Awoke with a jolt, I slammed my knees into the seat in front of me. This meritting a stare that could have frozen hell from the woman in the seat. Having spent the last five hours attempting to negotiate sleeping and preventing myself and belongings falling into the aisle of the coach I was not in the mood! Since around 9Pm I had been fighting a monumental battle of wills with this 5 foot dwarf; whose seat was reclined to such a degree that is was occupying the majority of the twenty five centimetres reserved for my legs. Just as I was about to tell her in no uncertain terms to ‘go fuck herself’, the conductor cut me short with the announcement: ‘Dharammshhala, Dharammshhala’
3:30Am; no sooner than our bags had been dropped in the dust of Dharamsala bus stand was the coach speeding into the darkness. We found ourselves stranded, with two Thai and a French girl for company. The Thais being very resourceful quickly negotiated a taxi for Rs150 and we were on our way to Upper Dharamsala, or McLeod Ganj. It wasn’t long until we were stranded again!
The taxi powered up the hills to McLeod Ganj and before long the driver had dropped us in a near pitch black square from where he quickly sped off, presumably to bed. Using a bar named McLlos as our compass we were soon on our way . It wasn’t long before we had been rejected by the busboy at a hotel called Om, gone knocking at two others and decided in our frustration to wander down a darkened road.
A short amble later and we were confronted by a pack of severely pissed off canines whose sleep we had apparently interrupted. Turning to flee we found a second pack closing in behind us. A particularly mangy, insane looking beast, stumbled towards me and I was awaiting the credits to see how this one turned out next week! Fortunately, much like a good Dr Who episode, the Thai girls were good with dogs and quickly calmed them down finding a hotel that was open in the process.
The following afternoon arrived and we speedily checked out. Soon we were settling into Kungas Guesthouse, our preferred choice, and arranging our transport onward to Amritsar. It turned out however, that the train we intended to catch was full and that only first class carriages were available on the next one. What bad luck! We resolved ourselves to spending a further three more days than expected.
The next day things really began to degenerate. Starting quite simply, we paid a visit to the Tibetan Museum, which provided a moving and surprisingly optimistic insight into the plight of the Tibetan people since 1950. I probably forgot to mention that this town is home to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Government in Exile. Added to that are a shedload of Tibetan refugees, the majority of whom seem to idle away the hours doing sweet FA in the numerous cafes and bars dotted around. I say sweet FA, but as soon as the sun set they seemed to do pretty well with western girls seeking a romantic encounter with a strange man from a strange land. I think they’ve earned it though, some of these guys had walked for upto 40 days solid through the Himalayas just to get here!
The evening came and we found ourselves in McLlos bar/restaurant. This place had acted as our compass whilst trying to find our way around in the wee hours of the previous morning and it was soon to become the centre of our universe for the next three days.
After eating a meal of chilly garlic chowmein, a lovely bastardised Chinese concoction, Mark and I spent sometime chatting about Utd’s title chances before striking up a conversation with a couple of Belgians sitting down the table from us. Soon we were discussing the finer points of British beer culture before being told that we should be drinking the premium Kingfisher as 5.25% apparently wasn’t strong enough for a Belgian!
The atmosphere became rather merry and the night was drawing to a close as we got mixed up with a table comprising two English girls, an Irish and a San Franciscan. Unfortunately I was stuck at the end, next to a toadish looking Punjabi who upon hearing we were intending to visit Thailand assumed I would enjoy hearing a ‘blow by blow’ account of his sex life and machinations in the aforementioned country. Immediately I attempted to pass this fine gentleman onto anyone who would listen, but not before being further illuminated as to his priorities: ‘First respect the mother and father, then the money’ and then the proverbial cat, which he quickly realised was clearly the wrong way round and turned it on it’s head, lovely chap really.
Within an hour we had been turfed out into the Himalayan night. By this time Guyme, one of the Belgian guys, was in no state to carry on. His behaviour was beginning to resemble something between a severely inebriated British Ibiza veteran and a belligerant Parisian chef who had just discovered that the British chef who had been sleeping with his wife had just been awarded his second Michellan star. It wasn’t until he walked into a car and started singing that he really tended to err towards the former. We learned the next day that as he had climbed down the stairs to their hotel that night he had slipped and had an fight with a bush of nettles.
Bidding the Belgians goodnight we were invited to carry on the party with the Irish gal and American guy, whom we had now learned were named Grainne and Dave. Upon climbing the mountain of stairs and passing trough a maze akin to the Secret Garden we arrived at their room. Over the next two hours we managed to resolve the Northern Ireland problem, choose the next US president and probably solved world hunger, as pissed people so often can.
The next three nights followed a similar pattern, culminating in a mountain of Kingfisher bottles, an enormous bill, some of which Dave ‘stuck on the slate’, and an after party back at Grainne and Dave’s place. After being rudely interuppted at around 2:30 by Indian equivalent of the Terminator we said our goodbyes and departed. As we began to negotiate the mountain of stairs I was feeling ‘just like a Rolling Stone’ as old Bob had been wailing earlier in the night. I just hoped to God I didn’t turn into one, at least not on these stairs!
