Sorry that we've been a bit tardy in updating the site. After Haridwar I needed some time off...

Upon leaving the Holy City, we spent 14 hours going further north on a bus being driven by a guy that must have flunked out of auto racing school. And let me tell you, he was out to show the world what he could have been. The chain smoking, Al Pacino looking, Mario Andretti wanna-be gave the term "threading the needle" a whole new meaning. The ratio of forward movement versus the lateral movement of weaving the behemoth vehicle between impossibly close bumpers was not in proper proportion...I think we actually clocked more miles going sideways than straight ahead. The next day my forearms burned from white knuckling the rail on the seat in front of me.

Anyway, we made it to the tiny mecca of McLeod Ganj, which is famous not only for being the seat of the exiled Tibetan Government, but also the residence of H.H. the Dalai Lama (H.H. means His Holiness). We arrived at night and upon waking we were stunned to see H.H.'s house about half a mile from our balcony. I waved at a bunch of guy's in red robes on his balcony, but they didn't see me. I found out later that day that H.H. was in Belgium. You know, it's very important when arriving in a new town to stand on your balcony and wildly flail your arms...nothing is more important than making a great first impression on the locals. A few day's later I found out that our hotel, the Pema Thang Guest House, is owned by H.H.'s personal secretary. The manager, Lobsong, is one of the most hospitable people I've ever met. We extended our stay from 3 days to 2 ½ weeks and he reshuffled every room several times to accommodate us.

For your information, prayer wheels (3rd and 4th pics from the end in the group above) are rows of large drum-like cylinders that people spin as they pass. Each time they spin one wheel they whisper the prayer "Om mani padme hung". I have been told that the entire basis of the Buddhist philosophy lies within these words. In the large temple in McLeod there are hundreds of these wheels built into the outside walls of the main hall. It's not uncommon for thousands of people to line up just to walk abound the perimeter spinning the wheels. As they do this there is a beautiful yet barely audible hum of the prayer that can be heard well outside the temple gates.

The town of McLeod Ganj is one of the original Himilayan outposts built by the British during the Raj. It is an incredible mixture of Buddhist monks and Hindu ascetics, Tibetan refuges and world traveler's, the very old and wrinkled in traditional dress and the fresh fat-faced in sparkling school uniforms, mala beads and prayer flags, Shiva and Buddha. There's amazing Italian cuisine and delicious Isreali eats, Thai curry and Korean bimibop, momos (Tibetan dumplings) and samosas. After two and a half months of nothing but Indian food I was ecstatic to find a plate of my old friends...nachos. And the best part about McLeod is that you can practically throw a rock from one end of the town to the other.

Originally, the reason we headed up north was that since coming to India, the supposed yoga capital of the planet, we've been looking for a yoga class to take. It seems there are little pockets of yoga here and there, but most of the teachers head north for monsoon season. So on a recommendation I checked out the Hiimilayan Institute of Yoga website. I was ecstatic to have, at last, found a teacher who wasn't about to leave, in the process of leaving, or had just left. The H.I. Yoga Centre certainly is a beautiful place. It is more like an Italian villa with a semi-circular stone walled, Iyengar equipped yoga studio surrounded by casually landscaped grounds consisting of 150 plants and shrubs resembling something of an English country garden. Waking before dawn to take the 25 minute hike up the hill on the road to Dermakot was a bit of a struggle (to say the least), but the view was always a great consolation. But whilst Sharat is a good teacher and we learned some very valuable points, we ultimately decided his practice wasn't ours.

The Tibetans not only take care of their own, they take care of others. Every beggar has a place to sleep and warm meals. But, as in the rest of India, they abound. The beggars in McLeod are really good though. There is this one boy, Vikram, who has been known to fleece people out of the equivalent on $15.US at a time. Another little artful dodger only approaches women. He grabs their hand and, as if on cue, starts to cry. At first it's sad to the tourists, then they eventually realize that he won't let go until his pockets are full. I see him work his magic several times daily on unsuspecting victims. Another great scam is that they ask you for food instead of money, which will work on just about any do-gooder. When they get you into a grocery store, they load up on food, barely thank you as they walk out the door, and 10 minutes later they return the food to the stores for cash. I've seen little filthy scruffy kids taking subtle direction as to who they should approach from beautifully dressed women who sit on stairs making secret hand gestures while keeping a close eye on how well the next westerner coming down the street is dressed. Just recently I've found out that as the women prepare to go to work begging, they just grab any of the village children to help them. Unfortuantely, these people really affect the income stream of the those who are in dire need of assistance. It just takes time to figure out who is who. There is an old woman who we help out daily. She may be a scammer, but she is the only one who, no matter how much you give her, throws her hands into prayer, thanks us, and smiles like she means it.

We love McLeod Ganj so much, that we've decided to stay for a few months, so we scouted a room in another guesthouse. We've ended up at the "Himilayan Paradise" and we have a view good enough to make any James Bond arch-villain spitting jealous. We see right over a small valley and up to the Himilayas. There is an elementary school below us and pretty much every morning we are awakened by the children singing folk songs. Every afternoon there are eagles that catch the updraft that apparently shoots right up the face of our guest house. It is not uncommon for us to see one just floating stationary about 20 feet from our balcony. Also, due to the ever shifting weather, our view changes by the hour as if it were a painting that is in constant motion.

Once settled, Helen and I decided we needed to participate in the community from the inside instead of just being touristic voyeurs peeking into a Petri dish. Originally, we went to an orphanage for Tibetan children whose parents either never registered their births in China (so they could smuggle them out of the country), or their parents were political prisoners and the families got them out. Unfortunately, the Tibetan Children's Village required a semester-long commitment that we couldn't make. At dinner the next night we saw a sign for volunteers to teach conversational English to ex-political prisoners who have escaped from Tibetan China. My first class started with one student and within an hour word spread and I had seven. I think the curiosity has waned and now the class has mellowed to three, which is a perfect size because each student is at a different level in their skills (and shyness). All three, Jimmy, Jambel, and Sunam, spent significant time in jail for the "illegal and subversive activity" of talking about wanting their country back. Jimmy has shown me his severely hyperextend arms that he got from Chinese prison guards who broke both of his elbows while he was in handcuffs. Jimmy's brother, who now lives in Colorado, had refused to surrender the Tibetan flag he was carrying at a rally in Lhasa. A Chinese cop pushed his gun into Jimmy's brother's wrist and pulled the trigger at point blank range blowing part of his hand off. There are more explicit stories of electrocution and beatings, but it's pretty unnecessary to go further. As a collective decision, we decided not to show their pictures on the site as a safety measure for their loved one's still in Tibet. They also showed me on a map how they escaped by hiking at night through the Himalayan Mountain's into Nepal. The trip that took 28 days and each person that took the trip was hospitalized for at least a month for exhaustion, exposure, frostbite, or starvation. These are all very bright intelligent men who are now back to square-one and living 4 to a dorm-room. They think learning English will aid them in their fight for the only thing they dream about - a sovereign Tibet. They are ever so thankful for my time, but what they don't realize is that to me they are the true teachers. I have so much admiration for them. I would like to think that I would have their spirit, their strength, and their ability not to hold a grudge so steadfast that it would darken my entire universe...but I just don't know if I could find so much strength and compassion.

Just recently the town erupted into a protest against the new China-Tibet railroad which will bring an influx of military personnel and nuclear waste into the once quiet mountain country. There is also a huge outcry against Google for changing their "no censoring" policy so they could hop in bed with the Chinese. In China, if you try to google Tiemaman Square, Dalai Lama, Free Tibet, or anything that is counter governmental, you won't find anything. Another technique that is used to quell the Tibetans is that most recently the children are getting kicked out of school after they are 10 years old to keep them dumb and only qualified for menial labor. I have to say, being from a country where free speech is legal, this really pisses me off!!! ..............sorry if it sounds like a rant, but reading about this stuff in Time Magazine is one thing and coming face to face with the people who live it brings real gravity to the situation.

On a lighter note, the other day my students and I decided to do a music day; they would teach me a Tibetan song and I would teach them one in English. They taught me a beautiful song about being a shepherd in the mountains of Tibet. I taught them "3 Little Birds" by Bob Marley. We went over the simple Marley melody word by word, they thought it was really beautiful and sweet. You should have seen their amazemment when pulled out my iPod (or OM Pod as some would call it) and a set of speakers and cranked it up. I even showed them how to dance to it! The Tibetans are pretty shy and unassuming people, but everyone who lives in their school compound "casually" walked by and peeked in the window to see what was happening. Even the chef of the Japanese restaurant upstairs, who can regularly be seen wearing a cabbage leaf on his head like a beany, came to join the action. It was truly a "School of Rock" moment.

One of the restaurants we frequent is the Shangri-La, which is run by Buddhist monks and all the proceeds go to the monastery. I cannot tell you how much joy it brought me to walk in the place the other day only to find the Spice Girls blaring on the radio and the monk behind the register bobbing his head enthusiastically and giggling like a naughty schoolboy. It went straight into my mental Rolodex of split second events that I'll remember forever. And every time I think of it I will laugh out loud. I must also mention that it is not an uncommon sight to see the red robed monks with que stick in hand hovered over the pool tables in the billiard hall behind our apartment. They also stay up until the wee hours of the morning to watch the World Cup, not caring who scores but just laughing at every goal as if a huge birthday cake had been plopped down in front of them.

We've signed up for a series of lectures that the Dalai Lama is giving. Evidently, it is a very big deal and many people have been waiting years for this specific lecture. It will be conducted in Tibetan and the translation will be broadcast over the monastery radio station (Radio Free Buddha!?) so the town has had a run on cheap FM radios. The series wraps up on July 6th, which is H.H.'s 70th birthday...another reason for the town to come alive. I feel really lucky to be here at this moment in time. My dear friend who sometimes refers to himself as the Reverend Bozo Baba should be here too, but he is in spirit.

Along the way we've met some really cool people. The first group of friends has trickled away, and we know there will be more, but Danielle, Jen, Matty, and Asaph were so interesting, inspiring, and such a pleasure to hang out with that I just had to mention them. Thank goodness Lauren is still here saving northern India one Hep-B, TB, and Malaria ridden patient at a time. On another note, those of you who know my lovely wife have probably noticed that she has drifted away from the black-on-black fashions that she has sworn by since birth. In many of the pictures you will see color emerging - it must be noted, however, she draws a very hard and wide line at tie-dye. And finally, a quick digital high-five is very necessary for my brother Jono who is cancer free and better stay that way because he still owes me a bachelor party!!!

Observations: Crows are to India what pigeons are to the US. They are everywhere, they scavange anything, and poop on everything. Also, as we from the Great State of Texas know, cows go "moo," right? Well, folks the cows here make a sound that is very similar to a very long extended painful groan (much like the sound most people make when my father-in-law tells a joke!!! Kidding Dave).

ps> since we're here for a while there will be more updates....we'll keep you posted.

PMB 2.7.06