Long Way Up

Goodbye to McLeodganj

sophinda — Mon, 5 May 2008 09:53:00 GMT

The last couple of weeks have been fairly uneventful so I’m afraid this entry is rather less exciting than previous ones, though mercifully shorter…

Perhaps the most interesting news is that after we left the march for McLeod, our fellow marchers remained in Delhi to await the arrival of the official Olympic Torch on April 17. However, at least 16,000 police (mostly Indian but some Chinese) were mobilized for the event, and my friends were arrested as a precautionary measure and detained for 27 hours. I asked the marchers to email me updates and quotes for the mag, and one American guy, Lex, sent me a hilarious account. Apparently the westerners were among 58 being held at the jail, where they were permitted to play badminton and get chai from the jail canteen, whilst the policemen even brought them milk, chocolate and ciggies. However that evening a head count was taken – only to discover that 11 had escaped during the day! At that point, in Lex’s words: “They went from being lovable old uncles to ‘I’m going to shoot you and take away your bathroom rights.’” One escapee even had the nerve to return and visit her friends the next day!! The poor Tibetans were given 14 day sentences, but most were released within three days.

Some rather sad news is that all westerners have been kicked off the march. They have been permitted to march to Nainital in Uttar Pradesh, which they should reach within the next couple of days, then it’s bye bye. I must say I don’t think the organising committee has treated them entirely fairly. During the build up there was a desperate recruitment drive for both Tibetan and western supporters, and whilst for marchers such as myself, who joined a bit at a time, it’s not the end of the world, some had planned to march all the way to the Tibetan border. One guy flew from Canada to take part and film a documentary on the march, with which he hoped to raise funds to sponsor a Tibetan student in Canada. The problem, I think, is that the committee is comprised of five NGOs, all with conflicting objectives, which was obviously a recipe for disaster and the thing has been halted, chopped and changed so many times – you never know what’s going to happen from hour to hour - never mind day to day.

Spent my first few days back in McLeod recovering from the march and then got struck down with an intestinal parasite right on deadline for Contact which wasn’t good. My little friend’s official name is Giardia, although on my room mate Jenna’s advice I generally refer to him as Lloyd. It hasn’t been much fun having him around; in fact he has laid me really quite low which made getting the magazine out a real struggle. Had to literally do it an hour at a time, whenever I was able, but had to get on with it as I’ve been writing most of the thing as well as editing it, and there was nobody else to take over. Add to that the frequent internet and computer problems you expect in India and you have a challenging situation. Thankfully I finally finished it yesterday, so can relax a bit and enjoy my last couple of days in McLeod. I’m rather proud that my parasite is listed in Lonely Planet, and that I can now start ticking off diseases as well as hotels and restaurants. I’ve also just bumped into an English guy who has lived in India for 20 years, and is consequently a walking encyclopedia of all things nasty, who reassured me that I probably also have a form of dysentery. You can’t beat traveling in this part of the world!

On a brighter note our friend count, which hit an all time low a couple of weeks ago, has increased with some really cool people passing through over the last week or so, some of whom I hope to catch up with in Kathmandu.

So the time has almost come for me to leave this beautiful town. In fact, were it not for Lloyd I would have taken off to Amritsar yesterday where a 2.5 mile walk for Tibet, organised by the local Sikh community, took place, culminating in a candle light vigil at the Golden Temple which would have been amazing. Was disappointed I couldn’t go, as I’d planned to visit the Punjab during these few days anyway so it would have worked out perfectly, but if I have to be sick I’d rather be somewhere familiar where I have lovely friends to look after me if necessary. But Lloyd being well I plan to embark on the three day trip to Kathmandu (probably via Delhi) in a couple of days time.

I’m certainly going to miss this place. It is so stunning. Every day I’m woken by warm sunlight streaming through my window to the sight of McLeod tumbling down the mountainside, snowy peaks, colourful prayer flags illuminated by sunshine – and Jenna’s sacred hammock on our balcony. There is always so much going on here and everyone you meet is lovely (I mean travelers and some Tibetans. The Indian guys are quite frankly a pain in the arse) and the weather is just perfect. It’s lightly cooler and far fresher than Delhi, but still well into the 80s (around 30 C) most days. Tomorrow I hope to take lots of photos (which I will upload I promise) many of which are likely to feature Carpe Diem, a house of ill repute which has been my home for the last four months.

Well think that’s about it. Told you it was a boring one. Speak soon, Love Soph XXX

Destination Dusty Delhi

sophinda — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 07:34:00 GMT

Well hello again from a beautiful sunny McLeodganj, to which I returned from an amazing two weeks on the march on Monday.

I must say that this little microcosm of Tibet with a hint of the west, buried in the Himalayan foothills, really feels like home now. It’s amazing how your standards change whilst traveling in India. When I first arrived in McLeod (when granted it was freezing) I was really quite perturbed by the frequent power cuts, likelihood of illness and the idea of moving into a flat with a squat toilet in which hardly anything worked. But after three months, between trips to Chamba, Shimla, Rishikesh and two stints on the march, McLeod seems to possess every comfort you could ask for, and returning from a hot dusty Delhi in an horrendous sleeper bus three hours late to the mountains of McLeod, I really felt I was coming home. I’m going to miss this place when I move on in a couple of weeks – possibly to Nepal.

To make things even better, I yesterday left my dark, grubby, electricity forsaken flat and moved in with my partner in crime, Jenna from Minneapolis, Minnesota. My elderly crazed Tibetan landlady chased me out of the complex yelling some bollocks, but even with luggage I was able to outrun her, ha ha!

The weather in mid April is gorgeously warm MOST days, although yesterday’s rain, wind, hail, thunder and lightning was a clear exception. As I stood hanging out my washing on my balcony at around 11am, the whole town was suddenly engulfed in dense cloud which covered the surrounding peaks in a rapid white whirl before encompassing McLeod at such a rate, that at times it almost seemed as though we were in the midst of a forest fire rather than a storm. When you’ve become so used to a place it’s easy to forget you’re over 5000ft up and yesterday’s phenomena, which plunged the town into a surreal dusky darkness, was quite unlike anything I have ever seen.

Perhaps the biggest downside of being here in April is the influx of western tourists which ironically makes it far harder to meet people. The hardier tourists that make it here during winter tend to stick together creating a real sense of camaraderie, but now following yet another mass exodus, my friend count has been reduced to two! However I anticipate being so busy over the next couple of weeks that I hopefully won’t be too bothered. Tomorrow I start work on the May edition of Contact and there should be quite a bit to do, although all being well it won’t be quite as frantic as last month. Activities following the Lhasa uprising meant that news in the run up to deadline changed sometimes hourly. Every time I thought I’d got on top of things, another huge story would break, and I would say that pretty much every story that made it into the 16 page mag’s six editorial pages would have made front page during practically any other month. Nancy Pelosi’s visit for example was relegated to one third of page seven. Add to that frequent power cuts, internet failure, and daily protests during which the whole town shut up shop, and you have quite a challenge. But I’m relieved to say the edition, which finally hit the streets two days late, only contained one minor spelling mistake and was by all accounts accurate and well received.

The morning after the final proof reading I was on a bus to Chandigarh (India’s answer to Milton Keynes only quadruple the size) eager to rejoin the March to Tibet, which all the original marchers have happily rejoined following their release from jail. At Chandigarh I caught a bus to Kurukshetra – a very sacred place for Hindus as it was here that Brahma is believed to have created man and the universe. Wedged between six Indian guys on the only available seat however, whilst one insisted on stroking my hair and asking for my number repeatedly, it was hard to truly appreciate the area’s cosmic kudos. Finally, after 12 hours traveling and increasing confusion about my whereabouts, I was delighted and relieved to spot from my auto rickshaw three Tibetan monks sporting tell tale March to Tibet orange baseball caps. I had arrived. I eventually found my friends getting ready for bed on the stony roof of a monastery, where the march had set up camp. It was pretty damned uncomfortable and I doubt I got more than 10 mins sleep that night, but it was good to be back.

Three weeks on from its dramatic beginnings on March 10, the march fell into a steady rhythm as it pushed on through the Punjab into neighbouring Haryana, when I rejoined. Gone was the almost ecstatic enthusiasm which characterized its beginnings, replaced with a quieter more stoic and generally good humoured approach, mingled with a few moans from Tibetans and Ingies (Tibetan word for westerners!) We generally walked between 12 – 15 miles a day, getting up at cripplingly early hours (generally a 5am breakkie before marching an hour later) to beat the heat of the north Indian plains, which even in Spring sees maximum temperatures in the late 80s/early 90s (about 30 – 33C.) Jenna’s performance was sadly undermined by sickness and I think she only managed about three days marching, taking the truck on other days, but I marched every possible day (admittedly taking more long chai and breakkie breaks before catching up via rickshaw or hitchhiking than should have been allowed.) During 10 days of marching we slept in one Buddhist monastery, two fields, one Hindu temple, one Jain temple, two Sikh temples, an incense (dust) factory, and the shell of one almost complete house. It was at times tough, rough and unsavoury, but almost always fun.

The organisers were unfortunately quite anal at times and we were called to two meetings – the gist of which was basically no smoking, drinking or absconding from camp. During the second meeting the words ‘no singing and no having fun’ were actually used, setting in stone my plans not to march beyond Delhi. Most of us broke these rules of course – as marching at 6am meant we tended to reach our destination anytime between midday and 3pm, and who wants to hang around a scorching tent in a parched field for nine hours? Whilst the motorway between Chandigarh and Delhi, which we followed for the full 10 days, must be one of India’s busiest roads, Haryana is certainly the route less traveled by foreign tourists. The whole of Haryana, the bread basket of northern India with a population of over 21 million, takes up just one of my Lonely Planet India’s 1200 plus pages; such is the scale of this country. Local police even visited march organisers at the incense factory, where paranoia about rain kept us for two nights, warning that the local people were ‘not very nice,’ and to be careful when venturing out. We genuinely appreciated the safety advice dispensed by organisers, but we are all independent adults and experienced no trouble going out in pairs or groups – bar the usual attempts at small scale swindling and constant stares from over curious Indian men.

In all honesty I have been a little disappointed with the attitude of many Indian people towards westerners – at least in the areas I have visited. I have to admit that class seems to play a huge role in attitude; with the well-dressed middle class Indians generally expressing a friendly, pleasant curiosity. The vast majority however seem to regard us as something between walking ATMs and prostitutes. Constant staring (and occasional grabbing) from Indian men can become irritating and really got to a couple of the girls on the march. Even more exasperating for me were the constant attempts to cheat us which, whilst often by only a few rupees at a time (although some rickshaw drivers really take the piss) adds up. Fortunately many goods have the price printed on them, helping us argue our case when a vendor attempts to charge 20 rupees for something which should cost 12 or 15, but sometimes - especially whilst marching, you just can’t be bothered to argue. The assumption very much seems to be that if you have white skin you are rich, and they fail to understand that some of us have saved very hard for a number of years to come and volunteer here. More frustrating still, particularly in the tourist hubs of central Delhi and McLeodganj, are the hoards of beggars constantly vying for your hard earned cash. In Delhi’s Connaught Place you cannot sit down for one minute without being approached by someone with their hand out (we tried it) and the beggars we encountered ranged from the mildly irritating to the downright grotesque. Perhaps one of the most shocking sights I have ever seen is Delhi’s child street performers. Jenna and I were taking a rickshaw along one of the city’s main highways when a boy who looked no more than eight or nine approached our rickshaw, smiled at us and proceeded to play a drum whilst a girl of about five who was ingrained with dirt (which to be fair, doesn’t take long in Delhi) performed a series of summersaults – amid six lanes of busy traffic!! Were they orphans or the victims of some hideous form of child exploitation? This was sadly not the last time we would witness such desperate antics, but whilst I think both of us would have liked nothing better than to take those children away to a safe place where they could receive good food and an education, we didn’t want to encourage such practice by giving them anything.

There were happily some far more positive experiences along the road. Stopping off at a Jain temple about 25 miles from Delhi, a lovely French photographer who recently joined the march, and I were keen to learn a little about Jainism, and my friend suggested looking in on a Jain school for girls a short walk from the temple. It is however difficult to keep track of time on the march as you are so far removed from everything (think I went virtually a whole day at the incense factory without knowing what the time was which was strangely fabulous) and we had completely forgotten it was Sunday. But we got chatting to a Jain family who were at the school visiting a traveling guru. Jainism is a very peaceful deviation from Hinduism, with all believers following a vegetarian diet which often excludes root vegetates such as onions and potatoes – as harvesting these crops is likely to harm insects. Strict followers carry a broom to sweep the path before they tread it, and face masks to prevent the accidental inhalation of insects. Gurus are always naked and follow strict rules including the allowance of just one meal and intake of water a day – even during the scorching Indian summers. Anyway, after chai and nibbles we were invited to meet the guru who, sure enough, sat cross legged on a platform completely starkers, with his feet strategically placed! After we were invited to share a meal laid on for devotees which, as I had hoped, was truly delicious. I was so excited, I love anything spontaneous and in the space of an hour or two I had learned loads, eaten a fabulous meal and seen a naked man. What more can a girl ask?? But the Indian family who made it all possible were patient and friendly and seemed genuinely pleased to meet us, especially the very pleasant 15-year-old daughter who hopes to train as an engineer – quite refreshing in a country in which customs and culture render so many women virtually housebound. For me, a moment in another Delhi rickshaw, during which two middle class looking women, one Hindu and one Muslim, cheerfully chatted to us from a neighbouring rickshaw, whilst a rag clad beggar lady clung to the other side of our vehicle and harassed us, epitomized the two faces of India.

All said, the march was a great experience. It was not easy to grab as much sleep as I would have liked, due to a combination of hard ground, monks playing tinny Hindi radio at 5am, an enthusiastic (but very good) American flautist and marauding mosquitoes, but the food, simple but plentiful, was almost always exceedingly good. Perhaps the one exception was tsampa, a Tibetan staple, consisting of sweet tea, barley flour, sugar and butter which you are required to mix and roll into a ball. Mine however, generally took on the consistency of wall paper paste and at first I was most unenthusiastic, but after a few attempts learned, if not to enjoy it, certainly to accept it. Another downer was the dusty filth of Delhi which clings to you – no matter how hard you try to keep clean. Last May I spent eight days in rural Romania where I got really quite grubby, but at least that was good honest agricultural dirt, as opposed to the disgusting grime which hangs in the air and fills the gutters of this vast polluted city, like dirty grey sand. The biggest challenge of the march for me however, had to be the mosquitoes which plagued me throughout. Everyone got bitten, but they seemed to particularly love me and I had literally hundreds of bites of my arms and face - making me look as though I had some foul tropical disease. The absence of mirrors for much of the time spared me a lot, but whenever I did find one I had a shock, and I couldn’t go anywhere without attracting sympathetic tuts and comments from Tibetans, Indians and Ingies alike.

After marching through Karnal, Gharaunda, and Panipat (all large towns totally untouched by tourism – which was both confronting and absolutely fascinating) we arrived in Delhi’s Tibetan settlement, where Jen and I – along with half the other Ingies) booked into an hotel, and it was amazing how quickly the bites cleared up after just a night of isolation from the mozzies. After 10 days of roughing it to the extreme, the hotel with running water, a western toilet, TV and room service felt like sheer heaven. The excitement we expressed upon discovering our room even had toilet paper was actually quite sad.

In the days that followed we participated in a three day protest rally in central Delhi (between numerous tea and brownie breaks of course.) Interspersed with many long speeches in Tibetan during which we often absconded, were graphic demonstrations staged by Tibetan solidarity groups. One particularly hard hitting piece of street theatre staged by Gu Chu Sum – an NGO formed by former Tibetan political prisoners, demonstrated the capture, imprisonment and torture of Tibetans under Chinese occupation – made all the more brutal by the knowledge that many performers had first hand experience of the horrors they portrayed. There was also an extremely vocal march in which we all participated, and a daily candle light vigil in which Jen and I took part on the second day. For me this quiet form of protest was somehow more poignant than many of the louder demonstrations.

Perhaps the greatest thing about everything we have participated in however, is that it does not seem to have all been in vain. Outside of the ultimate goal – a dialogue between the Chinese government and the Dalai Lama, the thing the Tibetans really want from this dramatic period of protest is international support triggered by world media attention – and they’ve certainly been getting plenty of that. We have been quite overwhelmed by the way the world has seized on it, leading to the complete sabotage of the Olympic Torch relay in London and Paris, and the boycotting of the Olympics’ opening ceremony by Gordon Brown and Canadian PM Stephen Harper – among other notables. We jumped up and down in our hotel room as we watched our friends on CNN (almost as exciting as the toilet paper) and it’s all so great as it makes us feel we are part of something really worthwhile. We are all making history in our own small way and the important thing now is to keep the impetuous up. Even as I write, the torch is in Delhi where, in spite of the fact that it’s being shielded from all but WORLD media (we local journos don’t get a look in) numerous demonstrations are being staged. A Facebook friend of mine has already been arrested and I fear for other friends still in the capital. Another concern is that the march is not allowed to continue beyond Delhi. I don’t know how they plan to smuggle 150 maroon clad nuns and monks plus supporters out of Delhi, but they’re a tenacious lot and I imagine they’ll manage it somehow.

As for me, I’ll continue to gather updates from ‘the front’ until the mag’s deadline and will follow its progress closely, with a possible view to rejoining just for a few days in the future, although with just a couple of months traveling time after publication before the monsoon kicks in, I can no longer afford to make it my priority. The next couple of weeks will be dedicated to getting the mag out and just enjoying McLeod (on the cheap as finances are beginning to pinch) before I take off – probably around May 1.

Oh well, think that’s most of the news, hope I haven’t bored you all too much. Keep in touch, Lots of love, Soph XXX

Cops and Yogis

sophinda — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 08:22:00 GMT

Yesterday I attended a press conference with Nancy Pelosi, third in line for the American presidency, who was visiting the Dalai Lama here in sunny McLeodganj.

As is always the way here, I only found out about it over dinner the previous night, far too late to try to procure a press pass. The following morning I got up too late and more in hope than expectancy, grabbed the defunked one day press pass I obtained for the Dalai Lama's teachings, which was clearly marked February 2３. Pausing only to grab a quick Snickers for breakfast, I arrived at the Dalai Lama’s temple and eventually found the press area. Don’t ask me how, but after much pleading I blagged my way in with the ancient pass and got a good view of Mrs Pelosi and her congressional crew, accompanied by a jovial Dalai Lama who at one point just burst out giggling. That’s the thing I really like about the Dalai Lama. I might not agree with every word he says (although most of it is lovely) but he is always smiling. Following her public address I got into the official press conference and after standing in the hot sun for well over an hour in an excellent spot on a wall which I refused to relinquish no matter how many bulshy film crews yelled at me, got an even better view of the party, and some good quotes.

I must say that after writing about poxy village fetes and charity events for almost four years, taking quotes from two of the world’s most influential figures as they stood side by side just a few feet away from me felt seriously cool.

Whilst a co-incidence (the main purpose of the trip being negotiations with the Indian government over climate change) Nancy’s visit, and the press coverage it received could not have been timelier for the exiled Tibetans. As many of you can probably imagine, these last few days have been eventful to say the least.

On Monday, March 10, I joined several thousand people who, after a poignant ceremony at the Dalai Lama’s temple, walked the first six miles of the March to Tibet, down to lower Dharamsala. The huge party was led by 100 Tibetan‘Core Marchers,’mostly monks and nuns, distinguishable by their bright orange baseball caps, followed by Tibetan families, westerners and vocal campaigners carrying huge banners, and chanting a variety of slogans – some peaceful, some less so. At Dharamsala we said goodbye to the majority of the marchers, before around 300 of us continued as far as a local Tibetan university where we were to spend the first night on the floor of a temple. We spent a pleasant afternoon, and then the problems began. At around 7 or 8pm, a group of Himachal Pradesh police arrived to close down the march which, organisers had omitted to tell us, was illegal. Perhaps I was particularly naive about this, but it seems I wasn’t the only one who had not given this aspect much thought, and as everyone, Tibetan and western, was encouraged to join the march, the possibility of it being illegal simply never crossed my mind. Even at this stage, things didn’t look good and some of us were beginning to think this was going to be it, but after a couple of hours, it was agreed that the march could continue, only within the boundaries of the Kangra district – one of several making up the northern state of Himachal Pradesh.

In the meantime our main luggage, which was being transported by truck, failed to arrive until the early hours, so I was able to get very little sleep in the well lit temple surrounded by snoring monks and nuns, until my stuff finally arrived. Honestly it was like a snorer’s symphony - there were even some rather clever harmonies going on…

The next day was so much fun. Loads of walking of course, but there was a great group of westerners on board and we spent much of the day singing, swimming in rivers, telling jokes and basically talking crap. This is also such a wonderful way to see India, or at least Himachal Pradesh, with its gorges, mountains, green fields and curious Indian families who watched us pass as they gossiped in their gardens. In the late afternoon a large group of Tibetan marchers, students at the university we stayed at the previous night, lined up around a bend in the road and bid us goodbye, each one of us shaking hands with each one of them as they expressed their heartfelt gratitude for our part in the demonstration. Their thanks were heartfelt and this was really quite a humbling experience. Their departure cut our numbers by more than half so that we were reduced to the 100 core marchers, 20 or so westerners and a small number of camera crew. We spent the night at a steep campsite by a main road, close to chai shops.

The following day involved lots of walking and I started to feel quite knackered. The police remained a constant shadow and we received a couple of warnings that this could be the day they try to stop the march. But we plunged on regardless and by late afternoon had reached our campsite where we hung out having fun before getting an early night, as we were told we had to be up at 4.30am the following morning, our aim to foil the police by crossing the Kangra border early.

The next morning was more fun than anticipated and by 5.40am we were on our way, being as silly as ever. Shortly after dawn we entered a town called Dehra and were about to cross Dehra Bridge, when all hell broke lose. We were instructed to sit down in a long line in the middle of the road before the Tibetans reminded us once again that this was a peaceful demonstration and that we were not to cause any trouble. The Himachal Police had arrived. 125 of them. I must admit that at this stage I was not terribly concerned. We had been stopped so often over the last few days that it now seemed almost a matter of course. Then as we saw monks and nuns at the front of the line being dragged away and arrested, it dawned on us that this time was going to be a little different.

As the police made their way down the long line, pulling people off the ground and on occasion, ripping backpacks off marcher’s backs and snapping Tibetan flags in two, before herding them onto waiting buses, we at the back could only hold hands and hope for the best. I had already made up my mind not to resist if they tried to arrest me. India has been very good to the Tibetans overall, providing a safe haven for over 80,000 exiled Tibetans for almost 50 years, and the Tibetans are always very eager to express their gratitude to the Indian government whenever they get the chance - so I didn’t see what good antagonising the Indians would do anyone. The American guy next to me however became quite emotional and scared, so I held onto him, keeping hold of his hand as three policeman dragged him towards the buses. They ordered me to come too so I followed them to the bus, and waited to be loaded on. However another American friend, a former wrestler, was proving very hard to subdue. He didn’t fight, but by way of holding on to things and refusing to budge, made it so difficult for the police that it took 10 big officers to restrain him. My friend and I saw our chance, slowly backed away, and escaped.

Taking a step back, I was shocked to see how many of my friends were on the buses – at least half our number, which was really rather worrying as we knew the authorities had the power to detain and deport them if they wished. But it was the looks on the faces of the Tibetan monks and nuns as they were driven away that will always stay with me. For the westerners this was an adventure. A chance to stand up for something we believe in, and also in my case, to do some ‘on the ground’ reporting, which got a little bit scary. But for these people, most of whom made a perilous month long journey on foot through the high Himalayas to escape the fear and oppression in Tibet, this march, into which they put their hearts and souls, was everything. A last chance perhaps to achieve justice for friends and family still languishing in Tibet. Many wailed and screamed, most were crying. A crumpled orange March to Tibet hat lay dirty and crumpled, redundant, beneath the wheel of a bus. These scenes I will never forget.

Those of us that remained jumped into the back of a truck and returned to the campsite, and shortly after received the happy news that our friends had been released. I think they were only really taken because the police didn’t know what else to do with us. There was no real sense of animosity towards the Himachal police. They were after all just doing their job and I really got them impression that the Indians had no real interest in stopping the march – more that they felt they had to tow the line with China. We traveled to Jwalaji Police Station, where we were united with our friends who were sitting outside on the ground. We held an all day vigil outside the police station with music and protests, whilst the majority joined the detained marchers in a hunger strike. I have to admit that I didn’t go along with this. I’d make a rotten hunger striker, and I wanted to try and freelance something on the day’s events to newspapers. Whilst I fully appreciate the peaceful stand that was made, I don’t see how weakening yourself helps anyone, especially in a country like India where travelers can become so ill so quickly. However I still felt like one hell of a bailer sneaking away from the line to indulge in chai and paranthas at a nearby restaurant.

In the meantime I was phoning the British nationals trying to freelance the story and eventually persuaded someone on The Guardian to take it on spec (they never used it – damn them!) I then caught a taxi to Kangra, an hour away, to use the nearest internet café, returning to Jwalaji at around 8.30pm to find my friends gone. I then asked the poor taxi driver to run me round to all the places I thought they could be. At each destination (including another Police HQ with marijuana growing all around the front gate) I was told they were at the next and after five attempts, was starting to worry as I could not glean from anyone whether they were still in the area or had returned to Dharamsala – now two hours away. But after desperately seeking them on foot, by taxi, jeep and motorbike, I was delighted to be reunited with my extremely hungry friends at the campsite at around 10pm, and even more delighted to learn that they had ended their hunger strike.

The next day, with no march to follow, we hung around the site for a few hours before returning to Dharamsala by bus, which with 12 of us, was really rather fun. Having marched around 35 miles over the last few days, with only around 5 hours sleep at best each night on the hard ground, I was extremely fatigued and greatly in need of a shower and hair wash, so if I’m honest had mixed feelings about returning to relative civilization. Although I had intended to do seven days of the march, I always said that if for any reason that didn’t happen, I would go to Rishikesh, so after just a few hours back in McLeod in which to eat, wash and sleep, my friend Trip and I boarded the night bus to Rishi.

After a cramped 16 hour journey we arrived at our destination, and after finding no room at the inn, struck fourth time lucky at the Lucky Hotel, on the banks of the turquoise Ganges. According to my calculations, I had managed to grab 18 hours sleep over the past six nights so my main priority was relaxation.

Rishikesh is certainly an intriguing place. Standing at the point where the Ganges gushes from the Himalayas into the plains, and priding itself as the yoga capital of the world, the now thriving settlement found fame and notoriety when The Beatles rocked up in search of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1968. A stopping point for yogis and holy men for centuries, the town retains an air of mysticism.

On our fist full day, Trip went white water rafting whilst I explored two enormous 13 story temples overlooking the Ganges. Built only in 1987, the temples have yet to develop any real soul, but are still very interesting, containing numerous colourful shrines to various Hindu deities and commanding fantastic views of the mighty river. Whilst there is much I love about McLeodganj, standing on the 13th storey of the Shri Trayanbakshwar Temple, sporting a bindi and necklace, and clutching flowers bestowed on me on a lower floor (for a donation of course) in the hot sun with the sacred Ganges rolling beneath my feet, I felt that I had found the true India. Later my day was made when on the bridge below I stroked and was photographed with a beautiful silver monkey called Dave (pic to come!) In the afternoon the Tripster and I went on a wonderful tour of the overgrown remains of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram, frequented by the fab four between 1968 – 71, and where much of The White Album was conceived. The ashram itself was closed in 1997 due to the expiry of a 99 year lease from the Indian government, but the crumbling shells of many of its bizarre buildings remain. Leading us around the gates our fabulous guide Kaustubh Joshi, said ‘they would have passed through these gates into another world.’ And what a world it was. With a capacity of 4000 people, the ashram used a specific form of meditation based around sound. In its day, a complex water system gurgled through the complex which contained 84 mediation cells designed to represent Ying and Yang. I don’t pretend to be up on either the science or spirituality of the place, about which our gentle guide was extremely passionate, but it certainly retained an atmosphere, enhanced by tales of it’s extraordinary residents. One Yogi Tat Wala Baba, is alleged to have mastered the art of agelessness, looking in his 30s when he was actually 87, and sporting 22ft dreadlocks which two faithful disciples carried behind him like a train! Whilst we were there and the sun was setting, casting an ethereal glow over the forest, a man in white robes with long dreadlocks (not quite 22ft) walked past carrying a pale of water. We were told that he is the disciple of a holy man who has mastered the art of levitation and that this disciple has faithfully made the six mile journey to collect water from the site of a 5000 year old shrine, every day for I think four years.

We were also taken to the guesthouse in which The Beatles stayed and the roof on which much of The White Album was written, which was extremely cool and the sunset was amazing. The White Album has always been one of my favourites, and now whenever I listen to it I think I’ll always be reminded of this remarkable place.

On our second full day I bid farewell to Trippy, and took my first ever yoga class which confirmed my long held belief that I’m absolutely shit at it! After the class however I stepped out of the ashram onto the banks of the Ganges at sunset. Rishi has a gorgeously warm climate and at this time of day was absolutely perfect. I sat down just to absorb everything for a few minutes before turning around to find a gang of about 10 Indian guys photographing me. I returned, slightly indignantly, to the busy streets above. That evening I met up with a couple of friends from McLeodganj in a gorgeous riverside café and, after learning the full extent of recent events in McLeodganj, and the worldwide attention the crisis in Tibet was receiving, reluctantly decided to make the grueling journey back a day early.

It’s probably a good job I did as it’s all been kicking off here. When I first arrived back three days ago there were constant marches and demonstrations in the town, some very graphic, with the Tibetans clutching images of the bodies of those killed in their country, alongside Tibetan flags and hard hitting slogans. In my absence the Dalai Lama held a press conference stating he might resign as the Tibetan people’s leader if the violence does not end, and the situation changes daily. What a time to take over as editor of McLeodganj’s monthly magazine! I will be writing and compiling copy over the next few days and which is a rather daunting prospect – especially as no-one can be certain of the current situation in Tibet, and it’s not as though I can balance stories by getting statements from the Chinese government! Add to that the likelihood that we will get kicked out of our office and lose our computer any day now – and you have an interesting situation – and for the first time in my journalistic career, I have no-one to turn to for guidance. I am, in effect, THE BOSS!!

Oh well, a very Happy Easter to everyone. It’s Saturday night and I’m off to party with the small but stoic group of friends I have remaining XXX

Shimla and Other Places

sophinda — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 09:48:00 GMT

Hi everyone,

Firstly – apologies for the strange format of the last installment. I’ve no idea why it did that, bloody computers have a mind of their own, so here’s hoping this one behaves!

Thought I should get another installment in as tomorrow I set off on the first week of the March to Tibet, a 2,500 mile march from Dharamsala to Tibet via Delhi. The march, which is expected to take five and a half months, is the focal point of a campaign called the Tibetan People’s Uprising Movement, which aims to highlight the plight of the Tibetans and the human rights violations taking place in their country under Chinese occupation in the run up to the Beijing Olympics. It is expected to take 20 days to reach Delhi and I would like to march for seven days, as I need to be back here by the 19^th at the latest as I’m now EDITOR IN CHIEF for local magazine Contact, and need to get that wrapped up by the 25^th. Contact is only a 16 page freebie, and the title, created by my friend and predecessor, Ian Kent, makes it sound rather more hard hitting than it is – but I like it J

The only problem with the march seems to be that no-one, least of all the organisers, seems to have a clue what’s going on. It’s being organised by five Tibetan NGOs, all of which seem to have conflicting objectives ranging from gaining international recognition of their plight with a view to negations, to an all out cancellation of the games. Some also say they haven’t got their act together regarding food supplies and luggage transportation, and there are mutterings that the western support contingency may not even be able to march at the same time as the Tibetans. I have also heard that there have been two previous attempts to complete the march which has always fallen apart due to lack of organisation and infrastructure – but rumours abound and as for this attempt – let’s just see. It would be great if they could pull it off. We have been told we’ll be marching between 13 – 15 miles a day, and I must admit I have never had such a strong sense of wandering into the unknown, but at least I’ll have friends with me.

All’s still well here in McLeodganj. The weather is now absolutely gorgeous, just like summer and, with a combination of sheer bloody mindedness and some serious sticky tape, have temporarily got my camera working so I hope there will be some pictures before long. My time at Tibet Today is proving as fruitless as ever, waited over an hour and a half for my editor to turn up for an appointment today, before finally giving up, so \whilst I’ll still submit articles to them, have decided to make Contact my main focus. It’s smaller and far less glossy than Tibet Today, but it’s monthly, well read, and the staff seem to have their act together. I’m also desperately trying to pitch a piece on the march to the nationals, but so far no joy. My stalwart papers, the good old Bucks Herald and North Devon Journal have both said they might run something, but so far none of the bigger players are responding. Shame, as the march doesn’t seem to be getting much media coverage, so if any of you know of any publications which might appreciate a cool, hard hitting feature on the March to Tibet…..

With many of my friends having recently moved on, things are a bit lonely here in McLeod, but hopefully it’s just a blip, and there will be a fresh arrival of cool fun-loving internationals waiting to greet me on my return.

Things have got much busier following the beginning of the Dalai Lama's annual spring teachings, which ran between February 22 - March 2, and on which I reported. I managed to blag a press pass for the second day, which entitled me to take a camera and line up for a glimpse of His Holy Lamaness. True to form, after having spent 10 minutes learning how to use my editor’s sophisticated piece of machinery which he agreed to lend me, I arrived at the office to find he had taken it on a job without telling me, and would not get it back in time for when I needed it, so I had to run round my mates at the last minute asking to borrow a camera. Fortunately I was lent one and squeezed past the other photographers (all of whom were 6ft plus with pieces of equipment more akin to space shuttles than cameras) to get a few pics. Due to rotten weather, and a less powerful camera than I really needed for the job (still a very nice one Trippy) they’re a bit dark and grainy, but it’s still the Dalai Lama!

Last weekend I decided on the spur of the moment to visit Shimla, as McLeodganj, beautiful as it is, has such a strong Tibetan and international flavour that it’s sometimes easy to forget you’re in India. As the Indian summer capital between 1864 – 1939, home of the British Raj, and now capital of Himachal Pradesh, I have always considered Shimla an important stop on my trip, but nothing quite prepared me for the Shimla experience. What a stunning place it is, stretching for eight miles along a ridge and bathed in glorious sunshine from all angles. After a nine hour bus journey I was deposited by the side of a main road, shortly before sunset, and as far as I can recall this was the first time I had ever arrived in a place alone and with no accommodation sorted. However it was impossible to feel apprehensive in this magical place which must now rank among my top five places ever visited. Also, bizarre as it sounds, in spite of the fact that this is my first trip to India, the town had a strangely familiar feel. Not spookily so, for example I didn’t recognise any specific buildings or landmarks, but I almost felt as though I had seen it in a dream. I don’t really buy into the theory of reincarnation, but rightly or wrongly I believe some of my ancestors were in India in the 19^th Century and so it is extremely likely that they would have spent time in Shimla. Was it ancestral voices calling, some profound scientific phenomena yet to be discovered, or simply my imagination running away with me? Who knows? All I know is that I’ve never had such a feeling about a place before.

After a bit of a climb I found The Ridge, an open space bordered at one end by Christchurch, completed in 1857 by the British in an attempt to create a little piece of England in the wilderness. They got the shape right, but for me it didn’t quite work, perhaps due to the fact that it was painted primrose yellow and sported a neon green cross which lit up at night like something out of Father Ted. Mock Tudor English buildings, now housing such institutions as The State Bank of India and the Himachal Pradesh Library, also gave a hint of home, although aspects such as faded facades and corrugated iron roofs were enough to dispel the illusion.

Home to almost 150,000 people, the town which tumbles down the mountainside in a maze of teeming alleyways, is now a major Indian tourist destination and is especially popular with honeymooners. I was warned against the Kalka Railway which, completed in 1903, climbs the mountainside through 103 tunnels, as it is apparently crawling with smug married couples. Walking along the ridge at sunset with my backpack, it was easy to see why this town, a mere glade until Scottish civil servant Charles Kennedy built his summer residence there in 1822, is so popular. At over 6000ft in elevation it is possible to gaze for miles across the Himalayan foothills which at sunset are shrouded in a bluey, pinky purple haze. However, as much as I just wanted to stop and take everything in, I reminded myself that this beautiful scene meant only one thing. The sun was setting and I had to find somewhere to sleep. After a bit of haggling I got myself a beautiful sunfilled room with a TV and bathroom for 300R a night – my exact budget.

That night I hooked up with a very nice doctor from Toronto and the next day she and I set off to The Viceroy’s Lodge. Completed in 1888, the lodge was built in the style of a Scottish baronial castle by the tenacious Brits who had each of its many thousand austere grey stones carried up the mountainside by mule. Now home to the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies, the lodge was the site of the 1945 Simla Conference, attended by Mahatma Gandhi, and the signing of the official partition of India and Pakistan, the effects of which are still felt today in the bitter dispute between the two nations over Kashmir. A brief tour of the few rooms visitors are allowed to enter included the room in which the controversial treaty was signed in 1947, sparking a conflict in which over one million people were killed and a further ten million displaced. Now a humble conference room, still decorated with paper imported from England when the house was built, it was quite awe inspiring to share the space in which the history of nations was forged. After a lap of the building in glorious 75F sunshine, we nosed into The Oberoi Cecil Hotel. One of Shimla’s finest; the Victorian hotel breathes Raj era opulence, with prices that wouldn’t be out of place in Park Lane. My generous companion insisted with share tea, scones and the most sublime chocolate brownie I have ever tasted, claiming it was her contribution to Tibetan human rights! We sat drinking Earl Grey with our fingers in the air like queens of the Raj, before nosing into some of the bedrooms under the pretence we were planning to hold a conference there – just for fun!

The following day I climbed to the Jakhu (monkey) Temple above Shimla, and was delighted to complete the steep climb in well under 30 mins meaning, according to the sign, that I’m ‘absolutely fit’ (well I could have told you that ;-) As I approached the actual temple however, I felt a sharp tug as my bag was snatched clean off my shoulder. A kind Indian man retrieved my belongings from my disgruntled assailant, who chirped indignantly, before disappearing up the nearest tree before you could say ‘cheeky monkey.’ Irresponsible feeding has made Shimla's simians extremely bold, and they’ll snatch anything from unsuspecting travelers, but you can’t help loving them even if they are naughty. The temple complex and walk is teeming with them, but then it is their temple! On my final morning I was eating breakfast on the terrace outside my hotel when I turned to see a large monkey running straight at me. I asked him sternly to leave, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was not having my breakfast, and he turned and fled. I was rather dismayed therefore when a member of the hotel staff came out clutching a bloody great rifle. I told him I was fine and that he mustn’t shoot the monkeys, but I’m not sure he understood, so I finished my breakfast under armed guard – willing the monkeys to stay away.

The only unfortunate outcome from my fabulous trip to Shimla was that my three night excursion seriously pissed off the coordinator of Volunteer Tibet through which I got my placement, who spent two days looking for me and now blanks me when he sees me in the street!

Anyway, think that’s all the news. Had better go and pack for the march, and then round off the week with one of my favourite occasions of all time, open mike night at Carpe Diem.

Speak soon XXX

Dramas and Lamas

sophinda — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 11:05:00 GMT

Hello Punks!

Hope you’re all well and looking forward to the next exciting installment of The Blog.

Well, I’m still having a nice time here in sunny McLeodganj, and in spite of being India’s second wettest town, it HAS been sunny here for quite sometime, and temperatures have improved dramatically. Over the last couple of weeks we have gone from The Big Freeze to something closer to a warm English spring with colourful Buddhist prayer flags fluttering overhead instead of blossom. The sunshine also emphasises what a truly stunning place this is. McLeodganj, itself over 5000ft above sea level, is surrounded on one side by towering snow covered peaks which I am told reach around 15,000ft! The sunshine turns them a myriad of colours as the day progresses, before the full moon illuminates them from behind. Last weekend, three of us attempted a two day hike to Triund, a small settlement about six miles from and about 4000ft above McLeodganj. Sadly seven feet of snow blocking the footpath eventually forced us to take the walk of shame back to McLeodganj, but it was still a beautiful day which really put into perspective how small McLeodganj, which has been my life for the past six weeks, really is. Stretched along the top of a pine clad mountain, dwarfed by its gigantic brothers and sisters in the background, the town looks really quite vulnerable and insignificant – though very pretty.

This is perhaps for me the best time to be here, with kinder temperatures but before the big spiders come out to play – although I had a terrifying appetiser to the impending situation the night before last. On Monday night I was happily listening to my Ipod at around midnight, contemplating going to bed, when I saw a creature, about two or three inches long, walk across my floor and under my bed. Without my contact lens in I was unable to make out exactly what it was, but knew it could only be something scary, and after making a feeble attempt to whack whatever it was with my boot, resolved to go to bed. The next day I couldn’t really relax in there and, just after I returned from dinner that evening, there it was, on the underside of the shelf about a foot above my bed, its eight legs stretched to full span as if to say ‘Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.’ I wasn’t hard enough. Trembling, I ran to fetch my devout Buddhist neighbour who humanely dispatched the horror, before leaving with the comforting words: ‘don’t worry – it wasn’t big for round here.’

As is always the way when traveling there is a constant changing of the guards among fellow travelers and I once again have a nice group of mates – if rather more sedate and abstemious than the last bunch of lunatics who I still really miss. Whilst things are finally beginning to take off on the work front, much time is still spent eating, drinking and putting the world to rights in the town’s many restaurants and cafes, and Carpe Diem’s open mike night is still the stuff of legends.

But what I truly love about this lifestyle is the richness of experience that I have never found in any other sphere of life. From assisting dodgy masseuse ‘Holy Hands’ Manu with ideas to advertise his trade whilst trying not to crack up laughing, to listening to a New York poet recite his raw musings to a musical backdrop of ‘Ruby Tuesday.’ From watching convoys of burgundy clad monks stream up the road leading from the Dalai Lama’s temple at sunset, to wrestling small boys out the way in order to write these words in an incense filled internet café. The sights, smells and sounds of India take some getting used to, as does the unpredictable pace of life, but there is something magical about these mountains and their inhabitants.

Every now and then however comes a stark reminder that this country has more than its share of problems. I have a friend here, from Bristol actually, who is volunteering for a children’s charity and over the past week he has been coordinating a substantial group of Korean volunteers. One girl had her 59-year-old father with her and last week he disappeared without a trace. Last night, after four days of frantic searching and campaigning led by my friend, who posted appeals for information and pictures throughout the area, we learned that he had been found wandering in some nearby woods. It turns out that he had been kidnapped and SOLD by a local beggar for – it is rumoured, the sum of 250 Rupees. Three pounds twenty. Barely enough to buy tea and cake in a café at home, yet here it can be the price of a human life. You only have to look at national papers such as The Times of India (which contains some pretty intriguing journalism) to see how cheap life comes here. People regularly die in stampedes, on railways etc, and the other day a story about a man being sentenced to death for murder made only a few lines. But then I suppose they only have so much space in which to cover the affairs of over one billion people – a population that grows by 50,000 a day.

We think that in the light of my friend’s campaign, the kidnappers got scared and released their captive close to McLeodganj, but sadly the man is now unconscious in hospital. We’re all hoping for his recovery.

Work is finally taking off which is a huge relief. Wrote my first proper article in two months today, which felt great – now I’m truly a cool international hack. I’m finally adapting to the Indian pace of life ‘slowly slowly.’ There have been some both exasperating and hilarious times though. Two days ago I visited the office of the Tibetan Youth Congress, the president of which I have been attempting to interview for several weeks. Arriving for an interview I had scheduled on the 11th, I found their office padlocked, and so earlier in the week returned for the third time since then to rearrange it. I asked a very pleasant girl on reception if it was possible to interview the president today. ‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘Great, can I do it now,’ I asked with relief. ‘Oh no, he is in Delhi.’ ‘Ah, Ok, do you have a deputy that I could speak to instead as it really would be great to get this done?’ ‘A Deputy?’ ‘Yes, second in command?’ pause. ‘Oh a deputy, yes of course.’ ‘Brilliant. Where is he?’ ‘He is in Delhi.’ ‘Bugger! Ok is there ANYONE I can speak to just for 10 minutes about the Beijing Olympic 2008 campaign?’ ‘Oh yes, we have our cultural secretary here.’ ‘Superb! Is he here now?’ ‘Oh no he is in Delhi.’ That’s international volunteering baby. It sucks. I love it.

The next few days are going to be busy as tomorrow morning the Dalai Lama begins his spring teachings, and the town, relatively quiet when I arrived, is now teaming with monks, Dharma heads and devotees from across the globe. Going to interview some of them Saturday for a piece on what it is about his Holy Lamaness that draws travelers from far and wide to hear his stuff. Who knows what dramas that will bring in its wake.
BRING IT ON!!

Take care everyone, and keep in touch. I’m off to dinner,

Love Soph XXX

Parties, Politics and Pestilence

sophinda — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 11:38:00 GMT

Well hello from a pleasantly sunny McLeodganj!

What a time I've been having. Have been blighted by cold and pestilence since I last wrote, but have also hooked up with a bunch of fabulous likeminded internationals (most of who are leaving over the next couple of days - bastards) and can honestly say I've had more fun over the last few days than I've had in years.
A couple of weeks ago I caught a cold, and as I'm not immune to the lovely lurgies of northern India it took me a while to shake it off, still have a pain in the chest where I think I strained a muscle coughing, but other than that it has gone. Then came the inevitable Delhi Belly, which, having compared notes, I didn't get anything like as badly as I could have done, but it still lays you very low and as I'm not staying in a hotel I still had to venture out and be sociable in order to get something to eat which was at times quite painful. Again all better now and I'm eating like a pig.
The people I've met here are so cool, a lively mixture of yanks, Canadians, Irish, Kiwis etc, and we've had so much fun. A lot of them are quite musical and so there's been lots of singing, dancing and drinking. The local haunt, a restaurant/bar called Carpe Diem, run by a couple of Nepalese blokes, has practically become the living room and each Thursday they hold an open mike night which is fantastic. Have got up to sing each week, drunk or sober (have also done more drinking recently than I've done in a long time...) Am considering flying to Goa for a week in a few days as one of my friends is going down there and I may well have a window between some interviews I've set up this week and the Dalai Lama's teachings, beginning on Feb 25, on which I shall be reporting. This is also supposed to be the best time of year to go, but as yet I'm undecided.
Work is a very mixed bag. The town has been closed over the last few days due to Losar, Tibetan New Year, which is the biggest event in the Tibetan calendar - and they love it. On Thursday, actual Tibetan New Year, I went for lunch as usual at my office, which we share with the Tibetan Volunteers for Animals, a lovely group of vegetarian advocates who, for 800 Rupees (a tenner) a month, serve me up a simple and wholesome, but tasty veggie meal. But on this occasion there was beer, whisky, cigarettes, and Tibetan music and dancing in addition to the usual feed. Well it would have been rude not to have joined them, so I sang, danced and got shitfaced with them, before staggering down to Carpe Diem to get even more shitfaced. How I love these cultural experiences. Needless to say, have got no work done for days, but even before Losar the computer situation was not good, probably only get to use it on one day in four due to power cuts, other people using it, dodgy internet connections etc which at times is very frustrating. However, interviewed the president of the National Democratic Party of Tibet on Monday, and have some more interviews lined up over the next few days regarding a feature I'm hoping to write on the Tibetan Olympic Campaign, so hopefully things will begin to look up soon.
One big worry which has reared it's ugly head again however, is the spider problem. The last month has been mercifully spider free, but have recently been assured that it is only the winter keeping them at bay, and that within a couple of weeks they will start to appear. When I say spiders I don't just mean your regular Boris, which keeps itself to itself in the cupboard under the stairs. I'm talking big bastards the size of a man's hand, which are extremely prevalent and very quick. An American friend of mine told me that in July, he spent 10 nights in a nice hotel room in McLeodganj and on four out of 10 occasions he woke to find spiders 'the size of CDs' in his room. This I know I could not cope with, so unless I can find a way of minimalising my encounters with them, or can get to a higher altitude where they are less prevalent, you may be seeing me back in a couple of weeks. I would be absolutely gutted to have to cut my trip short as a result of this, and will do everything in my power to avoid doing so, but that is a situation I know I could not tolerate. The cold is at times quite oppressive and people are resorting to desparate measures to keep warm. One little German friend almost got killed a week or so ago when she fell asleep with her heater on and her bedclothes caught alight, and we had to help put out another friend's trousers which caught alight as a result of getting too close to a hot coal bucket a couple of days ago, but I must say that if the cold is the only thing keeping the monster arachnids at bay - bring it on!!
One slight bugger is that my camera has chosen this time to conk out, so I've been able to take no photos whatsoever, which is a real shame as I've had some great times which I would have loved to have captured on camera. Hopefully some friends are going to email me some pics so I'll have something to post up here, and I'm going to try to get my camera fixed, but failing that I sadly can't afford a new one. I blame JP, as it got knackered when I was running around Thame taking pics for the paper. They owe me one flash dig cam!!
I really want to post some pics of McLeodganj so you can see it in all its mountainous glory. Being India's second wettest town, we have experienced our share of crappy weather - and snow during a power cut which was fun, had to spend the day huddling in Carpe Diem for warmth.But when the sun shines, turning the snow capped mountains white, pink, orange and gold, it would be hard to imagine a more beautiful pace. A couple of weeks ago, minutes after watching the Dalai Lama glide by in his golder beemer (had to get that in again ;-) I was sitting drinking Earl Grey in Moonpeak, another favourite cafe, when the sun peered out from behind a cloud, completely illuminating the small cafe, and for a moment, I felt as though I'd found the place where heaven meets Nirvana.
Anyway, think that's all the news. Hope I haven't bored you all senseless, and keep the emails coming, always good to hear from you all.

Lots of love, Soph xxx

Hi From McLeodganj!

sophinda — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 10:40:00 GMT

Well hello all,

I hope all is well back home

Well I have been in India for two weeks now and am more or less acclimatized. I’m delighted and surprised to report that as yet I have not succumbed to Delhi Belly, and have not seen any large spiders – although I have a horrible feeling I will come spring. When I first arrived in McLeodganj on Jan 13, the weather was really very pleasant, but now more typical winter temperatures have kicked in and coping with the cold is perhaps the biggest challenge. Whilst temperatures are really not much lower than they generally are at home at this time of year, the lack of central heating can make things uncomfortable. With a heater, heavy duty sleeping bag, thick duvet and thermals I am just about coping, but you only need a power cut, which occur far more frequently in this part of the world, and it gets very chilly indeed.

Buried in beautiful, snow covered mountains, McLeogang is quite a place. The home of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Parliament in Exile, it really feels like a country within a country. The town has a predominantly Tibetan flavour, and most Indians you find here tend to be Kashmiris trying to sell you stuff. Buddhist monks make up a very considerable percentage of the population and are always to be seen – often gabbling away into their mobile phones! The overwhelming majority of Tibetans are refugees who have undergone a perilous walk of a month or more through the high Himalayas, fleeing the oppression of their homeland via Nepal to the safety and sanctuary of India. These are hardened mountain people – Tibet being the highest plateau on earth, and many of those I have spoken to come from a Nomadic background, but none the less, some have told me they thought they might die on the journey, and many succumb to frostbite. All who arrive in McLeodganj are guaranteed an audience with the Dalai Lama (whom I saw glide by in his golden Beemer three days ago as he returned to his temple complex from a visit to Gujarat – got really close.) Two days ago I happened to be sitting drinking tea in front of the temple complex, which is very close to where I work, when the latest batch came pouring out of the temple gates, each clutching a yellow envelope, containing Buddhist teachings I THINK, and a white scarf bestowed upon them by their spiritual leader. I have always found it quite hard to get my head around what all these people have been through, but seeing this group, some looking exulted, some very weary, so fresh from their journey was really quite sobering.

The oppression that these poor people are fleeing, currently at a rate of about 2,500 a year, is quite beyond belief. Tibet, described by its people as ‘the land of snow’ is over 10 times the size of Britain, with a tenth our population. Many of its traditions date back thousands of years, and the people have been devout Buddhists since I think around the seventh or eighth centuries. But in 1949 Mao Zedong's Communist China invaded Tibet, and in the years that followed, during a period described by the Chinese as ‘the cultural revolution’ laid waste its temples, destroyed 6000 monasteries, desecrated its holy Buddhist scriptures, some of which were sold and have thankfully been preserved, but many were just destroyed by the invaders, some of whom expressed their contempt by using them as insoles in their shoes. Tibetans who were brave enough to resist the brutality were killed, imprisoned and tortured, and an estimated 1.2 million of Tibet’s 6 million inhabitants were killed in the years that followed the invasion. Sadly things are not looking up for the Tibetans. The Chinese claim to have made great investments in Tibet, building schools and hospitals. However the cost of attending these facilities is far beyond the reach of most Tibetans and those who are able to attend school must adhere to a strict Chinese curriculum which suppresses Tibetan history, culture and language. Anyone found to be in possession of an image of the Dalai Lama, whom the Chinese government acknowledges to be a dangerous political separatist in the guise of a spiritual leader, faces arrest, as does anyone who refuses to renounce him.

Whilst I help out each evening at a conversation class, helping Tibetans who have come to India to receive an education, to practice the English they learn during the day, my main work here is for Tibet Today – an English Language magazine, set up a year ago. The latest addition (which doesn’t contain any of my work as I’m just getting started) came out two days ago and I was delighted to see how much the Tibetans love it and look forward to it coming out. A couple of people brought it to the conversation class and were avidly reading it, and when I told them I was going to be writing for it they were really quite humbling.

The one thing that frustrates me big time is the intense lack or organisation here. As most of you well know, I am far from anal about time keeping, but here it is pretty much an unknown concept. If you arrange to meet someone at 2.00pm you are lucky if they have arrived by 3, and the most usual scenario seems to be that it doesn’t happen at all. Today for example, I planned my day around the fact that the co-coordinator of Volunteer Tibet, through which I arranged my post, had asked me to go to his office to help him with some English emails at 2pm. When I arrived however, it turned out that he no longer requires my help today (‘perhaps over the weekend or on Monday') and as there is just one computer for editorial staff at Tibet Today, can only get onto it now and then which is very frustrating as there is so much I want and need to do if I am to make my time here worthwhile. Oh well, at least it gives me the opportunity to sit in an internet café and email you fine people

Am also having lots of fun as there is a great group on international volunteers – almost all of whom are sadly leaving within the next week, but here’s hoping they will be replaced with some equally nice internationals! Am living next door to a lovely Dutch girl called Marjon, and whilst like most Dutch people, she makes me feel somewhat vertically inadequate, she is great company and last weekend we took off to Chamba – another town in Himachal Pradesh which looks very close on the map but is actually an eight hour bone shaking bus ride through the Himalayan foothills. It is home to some fascinating 10^th Century Hindu temples, as well as other more recent ones built on the top of a mountain overlooking the town, which have a very spiritual feel. I must also mention that it was in Chamba that I experienced the best curry I have ever had! The hotel we stayed in was actually a bit ropey and our food on the first night was really rather crap – my friend actually found shards of glass in her curry, but on the second night we dined in a superior hotel where I had vegetable Jalfrezi with garlic and ginger fried rice. The ingredients had without a doubt come from the colourful fresh fruit and veg stalls which abound in Chamba, and had it been any hotter it would probably have been a bit much for me, but as it was it was nothing short of perfection. Most food I have had in India has been rather good, but this meal deserves a special mention.

Attended an open mike night yesterday and, in spite of the fact that I have had a sore throat for three days, drank, smoke and sang loudly. Have been suffering the consequences today but it was so much fun I don’t care.

Oh well, if you’ve reached this far I congratulate you on your staying power, but had better sign off. Keep the emails coming, it’s always great to hear from you all – or at the very least give me a poke (on Facebook obviously…)

Take care,

Love Soph XXX