Last week I took a four-day trip to Manali between my final test and the class party. Manali is east of here, though still in Himachal Pradesh. It is also the largest domestic tourist destination in this part of the country. I went because I was exhausted from a marathon of teaching and little bits of nagging Jagori drama. I wanted to see someplace new and use the time to regroup and rest so that I would be ready to teach again when I returned. That, I succeeded in. My intention had been to hop coffee shops, reading, write, and otherwise take it easy, but my plans quickly changed upon arriving.
Though first, I should mention the bus ride there. I went and booked a ticket at the Dharmshala bus stand a few days in advance, as I always do when going to Delhi. What I didn't realize until the bus pulled up the night of my departure I had booked a government bus for the ten-hour journey. This is the sort of bus I take up to Dharmshala, flat-seated and crowded.
There were just a handful of other foreigners on the bus with me. One of them was a woman from Australia who had left home five years ago as a Buddhist nun to study Tibetan and the Buddhist teachings. She invited me to join her on her seat so we wouldn't have to sit by strange men, which is a very real concern given the stories of harassment on buses. Having her to chat with helped pass the time and distract from the uncomfortable seat. We stopped at six or seven other bus stands on our way, picking up new passengers, and we even delivered mail bags to a few villages. Somewhere during the night, it started to pour a cold rain. I wasn't prepared for it, and spent the night cold and awake. The conductor wasn't announcing the stops, so when we stopped briefly at Manali, I didn't know to get off. Shortly after we started going again he came to me and asked, “Weren't you going to get off at Manali?” As soon as we realized my mistake, they stopped the bus and flagged down a passing taxi. It was then 4:00 AM.
The taxi dropped me off at the hotel I had booked, which I discovered to be easily the grungiest backpacker lodge in all of Manali. There was no one at the reception counter when I arrived but the door was open, so I sat down on the dirty floor and tried to stay awake. About an hour later, the confused watchman stumbled upon me. I couldn't check in until much later, but that didn't stop him from giving me the key of a room to sleep in.
The reason I chose to go to Manali in the first place was because my friends Sonia and Brian were staying there for a few weeks so Sonia could take care of her brother's travel agency while he was away. Sonia called me that morning to tell me that she had a girl with her that I could travel and even stay with during my time there. I thought, since they gave me a bed already that morning, that I should stay one night at that dirty hotel, but I was saved from any further time there by a new acquaintance.
This girl, a friend of a friend of a friend, had just graduated from high school in Holland and was in the middle of a five week solo trip around India. Tyrtza and I hit it off well, so we decided to travel together around Manali. The first day, we mostly just ate and wandered Manali aimlessly. On the second day, Sonia helped us arrange for a car to take us around in the morning to see the local temples.
I used to say that Himachali temples were boring by comparison to the others I had seen around the country. That is only because I hadn't seen any temples in the wood and stone style that is common around Manali. They were all stunningly carved in wood, with rows of cut stone brick at varying intervals. All had high peaked roofs with carved wooden tassels hanging down from the eves. Our driver took us to see a number of these, including the famous Hadimba Temple, the Temple of Manu, a small Tibetan monastary (in typical Tibetan style), and a temple up the side of the mountain in Vishisht that was famed for its hot springs. Unfortunately, a cold rain poured all day, so we bathe in the springs themselves. That night, we managed to keep ourselves up long enough to watch the Spain versus Germany World Cup match at a restaurant near our hotel in Old Manali. (After spending the week with Tyrtza, I was ready to root for Holland in the finals. It's a shame they lost.)
On our third day, we set off on our own, catching a local government bus for Naggar. It was about an hour-long trip over beautiful mountainsides to the small mountain village. Naggar is most famous for its castle, built in the 1600s by the Sikh Raja of the local kingdom. (And sadly, sold by one of his descendants to the British for only a gun in return.) It sat perched on the hill, looking down spectacularly over the valley below. It was built in the same carved wood and stone style as all of the local temples and looked to be more of a luxury retreat than a military center. Of all the castles I've seen in Asia, this is probably the one I would most want to live in. Also in Naggar was the house and gallery of Roerich, a famous Russian artist and peace activist.
On our way back down the mountain, we stopped at a shawl shop. In the few days there, I had fallen in love with the natural colors and simple geometric woven patterns in the local Kully shawls. As it turned out, the shop I stopped in was a family run business, where everything in the store was made in a workshop in the basement. After I bought my yak-wool shawl, the shopkeeper offered to take us downstairs to see the women work. There were six or eight looms arranged around the room, with three woman working on them at the time. A fourth woman sat in the corner, spinning the wool into thread. It was fascinating to watch as the woman took a confused mass of colored threads and turned them into patterns. That night, we had dinner with Sonia, Brian, and two more of their friends from Dharmshala. As it turns out, these two were also good friends with the nun I had rode to Manali with. We had some of the best food I have had in a long time. My dinner consisted of baked trout in an herb butter sauce. Sometimes I miss chicken. Rarely do I miss pork or beef. But, have I ever missed fish. Himachali farm trout isn't as good as catch-it-yourself Minnesota walleye, but that was a meal I will remember for a long time.
On Friday morning, Tyrtza boarded a bus on the next leg of her adventure. I was left to do the aimless wandering that I had originally planned on. Most of the afternoon was spent sitting in Sonia's office chatting with her or reading a book. She had booked me a ticket on a delux bus back to Dharmshala, which I boarded that evening. We had some tire trouble in the night, so I didn't arrive home until almost 7:30 in the morning, but they were kind enough to drop me off right in Sidhbari.
Returning, I was ready to start right into work and teaching again. I was refreshed. I had my class party the next day and I will be starting another set of classes next week. Now I'm ready for it in energy and spirit.
