Woke up with diarrhea from the milk products yesterday. I pray it's not actual illness.
On the bus out of town, I actually fell asleep. Jim helpfully suggested we sit right behind the driver, where there's the most room. I keep thinking how badly this country needs an urban planner: Too much dust, too little grass, no sidewalks, and the buildings here are mostly shacks, even the schools. This is why no one cares about hygiene or improving anything: The dust will always cover you by the end of the day.
On our third and final bus of the day's 12-hour journey, we were flagged down by cops/military men. They boarded and asked who owned my bag. I said me and they asked me to open it. They looked only in that tiny pocket, checked a few other peoples' bags (Jim tells me this is because they want to find reasons people will bribe them - I didn't have any, of course), then left. They filmed the entire search, first time I've ever been searched in public. I guess peanut butter and Muesli are legal in India. What might cause complaints is the fact that I eat both with my fingers, or, if I don't feel like wasting a sani-wipe, directly with my tongue. Many glance over, no one says anything.
I feel cool for knowing all I do of India. I'm flying back to Paris in exactly 2 weeks. I'm trying to remember the "journey not a destination" part of life. How can I hold onto that in the US?
The buses remind me of the ones I used to ride from Chinatown, Boston, to Chinatown, New York., but much less-maintained and more haphazardly driven. The driver is amazing, though, he should be a racecar driver. He sits up front for 12 hours while another guy sits in back and blows a whistle every time someone wants off, literally anywhere at all (there are almost no bus-stops in India), then blows it again when it's time to start back up. This is how shaky they are, for most of the 12 hours:
I'm at the bus station on the way to Manali now, where a sign says "Bathroom, 1st floor on right" which actually meant "2nd floor on left." I walked over to the door, which had a sign written in Arabic characters, so I watched a guy go in and figured this must be the men's room, despite there being women standing inside. I stood next to him at a urinal and felt something splashing my sandals. Turns out the urinal didn't have a pipe coming from the bottom to the floor, it was just a hole in the bottom of the porcelain. Their plumber must've been Rene Magritte
Is India a third world country? Does that just mean "punk house with worse music and booze"? More freedom = less responsibility = less maintenance of the good stuff. I'm unsure how it took me 6 days to realize there are no traffic lights or crosswalks. Probably because there's only one intersection in all of McLeodGanj. Also, this lack of systematic planning means everyone just honks their horns every time they see another vehicle. This is incredibly aurally irritating, but is also mostly-necessary.
I just bought bottled water at a roadside market. I've already bought more bottles of water in one week than I had the rest of my life put together. When I got back on the bus, I noticed my head got really itchy. I need a bucket shower. Never thought I'd write that sentence.
Jim told me the Tibetan Buddhist monasteries are so full of pedophiles they have a system worked out: They come between the boy monk's thighs, like what prostitutes did 200 years ago. Within the monasteries, this is colloquially referred to as "the monk's tradition." This has also inspired a joke there: "Why do all the young monks have dirty faces?" (I assume it's more clever-sounding in Tibetan). I wonder how all the Buddhists in the US would feel, hearing this. These are the people responsible, by the way:
It seems it doesn't matter what religion you are, if some men are forced to not have sex with women for long enough, they will take what they can get.
I'd like to thank the Dalai Lama for doing literally nothing about this. Go hang out with the Pope, douchebag. It is just a generally accepted custom among the monks there. If a monk rapes a boy, everyone looks the other way. If he has sex with a woman though, he'd be thrown out immediately.
I thought we were close to our destination but we've been stopped for an hour. I'm unsure if we'll make it to Manali in time. Turned out to be a one-lane bridge holding us up (pun intended). Now we're at a similar traffic jam. It took us 2 hours to go 30 km. We've now been on buses nonstop for 12 hours. I don't know if I feel like getting on a bus at 4:30 am when we get to Keylong.
We got to Manali around 10 PM and were shocked by how crowded with Indian tourists the streets were. Taxi drivers aggressively ran up and asked us if we wanted rides to Old Manali because that's where all Westerners go. We took one and checked out 5 guest houses recommended in Lonely Planet. They were all totally full. We finally found one very off the beaten path (literally), manned by a nice guy in a cult/commune, 500 rupees/night. Jim noticed it was dirtier than most, so we told them to clean it and we'd take it after we had dinner.
When we came back from dinner, another guy manning the door told us the water is off for the evening. Jim reacted angrily then asked for a bucket of hot water. The guy asked if I needed one and I said no, expecting the showerhead to work in the morning. I later regretted this, as my feet were blacker than ever before (I finally realized why that guy in Padua had a foot-shower) and didn't want to get lice in my sleeping bag (my head still itched). I went and asked for one, but the guy working the door said no because it was past midnight and they were closed. I asked about water in the morning and they said it'd definitely be on before checkout.
I woke up to find no running water, still, and Jim arrived telling me he'd just found a much better place for 550 rupees/night, with constant water and an amazing view. As we checked out so I could shower at this new guest house, I told the guys at the desk that there was still no water, and they seemed confused that this was a thing they were supposed to take care of. Jim described this as the worst place he'd stayed out here.
On the bus out of town, I actually fell asleep. Jim helpfully suggested we sit right behind the driver, where there's the most room. I keep thinking how badly this country needs an urban planner: Too much dust, too little grass, no sidewalks, and the buildings here are mostly shacks, even the schools. This is why no one cares about hygiene or improving anything: The dust will always cover you by the end of the day.
On our third and final bus of the day's 12-hour journey, we were flagged down by cops/military men. They boarded and asked who owned my bag. I said me and they asked me to open it. They looked only in that tiny pocket, checked a few other peoples' bags (Jim tells me this is because they want to find reasons people will bribe them - I didn't have any, of course), then left. They filmed the entire search, first time I've ever been searched in public. I guess peanut butter and Muesli are legal in India. What might cause complaints is the fact that I eat both with my fingers, or, if I don't feel like wasting a sani-wipe, directly with my tongue. Many glance over, no one says anything.
I feel cool for knowing all I do of India. I'm flying back to Paris in exactly 2 weeks. I'm trying to remember the "journey not a destination" part of life. How can I hold onto that in the US?
The buses remind me of the ones I used to ride from Chinatown, Boston, to Chinatown, New York., but much less-maintained and more haphazardly driven. The driver is amazing, though, he should be a racecar driver. He sits up front for 12 hours while another guy sits in back and blows a whistle every time someone wants off, literally anywhere at all (there are almost no bus-stops in India), then blows it again when it's time to start back up. This is how shaky they are, for most of the 12 hours:
I'm at the bus station on the way to Manali now, where a sign says "Bathroom, 1st floor on right" which actually meant "2nd floor on left." I walked over to the door, which had a sign written in Arabic characters, so I watched a guy go in and figured this must be the men's room, despite there being women standing inside. I stood next to him at a urinal and felt something splashing my sandals. Turns out the urinal didn't have a pipe coming from the bottom to the floor, it was just a hole in the bottom of the porcelain. Their plumber must've been Rene Magritte
Is India a third world country? Does that just mean "punk house with worse music and booze"? More freedom = less responsibility = less maintenance of the good stuff. I'm unsure how it took me 6 days to realize there are no traffic lights or crosswalks. Probably because there's only one intersection in all of McLeodGanj. Also, this lack of systematic planning means everyone just honks their horns every time they see another vehicle. This is incredibly aurally irritating, but is also mostly-necessary.
I just bought bottled water at a roadside market. I've already bought more bottles of water in one week than I had the rest of my life put together. When I got back on the bus, I noticed my head got really itchy. I need a bucket shower. Never thought I'd write that sentence.
Jim told me the Tibetan Buddhist monasteries are so full of pedophiles they have a system worked out: They come between the boy monk's thighs, like what prostitutes did 200 years ago. Within the monasteries, this is colloquially referred to as "the monk's tradition." This has also inspired a joke there: "Why do all the young monks have dirty faces?" (I assume it's more clever-sounding in Tibetan). I wonder how all the Buddhists in the US would feel, hearing this. These are the people responsible, by the way:
It seems it doesn't matter what religion you are, if some men are forced to not have sex with women for long enough, they will take what they can get.
I'd like to thank the Dalai Lama for doing literally nothing about this. Go hang out with the Pope, douchebag. It is just a generally accepted custom among the monks there. If a monk rapes a boy, everyone looks the other way. If he has sex with a woman though, he'd be thrown out immediately.
I thought we were close to our destination but we've been stopped for an hour. I'm unsure if we'll make it to Manali in time. Turned out to be a one-lane bridge holding us up (pun intended). Now we're at a similar traffic jam. It took us 2 hours to go 30 km. We've now been on buses nonstop for 12 hours. I don't know if I feel like getting on a bus at 4:30 am when we get to Keylong.
We got to Manali around 10 PM and were shocked by how crowded with Indian tourists the streets were. Taxi drivers aggressively ran up and asked us if we wanted rides to Old Manali because that's where all Westerners go. We took one and checked out 5 guest houses recommended in Lonely Planet. They were all totally full. We finally found one very off the beaten path (literally), manned by a nice guy in a cult/commune, 500 rupees/night. Jim noticed it was dirtier than most, so we told them to clean it and we'd take it after we had dinner.
When we came back from dinner, another guy manning the door told us the water is off for the evening. Jim reacted angrily then asked for a bucket of hot water. The guy asked if I needed one and I said no, expecting the showerhead to work in the morning. I later regretted this, as my feet were blacker than ever before (I finally realized why that guy in Padua had a foot-shower) and didn't want to get lice in my sleeping bag (my head still itched). I went and asked for one, but the guy working the door said no because it was past midnight and they were closed. I asked about water in the morning and they said it'd definitely be on before checkout.
I woke up to find no running water, still, and Jim arrived telling me he'd just found a much better place for 550 rupees/night, with constant water and an amazing view. As we checked out so I could shower at this new guest house, I told the guys at the desk that there was still no water, and they seemed confused that this was a thing they were supposed to take care of. Jim described this as the worst place he'd stayed out here.
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