Blog - Go Backpacking

Three's Company

By the conclusion of my second night, it was clear I was turning into a vampire. I would emerge from my bungalow later and later each day. After riggling around in bed for a bit, I'd open the door and lounge on my porch for awhile longer before getting up the energy to either go for a swim or find a cool place for lunch.

My sense of loneliness which had dogged me the first two weeks in Thailand faded away after meeting a bunch of people the first night, and Warren the second. All along, I'd kept in contact with Steve who was counting down the days until he too departed India for Thailand. I continued to entice him to the Full Moon Party by relaying my nightly tales of intoxicated adventure.

My theory is why mess with success so I grabbed a beer at the Mountain Bar for sunset. After a few minutes of admiring the view, or reading, maybe both, I joined a few girls nearby. Maura and Laura were Irish, giving me the opportunity to relay my love of their country (at least what I remember from a 2-week tour there 10 years ago).

After talking for awhile, they posed for a photo so I could earn another $10, and we headed down to the beach. It was their first night, so we took in the usual sights of fire jump rope at the Drop In bar, and well, who knows what else. I'd dispensed with taking the camera below the Mountain Bar. It was getting in the way when I was dancing like a fool in the sand.

Beach Party 2 - Electric Boogaloo

My first full day on Haad Rin was spent recovering from my first night. I poked around town, tested out some WiFi options in a pizza place and ice cream shop, and basically did nothing. As the afternoon rolled on, the beach filled up with people, though it was by no means crowded.

Around sunset, I descended upon the Mellow Mountain Bar for a Singha. I saw a guy who seemed to be on his own, and ventured to strike up a conversation. Warren was an engineering student and part time DJ from Cape Town, South Africa. He was feeling a bit down and out, I think, as his girlfriend with whom he'd been traveling in Thailand had already headed home.

We continued to talk over a second beer, and headed down to the beach at nightfall. Since he was only on the island for one night, he wanted to have fun. I was dying to puff some flavored tobacco from a hookah, so we set up camp and watched some fire dancers as more and more people filtered onto the beach.

As Warren didn't want to get a room for just one night, I offered him my porch, which he used for a few hours sleep before catching the first ferry off the island, the start of a long journey back to Cape Town.

A few months ago, I was all but sure I'd make it to South Africa, however as my money wanes, so too does my belief that I'll make it there. My current thinking is when it comes time to leave Southeast Asia, head for The Middle East - Dubai, or Cairo, depending on airfare.

If by some chance I do make it to Cape Town though, besides cage diving with Great White sharks, I have a new friend who offered to help show me around!

Interview With Travel Writer Thomas Kohnstamm

My first beach read in Thailand was Do Travel Writers Go To Hell?

I thoroughly enjoyed the book and sent American author Thomas Kohnstamm a message through his website to let him know.

As a result of his considerate response (and kind visit to this blog), I thought a short Q&A might help spread the word.

GoBackpacking: The book's plot relies on your openness regarding salacious one night stands and alcohol/drug use. How did family, friends, and peers react when it was published?

TK: My mom didn't care for all of the drinking stories. My girlfriend didn't care for all of the sex stories. My father couldn't have been more proud.

Seriously though, it was hard to be open and honest about some of the less savory details... therefore I did not share the manuscript with any friends or family while I was working on it.

Otherwise, I probably would have shied away from discussing certain aspects.

GoBackpacking: One reviewer likened your writing style to that of Hunter S. Thompson. Do you consider him an influence?

TK: I think that Thompson is a thematic influence. I have a lot of respect for him but have only read a few of his books. In terms of the actual writing style, I spent a lot more time reading and studying the techniques of Charles Bukowski.

GoBackpacking: Upon reading your book, why should travelers continue to trust the information presented by companies such as The Lonely Planet, especially as it relates to accommodations, restaurants, and nightlife?

TK: My point is that guidebooks are inherently subjective and somewhat arbitrary and therefore should not be treated as "The Travelers' Bible" or the singular and correct approach to a destination.

Guidebooks are still useful for recommendations, but I would argue that you will always be let down if you rely exclusively on a single source for information - when traveling, reading the news, etc.

GoBackpacking: In addition to keeping notes for the guidebook, did you also keep a personal journal while traveling in Brazil? What purpose did it serve you at the time?

TK: I kept a bit of a journal - albeit an uneven one. I wrote basic observations on my laptop and recorded all sorts of details and factoids.

I am fortunate to have a really good memory, so I rely primarily on my memory for my impressions of a place. I find that it is best to wait a while and be away from a place before I write about it.

GoBackpacking: Earlier in the year, The Lonely Planet began to make individual guidebook chapters available for download over the Internet. Do you foresee a time when handheld devices and increasingly small, WiFi-enabled laptops render paper guidebooks obsolete?

TK: Sure. It's already happening in cities in North America, Western Europe, and East Asia. I think that we are going to need better global wi-fi coverage and plans before it happens in developing countries too.

I am sure that there'll be some sort of a backlash though - a low tech travel movement or something along those lines.

Such technology will be efficient and highly useful, but the old sense of "getting away from it all" will become increasingly hard to find.

GoBackpacking: Do you have any advice for how aspiring travel writers can get their foot in the door with guidebook companies? Does working at company's such as The Lonely Planet or Rough Guides make it any easier to establish relationships with other print or online media organizations?

TK: Writing is one of those random careers that have no established path.

Having some writing experience and a lot of travel experience (especially concentrated experience in a single region or country) will probably help to get your foot in the door with a guidebook company.

It never hurts to have a contact who already works there and can pass along your resume and a writing sample.

Luck, timing, and mastery of a foreign language all help too.

I don't think that a relationship with a guidebook company will necessarily open doors for you in other media.

However, guidebook research does give you lots of additional travel experience (if not regional expertise), which, in itself, can be parlayed into travel writing assignments.

Do Travel Writers Go To Hell? is available on Amazon.com.

Fun With Fire On Haad Rin

After settling into my mellow mountain bungalow, I stopped in at the Mountain Bar below for a Singha (Thai beer) around sunset. In an effort to start meeting people before the big party, I joined Molly and Sarah, two Australian girls from Perth. After talking for an hour or so, we split off and I grabbed dinner at a restaurant in town which was screening Green Street Hooligans.

Almost every restaurant in Haad Rin has at least one big LCD television with surround sound, and they screen movies from early afternoon through the evening. Usual suspects (during my visit) included Anchorman, The Beach, Transformers, and Indiana Jones 4. Meanwhile, other restaurants' entertainment subsists solely on endless reruns of Friends, The Family Guy, and The Simpsons. But you'll never see The Family Guy screened in a restaurant known for playing Friends (or vice versa).

After dinner, I followed the increasingly loud music to the Drop In bar on the south end of the beach. I watched guys and girls jump a burning rope. Plenty of people would fall over or get hit by the fiery rope, yet aside from a quick dance, dip or duck to get away from the heat, they all seemed no worse for the wear.

The fire jump rope soon gave way to a fire hoop which people began to dive through. Every now and then, someone would trip up, fall, and scatter away from the blazing ring. The Thai guys managing these activities were always quick to react to such inevitabilities. After 8 months of traveling, I felt no need to take part in these tribal games. I was in good company as there were far more spectators than participants.

More than the tourist-driven stunts, I enjoyed the amazingly skillful shows put on by the fire dancers (twirlers, artists, or whatever they're called). I was usually sitting close enough to wonder what horrific scene would unfold if a fiery staff were to suddenly slip from sweaty hands and spear me in the chest. I admired them all the more for allowing me to experience their skills without such an outcome.

The Cactus Bar had the only fire high jump on the beach. Whoever could jump the highest without knocking down the pole would win a beer. Near the top setting, the pole was at least as high as my neck, maybe 4.5-5 feet off the sand. At that point, only the guys who could do a proper forward dive and roll were able to compete. As I watched the spectacle unfold, with as usual, the plenty of guys tripping up on the flames, I wondered how it was that people didn't break their necks more often, seeing as how they're hurdling their drunken bodies head first over the flames.

I met a few Israelis and an Irish guy on the beach, finally retiring around 2am. The psy-trance music from the Zoom bar was booming until sunrise at 6am, as I soon came to learn, it would every night.

Island Hop - Koh Samui To Koh Phangan

The ferry from Koh Samui to Koh Phangan — Ferry to Koh Phangan

After a week on Koh Samui's busy and beautiful Chaweng Beach, I checked out of The Sands Resort bungalow, got picked up in an air-conditioned van, and transferred to the pier.

We had a 20-30 minute wait, then walked the warped wooden planks to the awaiting ferry from Koh Samui to Koh Phangan.

The surroundings were gorgeous - sparkling waters and lush green hills.

We set off. A boat full of the young and attractive - barely a family, kid, or older person from Koh Samui.

Petite women had rolling suitcases heavier than themselves.

The wind felt great as we cruised the 50 minutes to Koh Phangan.

Unlike my ferry to Koh Samui, we arrived directly at the main pier on Sunset Beach, which is a few minutes' walk from Sunrise Beach, where the monthly Full Moon Parties are held.

The young, the beautiful, and the heavily luggaged — Ferry

I asked a couple of guys walking on the street for a hotel suggestion.

They were sleeping at Mellow Mountain Bungalows at the far north end of the beach.

Along the way there, I sweltered on the beach, stopping at various resorts - all too costly, though a $30/night place tempted me.

View of Haad Rin from my bungalow — View from my bungalow

I ended up taking the mountain bungalow because it had a porch view of the beach.

It is probably not the best view as there are some trees in the way, but it offered some privacy in exchange.

Kayaking Ang Thong National Marine Park

The real life inspiration for the beach in Alex Garland's novel, " The Beach,"? is part of the Ang Thong National Marine Park. As I was finding the cost of living noticeably higher in Thailand than Nepal or India, I decided to adopt a more prudent approach to my sightseeing. In other words, Mr. Ung's jungle tour stringing together a bunch of small sights was out, and a day of sea kayaking was in.

I was picked up in a nicely air-conditioned van and shuttled to the pier where we boarded our big boat for the day. Our tour leader was the burly, tattooed Angus, wearing a Sex Pistols t-shirt. Later, we'd learn he'd been living in Thailand for the last 18 years. I sat with a group of young South African guys. We had a small group, just a few more people than the minimum required to set sail, but not enough to feel like it was crowded, or would require us to take turns with the kayaks.

After two hours of cruising to the northern end of the archipelago, we set down anchor and jumped in the kayaks. I paired up with the only other single traveler on board, an older German man. We followed Angus' lead and weaved our way in and out of the limestone islands. The water was quite calm, which made the paddling feel almost effortless at times. After 45 minutes in the water, we got back on the boat and started immediately jumping off the second level. The South Africans went a step further, gaining an extra meter or two by climbing on the roof, but I had visions of falling off so I kept my efforts low key.

As we ate a tasty buffet lunch including chicken and vegetable curries, we motored our way south through the islands, anchoring at the beach entrance to Talay Nai (the lagoon within the mountains) a green salt water lake on one of the islands. It was a short walk up some steep stairs to get there, but the the views of the lake and surrounding islands were wonderful.

When we returned to the beach, the crowds from other boats had left and we had it to ourselves. We lounged in the water for awhile before taking the kayaks out for a second paddle. On the second trip it felt like we covered more distance, and I started to feel a bit worn out from the paddling. We took a few more leaps from the boat and returned to Kho Samui.

Chaweng Beach Life

I dedicated my first full day on Kho Samui to exploring Chaweng, writing, and reading " Do Travel Writers Go To Hell"? by Thomas Kohnstamm, a book I came across in Bangkok. Published earlier in the year, it chronicles the experiences of a first-time writer for Lonely Planet on assignment in Brazil.

The beach was perfect, soft white sand, multi-colored water with light green in the shallows, and turquoise fading into darker shades of blue near the sections of reef. It was far cleaner than what I saw on Kuta, Bali, and the Thai people in town were much more laid back in regard to trying to sell tourists on tailored suits and taxi rides.

In the early evening, I went for a sunset walk minus the sun (which sets on the opposite end of the island), drank a Singha (Thai beer), and read some more while comfortably lounging on one of the free beach chairs. It felt like I was in a Corona commercial. I then followed the electronic music to Ark's for dinner on the beach. I had a delicious tuna steak with baked potato and salad.

Wanting to save the end of my book for another day, I joined a few Dutch girls at an adjacent table. They were spending a month in Thailand, and like me (and thousands more), headed to Kho Phagnan for the July 19^th Full Moon Party. We talked over a few drinks, and as it got dark, more and more kids came around selling Styrofoam and flower leis, games of Connect Four, and various other novelty items.

Lanterns began to drift into the sky in the distance, and I was all about lighting one (having first seen them in " The Beach"?). I wrote all three of our names on it, along with a flower, butterfly, and peace symbol, made a wish, and lit it up. Fireworks were shot off intermittently, adding to the wonderful all-around vibe and experience. The girls were staying at a different beach, and interested to check out one of the big dance clubs so we fought our way through the gauntlet of Thai prostitutes to The Green Mango, which filled up around 1am. After a bit of dancing, and a late night stop at McDonald's, we called it a night.

Bye Bye Bangkok, Hello Koh Samui

I took an overnight, double-decker bus filled with backpackers from Bangkok to Surat Thani.

The bus-ferry combination was $14, half the cost of the train-ferry option, and more readily available, so I went with it.

I got a few hours of sleep during the ride. I found the provided blankets necessary given the air-conditioning, which was kept cranked up the whole way.

I was sitting next to a nice Australian woman who was previously mistaken for a ladyboy by a drunk old white guy while waiting to be shown to the bus from Khao San road.

I witnessed the awkward exchange and felt bad for her.

Backpackers bound for Phuket — Lots of backpackers

Around 6 am, eleven hours after we began our journey, the bus dumped us off at a small outdoor cafe.

The cafe was a staging ground for people to be shuttled to various connections depending on their ultimate island destination.

After watching someone ride off on the back of a scooter, and a gaggle of people headed for Phuket pack into a pick-up, a giant luxury bus pulled up for those of us headed to Koh Samui.

I grabbed a seat in the lower-level lounge, which was fit for a rock star.

What I expected to be a short ride turned into another hour of driving. Along the way, we filled up the bus with more of the Koh Samui bound.

The bus pulled right onto the pier, so it was only a few steps to the waiting ferry. Another one and a half hours later, the ferry stopped at Koh Samui.

My bungalow on Kho Samui — Bungalow on Chaweng Beach

Next, it was into the back of one of the modified pick-ups with the bench seating. These cool contraptions are the cheapest way to shuttle yourself around on the islands.

Air-conditioned taxis are too costly, and I have no intention of learning how to ride a scooter after seeing the walking wounded upon arrival in Bangkok.

I hopped off at Chaweng Beach, the busiest area on the island.

I found a bungalow along one of the beach access roads, dropped off my stuff in the room, and before checking in, walked out to the water for my first view of a Thai beach.

It was truly picture-perfect.

Dare #12, Completed? - Vindaloo Consumption (In India)

From Jeff:

I dare you to eat an Indian dish called Vindaloo in India.

Reward: $10

_____________________________

As my journeys in India have already come to a close, you might be wondering why I'm just now touching on the vindaloo dare.

My attempts to find the fiery curry dish from Goa towards the end of my trip ended in vain, and my ego wouldn't let it go.

The rooftop train failure I could handle, not trying a spicy curry I couldn't.

Backtracking to India, I received the dare while in northern McLeod Ganj, a Tibetan community more apt to offer Italian food (inextricably), momo's and standard Indian fare than a regional dish like vindaloo.

When I mentioned the dare to Marie, she said it was a dish that men ate in England after drinking to prove their manliness.

Apparently it was hotter than hell, and I was a bit relieved I couldn't find it right off the bat.

Surely Delhi, capital of India, would proffer such a feisty dish.My attempt to get a restaurant referral from a street hustler crashed and burned, and I was running out of time to hit the pavement around Connaught, so I mentioned the dare to Neil and his wife, who both offered to help me win the bet (to my great appreciation).

The clock was ticking.On my last night, we found a Goan joint in a Delhi restaurant guide.

Neil drove us over to the popular marketplace which he use to visit regularly with his mom.

Stalls offfered souvenirs and there was a food court with restaurants representing all of the regional cuisines of India.

The only problem was we were informed the Goan place closed shop.

Apparently vindaloo wasn't so popular in the big city. I was bummed, but Neil still took me to a great Italian place, The Big Chill, where I devoured some risotto and chocolate cake as my last supper on the Indian subcontinent.

The first Indian restaurant I spotted around Khao San served vindaloo.

I ordered a beer to build nerve, a 1.5 liter bottle of water to soothe my tongue, and the chicken vindaloo.

It arrived quickly and I dug in only to find it mildly hot. Clearly, the mighty English would not prove their manhood with such a dish. It had been dumbed down for tourists.

I vowed to return and explicitly request an intenser heat, but I ran across another restaurant first, and decided to make my last stand. I didn't know what awaited me on the islands, so it was now or never.

I told the waiter my plight for intensely hot vindaloo. We understood each other.

I skipped the beer this time, simply ensuring the water was readily available, along with a cooling dish of cucumber raita (yogurt).

I'm happy to report the curry was very hot. When I swallowed the green peppers, it sharply burned my throat.

My tongue, and to a lesser extent, my lips, felt hot for a good 10-15 minutes. I quietly hoped I didn't just sabotage my overnight bus ride.

Since I didn't pass out from the heat, or consume the dish in India, I am leaving judgment on this one to Jeff.

Bonus Video

Chatuchak Weekend Market And Siam Paragon

I figured to be a day or two from leaving the big city for weeks of island-hopping in the south, so I took advantage of the weekend by visiting the Chatuchack Market via the modern, elevated Skytrain. As was increasingly apparent, the Thais love their air-conditioning cold.

The market was massive, selling everything from sharks to furniture. I walked around for an hour, mostly in search of a scorpion on a stick so as to satisfy another dare, and my ego. I found a few street carts selling bugs, crickets or grasshoppers, worms, big roaches, and most disturbingly, little birds. Sober, and without peer pressure and a potential monetary payoff, I couldn't bring myself to try such treats.

Seeing piles of the critters up close under the hot sun did not make the idea of eating a large, crunchy scorpion any more appealing. It did make me realize if I do find scorpions, I won't be able to eat them without a few beers in me, and even then there's a good chance I'll have a hell of a time choking it down.

The heat wore on me and I decided to check out one of Bangkok's malls. Siam Paragon was along my return Skytrain route so I hopped off and admired the majestic exterior. The lobby, with it's multi-storey waterfalls, glass elevators, and foliage was quite a site. Further inside, luxury retail shops far out of the price ranges of most mere mortals, lined the halls.

I went to the top level, hoping Indiana Jones was still playing. I had missed it, but Steve Carrell is a favorite of mine and I opted for " Get Smart."? Did I mention the lobby of the movie theater was really cool? The ticket cost $19, which was a bit shocking, but I went with it. The saleswoman told me to pick my seat from a display of the theater layout on a flat computer monitor. I asked her which one was good, and she confidently replied " all of them."?

Ticket in hand, I walked toward the metal detector which guarded the entrance to the theaters. The usher pointed me further down though, to a separate entrance, minus a metal detector. I started to walk toward the #2 theater when a woman ushered me over to a dimly lit lounge.

The theater wasn't opening for another ten minutes however I was free to order a cocktail. " When in Rome,"? I thought, and asked for a gin and tonic. Several other people were enjoying the supplied massage chairs in the area. A few sips after the drink had arrived, I paid and was walked to my seat in the theater.

I hadn't realized it at the time, but " Get Smart"? was playing in one of four luxury Nokia theaters, thus the special treatment. The theater and screen were as big as many in the USA, yet instead of watching amidst a sea of people, it felt like I was in the private theater of a football star on an episode of MTV's " Cribs."?

I settled into my leather seat, tapping the electronic reclining control until I was nearly horizontal. It was ultra-quiet so adjustments during the movie were a non-issue. I sipped my drink, covered myself in the supplied blanket, and rested my head on the pillow. The movie itself was cute, and I needed the good laughs it supplied. I knew the bathroom would be worth a look, so I snuck out when needed and sure enough, it was a bathroom fit for us VIP's who need a drink before our movie and can be trusted not to carry weaponry to the mall.

Dare #9, Completed - Motorcycle Mayhem

#9 - From Dan:

Looks like you're running low on dares. Now that you're in China I dare you to ride a scooter (as a passenger or driver) down a ridiculously crowded street. Just like in the pictures.

Seems to me you could do this in either China or India, but you can do it where ever you have time/motivation.

Provide photographic evidence and your compensation will be $25 plus rental fee if you have to rent to complete your task. I'll up the winnings if the street is REALLY crowded.

Reward: $25+

Status: Completed

After a few days in Bangkok without meeting anyone, I was starting to feel like my bang-up start was more like a bust.

I was feeling lonely.Invariably, I've found this happens when I have the highest expectations for socializing.

Then, when I'm asleep at the wheel, I end up meeting and hanging out with cool people.

To entertain myself, and hopefully earn a few bucks, I took on Dan's dare.

My friend Charlie in Chengdu had a motorcycle, but it was broken at the time I was staying with him.

After a mentally traumatic mini-scooter accident when I was a kid at day camp, I lost any desire to ride motorized bikes.

I prefer to be encased in metal, especially after seeing the way people drive in India.

Motorcycle taxis are commonplace in Thailand, so I hired one for a loop around Democracy Monument near Khao San.

It took a little translation support to ensure the driver knew what I wanted, and he delivered in great fashion.

Surely agreeing to what was likely a generous overpayment didn't hurt.

Unlike paragliding, taking photos and video on the back of a bike was a breeze.

I'm sure it would've been a dirtier, dustier, bumpier affair in India or Nepal, but there was plenty of traffic which we weaved in and out of at red lights.

It turned out to be a memorable experience which helped to lift my mood.

Bonus Video

Wat Pho's Reclining Buddha

I knew Buddha burnout was an occupational risk of delving into the world of Buddhist culture as early as Hong Kong, yet Wat Pho (wat=temple-monastery) held the 46-meter reclining Buddha I think was featured in and early scene from " The Beach,"? or at least a photo from the back sleeve of the movie soundtrack's CD which I'd been using to motivate me for years and carrying around with me for the last 7 months.

Soon after deciding to save for a trip around the world, I taped it up in my apartment where I could see it every day. Besides the track listing, there was a photo of the three main characters right before they swim to the secret island, and the giant golden reclining Buddha with Mr. DiCaprio leaning against the legs. Whether or not it was the same Buddha didn't matter to me at that point. I felt like taking my CD insert there was a final vindication of my master plan. I did it, and still had many more months to keep living the dream.

PS - I'm still carrying around that insert. Makes for a nice bookmark!

The Grand Palace And The Emerald Buddha Temple

On my second day in Bangkok, I took my first Thai tuk-tuk ride to the starting point of a walking tour suggested in my guidebook as the one I did in Kathmandu turned out to be a pleasant surprise. My first stop was the white-walled Grand Palace and Emerald Buddha Temple.

warning

Before I reached the main gate, a guy who appeared to be guarding a non-tourist entrance struck up a conversation with me. He seemed friendly, indicating the sight was closed for a few hours due to a ceremony for a relative of the king who had died earlier in the year. I can't recall if he tried to sell me on transport or an alternative at that point, but I headed onward toward the main gate where a sign clearly warned tourists not to trust " wily strangers."? And of course my guidebook was plastered with warnings (as usual) not to trust people who say a hotel, sight, temple or whatever is closed or under repair. The Thai scam is to sell you on some alternate, short-term form of sightseeing whereby the guy will earn a commission, thus allowing you to return to your original sight of interest later. Later, I'd find out it was just a small section inside which was closed to tourists.

Statues

Once inside the complex, I was blown away by the beautiful Thai architecture. I'd seen a glimpse of the unique style in Bodhgaya, and it was in full effect around the Palace and Temple. The facades of the buildings and statues were covered in small colored tiles, many of them mirrored. They formed massive mosaics which sparkled and shined in the sunlight. When people ask me if I miss home or whether it is hard to travel for such a long time all at once, I tend to reflect on moments like these and always respond " nope!"?

The Emerald Buddha is actually made of jade, and the little guy sits atop a stunningly ornate golden altar. No photography is allowed inside the temple, however visitors did have room to sit on the floor and admire the interior decorations.

Back outside, everyone was taking photos like mad. I can't recall the last time I was at a site and saw so many tour groups. I relished my independence. I rarely remember the facts thrown out by guides. Usually, I'd rather simply remember the sense of amazement I feel when seeing a special sight for the first time.

Culture Shock

What a difference a 4.5 hour flight can make in one's travel experience. On my taxi ride to the Delhi airport, the driver had the gall to try and sell me on a trip to a rug shop even as I was clearly leaving the country. I shut him down immediately, I could be good-humored about it, seeing as how I was literally leaving the country in a few hours.

The service on the THAI flight was awesome, the airport was efficient (if not practically empty), and the express bus one of the nicest I'd ever ridden. Seeing a skyline filled with high rise office buildings, multi-lane highways packed with cars, and not a bicycle rickshaw or wayward cow in sight made me realize how I'd adopted life in India as my personal reality. Not that I ever fully managed to accept cows eating trash in the streets as routine.

My first day in Bangkok was dedicated to doing nothing. The luxury of a full vacation day dedicated to nothing right from the start of entering a new country will be unique to this trip. In the future, I imagine typical 1-2 week American holidays will require compressed schedules necessitating a running start to intercontinental travel. In the here and now, I purposefully chill out on my first day in a new country. It has served me well so far, and I relish the observations made on my first day in Thailand.

7-11's are everywhere, stocking the desirable (and trendy) travel size toiletries, snacks, ice cream, and so on. In Bangkok, they are also the temperature of blast freezers, creating welcome respites from the 90-degree heat. Restaurants and bars, at least around Khao San, have walls draped with large plasma televisions. I duck into one as a rain shower has the t-shirt vendors covering their merchandise with plastic tarps. I watch the parade of tourists, travelers, backpackers, and Thais walk by. I haven't seen so many white people in one place since Australia back in January. And after 7 weeks in India, where female tourists are almost always wearing full length skirts or pants, I couldn't help but take notice of all the girls wearing as little clothes as possible.

Touchdown In Bangkok

The plane set down early at the brand new Suvarnabhumi Airport, 30km east of the capital city. Walking through the cavernous, empty halls on my way to immigration, it was easy to tell the country was on top of their game with regard to meeting present and future transportation needs.

Because everyone and their mother seemed to have been to Thailand before me, I expected the infrastructure for tourists, travelers, backpackers, and desperate old men would make life infinitely easier than my past few months. The THAI flight, the new airport, and the luxurious express bus to Bangkok helped confirm that elementary hunch.

In the early evening, as traffic turned a 35-minute sprint into a 2-hour marathon bus ride (but a comfortable, air-conditioned one), light rain began to fall. I'd left the monsoon weather of India for the monsoon weather of Southeast Asia, however a few hours or days of rain at a time was a small deterrent to spending weeks at a time on the legendary, tropical islands of Thailand.

Practically the entire bus of backpackers disembarked at Th Khao San Road stop. The street I saw did not strike me as the epicenter of backpacking in SE Asia, if not the world. I ducked into a travel agency to help get my bearings. A few paces past the agency, a right turn around a corner, and I was at the western end of Khao San. The road was closed to automotive traffic save for a few taxis and tuk-tuks, which was good because a lot of people would get run over otherwise.

I began to walk through the gauntlet of cheap souvenir stalls, mini-bars, neon lights, and party people dining al fresco. It was early evening so the atmosphere was relaxed as Western women in short shorts shopped, deadlocked dudes listened to Bob Marley, and people wandered around feeding their faces with pad thai bought from street vendors. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.

After making a habit of arriving in new cities, countries, cultures, and environments for the past 7 months, I felt confident walking the distance of the road alone. Still, while trying to take in the sights, smells, and sounds, I didn't want to have that " fresh off the plane"? look. I don't know why. If there was ever a place to care less about having a 20-pound backpack strapped to your back with your eyes wide open, it was Khao San, where backpacking virgins and veterans have been arriving " fresh off the plane"? daily for decades.

My first choice of lodgings was full, which is typical when a place is listed in The Lonely Planet, though they referred me to a bigger hotel down a nearby soi (street) which suited me fine. I had a small, well-lit, quiet, fan room with an immaculately clean toilet/shower just off backpacker central in a capital city for $6/night.

The last few weeks in India, I had been daydreaming about spending my first night in Bangkok at a giant, modern dance club with loud house music and plenty of bars. Instead, I grabbed a cheeseburger and fries at the restaurant below my hotel and reasoned that I was too tired, and it was too rainy, for such endeavors.

Superstar Service On THAI Airways

My flight from Delhi to Bangkok was my 11^th in 7 months so it seems fitting that I received the best service to-date after paying my dues to the air gods.

The plane was my biggest of the trip, a Boeing 747 jumbo jet. I always loved the second level afforded to passengers on these planes, not that I'd ever spent time up there. Walking back to my requested window seat, which sat in the middle of the plane's gigantic wing (and thus affording little in the way of a view), my eyes lit up at all the space in cabin, especially the width of the seats and legroom.

I settled into my seat, thankful to yet again have no one sitting directly adjacent to me I began leafing through the airline's in-flight magazine, Sawasdee. In celebration of their 48^th year in operation, a feature article was dedicated to listing the " 48 most beautiful destinations across the globe."? Curious to see how I stacked up to the editors' list, I started checking off destinations I'd seen in life. Thanks to a family vacation (Grand Canyon), a post-collegiate summer in Europe (Sistine Chapel, Prague) and this trip (Taj Mahal, Fraser Island, The Remarkables, Golden Temple, Himalaya, Kathmandu Valley, Great Barrier Reef), I'd managed to see 35% of their list (with the hope of upping it to 58% by year's end). Of course it dawned on me that many of these places likely lie on a THAI Airways route, however it was still a fun exercise for my ego.

When I realized my earphones were broken while waiting at the Delhi airport, I felt annoyed at having to buy a third pair in less than two months, let alone spending the flight without my favorite tunes. THAI Airways solved the problem in the form of free ear bud headphones. Like the previous two cheap pairs I bought in India, they were far from the best, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Our 747 was airborne before I knew it, and complimentary drinks were being offered. I decided to take advantage of this arcane concept by imbibing two screwdrivers with my tasty chicken and rice lunch. Feeling on top of the world, and being there physically at 40,000 feet, I made productive use of the travel time (and lack of view) by writing about my final days in India.

Welcome To Thailand

It was around 7am when I settled on Ung's Magical Jungle Safari as my first activity of substance on Thailand's third largest island, Ko Samui. The glossy flier spoke of the same crocodile dens, waterfalls, genitalia-shaped rocks, and mummified monk as the others, yet it was the portrayal of carefree Western backpackers riding the roofs of jeeps through the jungle that won me over. I had gathered the pamphlets upon arrival at the popular and gorgeous Chaweng beach the day before.

I then surprised myself, sleeping for 15 straight hours without the aid of a single sip of alcohol. In retrospect, I needed to make up for more than just the 3 hours of sleep on the overnight bus ride from Bangkok to Surat Thani. I needed to make up for the lack of sleep my first 5 nights in Thailand.

Before the trials of India, the trek in Nepal, the modern Asian metropolises and even before the Kuta clubs on Bali, I'd been fantasizing about my travels to Thailand. I wanted to hit Bangkok with a bang! Maybe not the first night, but I imagined late nights in large dance clubs, drinking in the streets, meeting girls left and right, and getting my first taste of authentic pad thai.

Then reality slapped me in the face, but not before I enjoyed that first pad thai.

So lets rewind and review those first few days in Bangkok before heading off on Mr. Ung's undoubtedly adventurous jungle safari.

Final Thoughts, Incredible India

I had to see India for myself, and I am glad I did, but it was a challenge.

There were moments of awe like seeing the Taj Mahal for the first time, and moments of being utterly fed up with the incessant honking of car/jeep horns from Darjeeling to McLeod Ganj.

Why take on the heat, unsanitary conditions, noise, and unscrupulous hustlers?

To savor authentic Indian curries, enjoy the friendly offers of chai, see more of the Himalaya, and the spot where the Buddha became enlightened.

And while it might not be my next destination after this trip, the draw of exploring Goa, Bombay, Pushkar, Udaipur, the deserts of Rajhastan, and the high-altitude plateau of Buddhist Ladakh (to say the least) will remain with me.

Highlights -

the views on the share jeep ride to Darjeeling
drinking Darjeeling tea in Darjeeling
views of Mt. Kanchenjunga
riding the Himalayan Toy Train
seeing a snow leopard
hanging out with Natalie, Cameron and Sarah
share jeep ride to Gangtok, Sikkim
visiting Tsomgo Lake and riding a yak
3-day tour of north Sikkim
first overnight train ride in India
sitting under the Bodhi Tree in Bodhgaya
staying at the Tibetan Monastery
visiting Sarnath, where the Buddha gave his first teaching
walking along Varanasi's ghats at sunset
seeing and walking around the Taj Mahal
touring Agra Fort with Laura and Dan
watching kites being flown from the rooftops in Agra at sunset
arriving in McLeod Ganj

listening to a teaching by H.H. the Dalai Lama and seeing his eyes, smile, and wave up close and personal
reuniting with Steve and Marie
meeting Anastasia, Olga, Ron, Fred, and Ian
Tibetan cooking classes
4-day camping trek to 4,320-meter IndraharPass
trying Tibetan massage and acupuncture
open mic nights at Khana Nirvana
attending the public audience with the 17^th Karmapa
getting my first shave with a straight razor at a barbershop
celebrating Steve's 27^th birthday at Carpe Diem
walking around Amritsar's Golden Temple
witnessing the India-Pakistan border ceremony
early morning auto-rickshaw rides to the train station (Bodhgaya, Amritsar)
visiting Jama Masjid (mosque), Gandhi Memorial, and War Memorial in Delhi
metered rickshaws
meeting Neil and his family
watching the live Euro 2008 final at Regent's Blues
dining at world-renowned Bukhara
the air-conditioning at Delhi's airport
the sunsets

Lowlights -

overpaying for the majority of rickshaw and taxi rides
the constant need to ignore touts and hustlers (less of an issue in the Buddhist/mountain regions)
the crazy (scary) 20km jeep ride on the second night of the North Sikkim tour
coming face to face with the poor beggars, especially the children, disabled, and women carrying babies
the heat, especially in Bodhgaya and Varanasi
the necessary bed rest for the few days after my trek
my first failure to complete a dare (rooftop train ride)

Eating -

CHAI, chai, chai!!!!, Darjeeling/ginger/mint teas, paneer butter masala, malai kofta, butter naan, rice, momo's, eggs, scrambled/omelets/hard-boiled and toast, banana porridge

Playing with perspective in Agra — Taj Mahal

# of Nights Couchsurfing -

Displaying the Tibetan flag atop Indrahar Pass — Tibetan flag atop Indrahar Pass

Average Cost Per Day -

$43 (the lowest for me in any country so far)

Bird's eye view of a Delhi intersection — Delhi

Dare #11 - Failed - Ride The Roof Of An Indian Train

#11 - From Stefan:

Here's a new dare for $20take a ride on the roof of a train in India.

Reward: $20

Status: Failed

__________________________________

I must admit defeat with regard to this dare. I don't have a choice....the beaches of Thailand are calling.

I only saw people on a train rooftop once, and never saw the opportunity arise for anyone at the stations I visited. Maybe it's more common in the south, on local routes, or in more remote regions of the country.

India's War Memorial And Humayun's Tomb

Feeling on top of the world after my Bukhara experience, I forced myself to walk out of the luxurious Maurya Sheraton. I deferred to my taxi driver at this point, and he drove me around the President's house and government buildings. We then drove east toward India's War Memorial, a large arch in line with the President's home in much the same the White House and other memorials are laid out in Washington, DC.

My time running low, we headed to Humayun's Tomb, the precursor to the Taj Mahal. The complex on which it was situated necessitated an hour's time to wander around. In particular, I appreciated the recent restoration work of the gardens and water channels surrounding the main tomb as I found the vivid green setting beautiful, and pleasantly peaceful.

After touring the tomb, we drove past the Lotus Temple, which was unfortunately closed on Mondays. I asked to be dropped off at Nehru Place, a large shopping area within walking distance of Neil's house, and which seemed to be focused on computers and electronics. It was a bit rougher around the edges than the similar centers I'd visited in Hong Kong and Chengdu.

As I've seen all over the areas I've traveled in India, the poor seem to be able to sleep out in the open amidst the grime and crowds. When I was taking that early-morning rickshaw ride to the Amritsar train station a few days ago, I was surprised to see a lot of people simply sleeping on the concrete road medians.

I walked to Neil's house, though traffic delayed his arrival by more than an hour. Keen to complete a recently received dare (#12) to eat vindaloo in India, we set off in search of the intensely spicy Goan dish on my last night in the country.

I'll report on the results soon.

Bukhara, Delhi's Best Restaurant

For my last full day in Delhi and India, I spent an hour walking around Connaught Place.

The park in the middle of the big traffic/shopping circle is closed on Mondays, as were many other attractions.

I returned to the guest house where I splurged, hiring an air-conditioned car for the afternoon.

The first stop was lunch at Bukhara in the ITC Maurya Sheraton, a 5-star hotel amidst the Diplomatic Enclave.

Upon arrival in Delhi, I had Google'd "best restaurant in Delhi," and all links pointed to Bukhara.

A European food magazine listed it as one of the world's top 50 restaurants, and the best in Asia, in 2007.

The likes of Bill Clinton and Vladimir Putin dined there, and it was also listed in the book, "1,000 Places To See Before You Die."

Such a pedigree meant it was ripe for my visitation!

I was greeted outside the hotel by a traditionally dressed, well-mustached Indian man.

Upon entering the lobby, I noticed the beautiful ceiling mural, cool temperature, and amazing smell in the seating area.

As I was ushered to the restaurant, I could see a big pool and well-manicured garden.

The restaurant itself was immaculate, with a glass-enclosed kitchen so you could see the chefs at work.

There were a few other customers, though it felt like I had the place to myself.

Chapati with a green sauce and spiced onions were delivered as complimentary appetizers, along with my mineral water.

The copper water cups were cool. I ordered:

Murgh Malai Kabab, a creamy kabab of boneless chicken blended with cream cheese, malt vinegar, green chili, and coriander, grilled in the Tandoor oven
Mixed Raita (yogurt) with cucumber
Onion Kulcha, spicy cooked onion sandwiched between two pieces of naan-like bread
Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic, my favorite cocktail

All of the food was delicious. The chicken was the best I've had in months. I could barely finish it all.

The cloth napkins were mini-aprons, giving plenty of surface area for wiping my hands, given that the eating was done by hand.

The service was fantastic, and the ambiance was serene.

Going into the experience, I knew the price range, and there was no disappointment in this respect.

My lunch cost about $60, excluding the tip.

The funny thing was I was no more satiated after the meal than lots of other Indian dishes I enjoyed over the preceding seven weeks.

It reminded me I could be as delighted with a $2 malai kofta (potato/cheese dumpling in gravy) on the rooftop of humble Carpe Diem in McLeod Ganj as a fancy restaurant in a 5-star hotel.

Family Night

Neil, a lifelong Delhi resident, is the nephew of a woman who works at my parent's local bank branch. I met his Aunt while I was giving my mom permission to access my bank account. Apparently she'd taken an interest in my trip because she suggested I meet up with Neil while in Delhi.

He picked me up at Sunny's a few hours after my tour of Old Delhi. The car's air-conditioning was in full effect, and I immediately knew I was in for a rare hassle-free evening. Neil suggested a good head massage would help to relax me, so we headed toward the salon he and his wife frequent. We got to know each other during the ride, and I was thankful to be seeing more of the city given my limited time.

I was due for a shave, and after 20 minutes and one painful application of after shave later, my face felt as soft as a baby's bottom. The head massage with olive oil came next. At one point, the guy strapped a massage machine to his hand which caused his fingers, and in turn my scalp, to vibrate like crazy. Despite my lack of hair, I didn't protest Neil's suggestion for a shampoo given all the oil rubbed into my skull. To my surprise, my head was left feeling just as soft as my face.

We drove back to Neil's home where I was introduced to Shivain, his new 6-month old son, and Shruti, his wife. They had a beautiful home, and I felt lucky to be given such a warm welcome. After more conversation, and a baby feeding, we went to dinner at Swagath, voted Delhi's best coastal restaurant by The Indian Times (newspaper) in 2007.

Neil and I shared a "moderately" spicy Mangalorean fish dish (Mangalore is a city on the southwest coast of India). His wife, being vegetarian, ordered a spicier mushroom dish which I barely tried as my tongue was lit on fire by the fish sauce. I was easily able to drink a liter of water in addition to my Heineken. Dessert in the form of decadent cold coffees with ice cream next door at Lavazza followed before I was dropped off back at Sunny's.

I capped off the night with a live viewing of the Euro 2008 final from 12-2am at Regent's Blues. The bar was filled with young Indians imbibing their share of alcohol and rooting for Spain.

Exploring Old Delhi, Jama Masjid And The Red Fort

After a halfway decent first night's sleep at Sunny's, I had a quick breakfast and grabbed an auto rickshaw to Jama Masjid, India's biggest mosque. I negotiated a rate of 80 rupees ($2), only to realize a few minutes into the ride that there was a perfectly functioning meter tracking the appropriate cost based on distance and waiting time. My trip would've cost 25 rupees (60 cents). I had to laugh at my own folly in this instance, and I joked with the driver as I handed him the amount we'd agreed upon.

I walked around the perimeter of the interior courtyard and climbed the minaret for a wonderful 360-degree view of Delhi. At one point, a group of young guys asked me to take a photo of them. Afterwards, I asked them to take a photo with me. They followed up the photo with rapid fire comments and questions. The attention was nice, and such occasions help to counter the negative experiences I've had in India.

Upon exiting the mosque, I walked through a gauntlet of Muslim stalls, most of the people clad in white from top to bottom. If it weren't for the heat, I would've taken more time to satiate my curiosity about what I was seeing. It took about 20 minutes to reach the Red Fort's main entrance, Lahore Gate. The Fort looked similar to the one in Agra, just bigger, so I cut my time there short.

I tracked down Jalebiwala, a famous purveyor of jalebis. These sweet, deep-fried, orange dough swirls were over-the-top greasy. It felt and tasted like I was eating, nay drinking, the ghee (clarified butter) used to make them. I cleansed my palate with a sumptuous, spicy potato samosa...

jalebis

...and finished my sightseeing with a rickshaw to Raj Ghat, where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated following his assassination in 1948.

Doing The Delhi Hustle

First Half

I was confident from perusing my guidebook that a fair rate for an auto rickshaw to my first and second choice guest houses would be about 40 rupees ($1). Before I reached the rickshaws, I was picked out by a gaggle of taxi drivers. The first one quoted a rate of 550 rupees ($13.75) which resulted in a hearty laugh from yours truly. Eventually I negotiated a rate of 200 rupees ($5) from another driver which was still much more than I had intended to pay.

The guy arranging the ride kept suggesting I visit the official Indian Tourism office before going to the guest house. I had read about fake tourism offices in the guidebook, but more importantly, just wanted to settle into a room so I could get some much needed rest. I firmly told the handler I wanted to go straight to the guest house, and I relaxed after hearing him relay instructions in Hindi to the driver. A mystery man jumped in the passenger seat, and we soon melded into the big-city traffic.

If you've been reading about my adventures in India, then you can guess what happened next. The taxi stopped at the " official"? tourist office. I sat there wondering what the hell I needed to say to be any clearer with these guys. Unsure of my proximity to the guest house, I entered the office armed with a bad attitude. I sat in front of a desk covered in Indian postcards highlighting the country's most popular attractions. I was short with the guy who greeted me, and to his credit, effectively calmed me down with a bit of patience, chai and cookies until the booking agent arrived. I quickly cut off all of his attempts to raise the prospect of sightseeing...anywhere.

After some chit-chat, I told the booking agent I wanted to see Sunny's Guest House and he had the mystery guy from the taxi show me the way. Before I left, I asked about the cost of a room with a private bath in the area, and he said 2,000 rupees ($50) minimum. Sunny's was only a few meters away. They showed me a series of rooms, starting with the cheapest shoe box, and working up until we reached the costliest option, a double with private bath for 400 rupees ($10) a night.

Dave, 1 point, Hustlers - 0

Second Half

After a few hours under the ceiling fan, curiosity lead me out the door. I ate a delicious, spicy Indian chicken dish at a nearby bar and restaurant, Regent Blues. Satiated, I continued to explore the area. A young guy in a green camouflage t-shirt struck up a conversation with me. Despite my attempts to get rid of him, he walked along with me stating he just wanted to practice his English and didn't want money.

I knew the "practicing English" line comes from hustlers. I thought I could use him to get some local info though. At my request, he showed me the way to the nearby cinema, though it was only showing Hindi movies. I asked about a place to buy/sell used guidebooks, and he wanted to take me to a bazaar but it sounded too far away for my taste so I declined. I asked him if there was a restaurant around where I could order vindaloo (a spicy Goan dish). He said he knew a place, but first he wanted to take me to a souvenir emporium to earn a commission. I appreciated his honesty, and agreed to spend a few minutes in the place to help him out. In retrospect, I think the good hustlers say they're being honest because they know it is more likely to elicit sympathy and support from tourists.

I recognized the name of the emporium as one listed in my guidebook, which was somewhat reassuring. The salesman was fairly low pressure, and polite, though I left empty-handed as planned. As we walked further away from Connaught Place, presumably toward the restaurant, he brought me to a second shop. I initially declined, but then gave in. This time I left the shop with a small gift for a friend at home.

I expected the guy would continue the circular route back toward my hotel with me as he implied earlier. Instead, he pointed toward the supposed location of a restaurant serving vindaloo, and the way back to my guest house. When I addressed the fact that I expected him to walk me back, he pointed to his feet, saying he was tired and would only go with me if I paid for a 20-rupee rickshaw. Annoyed at having been hustled, I set off on my own.

As I walked along the busy roads, I saw only a retail shop where he said I'd find the restaurant with vindaloo. Angry, sweaty, and tired, I pressed onward using the digital compass on my watch to get my bearings. I was sure the direction I was heading wasn't correct, so I asked a gentleman on the sidewalk for help. He said I was walking away from the center circle, which meant I was going the long way back. I did an about face, retracing my way back while fuming at the fact that I'd gone out for a leisurely stroll and been taken for a ride at the expense of my good mood and already aching feet.

Dave, 1 point, Delhi Hustlers, 1 point

My Last Indian Train Ride

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 Surreal India-Pakistan Border Ceremony

Like the appeal of riding a yak in Sikkim, witnessing the daily India-Pakistan ceremony in Attari captured my imagination the moment I learned about it.

In the case of the ceremony, I first saw it on a television show.

If I'm not mistaken, it was part of Michael Palin's "Himalaya," which was based on his book by the same name (or vice versa).

Indians show up to represent their country

A couple and a single Indian guy joined me in the taxi, and we drove the hour west to the town of Attari, on the edge of the border.

We walked a few hundred meters further to the west and came across large bleachers filled with Indians separated by sex.

The exception to this rule was the VIP area reserved for foreigners.

Unfortunately, we reached the seats at 5 pm, a full one and a half hours before the ceremony was set to start.

Why is this unfortunate?

Because the sun sets in the west, giving it a direct line to the left side of my body.

Slowly, any energy reserves sweltered away.

As more and more Indian women began to dance to music in the street below the bleachers, Pakistanis slowly took the stands on their side of the border.

They were also separated by sex.

The women's section was more visible, and their colorful dress made it a pretty sight from afar.

Every few minutes, an Indian MC would incite the crowd to cheer.

By comparison, the Pakistani side could've used a lesson in school spirit.

Sitting next to me was an American mother-daughter pair, and an American girl and Costa Rican guy from Denver, CO.

The latter two were on a short trip to India, having spent the first half of the journey on an impromptu trek in Kashmir.

I was a tad jealous that they got to see Pakistan's K2, the world's second-highest mountain.

They said the trek was hard, entailing about 10 hours of walking per day.

Since they didn't intend to trek, they lacked proper clothing.

I can't imagine having to wear sports sandals in the snow at altitude!

Finally, 6:30 pm rolled around, and the ceremony began. Indian guards walked in formation to the middle of the street, then one by one walked toward the gate.

Eventually, the gate was opened, allowing us a better vantage point into the Pakistani territory.

I had no clue what was happening, but the whole experience was surreal.

I commented to the Costa Rican guy that seeing the ceremony in person was one of the coolest things I'd done in India, if not my whole trip.

Between the cheering, music, and crowds, it felt like a big sporting event with the Indian fans immensely proud of their side.

We got a head start back to our respective rides, assuming we wouldn't miss much by ducking away a few minutes early.

While I found our taxi driver with ease, the couple who started with us never showed up.

As we waited around for over an hour, watching thousands of Indians file out of town, I tried out some of the local snacks (which took all of 30 seconds).

Then, between the long day and heat, I grew angry and annoyed.

Finally, the other Indian passenger convinced him the driver it was time to go. At least I had the back seat to myself.

Pakistani and Indian border guards at the gate

Sikhism's Golden Temple In Amritsar

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.

Steve's Birthday, My Departure

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.

Marie Arrives

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!

My Daily Life In McLeod Ganj

Eating

Food...delicious food. McLeod Ganj is filled with great restaurants offering predominantly Tibetan, Indian, and Italian food. I became a regular at popular Carpe Diem after trying a few of their Indian dishes. The service was friendly and they had a great rooftop seating area with views of upper McLeod Ganj, and the Dhauadhar Range (though less so once the rains began). The Green Hotel made the tastiest cheese and tofu momo's, while western-styled Moonpeak Expresso offered the best cappuccino I'd tasted in months.

Khana Nirvana

Khana Nirvana is a non-profit community cafe run by several American and silent Indian partners. In business for 11 years, it employs Tibetan refugees who take home any profits. The cafe runs nightly events and I greatly enjoyed the open mic nights when travelers would sing, play the guitar, recite poetry, do spoken word, or play the digiridoo (my personal favorite). One American guy was actually able to play the digiridoo while drumming on one song, and playing the guitar on another. The menu was vegetarian and very bohemian, with the restaurant using organic ingredients.

Ex-Political Prisoner Talk

One evening, I joined Anastasia, Olga, Ron, and Fred for a talk sponsored by an Israeli group. The event was in Bagsu, a town 2km away from McLeod Ganj. The event was packed, and lead off by a Tibetan who worked with the International Campaign for Tibet. While not a historical expert on Tibet, he had been asked to give a brief history of the country during the 20^th century.

He was followed by the ex-prisoner whose story was translated into English. To sum it up, he was jailed for 7 years (in the 90's) after being a part of a small protest in Tibet. He spoke of regular beatings, being hung from the ceiling, and placed in solitary confinement where he would only receive one dumpling and a small cup of water per day. He said it was hard to make logical sense of what activity would result in the beatings. Ten years after his release, and now residing in India, he is still suffering the effects of repeated trauma to his head. Sadly, from what I've read, his story is not unusual, and highlights China's poor record when it comes to human rights in Tibet.

Public Audience With The 17^th Karmapa

It's not every day you can attend a public audience with the spiritual leader of a Tibetan sect of Buddhism (of which there are four). Given the 17^th Karmapa resided in Dharamsala, I convinced Steve to join me for a visit. Public audiences are held at the monastery where he resides twice a week. We took a taxi, bought katas (silk scarves) to offer, and queued up outside the gompa. Steve made it a point to be first in (the men's) line, which enabled us to sit front and center.

Eventually, a voice came over the speaker system, and I realized it was the Karmapa speaking. We were a bit disappointed that he wasn't speaking from the solitary seat in front of us. After 20 minutes of talking, a group of monks entered the gompa, followed by the young Karmapa. Everyone lined up, holding the katas in front of them as they approached a monk. Giving the kata to the monk as an offering, he then returns it by placing it around the giver's neck. In effect, he has then blessed it by this interaction. We weren't sure who the monk was, but he certainly wasn't the Karmapa. The Karmapa would then hand each person a red string. People placed the strings around their necks or wrists. I did the latter, hoping it'd bring me a little good luck in the near future.

In the future I intend to read the story of the 17^th Karmapa, as he escaped from Tibet over the Himalaya in what is suppose to be quite an amazing adventure. Currently, his status as the leader of the sect is up for debate because there is another monk in Delhi who is also said to be the 17^th Karmapa. Neither is allowed to assume their rightful seat at the Rumtek Monastery in Sikkim for fears it will further aggravate China.

Euro 2008

Once I was feeling myself again, I downgraded my room at Hotel Mount View. I lost the soft mattress and balcony, keeping cable TV access so I could continue to watch the Euro 2008 tournament. After the first week, all the matches were at the late local hour of 12am. It wasn't until the quarterfinals that I realized it was saner to simply watch the replays at 9am. McLeod Ganj didn't offer much in the way of public viewing options. The town all but shuts down by 10pm each night.

Watching the matches offered a nice opportunity to indulge my historical love for television, however it also acted as a gateway to other programming, such as The Wonder Years, CNN/BBC news, and movies like The Father Of The Bride (great one) and Blood Diamond. Sometimes I felt guilty for being tucked away in my room, and other times it felt like an overdue experience. The early arrival of the rainy season made it all the easier to stay indoors.

Tibetan Acupuncture And Massage

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).

Day 4 - A Return To Civilization

On our fourth and final morning of the trek, I awoke with surprisingly little soreness in my legs and body. And my headache was gone, again. Harold and I packed up our stuff, ate breakfast, and we were all on our way back to McLeod Ganj. A dog we had fed leftovers to the prior night followed us for the hour's walk back to Triund. While he probably belonged to a local shepherd, he made for nice company, often barking at the other dogs we'd encounter (though having to back down due to being outnumbered 2-1).

Ashok had indicated it would be about a 13km walk from our second camp to town. We made good time, and I had many recollections from our way up as we passed old rest spots. One nice aspect of going back the way you came is the lesser desire to take photographs. The trail also looked far less steep and challenging given what we had to climb the day before.

We stopped for lunch at the cottage where we first met Ashok. Harold and I took showers and relaxed. Normally, we would have taken a taxi the remainder of the way however the heavy rains from the night before (at lower elevations) had washed out roads. Later, we would hear firsthand reports of the 5-hour deluge which ushered in a week's worth of rain. Thankfully, we had spent the night above the storm (literally in the clouds), only experiencing flashes of lightning through our tent.

As we walked through the misty pine forests above McLeod Ganj, we began to see monkeys, and signs of modern civilization. These lead to the ever-nearing blare of car horns, and before we knew it, we were spit out at the bus stand (main intersection) in central McLeod Ganj. It took just a few seconds for me to become fed up with the noise and crowds, making me appreciate the time we had just spent communing with nature (and goat poo).

After the goodbyes, I was overcome by a wave of energy which had me hotel-hunting for a room with a soft bed. After visiting a few places, I settled on Hotel Mount View. I emailed Steve so I could tell him about the trek the next day, and let my parents know I was alive. I tried hard to stay awake for the Euro2008 soccer match that night (as I also had a TV in my room), however it was hopeless and I soon drifted off to sleep.

Day 3 (cont.) - Dangerous Descent

When the photos were taken, the Tibetan freedom video shot, and the food consumed, we began our descent into the now cloud-shrouded valley. I was glad to have finished one of my two bottles of water so I could use both of my hands to steady myself on the way down.

The first stretch of snow we needed to cross was also the steepest. Despite my recently gained experience on the way up, I was still reticent. Ashok picked up on my anxiety and offered his hand until I was safely across. I could tell the snow had softened up since we last passed through. Harold managed it on his own, though I sometimes worried about his safety when I would watch him.

We continued to head down at a faster pace then we ascended, and I felt comfortable enough on the remaining sections of snow to walk them independently. Ashok showed me how I could poke holes into the snow using my hand to create a third point of contact. The first time I tried this technique, my hands grew wet and cold very fast. Thereafter, I began to wrap my bandanna around my fingers before driving them through the layer of goat poo into the soft, wet snow. In any other circumstance, I would've found the process disgusting. Harold joked that I wouldn't be using the bandanna to moisturize anymore (a reference to my use of it as a cold compress for my sunburn the first two nights).

Harold was the first to slip and fall. He fell forward and caught himself against a medium-sized rock. It looked jarring, though he managed to escape with only a scraped knee (to my knowledge). He vocalized his frustrations about the safety of the trail, namely the wetness from the rain and goat poo, and the snow. Ashok tried to refocus his mind and energy on taking secure steps, as there would be ample time to air concerns once we safely reached camp (and later town).

I slipped second, my feet sliding forward from under me. I landed lightly on my bum. I tried to sharpen my focus on footsteps, finding it a great challenge given my body's natural momentum to move downhill. My headache was moderate by this point, and I knew Harold's was worse. The best thing for the both of us was to reach camp as soon as possible.

Harold's next fall was the result of an unstable rock. Without hesitation, Ashok dove on top of him as he landed on his right side. The moment was over in an instant, yet Harold later acknowledged that our guide's quick reaction probably saved his life. He said he recognized he was in trouble, and knew he'd have to try and grab onto a rock or something to keep from falling over the edge of a drop off, yet there were no guarantees he could've arrested his fall on his own. I redoubled my efforts to continue cautiously thereafter, though I slipped and landed on my behind lightly one more time.

We stopped in a large cave on the way down for one of our breaks. Ashok said it was mainly used by trekkers coming from the opposite direction, that it was cold, and could sleep around 30 people. It had a low stone ceiling and a hay-covered floor. There was a large flat rock which acted as a balcony. The view was beautiful as the sun had emerged. While Harold and Ashok soaked up the rays, I spent the ten minutes in the shade of the rock, under my jacket trying to shield myself from the most intense sunlight I'd ever felt.

As our 3.5 hour descent drew to a close, my legs were like jelly and my fear of falling on the glacier were clear. Ashok waited for me to reach him in the middle, and again offered me his hand so I could be guided across in a more timely fashion. Harold slipped and landed on his butt once while walking ahead of us.

Arriving back at our humble camp, I felt a great sense of satisfaction. Our porter brought a delicious rice and potato dish to our tent, followed by French fries and tea. He refilled our water bottles. I savored my last two squares of Cadbury chocolate which I had saved for consumption back in the tent. Harold and I rested, hoping our headaches would quickly disappear. We ate dinner in the rock shelter kitchen, though neither Harold nor I were especially hungry by that point. We both slept well that night.

Free Tibet!

Video Dedication Of My Climb

The world's attention is on the Chinese government in light of the upcoming 2008 Summer Olympics.

To find out more about the Tibetan cause and how you can help, see the International Campaign for Tibet's website.

Day 3 - Redemption At 4,320 Meters

We initially planned to wake at 5am, and head up to the pass at 6am, however there was a rain delay of an hour. I was again thankful to awake with no headache. A light breakfast of cornflakes, hard boiled eggs, and tea was served. Around 7:15am, Ashok lead Harold and I across the glacier, while the porter watched over our camp.

The glacier looked like a frozen ocean, upon which you could walk on the waves like steps. The drizzle let up soon after our departure, allowing us to strip off the ponchos. Harold carried his backpack, Ashok his sleeping bag's bag with our lunch and one of my two bottles of water, and I carried one bottle of water and a small nylon dry bag with my camera and an assortment of pills.

I felt lucky to have clear views of the pass and mountain ridge the whole morning. I wanted to see where we were going, and somehow found the view energizing instead of daunting (ok....a little daunting!).

The terrain was very rough. The rocky path was in no way as stable and well defined as the Nepalese trails around the Annapurna region. It was developed by shepherds who still use it to bring their goats from one valley to the other. As a result, the path is covered in goat poo, making it especially slippery. Dark brown strips of the poo can be seen wherever the goats cross snow as well.

The steeper we climbed, the more I tried to focus on ensuring the stability of every step. I was the only one who could be held 100% responsible for my footsteps. There would be no one else to blame if I slipped and careened down the mountainside.

As I was getting a little more comfortable in my rugged environment, Harold and I were presented with a new challenge, crossing soft snow on steep pitches without the use of ropes or ice axes. When I saw the first section we had to cross, I snapped a photo stating "this will go in my holy sh*t file." I was at once petrified of slipping to my death hundreds of feet below, and surprisingly calm and collected. Ashok cut out fresh footholds in the snow, and we followed behind.

I knew going uphill in the snow was easier than what we faced on our descent later. We continued to cross 4-5 sections of snow on our way to the top, with the final one being the steepest.

Ashok lead us up the mountain at a slow and steady pace. The higher altitudes and rugged, slippery terrain forced us to walk slow just the same. My heart would pound heavily during the first hour or two. I either got use to it, or it quieted down a bit the higher we rose.

About thirty minutes from the top, Harold developed a headache, appeared more lethargic, and signaled a feeling of uneasiness. I gave him a ½ pill of Diamox which I carried as a precaution.

For better or worse, the place where Harold decided to lay against a rock was not a resting spot according to Ashok, who ushered him to the top just ten minutes away. As for me, I was feeling energetic and hungry.

It was exhilarating to reach the top of 4,320m (14,256ft) Indrahar Pass after four hours of climbing about 1,100m in altitude. I was completely surprised by the view of the snow-covered valley on the other side of the ridge. A dark brown path of goat poo showed the way down the other side. Clouds remained in the distance while we enjoyed lunch and views for thirty plus minutes. Speaking of food, I was the only one who'd been buying chocolate, so I devoured a beloved Snickers, along with a mango, trail mix, biscuits, and fruit juice.

Once you're seated, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that you're in a very precarious position. The high altitude is affecting your body's chemistry, and it is not an uncommon side effect to feel a sense of euphoria (or intoxication).

Besides the aforementioned euphoria, I felt an amazing sense of redemption. Despite efforts to accept my trek in Nepal as "complete" just as I experienced it, there was never a climax. I knew it then, and I couldn't let go of my desire to successfully climb something high. I had told Cameron I wanted to know what it felt like to be at the top of a mountain.

I now had that feeling, in addition to a headache, and the sobering knowledge that climbing a mountain means little if you can't get back down alive and well.

Day 2, Crossing The Snowline

I was glad my headache had disappeared after 5-6 hours of solid sleep. Our second day was to be an easy one (2 hours walking, 300m gain) which would allow us to further acclimatize before the big climb on day three. Ashok cooked up some amazing banana porridge, omelettes, and toast which were served with tea for breakfast. Our plastic bottles were refilled with boiled water, the modus operandi for the next few days.

Around 10:30am, we started trekking.There were noticeable changes in the terrain at this point.The green grass seemed to give way to more and more rocks, some quite large.

We stopped for an hour or so at the Snowline Cafe, the last place to buy a meal, snacks, smokes, or water before continuing on to the glacier and pass. We enjoyed some chai and chilled out before walking the remaining thirty minutes to our second campsite (elevation 3,200m), set amongst the rocky terrain adjacent the glacier, at the foot of the valley we would ascend the next day.

Once the kitchen was set up in a small rock shelter, Ashok fixed us heaps of Ramen noodles, a salad, biscuits, tea, and deep-fried potatoes and onions (my personal favorite). He said we were to eat a lot on this day. His ability to cook for hours in such small confines over just one gas burner would continue to amaze me.

After lunch, Harold and I hung out in the tent, him reading, and me listening to music with a wet bandanna over my head to ease my sunburn. I developed another headache, though still thought it might be partly the result of the sun exposure. Either way, I decided to see how I felt in the morning before making any decisions.

Before committing to sleep, I stepped out of the tent to use the same facilities as the cows and goats who grazed in the area. I caught a glimpse of one of the gigantic slugs common to this area. Around midnight, I awoke to Harold's vain attempts to scare away a bunch of cows around our tent. We knew they weren't the local black bears because of the ringing bells around their necks. Ashok had told us leopards were indigenous as well.

Day 1 - Heading Into The Mountains

If I were as auspicious as Tibetans, I might have taken the giant black scorpion which appeared in my room the morning my trek was to begin as a bad sign. Instead, I wondered how to get rid of it. As the little beast scuttled toward the protection of my bed, I grabbed two pieces of paper and shuffled it across the floor toward the door. It put up a fight with it's stinger raised, and claws grasping at the paper, yet I was to prevail in my first such encounter. Later, I was told the increasing rains tend to bring them more out into the open.

Hiring a porter to carry my personal belongings and sleeping bag was an inexpensive option, however after meeting so many people who carried their own bags in Nepal, I felt the need to give it a try myself. I was very glad to be putting my Gregory Chaos to proper use in the mountains versus hostels and hotels.

Harold and I met at the trekking office as the morning rains continued. We ended up waiting about an hour until it stopped, taking a taxi with our porter up to a cottage above the pine forest. This unforeseen ride saved us an hour's walk up about 300m in elevation. Ashok, our young guide, met us there. We received packed lunches, our sleeping mats, and me my sleeping bag. Once all the bags were packed, we set off.

Climbing uphill along a dirt and rock path, amongst the clouds, it took about four hours at a comfortable pace to climb 800m and reach Triund (elev. 2,900m/9,570ft). Toward the end, I was motivated by one basic need, finding a big boulder behind which I could use a virtual toilet. At one point, I took a few quick steps and was immediately out of breath, a poignant reminder of how high up we were already.

Little more than a campground set in grazing pastures for goats and horses, Triund spanned a pretty green ridge which gave us views of the pass we were to ultimately ascend in one direction, and the towns of McLeod Ganj, Dharamsala, and Kangra in the other. I felt a headache develop, and was unsure whether to attribute it to the altitude or the massive sunburn I unknowingly received on the top of my head and face.

We were served a snack of tomato soup and spicy popcorn, followed by a hearty Indian thali (rice, lentils, veggies, chapati). As I did all day, I continued to drink as much water as humanely possible. It had been Cameron's number one piece of advice about traveling at high altitudes.

Arranging A Trek To Indrahar Pass

I stopped into Eagle's Height Trekkers one afternoon to gather some information about local trekking opportunities. The owner went over the details of the two options of most interest to me, a two day trek to the snowline (Laka Got glacier) and a four day trek to the top of 4,300-meter Indrahar Pass of the Dhauladhar Range. I also asked about trekking to Hamta Pass near Manali, which was of a similar altitude. A few English girls stopped in as I was getting ready to leave. They said the trek was difficult and the food was great. I left my name at the office, hoping to link up with another person or two with whom to share the cost and experience.

A day or two later, I heard a knock upon my door. Harold, a tall French man, was also traveling on his own and interested in the trek. I quickly got the sense that he'd make a good trekking partner for me, though it wasn't until later that I'd find out he had quite a bit of experience. We went back to the trekking office to confirm our interest. A different pair of English girls who had just returned from the snowline trek had positive things to say as well, especially about the amount and quality of food.

The next day, Harold and I confirmed our arrangements, and paid in full for a 4-day camping trek set to begin in less than 24 hours. I was excited to put all I had learned from Nepal and other trekkers into action. First off, I took advantage of the authentic North Face sleeping bag on offer from the agency. Next, I scoffed at a salesman's claim that knock-off North Face socks were authentic. I threw caution to the wind and bought a $1.25 pair of cotton knock-off Adidas socks instead (to supplement my trusty Smart Wool hiking socks). And perhaps of most importance, I truly believed from the outset that I could complete the trek.

Class Schedule: Thangka Painting And Tibetan Cooking

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.

A Teaching By His Holiness The Dalai Lama

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.

Making My Way To McLeod Ganj

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.

Agra Fort And Kites At Sunset

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.

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