My 4am wake-up call came a generous 15 minutes early.  Already packed, I laid in bed under the twirling fan trying not to fall asleep again.  At half past four, I stepped quietly past the hotel employee who had returned to his bed, the lobby bench, for a few more hours rest.  I picked up an auto rickshaw to the train station, savoring the rare experience of riding through the dark and empty streets. 

My express train to Delhi was sitting idle on the first platform, the air-conditioning already  turning the coaches into rolling refrigerators.  After a requisite chai, I found my seat and settled in for the 6-hour ride to India's capital city of 12 million people.  Interestingly enough, it was my first train ride in a non-sleeper carriage.  As the express train is more expensive than the regular ones on the same route, it is also more comfortable.

We left the station on time, speeding out of Amritsar at a noticeably faster rate than I'd experienced previously on Indian trains.  After a few stops, the two seats adjacent to mine filled up.  The service was excellent, including the complimentary food:  a liter-sized bottle of water, tea and biscuits, breakfast (non-veg: omelet and toast), and a juice box.  The constant attention the first few hours made it hard to drift off to sleep for too long.

After browsing photos on my camera, the well-to-do Indian gentleman next to me struck up a conversation by showing off his Sony 3.5-inch, touch screen camera.  Working in construction, he's been living in Dubai for the past 20 years and was talking up the city, suggesting I visit.  I had written off Dubai as too expensive, however he countered my thought by telling me there were budget accommodations as well as luxury. 

We arrived at the New Delhi train station around 11am as scheduled, a short distance from Connaught Place, the giant traffic circle at the city's center where I hoped to base myself for a reasonable rate.  

The reason I made the torturous move to wake up at 4am to catch the direct bus to Amritsar was so I could see Sikhism's holiest temple AND the India-Pakistan border ceremony in one day. Really, it was the latter event which captivated my curiosity, though once I saw the Golden Temple, I realized it was worth the trip on its own.

After finding a well-located hotel for the night, I made the short walk over to The Golden Temple. Everyone was required to remove their shoes, walk through water to clean their feet, and wear something over their head before entering the complex. The area and buildings around the temple were much bigger, and the temple itself smaller, than I expected. Photos can be great motivators, yet they often do little justice to giving you a sense of scale.

Purple-turbaned men with spears walked around the perimeter, making for the coolest security guards I'd ever seen. The sun and heat were intense, yet the white marble floors were not overbearing. I walked in a few surrounding buildings which housed important religious items. The line to actually enter the temple was far too long for this tourist to bear.

A common feature of Sikh temples is a communal dining area where free meals are served to guests, regardless of their religious persuasion. Given the Golden Temple attracts pilgrims from around the world, their dining hall was quite busy. Thousands of metal thali platters being cleaned and carted around made for a rather distinct background noise. Again, I didn't have the energy to brave the crowd and heat for a meal I wouldn't really enjoy.

Instead, I devoured paneer butter masala (cottage cheese in gravy) and butter naan at a restaurant near my hotel after arranging an air-conditioned share taxi to the border ceremony a few hours later.

I was tempted to leave McLeod Ganj a day or two before Steve's 27th birthday, but it seemed silly to not stick around to help him celebrate it.  When my 32nd birthday rolls around in September, I hope to have a few travel buddies with whom to hang out.

We ordered dinner and a few Kingfisher beers while chilling on the roof of Carpe Diem.  The whole gang was there, or at least the gang of people I came to know during my time in town.  Mostly though, I saw it as my last night with Steve and Marie, though Steve was planning to head to Thailand just a few weeks after me.

Anastasia had amazing taste in cake-selection, picking out an entire chocolate mousse from a great Italian restaurant where I ate previously ate twice (getting sinful chocolate desserts both times).

My plan was to stay up all night so I could ensure I caught the 5am direct (local) bus to Amritsar.  Based on my all-nighters in Christchurch and China before leaving those countries, I felt confident in this plan.  Unfortunately, I realized such a strategy doesn't work as well when taking a 6-hour bus in India.  The Russia-Spain Euro 2008 semifinal match at 12am did less to keep me up then I expected.  I drifted in and out of sleep until 4am when I received a wake-up call.

I walked through the quiet streets, passing cows and dogs in the shadows, until I found a drowsy taxi driver to take me 30-minutes downhill to the bus stand in Dharamsala.  The bus left on time, winding it's way down to an elevation of just a few hundred meters.  It began to rain, resulting in all the windows being closed.  Lacking a flow of fresh air, I felt increasingly nauseous, wondering whether I made a mistake in trying to leave so early.  Luckily, despite a full bus at times, no one seemed to want the damp window seat next to me.

Around Pathankot, the halfway point of our journey, the road straightened out and I began to feel better, even excited to be on the move again.  The times when I'm in transit are when I feel the greatest sense of freedom.  Recollections of the recent past mix with excitement for  what lays ahead.

It felt great to meet up with Steve again after having first hung out together in Pokhara, Nepal back in April. Since then, I'd also kept in regular contact with Marie. As a reminder, we all took the same 3-day meditation course. Since I had control over my schedule, I decided to give myself a few days extra in McLeod Ganj after she arrived to enjoy her company.

On her first night in town, Steve and I introduced her to Khana Nirvana, which was holding its weekly open mic night. A few nights later we returned to Khana Nirvana for a beat-the-monsoon blues benefit concert. Dara, one of the owners, gave a solo performance. She had played a few songs at the open mic nights I'd attended so I knew she had a knack for writing good, fun lyrics.

On my last day before leaving McLeod Ganj, Marie and I met up for lunch, made some travel arrangements, and went for a walk (the long way) through the pine forest to sacred Dal Lake and The Tibetan Children's Village (where I previously saw HH the Dalai Lama). We then snaked our way back toward town, stopping for tea and a bathroom break inside the Vipassana Center.

While I had decided to put myself on a plane to Bangkok July 1, Marie would be starting an intensive 10-day Vipassana retreat which entailed around 8-10 hours of meditation per day, complete silence, two vegetarian meals/day, and even a rule which disallowed eye contact with the other participants. She was a bit apprehensive, but I envied anyone's ability to commit to such an experience of their own free will.

And yes, you heard me right.  I finally decided it was time to leave spiritual India for the full moon parties and beaches of Thailand!

The morning after returning from my Indrahar Pass trek, I awoke with a giant, furry spider in my bathroom, aching right shoulder, stabbing pain in the area of my right ribs, and mild soreness in my legs.

The soreness in my right shoulder felt as though I was carrying a heavy bag, even when I was lying down.

The sharp pain in my side was only a problem when I coughed, sneezed or laughed, but it caused me to keel over in agony without fail.

I was in sad shape when Steve stopped by for lunch.

I wanted to tell him about the trek and share my photos so we went to the nearby Peace Cafe.

Steve is a funny guy, so I had to explicitly tell him not to make me laugh.

While I wasn't complaining much, it didn't take long for my body language to give away the discomfort I felt.

We cut lunch short and he picked up some Paracetamol (aspirin-like drug) from a pharmacy and met me back at my room where I was already back in bed.

I was in enough pain to wonder whether I should see a doctor.

He recommended rest, and given he had trekked to Everest Base Camp without a porter back in April, I trusted his advice.

The Paracetamol took the edge off the pain, but it was hard to be comfortable, especially at night.

I felt as though my arm should be in a sling to relieve the aching, and I had to sleep on my left side.

I was so glad I made the effort to find a new room with a soft mattress.

After two days, I felt as though I could handle a Tibetan massage.

I'd been meaning to try acupuncture, so I combined the two and visited a Tibetan doctor whose office was in the building adjacent to my hotel.

She recommended three sessions given my injury was new. I was doubtful the pain could be alleviated in just three days.

The first session was limited to 25 minutes of acupuncture.

Three needles were poked into my shoulder, with a fourth and fifth in each elbow.

Unsure whether to credit the acupuncture, I found myself able to spend a few hours on the internet before feeling a lot of pain again by bedtime.

The second session began with a 25-minute back and shoulder massage, followed by acupuncture.

Again, I felt better after the session, though it was even more noticeable the next day.

To my surprise, I felt 100% again after the third session.

Unfortunately, I have no way to know whether the pain would've dissipated as fast on its own, or whether the massage helped more than the acupuncture (or vice versa).

There is so much going on in McLeod Ganj, it can make your head spin. I decided to start off nice and easy by joining Anastasia and Olga for their thangka painting class. The first few sessions are dedicated to drawing Buddha's face and body according to standard measurements. The class is held in the Tibetan teacher's, Lobsang's, living room. He charges $5 per 3-hour session, of which there are two per day, and all materials are included. I lasted two sessions before bailing on my career as a thangka artist.

Cooking classes, on the other hand, were more my style. For $12.50, I would get to attend three classes in Lhamo's kitchen. The first class was dedicated to breads, of which we learned to make three varieties. Lhamo did all the prep work, so there was little opportunity for us to participate beyond kneading dough. Still, the breads were quite tasty!

The second session was the main event, momos. Momos are the Tibetan version of ravioli. We made the dough from scratch, and learned three different styles for forming the momos (which there is little chance I'll remember in six months). One set was filled with spinach and cheese, another veggie (mostly cabbage), and the sweet ones with a sesame seed and sugar mix. Lhamo steamed them, and then allowed us to dig in, offering soy and tomato sauces as accompaniments. The best part about making your own momos is you can stuff them with anything you want. So far, the tofu and cheese momos I had at the Green Hotel's restaurant are my favorite.

I've yet to attend the third class...soups. I can't imagine it'd beat momo-making so I'm in no rush.

My first priority upon settling in McLeod Ganj was to reconnect with my friend from Nepal, Steve. He had arrived a few days before me, and attended the first of two teachings being given by His Holiness the Dalai Lama at a local Tibetan school, Attendance for everyone but the kids meant sitting outside the auditorium and either watching a video feed under a tent or simply listening to the English-translation broadcast on a designated FM station.

As Steve wasn't feeling well enough to attend the second teaching, I met up with two of his friends, sisters Anastasia and Olga (Germany) at the bus stand around 8am. I noticed people lining up and realized it was because we were standing along the road to the school. A minute later, the caravan drove through with His Holiness in the second SUV. He was on the opposite side from me though. Anastasia and Olga lead me on the short walk through a pine forest to the schoolyard. We sat up on a grass and stone bleacher/retaining wall, and tuned into the broadcast.

I spent the following few hours people-watching, observing the clouds roll past the surrounding forest, and gazing out at the distant mountains. I can't claim to have taken anything tangible away from the teaching, but I felt lucky just to be in the right place at the right time.

As the question and answer period wrapped up around 11:30am, a motley crew of tourists, local Tibetans, and monks gathered outside the auditorium's exit to catch a glimpse of HH the Dalai Lama. Our patience was rewarded when he eventually emerged to the tourist paparazzi. I had wanted to shoot on " continuous"? mode, however it didn't seem to be working with zoom, so I was fumbling around with my camera instead of paying full attention!

I finally got my act together to catch his warm smile and wave as the SUV drove by. It was as if he had rainbows and sunbeams sprouting from his eyes.

I missed my overnight train from Agra to Pathankot, the jumping off point for a bus to Dharamsala (which, in turn, is the jumping off point for a taxi to McLeod Ganj, home of His Holiness the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile). I was not a happy camper by that point. I had paid 75% of my room cost so I could hang out in it after the normal check-out time, and then I had spent another few hours at the hot, crowded train station.

I was on the right platform, however they must have announced the train arriving on a different one. A guy started to help me out, and I accepted his support knowing he was benefiting financially in some way. I got a 50% refund on my train ticket, and accepted the cost of a commission from a travel agent to get a new overnight ticket situated for the next day.

As I had the whole next day to kill, I ended up being taken for a ride (literally) by a friend of the guy who first helped me. Bottom line, I paid to hire an air-conditioned car for a half day to be taken to a series of commission-paying souvenir shops. The guys are good here in India...very good. Sometimes you don't even know what hit you, and you just get tired of saying "no" so you go with the flow (at your own expense!).

Thankfully, I made the overnight train the second time around, though my seat was unconfirmed (in effect, I boarded while still on the waiting list). I sat impatiently in the appropriate carriage, wondering if I'd be kicked off the train in Delhi. To my delight, an Indian passenger informed me I had been assigned a berth based on a recent printout that had been placed on the carriage a few hours into our journey. I put my sheets and blanket down and drifted off to sleep.

I arrived at the Jalandhar Junction train station a few minutes too late in the morning. My connecting train to Chakki Bank had already passed through, leaving me with a few hours to kill on the fly filled train platform. At least it was early in the morning so it wasn't too hot. As I began to look around, I noticed more turbins on heads, and a few guys walking around in orange and purple flowing outfits with swords swinging from their hips. I consulted my Lonely Planet which always has an answer for such cultural quandries. Turns out Punjab is home to a minority religion in India known as Sikhism, and its followers carry swords, considered to be one of the five articles of faith.

My train dropped me off at Chakki Bank, a town with a heavy military presence. I took a bicycle rickshaw to the stand where I could catch a bus to Dharamsala. I could've sworn the driver quoted me 15 rupees, which is why I went with him, however upon paying him a generous 23 rupees, he looked at me with disappointment, and said the cost was 50 rupees. I knew this to be way too high, as my 3-hour bus ride was only going to be about 70 rupees, however having accepted the ride with him, I gave him the 50 rupees, plus 10 as a tip. Once on the bus, a nicely dressed, well-spoken gentleman with whom I was squeezed against in the back seat informed me that the local rate was 10 rupees. He was tempted to step into the situation, but didn't see it as his place. I was just happy to know there are people out there who don't want to see us tourists being ripped off.

After the local bus ride which had me literally launched into the air after some large bumps in the road, I picked up the short bus to Dharamsala (which was nicer, and slower). Finally, I paid a taxi to take me from Dharamsala to the Green Hotel in McLeod Ganj. I had made it to my #1 destination in India after 24 continuous hours on the move, and 10 days coming across from northeastern India. I ate dinner on a restaurant rooftop, catching a great sunset against the nearby Dhauladhar range. It was worth it.

After touring the Taj Mahal, and grabbing some lunch, Laura, Dan and I hired a rickshaw for the return ride to Agra Fort. It is a large, sprawling complex, with much of the space still dedicated to India's military.

It is situated along the same river as the Taj Mahal and each can be seen from the other.

Before heading back to the hotel, we agreed to visit some tourist shops as part of our deal with the rickshaw driver. I learned that the drivers can not only earn commissions off what is sold at some places, they can also be given a liter of petrol for simply bringing in new customers. Our first stop was a big store, and we were offered free Pepsi's to enjoy while doing our best to resist the pressure to buy something.

The weather remained clear, and we hung out at the hotel's rooftop restaurant for the evening. As we enjoyed a few Kingfishers, and the beautiful sun slowly set, I was surprised to find kites filling the air all around us. Adults and kids alike were flying them from their rooftops, and it seemed to be a very popular activity. A call to prayer rang out from a local mosque's loudspeaker. I couldn't have asked for a better evening.

I rolled out of bed at 5:30am to see the Taj at sunrise, though from the hotel roof, it didn't look too different from the night before. I met Laura and Dan at the eastern entrance, and we proceeded to tour the site along with everyone else trying to get an early jump on the crowds. While there was plenty of blue sky to create a great backdrop for photos, the reflecting pools were drained for cleaning.

Up close, the beauty of the building in my eyes lay in the intricate, inlayed carvings. Precious stones sourced from around the world were used, and it is a big part of why the building took 30+ years to complete.

My overnight train from Varanasi departed at 5pm so I spent the morning in my air-con room, and the afternoon twiddling my thumbs beneath the fans of the Hotel Buddha restaurant. Once on the train, I chatted briefly with Laura (France) who mistook me for someone she had met in SE Asia.

I didn't sleep as well this second time, so it was a nice surprise to receive what seemed to be a reasonable quote for a rickshaw ride to Taj Ganj, the tourist area directly south of the Taj Mahal. The first view of India's iconic mausoleum resulted in another "wow" moment for me. After checking out a few hotels, I settled on a room in the same place as Laura and Dan (England). Strong winds whipped up sand, and rain soon followed, thus postponing our plans for a rooftop dinner overlooking the Taj at sunset.

The paint was peeling off the ceiling in my hotel room. At first I saw it as a charming detail, however after waking up the next day in a bed covered with flaking paint, I found it less appealing. I also learned that a vent in the wall does not constitute air-conditioning.

Benares (Varanasi) is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together. -- Mark Twain

After 6 hours of intentional confinement to my air-conditioned hotel room, I felt it was time to see Varanasi's main draw, the ghats which run along the Ganges River. In my mind, I had pictured the dirtiest, darkest, smelliest, smokiest hell on Earth type of atmosphere. After all, according to The Lonely Planet, " the water is septic, no dissolved oxygen exists"?, and " the water has 1.5 million fecal coliform bacteria per 100mL of water"? whereas safe bathing water should be less than 500.

In reality, as I walked out of an alley onto Assi Ghat, the furthest south of the main ghats, I was surprised by the serenity of my surroundings. Boats were floating along the river and people were simply hanging out. I began to walk north, declining boat ride offers with politeness. A young kid struck up a conversation with me, and invited me for a chai. As I sat there burning my tongue on the hot tea, I must admit I was wondering if it had been somehow spiked with a drug, and I was about to keel over and be robbed. Such are the worries of the single traveler who stays open to the kind offerings of strangers. Shortly after taking tea, the kid waved goodbye to me which was the sign that his company had been genuine.

I continued to make my way north past kids playing cricket, water buffalo bathing, people of all ages swimming. I sat by one of the smaller burning ghats for a short explanation of the cremation process from another local. When he turned to the topic of touring nearby silk factories, I made my retreat.

As I neared Dasawamedh Ghat, home to most of the boats and a nightly ceremony, a young kid struck up a conversation with me. I clearly told him he could walk with me but I would not pay him anything. He proceeded to walk me down to Manikarnika Ghat, the biggest cremation ghat. He showed me up to a balcony overlooking the site, meant specifically for tourists (as the family occupies the space at ground level). After a few minutes of watching multiple pyres burn, we headed back toward Dasawamedh for the nightly puja. For 5 rupees (12 cents), I bought a candle with flowers and set it adrift on the Ganges (earning me some good karma in the process). A crowd of mainly Indian, with a sprinkling of Western, tourists had gathered.

The ceremony and music seemed interesting enough, however by 7:30pm, I was sapped of energy, and tired of wiping the sweat from my brow. My young tour guide was keen to show me his silk shop, however I continued to decline in favor of an autorickshaw back to the hotel (and a cold shower). I gave the kid a generous tip in the end. Despite his efforts to get me in a silk shop, he was quite helpful.

I agreed on 100 rupees for my rickshaw ride back to the hotel, which I knew to be too much but seemed to be par for the course in Varanasi (for this tourist anyways). When we got going, I noticed the driver was someone other than who I negotiated the price. I didn't think anything of it until we were outside my hotel and he was demanding 150 rupees. I scoffed, and stood my ground. He asked for 120 and I paid it to be done with the situation. While fifty cents means more to him than me, I'm not immune from getting pissed off about the principle and dishonesty in such situations. It is no wonder Varanasi (and India as a whole) has a reputation for tourist ripoffs.

I awoke at 4:45am to the now familiar series of beeps from my Casio Pathfinder watch. I set my alarms the night before, figuring I could always go back to sleep if I didn't feel like making my way down to the Ganges River for a sunrise boat ride along the ghats. I went back to sleep.

Two hours later, I stepped out of Hotel Buddha to the almost serene streets of Varanasi. I hailed an autorickshaw to take me the 10km to Sarnath, the location where Buddha gave his first sermons in a deer park. It is one of four primary pilgrimage sites on the Buddhist circuit. I had skipped Lumbini (his birthplace in southern Nepal) because it was a few days out of my way, and didn't intend to visit Kushinagar, India (where he died) for the same reason.

The rickshaw let me off at the entrance of Mulgandha Kuti Vihar, a temple built in 1931 to house sacred relics from Sakyamuni Buddha. Next to the temple was a bodhi tree, around which were giant stone plaques bearing the engravings of Buddha's first sermon in a variety of languages. I was given a kata (scarf) to tie around the bodhi tree in exchange for a little baksheesh (a tip or bribe depending on your perspective and the situation).

Next, I headed to the prominent 34-meter high Dhamekh Stupa which marks the spot where Buddha's first sermons were given. The stone carvings around the stupa are thought to date back to the 5^th century AD. It was only 8:30am, yet the sun was fierce and I could feel my energy waning. I continued to walk through the excavated ruins in the complex, occasionally shooing away the touts trying to sell me cheap Buddha statues (both kids and adults). There persistence and presence can test even the most patient people.

As I gulped some water near the entrance of the site, I saw a young girl begging through the metal fence. Clearly I was her target as there was barely a tourist around so early, let alone a stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb white person. I began to walk toward the rickshaw stand and she followed me on my left. She barely rose to my waist, yet she was carrying a small baby, muttering the same two words over and over again in a quiet, sad tone. " Please sir, please sir."? At least that's what I think she was saying. I apologized to her, I bowed in respect to her, I said " no"? many times to her. I walked on for a block or two under the increasingly hot sun. " Please sir, please sir."? At one point I heard her voice fade, and I had hoped she had given up, however when I turned around I saw that she had only stopped to pick up the cloth which had been over her head. " Please sir, please sir."? The refrain began again once she had caught up.

Knowing you're not suppose to give money to begging children, I gave money to her (3 rupees...7 cents) when I passed upon a man who could render small change. I didn't give her the money out of compassion (either a true or false sense). I gave her the money so she would leave me alone. So I wouldn't hear her voice continue to repeat those words over and over as though I was being haunted.

I was beyond pleased to see my autorickshaw driver awaiting me at 4:20am outside the Karma Temple's gate. I shook his hand, he started the motor, and we were off in the dim pre-dawn light. I realized my decision to take the early train to Varanasi meant a peaceful, cool ride back to Gaya which was in stark contrast to the " like a bat out of hell"? rickshaw ride to Bodhgaya two days earlier.

The 5:15am train arrived on time, and I boarded my 3AC carriage to find most people asleep. I heaved my pack onto the upper berth, grabbed a pillow, turned on my mp3 player, and began to enjoy the air-conditioning.

After a few hours, I descended from my perch to a friendly Indian family occupying the other berths in my section. I asked one of the guys to help me ensure I got off at Varanasi, which he did. Otherwise, I watched the farmland fly by, and the mom playing with her little daughter on the seat opposite me. At one stop, a young child missing his left forearm (below the elbow) entered the carriage and approached me for money. I nodded " no"? and averted my eyes. He took care to point at the scars with his right hand. An older Indian guy next to me said something to him, yet the child just kept repeating " money"? and holding his scarred arm in front of me. I didn't relent, and the mother eventually gave him a one rupee coin. Satisfied, he left.

We passed over the Ganges River as Varanasi approached. The guy who was helping me warned that it was " terribly hot"? outside as the locals could be seen with their faces and heads covered with long scarves.

We pulled into the station and I stepped into the steamy sauna that was Varanasi. I made my way out, stopping for a map and hotel recommendation at the tourist office (really just a guy at a desk). I grabbed one of the old white taxis to Hotel Buddha. The driver suggested it was about 42 degrees Celsius (~108 degrees Fahrenheit). I had already decided to splurge and budget around $20/night for a nice room with air-conditioning and other appreciated amenities (private bath, cable TV, lots of light, balcony, generator for power outages). Hotel Buddha wasn't in the old city along the ghats, but I only expected to spend two nights in Varanasi so paying for local transportation didn't bother me.

I showered, ordered room service (tasty chicken chili w/naan), finished Khaled Hosseini's " A Thousand Splendid Suns"? which had only been given to me a few days earlier (amazing and sad story based in Afghanistan), and waited for the sun to set. My first mission was to secure my train ticket out of Varanasi, so I walked back to the train station along a dirt road under construction. A young Indian man helped me out when he saw another guy couldn't understand my question about directions. The young man walked his bike alongside me, surprised I wasn't in a rickshaw. He said I had a " good heart."? He was headed to the train station too, and as we prepared to cross the two busy intersections, motioned me to stand behind him (basically, as a way to protect me). While he eventually disclosed he was a driver, and was probably trying to secure my business the whole time, he also helped me survive the 15-minute walk to the station, and for that I gave him a sincere thank you.

The foreigner's ticket office was hot and filled with people. It is exactly what you would imagine if you closed your eyes at home and pictured a ticket office in an Indian railway station. I was thankful to buy my next 3AC overnight train ticket (to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal) on the day I wanted. I took a bicycle rickshaw back to the hotel, which was almost as crazy and vulnerable an experience as walking.

The next morning I slept through the 6am puja held at my monastery's temple. I deserved the extra rest. I also deserved to sit under the Bodhi Tree, alone, for a few minutes of quiet meditation! I made my way to the temple complex around 7am, sat on a stone bench under the tree behind the temple, closed my eyes, and did a short breathing meditation.

After breakfast, I kept myself occupied with reading, writing and music under the ceiling fan in my room.

Around 2pm, I decided to walk the two blocks to see the 25m-high Great Buddha Statue unveiled by His Holiness the Dalai Lama in 1989. As you get closer to it, you have to remove your shoes. I slipped off my flip-flops to the painful realization that the stone (perhaps marble) path was VERY hot. As I approached the statue, I thought about the walk as mind over matter. Once in the statue's shade, I took a few photos, and headed back. This time, my feet felt like they were on fire, especially on the last few steps over a black section of the path. Hoping for relief, I put on my flip-flops, though in those few minutes, they too had become painfully hot. I was left with no alternative but to douse my feet with mineral water to cool them off.

A few hours later, I headed back to the Mahabodi Temple for one last visit. Near the entrance, I ran into Ramesh, and then a Bollywood movie shoot in full swing. A well-quaffed actor was on a motorcycle while a pretty Indian actress in orange was to be riding in a bicycle rickshaw. The production assistants wielded field hockey sticks to help with crowd control.

After a quick walk through the temple grounds, I invited Ramesh to dinner with me. While I found his presence overbearing at times, he clearly seemed interested in hanging out and helping me, without anything in return (except maybe a new watch or camera if I were to return some day).

I took an hour to unwind, shower, and get my bearings before heading out to sightsee. Due to the intense sun during much of the day, I knew I had to take advantage of the early mornings and late afternoons.

Bodhgaya is peppered with monasteries built by different Buddhist countries, each with their own unique architecture and style. After peeking into a few, I made my way to Bodhgaya's ace attraction, the Mahaodhi Temple. It was originally constructed in the 6^th century AD, next to the spot where Buddha attained enlightenment. All visitors are required to remove their shoes when entering the complex. It's free to visit, yet you pay a small fee to take photos or video.

I had barely set eyes on the temple when a local, Ramesh, latched onto me and wouldn't let go (figuratively speaking). As usual, I clearly told him I wouldn't pay any money for a tour. He said he wasn't interested in money, and proceeded to guide me around the site. I took a seat under the Bodhi tree (a descendant of the original which was destroyed) and tried to soak in the experience.

I continued to walk through the gardens and around the stupas, at times getting frustrated with the amount of talking done by Ramesh. Despite his kind nature, there are times when I simply want to experience a place alone, quietly! And I told him as much. We parted ways and I grabbed dinner at a nearby restaurant before retiring for the night. Walking past the main gate to the Karma Temple, and into the open concrete courtyard under a sky full of stars was a wonderful experience. As I went back to my room, I could see and hear young monks talking enthusiastically (perhaps even playing) in a grassy area. Later, around 8 or 9pm, I could hear their evening puja.

34 hours....1 taxi....1 share jeep....1 overnight train....1 bus ride....3 autorickshaws....1 bicycle rickshaw....

I awoke around 6am to ensure I was on one of the first share jeeps south to Siliguri. I paid for the two front seats so I could have a little extra space on the four and a half hour drive. As we left Sikkim and dropped in altitude, the cool air gave way to heat and humidity. Thankfully, we arrived an hour early. I hired a rickshaw to take me to the train station, where I had four hours to kill.

The 3AC carriage was nicer than I expected. Once the air conditioning ramped up, my sweat-soaked clothes began to dry off and I felt more relaxed. As we began to roll along, I couldn't believe I was watching a giant yellow sun set over India. An hour or two later, a few Indian men joined me in my section. I'm sure they made a few jokes at my expense in Hindi, however they also made me feel welcome in their country by buying me a cup of chai and sharing their peanuts (also purchased aboard the train). I got a solid 5-6 hours of sleep and felt well rested in the morning.

I'll never forget walking into the Patna train offices to try and get a rail ticket to nearby Gaya. People were lying all over the dirty floor, sometimes on blankets which were just as dirty. It wasn't a far stretch to wonder if some of them were still alive. I walked upstairs past a series of beggars with different physical ailments to find there were no train tickets available to Gaya. It was only mid-morning yet the sun was beaming down on me as I exited the ticket building.

I didn't get far before being picked up by a young kid who lead me to a nearby travel office where I bought a bus ticket to Gaya. The kid also accompanied me on a rickshaw to the bus stand (a muddy field) where he made sure I boarded the right bus (in exchange for a tip, of course). I was sweating profusely, guzzling water by the liter at this point. The 45 minute wait in the bus (nay...oven) felt like an eternity. I let go of my dignity and took a needed piss behind the bus before we got going. People pee everywhere in India (and to a similar extent in Nepal), and if you don't adapt, you risk making uncomfortable bus rides far worse. Eventually, the bus filled up and we left at 10:30am, only to get stuck in traffic on our way out.

We drove along trash-strewn streets, kids defecating a few meters from the roadside, and lots of farmland. The Indian man in the seat next to me finished his paper, and proceeded to fall asleep against my sweaty shoulder. The bus arrived in Gaya an hour late. I only saw a few sections of street in the city, however their condition bordered on the repulsive. We passed a young woman in a bright, flowing silk sari talking to a man and my mind couldn't reconcile how such a beautiful woman could coexist with the filthy streets.

I had a rickshaw the moment I exited the bus, though I asked him to hold on while I took yet another pee. The ride to Bodhgaya lasted 30 minutes, the first half of which entailed exiting Gaya. The driver was insane, playing chicken with the oncoming traffic. As we approached Bodhgaya, the ride quieted down, the traffic lessened, and the scenery became more rural.

Dropped off in the center of the little town, I hired a bicycle rickshaw to take me to the Bhutanese Monastery where I had hoped to spend my two nights. It was full, so we proceeded to the Tibetan Monastery (Karma Temple), where after a short wait, I was shown to my basic room.

The day after our jeep tour of the north, Cameron and Natalie set about organizing a six day trek to a 5,000 meter pass with close views of Mt. Kanchenjunga. As I got to know Cameron, it slowly became evident he not only liked to trek, it was his passion. In 2007, he walked from Mexico to Canada over four months along the Pacific Crest Trail. I told him he was the kind of guy doing the things I read about in National Geographic Adventure. When I asked him how high he had been, his response was the second or third base camp on the Tibetan side of Mt. Everest at around 6,300 meters.

I, on the other hand, was due for entry into the " real"? India. Ironically, despite my plan to leave Buddhist Sikkim, my first destination would be Bodhgaya, the location where Buddha attained enlightenment under the bodhi tree. It seemed fitting that it would require a lot of effort to make it there from Gangtok. Due to all the Indians traveling this time of year on holiday, I'd heard some people were having difficulty getting westbound trains. It must've been my lucky day because for merely double the price, I reserved an " emergency"? 3AC (air-conditioned) sleeper for the 17-hour overnight ride to Patna, capital of Bihar (state).

I couldn't sleep well the second night, so at 4:45am I got out of bed to check for mountain peaks like a kid checks for presents on Christmas morning. My insomnia was rewarded with views of snow-covered mountains in almost all directions. Perhaps not as much snow as I had hoped, however beggars can't be choosers.

A few massive waterfalls seemed to start at the top of one mountain ridge, while the loud sound of rushing water I could hear was a nearby river we had crossed the previous night.

Once everyone was up and about, we learned our guide had arranged for the hotel owner's son to drive us to Yumthang Valley in a nice, comfortable, private SUV. Riding in an SUV with a considerate driver made up for the death-defying experience the night before. Meanwhile, our original driver was awaiting the spare part needed to fix the jeep we'd take back to Gangtok after lunch.

Passing through a rhododendron forest, we came upon Yumthang Valley, along with a horde of Indian tourists. The altitude was around 3,800 meters, and cloud cover would again mask the peaks of the mountains around us. Our guide said we would've seen new snow falling if we had arrived a day earlier!

The Lonely Planet describes the sight as follows: " ...weather permitting, you should have 360-degree views of an utterly magnificent Alpine scene: glaciers, spiky peaks and a veritable candelabra of jagged mountains rising toward Tibet."? It is amazing how much time and energy a traveler can invest in an experience so dependent on mother nature.

The ride back to Gangtok was tortuously long. Even though I hadn't been feeling motion sickness on all the jeep rides, I was fed up and feeling worn out by the time we were done. The decision to condense a 4-day trip into 3 days, late starts, and breakdowns left us all feeling as though we spent too much time in the jeep.

The next morning, we could see patches of snow on some of the mountains around us, however the cloud cover was low enough to temper my excitement about the potential for clear views higher up the valley.

Our day's highlight came early when we arrived at an Indian army base in Tsopta Valley, elevation 4,100 meters (about 13,500 feet).

The sensitive border situation with Tibet/China and a plethora of military installations are the cause for all the permits required to travel anywhere of interest in Sikkim.

Thankfully, most of the permits are free and arranged via tour operators.

Guide close at hand, we walked a little further up the road which lead north through the valley to Tibet.

Large military vehicles were constantly rumbling by us, along with the occasional jeep of Indian tourists who were allowed to visit a lake 30km to the northwest. I was ecstatic to be so high up.

There was a distinct change in the terrain at that altitude, and to our west we could catch glimpses of Sikkim's Himalayan peaks.

The southern border of Tibet was a mere 20km north of us.

After enjoying ourselves, breakfast was consumed and we were back in the jeep, backtracking a few hours before heading north again toward another valley to the east.

Our driver made a stop for gas, and as he began to pull back onto the road, ran over a large rock which had probably been used as a brake behind the tire of the last jeep to stop there.

The jeep was now stuck in first gear due to a broken clutch.

We puttered our way back to nearby Chungthang where several hours were spent trying to fix the problem.

As darkness approached, our guide who was clearly stressed out, found a jeep to take us the relatively short 20km to Lachung (elevation 2,900 meters).

Unfortunately, the only jeep we were able to get was a piece of crap. The hood was raised so it could be started, and the right side mirror was non-existent.

The young guy driving was the owner of the jeep, and I felt he was going too fast, and not paying enough attention.

At one point, after dark, he was changing the music on his cell phone while we careening along the precipitous edges of cliffs.

I had a distraught and tense look on my face the whole time.

Once settled into our rooms, I let off some steam about how angry I was at the situation I had allowed myself to be put in.

I didn't feel safe, and even our guide said at that point that there was a moment when he was scared.

Natalie and Cameron mentioned that there were fumes from the engine coming through the dashboard.

Eventually, I regained my composure with the help of a beer.

There was a delay in getting the necessary permits for the jeep tour north so we ended up leaving an hour late.Then, a little ways outside of Gangtok, we stopped at a scenic outlook for 30 minutes though clouds hid the mountains of interest.We left a stop at Phodong Monastery for the ride back so as not to lose further daylight.None of us were interested in riding around on the steep, rough, and sometimes wet mountain roads at night.

Along the way, we crossed bridges strewn with colorful prayer flags, rows of bamboo poles bearing vertical white prayer flags (planted when someone dies), gigantic waterfalls, and a zillion BRO signs. My favorite reads " Ever wondered who defied death to build these roads? BRO that leads the way."? Many of them rhyme, and they all bear swastikas. In fact, Project Swastik is the name associated with a road construction plan. By the time I left Sikkim, I felt the road workers deserved as much credit and attention as all the signs provided.

In addition to a sense of pride in road building efforts, Sikkim's government clearly wants visitors to know it is dedicated to the environment. " Protect forests for survival of mankind"? is the state's green mission. Another sign said " forests have made us a beautiful people."? It is worth noting that Sikkim was an independent country until 1975.

As we continued our driving after lunch, we passed schoolchildren walking along the sides of the road. I couldn't imagine having to make such walks every day, especially in the rainy season when roads are often closed due to landslides.

We drove for 30-45 minutes in the dark before arriving in Lachen (elevation 2,775 meters) for the night. I had occupied the front seat for 5 of the 7 hours we were on the road, and had felt increasingly confident in our driver. Still, it was a relief to exit the jeep as it had been a long day. After a delicious dinner, we all hit the hay.

The jeep ride to Tsomgo Lake took a little less than two hours thanks to our fast driver who thought nothing of overtaking other jeeps along the precipitous mountain roads. As we gained altitude, we began to literally drive through clouds. The air temperature became noticeably colder.

We passed landslide zones, stopped at a big waterfall (where I bought a cowboy hat for the yak ride), and soon arrived at the holy high-altitude Tsomgo Lake.

My first order of business was a yak ride. I had gone on about it so much in the preceding days, I think Cameron was going to get a bigger kick out of watching me on one then seeing the lake itself. Natalie joined me for the 10-minute plod along the barely visible lake's shore. I found the ride to be quite comfortable. It helped that there was a saddle I'm sure. Every now and then the handler would whack the yak with a wooden stick, which seemed unnecessary.

After the yak rides, our guide let us hike up a steep, muddy hill opposite the lake. The fog had begun to clear, exposing the little lake (1km in length) and snow along the opposite bank. When it began to rain steadily, we headed down to a small restaurant where Tibetan momos (dumplings), instant noodles, and small cups of chai (tea) were consumed. I used some of the freshly made green chili sauce and felt a burn on my tongue equivalent to anything I felt in Sichuan (except the hot pot).

Before I knew it, we were heading back down to Gangtok. Halfway down, and once the rain was behind us, we took a rest break so the driver could pour water on the tires and brakes to cool them down. We dined at a popular Indian restaurant along the pedestrian mall before packing up for our multi-day tour of two northern valleys.

Bonus Video

After breakfast, Natalie and I stepped outside of our hotel's restaurant to a procession of monks and lay people descending Tibet Road in celebration of Buddha's birthday. We made our way to Mahatma Gandhi Marg, the pedestrian-only road which marks the center of city life (at least as far as tourists are concerned). The quiet road was a much-appreciated oasis after the incessant honking jeeps of Darjeeling.

Clouds began to approach in the early afternoon so we took shelter in Bakers Cafe, which had all the hallmarks of a western-styled cafe (including a tasty cappuccino, my first in months). We used the time to get to know each other a little better. I admired Natalie's willingness to take on long term travel in India (and unexpectedly, Nepal) as a single woman.

When the rain let up, we made our way back to the hotel restaurant where Cameron was hanging out (we had planned to meet him there sometime that afternoon). We began to discuss the sightseeing options along with Dave (Australian) whom Natalie and I had met earlier. I wanted to see Tsomgo Lake which sat at an altitude of 3,800 meters. I was sold by two factors, reaching a new high in terms of altitude and the chance to go for a yak ride. Natalie was eager to seen snow-capped mountains and thus wanted to do a multi-day jeep tour of the north.

We found a tour agency on the pedestrian road that afternoon which managed to obtain our permits for the lake trip on short notice, thus allowing us to head there the next day. We also shared our intention to book a 3-day/2-night jeep tour of the north through them for the day after. Our plans settled, we enjoyed a cozy dinner at Tangerine, overlooking the Himalaya at sunset.

Sarah is traveling around the world as I am, and her time in Asia was wrapping up in Darjeeling while I was ready to bust up to Sikkim for closer Himalayan views. Cameron would stay with Sarah through her last night, while Natalie joined me in a share jeep a day earlier for the four-hour mountainous drive to Sikkim's capital, Gangtok.

We occupied the back seat of the jeep, though it wasn't overly crowded. After a few hours, we made our first stop, which lasted thirty minutes. Oddly, it seemed to be more for the purpose of washing the jeep then allowing the passengers some rest.

Once on the road again, we reached the border between West Bengal and Sikkim just as it began to rain. It was the first time I've had to cross an official border within a single country. Natalie and I hopped out of the jeep which was sprayed with a chemical, and stopped into the foreigner's office to show our passports and permits.

As we continued to drive, Natalie would doze off listening to her Ipod while I was confounded by road signs bearing the acronym BRO. The signs had the air of propaganda, and seemed to be centered around roads and driving safety. Later, I would find out BRO is short for Border Roads Organization.

We arrived in Gangtok around 6pm. After a quick look at some dreary rooms on Tibet Road (historically, part of the trade route which literally lead north to Tibet), we settled on The New Modern Central Lodge which had a ground floor restaurant perfect for meeting other backpackers (just like The Lonely Planet said, of course). Unfortunately, our room had no windows, though at $3.75 a night (split between two people), it was hard to complain. On the way to drop off some laundry, we caught a glimpse of Mt. Kanchengjunga at sunset.

We grabbed dinner in a hotel restaurant overlooking the main pedestrian mall which was filled with Indian tourists strolling around in the cool evening.

Tiger Hill is a thirty minute jeep ride south of Darjeeling, at a higher altitude of about 2,600 meters. It is a popular place to watch the sun rise over the Indian Himalaya, and specifically, Mt. Kanchenjunga. As it was the pre-monsoon season, clear views of the mountains were hard to come by, even in the early morning. I wasn't going out of my way to get up early for a Tiger Hill sunrise, though when the opportunity to share the experience (and cost) with Natalie, Sarah, and Cameron arose, I figured it was worth a try.

I met them at 4:45am in the morning. There was enough light for us to see cloud cover, yet we were hopeful it might break apart if we were patient. We had decided to leave a little later than the recommended time (4am) so we could enjoy a bit of extra sleep. We hired a jeep (about the only one left in Darjeeling) and made our way up the hill. As we neared the top, we ran into a massive parking lot of share jeeps. It appeared as though every Indian tourist in Darjeeling had decided to go up Tiger Hill that morning.

The clouds would not part for us, and we spent about thirty minutes peering down into the valley and snapping photos of Darjeeling. Meanwhile, a massive exodus of the Indian tourists lead to a noisy traffic jam down the hill. While we didn't see the sunrise, or the mountains, at least we avoided the traffic.

We had the jeep drop us off at the bottom of Tiger Hill, in the town of Ghoom (which also happened to be the turnaround point for the Darjeeing Railway joyride). We proceeded to walk back toward Darjeeling, visiting three or four Tibetan Buddhist monasteries along the way. As much as I enjoy Tibetan and Buddhist culture, the monasteries do start to run together after awhile.

The day after visiting the zoo I set my sights on a joyride on the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. I was up at 5:30am, out of bed by 7am, queued for a train ticket at the rail station around 7:30am, and enjoying breakfast at the popular cafe Glenary's by 8:30am. I received an email from Natalie stating she, Sarah, and Cameron just arrived in town.

At 11am, I paid for a taxi to take me back and forth for the necessary (and free) permit to enter Sikkim in a few days. The process of shuttling between two offices still took an hour but it was well worth the cost.

Around 12pm, I headed back down to the train station to await my turn on the World Heritage listed toy train. When the little locomotive pulled into the station and people began to disembark, I bumped into Natalie, Sarah and Cameron. It was nice to see familiar faces, and we made plans to meet later that evening at 6:30pm back at Glenary's (restaurant).

I jumped on the train and was immediately asked to switch seats by two separate Indian families. I agreed to both, moving from the front of the train to the last seat, however on the way back, it meant I had the absolute front seat (so I could watch the engineers and brakemen at work).

The little train took off, chugging parallel to the road I had taken up to Darjeeling. The train is over 100 years old, running along the side of mountains, so it doesn't move much faster than the people walking on the street. At first the train just seemed to be a noisy, pollution-spewing, antiquated mechanical contraption, however it's charms grew on me over the course of the ride. The views were fantastic, and riding the rails was a lot smoother than driving on the roads.

Good news...I'm alive and well in the sweltering heat of India.  :)

Since leaving Darjeeling, and a great little internet cafe with lightning fast broadband, I've been left adrift from quality internet connections and computers from which to upload my latest photos and stories.

I hope to get back on track in the next few days, with posts to include high altitude lakes and mountains in Sikkim, entry into the "real" India with a 34-hour pilgrimage to Bodhgaya, and later Sarnath outside the holy Hindu city of Varanasi (along the Ganges), the Taj Mahal, and more.

At 8,586 meters, Mt. Kanchenjunga is the world's third highest mountain, and only 10-20 meters behind K2 in Pakistan for second place. Spending additional time in the shadow of the Himalaya was a big reason for my decision to enter India via Darjeeling.

On my second morning, I awoke around 5:30am, saw blue skies out of my window, and trucked it to the viewpoint on Observatory Hill, hoping to get my first glimpse of Mt. Kanchenjunga. As I walked, I noticed I was heading opposite most of the Tibetans and joggers on the path. I realized they were up early to circumambulate the stupas at the top of the hill. My motivation was reward with a fairly clear view of the Himalayan range. I enjoyed the view for a half hour or so, found a small cafe, and dined on porridge and Darjeeling tea before returning to my room for more quality time in bed.

I met Viet (American) later in the morning and we shared a taxi to the nearby Happy Vally tea plantation. We received a short tour of the factory, and had the opportunity to view some of the workers picking the leaves in the fields. To my surprise, we couldn't taste the tea, however I didn't let that stop me from buying a souvenir bag.

The next day I went to the zoo, which according to the map, while small (about 70 acres) is at the highest altitude in the world (about 7,000 feet). Before it rained, I caught a glimpse of a sneezing Indian tiger, and the elusive snow leopard.

The latter cat being well worth the price of admission. I was especially excited to see it after having read Peter Mathiessen's "The Snow Leopard" in Nepal. Normally the cats are lying around during the day, however the snow leopard put on a real show for us both before and after the rain shower. He was eating grass, jumping around, and practically posing in regal form for the cameras. It's a beautiful animal.

The zoo also had cloud leopards, black bears, Tibetan wolves, jackals, and yaks. While the variety of animals was small, they were all native to the Himalaya and therefore new to me.

I spent my first full day walking around Darjeeling.

Thankfully, the city center turned out to be smaller than I expected, however you're often either walking up or downhill given the city is on the ridge of a mountain.

While I was trying to find Observatory Hill, a lookout point topped with Hindu temples and Buddhist prayer flags, I met George and Lee (or Leigh perhaps) from the UK.

We found our way past the monkeys to the top of the hill, though there were so many trees and flags you couldn't see much from it (a lower path that runs around the hill has the actual lookout point).

Since they'd been in Darjeeling a week already, they wanted to taste and buy some tea before leaving the next day.

We each bought a small pot of a different kind at Goodricke's, House of Tea. We made plans to meet up later for dinner at a Tibetan restaurant nearby.

The sunset over the mountains that evening was amazing.

After dinner, I joined Viet and Richard (two guys we met at dinner) for a drink at Buzz, a bar in the basement of landmark bakery/restaurant/internet cafe Glenary's.

The cover band was awful, however I was up for a Kingfisher beer.

Unfortunately, they were all out, so I ended up with Foster's, while Richard opted for the ultra super strong (and I kid you not), He-Man 9000. Only in India!

Fully loaded, my share jeep held 12 people and 1 baby. I occupied a seat in the far back, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it allowed me to take in the beautiful valley views as we wound our way up the rough and narrow roads. The experience of sitting in the back of a jeep filled with Indian tourists heading to the same place as me was priceless, and far more comfortable than it sounds.

As we rose in elevation, the sun began to set. Soon we were passing plantations known for producing some of the best teas in the world! We arrived in central Darjeeling at 6:30pm, just late enough for it to be dark and cool. A guy was standing right near me when I whipped out my Lonely Planet to orient myself. The map looked like a maze of criss-crossing roads. Given the late hour, colder temperature, and higher elevation, I opted to check out the guy's hotel, even if it would cost me a bit extra.

It only took a few steps up a steep gradient for me to feel the effects of the higher altitude. I was breathing harder and could feel my heart pounding. Hotel Polynia turned out to be in Lonely Planet's listing under the midrange accommodations. I had a giant room with a king size bed on the top floor, plus a private bath and plenty of western cable TV channels.

For dinner, I ordered some plain rice and a pot of Darjeeling tea to my room. While flipping through the channels I found both of the live (and decisive) matches for the English Premier League's 2008 season. Reception was better on the Chelsea game, however it would be Manchester United's night to reign supreme.

Finally, after all the stories and questions, I was in India. Cold India. I went to sleep under three thick blankets.