shortly after trying to switch gears to go up hill the grinding began, and suddenly my deraileur snapped off. At least it wasn't on the major part of the descent. Unfortunately, took a few wrong turns in Old Leh (where its so steep that many of the streets are just stairs- a la cuzco, peru) and the dregs of ladakhi society- men in towels soaped up and showering from buckets and children literally shitting on the street next to them. Finally made it back to the bike rental place, where, while we stood around chatting, it became apparent that the bike was all messed up. They called me over and started yelling. "What happened, what have you done?" A crowd started to form and more of their friends appeared, including some nine-foot tibetan guy who was yelling in my face "you foreigners, you lie, you crash the bike, now you must pay us!" I tried to explain that their shitty bike and lack of maintenance caused the problem, and that I'd not signed any contract, that I could have been injured, but to no avail. "We have your passport number, we call your embassy!" Norgay, tenzing, Lobsang and the gang were now furious. Someone else tried to calm them down and while their attention was diverted, I started to sneak away.. I was partway down the street when one caught up to me.
"You talk to my boss, you come backhere and talk to my boss!!" "No, I am leaving, I did not break your bike..." "I tell your embassy! I have your passport and visa number!!" (Which they did, because of the crazy beaurocracy/security in this country) Finally I told him to tell the embassy and they would work it out, pointed for him to go back to the office, turned the corner and ran as fast as I could back to my hostel. Spent the next hour panicking every time someone came or went from the guesthouse that it was the guys from the bike shop. I replayed every scenario- the permit office has my hotel name, but I think the permit office is closed, so they won't find out until tomorrow... The embassy wouldnt possibly care... would they? What if they tell a police friend to stop me at the airport..." I finally showered and changed into my glasses, changed outfits, put on my hood and scarf and ventured out to use the internet. Ran into Jim, and had dinner with him then met up with some other folks to say goodbye to Leh. Someone showed me the beginning of a shortcut to my guesthouse that avoided the bike shop. Very helpful until I became hopelessly lost trying to make my way through pitch black dark alleys with only my headlamp. Eventually I stumbled out onto a road, and made it back to my place, terrified of running into Norgay and his bike shop mafia...

Allow me to explain a few things about Indian transportation. I'll start with airplanes. Noow granted, there have been literally dozens of bombs found in the last fwe days, and tensions are running high with Pakistan... Arrived at the airport after cab was thoroughly vetted by cops and military at parking lot. Enter airport, have to explain "e-ticket" for five minutes to the security guard, which I had just watched the westerner in front of me do. Then, walk through a metal detector WITH my bags, followed by metal detecting wand and pat-down. Put bags through x-ray and am told no carryons. Get bags again, this time with stickers on them, told carryons okay, just no batteries. Now go to get my boarding pass. Get boarding pass, get bag stickers stamped, send checkin through. Go through another metal detector and wanding, this time told no carryons, explain that I was told carryons were okay, (and note that everyone else has them). Go through detector and wanding, have bag x-rayed and wanded, then sticker is re-stamped, after perfunctory search of bag. Sit and wait. Then everyone called to tarmac to idetify their checked bags, which are then stamped again. Hurry up and wait. Get in line to go onto tarmac to get onto bus. Get metal detected again. Board bus. Drive bus for ten feet to aircraft. Board aircraft, feel relief that Norgay and the gang didn't track me down. Open bag and notice extra camera battery and multiple tubes of suntan lotion...

The flight over the himalayas was gorgeous...