India, Last Thoughts

I leave India with a heavy heart, but I know I will be back. As they say, this is a land you either love or hate. You either keep coming back for more or you put it all behind like a bad dream. I think what India has done for me, has it changed me? I think it has. I see another dimension to life now. I still largely operate on the 1D basis (one-dimensional); I worry about money, about my career, about my health. I still put ‘me’ in the centre of my thinking. But there is this 2D element that I now know. The dimension that puts others in the epicenter, that gives pleasure and fulfillment from giving others. The dimension that teaches you how to switch off, enjoy simplicity and doing good.

I have met more crooks and wonderful souls than anywhere else. I have heard more singing men (from their hearts) than all the karaoke sessions I’ve ever done. I have donated more time and energy to thinking about others than in... a long time. I have seen and experienced more tolerance than anywhere else. India changes you, if you allow it. I hope you get to experience and love it too one day.


I thank you for all the SMS and emails I received from you. They have been my best travel partners.

India, Last Day

I lie in bed, watch TV to get updated on world’s events before I go home. A local cricket scandal dominates the media. The presenter uses a wide English vocabulary, I don’t understand many words. After breakfast, I visit Indira Gandhi’s Memorial Museum. It’s the mansion she and Rajiv lived in. All brilliantly documented, well described. I read every wall posting, amazed at her diversity and talents. At the end, I see her bloodied sari displayed behind a glass. Rajiv’s section follows. He was a keen photographer, I like his work. The walk ends with cloth pieces that survived the bombing, displayed in a similar fashion.

I head for Bahai Temple. It’s a miniature of Sydney’s Opera House, represents lotus patels opening up. The outside board reads it’s a place for all religions to worship and find god. I see nuns, muslim traditionalists, hindus and me all sitting in silence, appreciating the calmness of the place.

I head for Hauz Khas, also called ‘The Village’. I find good quality jewelers and do some diamond shopping. I head back to Connaught Place and do book shopping. The bookshops here are well equipped, prices are far better than back home, the staff know exactly what to recommend. The Kamasutra editions are beautiful. I move on to CDs. I plan to buy 2-3, I walk out with 10. The salesman knows his stuff, he makes all the right recommendations.

I'm leaving tonite with a heavy heart. Only to be back soon for more.

India, Day 20

My flight is at 730am, to Delhi. I don’t have a ticket yet, my booking number gone with the lost phone. But I have a name. Nobody is working at the office yet, so the airport security officer gets to work, but fails to find my record. The flight is fully booked. I get a very tight chest pain. After 20 min, he discovers he wasn’t online. I forgive him, he’s the sweetest security guard behind a PC.

I fly business class. Next to me is Maya, a Swiss doctor. She and her husband spent 3 weeks in a Ladakhi monastery which ran out of money to complete a children’s hospital. They came here to inspect how genuine their needs were. She’s on her way back to raise funds for the hospital in Switzerland. She tells me how bored she is with her job, how doctors fight over a patient back home. I think of the vast divides we live in.

We share a taxi to town, I decide to live in comfort at Connaught Place, they are in a saving mode so we split up. I forget my sweater in the taxi. They come back with it in the afternoon and convince me to join them in exploring Delhi. We have a lot of fun, laugh all the time. We do one touristy place after another, our driver speaks no English, and I’m getting bored. I invite them to the most expensive lunch place we can find, grateful for my sweater. We part, hug and kiss, saying we may meet someday again.

I do what I like best – wander the streets of Delhi. I walk into the heart of Old Delhi, a perfect chaos. Many times I’m the only woman there. At all time I’m the only foreigner. Young and old men display great interest in my camera lenses and my ass. My camera is my passport to many things I won’t do otherwise. With my camera I get forgiven for things otherwise frowned upon.

Right after dinner, I realize I don’t really know where my hotel is. I left a bit too quickly this afternoon with the Swiss doctors, laughter taking over my organized self. The banana leaf restaurant owner goes to great lengths to help me, 45 min later packs me on an auto-riksha with a full hotel address. He fingers my palm at goodbye. At school that meant you wanted to kiss. I chose to be naïve and think he means kissing his wife tonight.

India, Day 19

I wake up to a mobile siren announcing some news in Ladakhi. I decide to get an early breakfast, head for the bazaar to find the much-praised hot breads with butter and honey. Everything is still shot at 8am. Over the next 30 min I’m told there is a strike, a revolution, an uprising, a demonstration, and a government order to close business. I get smuggled to the back of a coffee shop and fed with a very untasty pastry and a glass of chai. I feel lucky. I feel like a Polish Jew in WWII. The entire town of Leh becomes a ghost town. I go back to the more touristy areas – ghostly as well. All foreigners pass each other with surprised looks, ask each other what’s going on, where to get food and water. I feel bad for having eaten. My plans for a massage and last-minute shopping get substituted with street photography and portraits of people of this beautiful province.

I come across Kay, an Aussie woman from Melbourne, in her 50ties. She tells me that Ladakh wants to separate from Jammu & Kashmir and be independent We see a demonstration in full swing now, a river of people coming at us. Everything looks peaceful. The authorities feared riots, hence the order to close business. Kay works as a volunteer at the local school for handicapped children. She teaches them art, it apparently stimulates their brains, allowing them to learn other skills. She plunges into giving me a complete picture on the corruption of charitable organizations in India and Nepal where she just came from. She’s very frustrated, angry, disillusioned. I tell her that the time she spends with the kids is beyond the mess. Ultimately, the kids benefits from spending time with her, it’s about the final result, I say. She subscribes to a different philosophy and names it (and I forget what it is) – it is not about the final outcome, the results. It’s about the path alone, about doing the right things along this path. Results can be influenced by too many other factors. I think of converting my boss to this philosophy. Kay has no kids of her own. I wonder if one day I turn out like her.

At 4pm life returns to Leh, all shopkeepers try to make up for the lost business. I opt for a 2-hour ayuverdic massage. The massage technique itself is not too impressive, her focus is not defined. She dips a herbal pouch into hot oil and whacks me with it. The pouring of oils on my face and head is thrilling. My head is lying in a paddle of oil. My face gets vigorously rubbed with sandalwood oil. I’m then put in a steam room. All facilities highly improvised and simple, the result is good. I feel like a baby.

At 7pm I meet Ania, my new Polish friend in Leh. She found out from the travel agent that another Pole is in town. She’s a taxation lawyer at KPMG. Her friends thought she lost her mind going to India all alone. She’s a beautiful, vibrant, funny girl. We are joined by her friends at a Nepalese restaurant for dinner . One of them is a Ladakhi mountain climbing guide. I guess his age as 35, he’s 29 – he shakes my hand with joy. He likes the seniority, it adds years to the perceived years of experience. His girlfriend, a Dutch girl, just arrived to spend 4 weeks with him. She talks about a ‘normal life’ for him. He gets our undivided attention on his climbing stories. He almost died twice. Tells us about how the white men protect each other but him. Tells us of marital feuds at high altitudes and the subsequent divorces. Tells us how a horseman saved him and 2 climbers. Tells us he has no insurance. He once had a medical cover, but took him 2 years to get back some claim money. “What do you mean they don’t pay you?” exclaims Ania. “This is fucking India” he says. His girlfriend reaches a point of saturation for the evening. This is more than she’s ever heard.

India, Day 18

We head for Pangang Tso Lake today. 5am the Jeep picks up the Slovaks and me. When I got dressed this morning, it did not account for the Chang La Pass elevation of 5475m and the below 0 temperature. It’s a 5-hour drive to the lake. We get to the Pass, I’m freezing, but all in smiles, as the altitude has become a more of a friend than an enemy. There is a military post here – the officers order us to step in. Then they server us tea. We are the break of monotony for them. I read in my guidebook that many of the men sent out here are suffering from a military punishment of sorts; hence they tend to be bitter. Our officer seems very bitter. I ask him what’s his mission here. He ignores me, picks up a bottle of kerosene, and pours it into a self-built warming device. It’s freezing here, even the dogs hate it. Another officer walks in, he’s the tea server. He’s wearing like the 1950-ies skiing goggles on his head. I borrow them, joke around, and we start a photo session outside. We go back inside and I comment on a bulky and strange-looking phone. It’s a military phone with an encryption mechanism. He offers me to make a short phonecall anywhere I want. I’m stunned. I ask him to repeat. No, no misunderstandings. I can’t believe my bad luck – with my phone gone I have no numbers to call. I could call Soraya (one of the very few numbers I know), but she won’t appreciate a call at this part of the morning.

The lake is wonderful. It sits like a blue saphire in the mountain range. Half of the lake belongs to Tibet (China), this is why we had to get the permits yesterday. We chill out the late morning there, have a few chais and head back to Leh. Our Jeeps stops of the way back, saying hello to another driver. He’s got two gorgeous girls in the car with him. One of them sticks her head out and shouts: “Kto tu z Polski?” (who’s from Poland here). We exchange 4 quick sentences, which cover the place and time to meet tomorrow. I look forward to meeting her, not because she’s Polish too, but because she’s full of life and zeal.

On the way back, we drop off Stanislaw and Hanna at the start of their trekking path. I don’t quit being amazed at the load they carry. The weather looks promising so far. We hug, kiss and say our goodbyes, hoping we meet again.


It’s only me and the driver now in the Jeep. He sends the usual battalion of questions at me, my age and marital status included. He tells me he’s 25 (looks 35), then states there are 7 years difference between us, looks at me and smiles. I feel like my next wedding plans are being made at this point. My brains quickly scans for some conversation possibilities, and we succesfully talk about him. He asks me why I travel alone. I give him many reasons, and surprise myself at the number of them.

India, Day 17

I lose my mobile phone (read: gets stolen), the 500 numbers I had there, the Hindi love songs recorded on it, Raph’s flamenco ringtone, my flight details, etc etc. HSBC refuses to cover it under the travel insurance. I’m angry with myself for allowing it to happen. Catherine Lusher: if you are reading this, please email me Lyn’s mobile to my yahoo account. Cheers!

It takes me some internal strength not to allow it to spoil my day. After all, I did not lose my money, passport – things could have gone worse. I go on exploring Leh.

Tikse Temple
An old couple struggle up the stairs to this beautiful monastery, the husband tells the wife that all holy places need an effort. An Indian State Bank manager in Leh takes an internal auditor from Calcutta to see the monastery on a Wednesday morning. “You are trying to soften him a little, ha?” I smile at the manager. They both grin.

The monastery is 500 years old, hosts 100 monks, and 30 student-monks. There is a monk school here. We peep at the timetable – all in English; math, eng, hindi. The school has 3 computers. I walk inside of the older shrines, there are 500 years old paintings on the walls. The paint was made of rock crystals, which were pounded, mixed with water. They are very erotic and explicit painting with some fancy positions. A good looking Punjabi-English guy asks what they mean in the monastery. The monk tells us we need to read to comprehend the reason.

My Slovak friends are very fit. They wanted to come to Tikse on mountain bikes today. Thank god the bikes were in bad shape. Now I know how unfit people feel. Now I know how I terrify some of my friends. I’m the victim today. I’m still breathless going up the stairs. The air here is so dry, my nostrils hurt, my lips are cracked up no matter how much papaya balm I apply.

2 donkeys and I are at the bus stop waiting for the next bus. The shopkeeper’s daughter comes out and chats with me. She’s 22 years old, but the harsh sun makes her look older. She hopes to get married next year. Asks me if my parents chose my husband. Because hers will. She will have no say. I was hoping she would, as this is becoming the norm in India; for the boy or the girl to accept or reject the proposed parties. She asks me what village I’m from. She peeps at my diary entries and asks me why I write. She’s never travelled outside of her village. I tell her she does not need to, it’s so beautiful here.

I still feel the altitude effects on me. I’m constantly hungry, when my stomach gets empty, I feel this unpleasant sucking sensation and I’m gassy as anything! I discover Leh in the afternoon, food as a priority. Sewage is a problem here, and food poisoning is all too common. The government and the NGOs are making initiatives to eliminate plastic in Ladakh, this is why everything gets wrapped in newspapers here. I find Donze – a biodegradable laundry, an organic shop with local produce and a network that employs semi-illiterate people. Nice effort. I browse the Leh Bazaar, disappointed with the assortment of fake goods. I come across Purpenikiel & World Peace Café and have the best damn apricot crumble I’ve ever eaten. It’s so big, I skip dinner. I see a hand-written poster asking for volunteers to work on a Ladakhan farm, helping in the Sept harvest, live with the family, the father speaks a little English. I get all excited, I want to go. They say minimum staying period 5 days. Bummer, I only got 3.

I keep bumping to a couple I met in Manali. He’s from Delhi, she’s from Calcutta. I don’t think they are married. He’s a doctor, she’s a English teacher. He’s bubbly, funny, talkative. Doesn’t plan to specialize, in fact he plan to quit allopathic (conventional) medicine altogether. He will go into meditative therapy, reiki, other alternative forms. He’s been practicing it on her long-distance. She’s a strong believer of alternative medicine. Years ago a doctor in Croatia helped her reduce her epilepsy attacks that marred her life. He feels the more he’s practicing it, the more energy and power he can give. I ask him how his colleagues feel about that. He laughs – they ridicule him. “The more energy I have the more confident I become, so it doesn’t really matter what they say”.

We stand at the corner of Donze Laundry, it’s 830pm, the day in Leh is coming to an end, everything gets shut down. The dogs are the king now. We exchange cards, and I’m hoping we remain in touch. I go to bed thinking what diverse people live in this country.

India, Day 15 & 16

We leave Manali at 3am, in a 4WD Jeep. There is a Slovak couple in the car with me, Hanna and Stanislaw. We drive for an hour and come to a very long queue of cars – everybody lining up for the road to open at 8am. We fail to figure out why did we leave so early. We try to sleep in the car for 4 hours now.

The road is spectacular. We very quickly pass all the heavy vehicles. Our driver tackles most turns with one hand. Only when it’s a 360 degree turn, he applies both. I somehow feel good in his hands. We pass a dead cow on the road, 5 vultures on it, cleaning up the road. The road is well marked for passenger and driver's entertainment. I write some down. "This is not a race or a rally, enjoy the valley", "There is no space for Gama in the land of Lama", "Darling, I like you, but not so fast", "Use the horse power, not the rum power", "Don't gossip, let him drive". Some taken from some American training book; "Your smile our satisfacion". Some more patriotic "Ladakh, our national pride and glory".

I say this is one of the most spectacular days of my life. The Manali-Leh road is a Lord of the Rings, Star Wars and Jurassic Park drive-through. I feel like Alice in the Wonderland. Every 30 min we enter a different room. Every 1 hour, we are in a different world. It's the mini-Grand Canyon one moment, Gobi Dessert another, then we enter the Mongolian plains. I will not attempt to describe the scenery, I let the photos do the job. Stanislaw says it's the best day of his life. I tell him to watch what he says, Hanna may think meeting each other was it.

Manali, our starting point was at the 2000-2500m altitude. The road takes us higher and higher, at 4000m I start to feel the effects. It starts with a numb headache, then I float in space. I feel like a beaten up dog. "Eat the garlic, Magda" Hanna feeds me with 3 cloves of raw garlic. We stink like 3 Jews. They got 1kg of this remedy. The garlic partly relieves my headache.

Hanna and Stanislaw are troupers. They hardly suffer from altitude sickness. They are set to trek for 6 days around Leh on their own and scale a 6000+m mountain (Stok Kangri). They carry a tent, full supply of food, burners, sleeping bags and garlic. They seem surprised at my constant expressions of admiration.

After 16 hours of driving, we force the driver to get a rest. We stop at 4600m rest area. I feel very sick, my brain is dead, rotating my eyeballs is painful. Hanna talks to me, I listen lying down, eyes closed. We are in a Mongolian-styled tent, in front is the eating area, all carpetted. At the back there is the sleeping area - there are 20 people in it, the entire camp laid with woollen blankets, sleeping bags. You can sleep naked here. Snanislaw tells me if I'm cold they will combine their super-extreme sleeping bags and have me jump in. I tell him to better ask Hanna first. The temperature drops to below 0. I try to fall asleep and not think of peeing again. I listen to Chemical Brothers. This is unreal. I like contrasts, they aspire me in some ways. Lying down at 4600m in a mongolian tent, sick as a dog, listen to "Push the Button". But the locals are not in a sleeping mood. They play local Hindi and Ladhaki hits, then he dancing starts.

I feel better in the morning. A quick hot chai, and we are off. Our drivers uses a cassette to scrap off the frost from the car windows. Everything has a double-purpose here. The road ascends rapidly now. We see people vomiting on the side of the road, they offer us altitude sickness pills. We reach 5328m at Tanglang - the highest point of the highway. I forget about my altitude sickness. We run around the pass, snapping away like children. This is the highest altitude I've ever been on. I have tears in my eyes, it's so unbelievable here. We have the Himalayan snow peaks staring at us on one side, the desert plains on the other.

We tank a few times on the way, buying petrol from the road contractors. The last petrol station was 240km away. The road workers look like human trash. They live in self-built black-rubbish-bag tents, improvise a firecamp in the middle. We pass overturned tankers and lorries. Every accident is a form of entertainment, a distruction to the lives of the third world. Our driver stops and chats with almost every Jeep driver from the opposite direction. I'm guessing they are exchanging the latest road updates, mishapes, road-warrior gossip. There is a sense of camaderie amongst the people of the highway.

The journey is painfully beautiful. I don't want it to end. Then I also realise we've been on the road for the past 28 hours. We arrive Leh at noon. We were on the road a total of 34 hours.

I say hello to Leh. It's the capital of Ladakh, a province in Jammu & Kashmir. Ladakh is a desert in the Himalayas. The Leh Palace is what brought me here. When I saw the photo in my guide book, an instant decision was made. My guestroom window now overlooks the Palace. How much better can it get?

India, Day 14

In spite of Rajesh's prayers, the gods decide that the rain will continue. It is very disappointing to wake up to the drumming of the rain. We get up for a morning tea (which they offer to serve us in the tent... colonial ways prevail!), Ramon wants to go on. He's not felling well. I'm the Medicine Woman again and apply my homeopathis medication for throat and sinus. Together with the guide and the cook we deliberate at lenghts what we should do. It will get colder at our next campsite, the ponies could slip and fall, the visibility is poor, everything will be even wetter, the next campsite has no firewood. Decision is made: turn back to Manali. For my own selfish reasons, I would rather spend quality time in Leh (where I'm going next) then sitting in a wet tent. I book myself on the next Jeep ride to Leh. But before that, I check the weather in Leh- it's all sunshine, baby. The Manali-Leh road is one of the most scenic roads, with the 2nd highest pass in the world. We will be at 5500m tomorow, before we decent to Leh at 3500m. My Jeep is at 2am, arriving Leh at 10pm tomorrow. I'm trying not to be disappointed with the trekking experience, and think of the new possibilities in Leh.

India, Day 13

Day 2 of our trekking expedition. Last nite, the horses decided to graze around my tent. I could hear the horse's mouth 10cm from my head. The next thing I know, my tent almost topples over. As expected, the horse gets entangled in the tent ropes, pulls one, I panic and scream, the rope snaps, everybody gets up, the horse gets freaked out and runs, then it's all over. The grass tasts good around my tent. The cows and horses keep me awake till 3am. I set the alarm to 6am to get some early morning shots. I wake up in a paddle of water; my camera, camera beg, my sleeping beg are wet. I get some good morning shots, but the cold and the rain are depressing. Our crew's tent is also leaks. We eat breakfast standing. Nothing is left dry to sit on. We might need to turn back if the rain does not stop by 10am. They worry that the higher passes would have collected snow by now.

By noon we decide to wait the day and see what tomorrow brings. We have no mobile coverage here to enquire on weather forecast. If it rain tomorrow, we turn back, if not, we will cover Day 2 and 3 distance in one day. Time passes slowly when it rains and you got nowhere to go. I go over to our only neighbours - 2 Swiss couples. We make friends and Ramon and I join them in playing UNO for a few hours, then geographical trailer (India-Austin-Norway-Yemen-etc). We spend the evening playing charades. Girls against guys. We are having loads of fun till the sun goes down. Today is Indian for dinner (thank god!), then we sit over the fireplace for another hour. I go to bed, hopeful that tomorrow the skies will be kinder to us. I try to stay positive in spite of my sleeping bag being wet and very cold. A try to focus on falling asleep without stretching my legs.

India, Day 12

We start trekking at 9am, a short Jeep ride to a nearby village and we enter the trail. Our guide's name is Rajesh. He's been trekking for the past 20 years. He speaks fluent English. That's important - half-cooked conversations are tyring. We pass villages after villages, stunning views don't quit us. Part of the trail is under a road construction. All Nepalese workers, all illeterate, using hand tools to carve our perfect square rock blocks for the retaining walls. The road is built for tourism - to get to Hampta Pass. This is whre we are heading. We will take 4 days to get there, future driving will take 3 hours. We are blessed with a wonderful sunny weather. Rajesh complains it's too hot. I'm loving it. Ramon finds the walk strenuous, his heart is racing. 80% of the trail is very steep. I carry a 12 kg backpack, he's got a tiny day-rucksack. 4 ponies join us half-way up. So now we are a complete team - a guide, a horseman and a cook. The ponies carry our tents, food, kitchen utensiles, sleeping bags, carry-mats, whatever other gear. We pass some spectacular valleys.

People dream of having a beach bar. I dream of having a mountain bar. The horseman kicks and whistles at the ponies too much. I ask why. They are naughty and lazy. There is no emotional connection between him and his horses. He does not pad them, they don't ask for affection. The ponies are under-weighted and got skin scars from the carrying ropes. It's a transactional relationship. The horseman only worries of not losing a pony as his source of income. Our guide tells us how in '91 a horse fell off a bridge, plunging into the river with all passports and food. Two of our ponies are weak, so they get swaped at the next stop. While we are re-packing, I wander around with my camera, come across a shepard skinning a goat. The head is still lying at his feet. He cuts pieces of the animal and wraps them in newspapers, sells them to the Nepalese road workers. I ask him to pose with the head. He gives me a proud pose. Only a man who hunted down an animal would stand like this. A butcher would not.

I'm told we wont's shower for the next 5 days. I'm thinking of Monika again. We track for 5 hours in total (they told us to expect 6-7), we get to the ridge at 3pm where a flat spot offers good camping opportunity. Our cook gets to work right away. It's continental tonite, he says. I wish it wasn't. The cook makes us califlower in white cheese sauce, apple cream salad, roast potatoes and some curry mutton (did he get it from the goat hunter??). We are blown away at his effort. I have not eaten what much cream in the whole year. 'Tea or coffee' is next, accompanied with bananas in cream. Oh dear. We then chat over the fireplace. Rajesh sings us Hindi love songs. He sent his voice records to a studio in Delhi, but never heard from them. He asks me if I know any Hindi songs. I tell him I recognise the hit songs from 'Bobi' and 'Koch Koch Hota Hai'. He sings both of them from his heart. He says it's my turn now. I'm deeply troubled - this is the one thing I cannot do. I can't be even saved by a karaoke mic now. Ramone comes to my rescue.

Suddenly we hear the horse gallopping towards our tents, terrified. We hear them from far first, as the mist limits the vision to 10m now. They are running straight at my tent, the horseman yells, they change direction. I ask if this could be a wolf, a fox, a bear. They assure us otherwise. I recall and tell them of a scary experience of camping in Poland in 1989. I was on a 2-week kayak holiday, we camped every night at a diffeernt place, following the river downstream. One night at 2am the ground under us started to tremble. We all ran out of our tents to realise we were in the middle of a military zone. The tanks were practising night maneuvers, 200 meters away from us. We got us extra early the next morning, escaping the zone. As we reached the nearest lake, there was this most perfect silence I had ever experienced. It was almost disturbing. Suddenly, 2 fighter jets flew over our heads, the noise they created so piercing to our ear drums that we held our heads covered to survive this maneuver. Down the memory lane.

India, Day 11

The most boring day to date.The half-day jeep trip was only around the valley Manali is sitting in. It's beautiful nevertheless. The driver takes us to Slavoslav Reutcher's museum, the Russian painter inspired by the Himalayas. His 100-year old tea cups were on display, you could walk out with them. I'm surprised at his contemporary way of painting, in spite of being made in 1940-ties. We then go to Siva's temple and a castle. All mildly interesting.I travel with an Engligh-Spanish guy, Ramon. He will be my partner over the next 5 days. He says I look fit. He gets worried. I do not tell him that I once ran a 42-km cross-country event. I don't want to be left alone on this hike. I spend the rest of the afternoon on Yahoo IM chatting with friends and collegues. I carefully avoid questions about work, else I will get sucked in. My mind is very far away from it all. I hike the other part of Manali called Old Manali. I come across Miss India 2015 and her runner-ups. I take her pictures, she's loving it. Many of the women here are so beautiful. Light brown and green eyes are common, high noses, prominent cheekbones. They are of Aryan origin.

I buy some last-minute warm pants, a cap, as the pass we will climb in the next 3 days will be 5500m heigth. The weather forcast says "rain". Not good. We will live in tents, I'm thinking about hot showers, knowing this is wishful thinking. No mobile roaming, no internet, no shower, no other company than Ramon, the guide and 2 porters.

More updates in 5 days time.

Also, thank you for the emails and SMS. It's a good feeling to keep in touch with you guys when I'm alone here. X.

India, Day 10

Arrived Manali (800km north of Delhi) today at 8am sharp. My respect for Indian public transport remains high. The bus ride was rough nevertheless. What I was left with by the end of it was a very sore bottom, a Hindi love song recorded on my mobile phone by a young, good-looking Punjabi heart-throb, very dirty fingernails and a few good photo shots. I get off the bus in a low spirit; having this floating sensation and being greeted by a all-day type of rain. It’s 12 degrees cold. Cold and dampness make be very uncomfortable. My feet become wet very quickly, as I stand soaking wet to collect my breakfast. The old man packs the wheat pancake with 2 hard-boiled eggs in a newspaper wrap and stuffs it in my hand. My fingernails are full of filth, no matter how much I clean them. At this moment my India guide book falls into a paddle of water. I’m a mess. To lift up my spirit I picture myself standing right now like this in the Bangsars of KL or SoHOs of HK, about to do some fancy wining and dining. I begin to laugh at myself, if only Monika saw me now.

I sleep till noon to make up for the lost sleep. My spirit escalates as I google “weather in manali”, and learn that tomorrow and Friday will be blessed with more sun. I join a trekking group to do a 5-day adventure in 2 days time. The trekking agency offers no pictures of the trails – it’s a smart way to manage our expectations. They guarantee 5 days of spectacular views. As I sit and write this, the majestic Himalayas are looking at me. How much better can it get.

The travel agents saves me from landing a date with a good-looking horny African man who doesn’t want to leave the office till I give him my contact details. The agent threatens to call the gurkha guards. He tells me later that Israelis are a problematic bunch too. I’m hearing this more and more now. Maybe my yoga friends were exceptional. He tells me how distrusting, bargain-crazy and rude they can be, especially to women. He calls me a nice customer. He knows how to sell.

I indulge in Punjabi food again, loving the cheeses here. They don’t give me a side reaction like back home. Today on the bus, a few men jumped on with milk-containers strapped to their backs – freshly collected from the cows. How organic is that! Sarah: this one is for you and your mum! Dried fruits and nuts are another local specialty – dried apples, figs, apricots, almonds, walnuts and saffron. I do some crazy shopping again.

Manali is known for its spectacular hikes of endless possibilities, helo-skiing, para-gliding World Cups and Indian honeymooners. Next to me over dinner sits one such couple. They constantly giggle. They tickle each other under the table. They share every meal. They got here just 2 days ago. I cannot but think that probably last night was the first time they had sex. Like a good Punjabi girl should do. Less so for a good Punjabi boy.

India, Day 9

I will miss my yoga friends. Today morning is my last class, 7th day of intensive yoga training. I'm feeling tired, my joints, ligaments and muscles need a rest. I will miss Rishikesh. I made it a point to get up in time to join the 5am meditation session. This is the first time I feel so much at peace. I still cannot meditate, but I think I'm getting there. Last night I read the links Raphael sent me, that helps. Before I leave, my Polish friend and I catch best lunch ever, at 11am. I sit next to an American woman. She asks me if there is no section for the Westerners. I don't know if she's serious or joking. There is a sign “Silence Please” at the dinng hall, but she decides to do an ‘american’ and yak away. She's just escaped from Parmarth Neketan ashram, where they asked her to pay Rp 1000-600 a day (USD 25-15). Lower rates apply to Indian nationals. “So unfair and discriminating” she says. I'm not sure if the concept of “fairness” realy applies in India, or wheter my definition of it has changed. She doesn't realise what she says makes her sound really ignorant, maybe even stupid. Just look outside, at the ashram’s charitable hospital where people sit and lie in cues to see a doctor, to get an extension on their frail lives. She's travelled India for 11 months. Never worked, didn't have to. Is that fair?

I ask myself why I like the Shivanandam Ashram. The expectations are mild and reasonable. There is great level of tolerance and no pretences. I never get the feeling of being part of any cult, sect, any persona-adoration, there are no inflated-egos. Their motto "Bo Good, Do Good" is omnipresent. Their activities bring dignity to the lives of those who have little left of it.

I make a decent donation to the secretariat. My receipt gets written out in the most elaborate fashion. I see the Secretary General on my way out. He gives me his cheeky-monk smile and says “Namaste! Visit us at the Divine Life Society in Malaysia. And read my newsletters, will you.”. It’s not a question, it’s his divine order.

India, Day 8

I meet a Polish girl at yoga today. She’s a yoga teacher from Poznan. We chat and go for lunch together. She teaches me about pranayamas, meditation. This is her first time in India and she’s fully embraced her.

The rest of the afternoon I spend "trying to send my parcel". The post office refuses to accept it unless I get it wrapped in a white cloth and get it properly stitched. Good concept to create a wrap-and-stitch business for nearby shops. The one I choose sells gems. 2 teas later, my palm is being read. First time in my life I give in to fortune-telling. But this is India, it’s a different world here, everybody and everything operates on a different frequency. The man does not do any hard selling, so I’m willing to give it a go. He performs some prayers first. He then draws David’s star in his notebook, writes some numbers inside it, I pick "5". He turns the next page: it reads "9"- he wrote it earlier. He takes my 5, divides it by 9, the result is 0.55555. The "five" is the day of my birth too. He’s tells me this is a good start. I’m not sure, I fail to see the astronomic connection. We continue. This is where things get interesting. He tells me, that; I have a sister, I had 3 important men in my life, there was a dramatic change in my life around the age 20-22, I own a property, my parents are divorced, I’m financially strong, I have a mentor, I’ve been active in charity causes, I’ve been trying to find a balance in business and spiritual world. More importantly he tells me I did not complete my education, and this is a sore point which makes me sad at times. He says I could have gone further in life if I completed the studies I wanted. I feel an uncomfortable heat inside me. Done with retrospecting, he tells me I aspire to lead and want and will have my own business. He asks me if I'm waiting for something big to happen in me life, very soon. "Who doesn't" I reply, regretting my sarcasm. I can ask him questions about my future, but I do not. I feel like I had enough. Maybe he touched a sensitive point somewhere. His mistakes? Yes, he makes a few mistakes - the age of my parents was wrong. To sum up my wrap-and-stitch-gems-and-palmistry shop experience, if you just apply the law of chance and possibilities, he’s made more accurate statements than incorrect ones. If you want to be anal and mathematical about it’s probably 5:1.

I walk out with my wrapped parcel, the wrapping looks like Mother Theresa’s sari. My mind is still not settled, wondering over many things. I tell myself it’s all about how you channel these thoughts to some positive energy and cause.

I'm leaving Rishikesh tomorrow, I will be travelling on a local bus to Manali for 18 hours. Say hello to the Himalayas.

India, Day 7

My neighbour is a grumpy old man. He complains I should not shower after 930pm. I ask him what time he goes to bed. "8.30pm, then I get up at 2am to meditate and do some pranayamas.". I doubt it makes him a happier man.

I’m wearing a top that’s a bit shorter than it should be, revealing an itch of my tummy. A mistake. A formula for instant stares, comments. I don’t look at the men, not letting it get to me. Travelling in Muslim countries like rural Malaysia and Indonesia, it’s far worse. As I walk to the yoga class, I see a commotion of men, one of them destroying a wall freshly laid bricks. Two other men hit him with wooden sticks, he’s in too much rage to care. Who says Indian movies are over-dramatised. 2.5 hours later, the brick wall is brought down. Indian politics.

At yoga, I’m next to Lina, a Californian, with a second home in Rishikesh. She used to be a whale-watching tour guide in Alaska. She and her partner run an export business, selling tents from India all around the world. She tells me anything will come true if I just float off a flower basket down the Ganges River, greet her, splash her waters 3 times on my face. "Any man you want, baby". "That can be dangerous" I tell her. We go and check out the "Juice Bar" after yoga.

Over the idlis, it dawns on me that I could shop till I drop and mail it all back home, so I dont need to carry it in the mountains. I go crazy. Top quality pashwina shawls, singing bowls, auyverdic medicine, teas and oils, jewellery, some clothes. Mostly gifts. My friends and family are to feel my new philanthropic causes on them first!

It begins to rain again at night, I get stranded near another ayurvedic shop. The man is a doctor too, he makes a diagnosis of my health and the type of person I am. He leads me to the back of his office, measures the pulse of my both hands (left for moon, right for sun). He presses and touches me everywhere, listens to my chest. Verdict: I’m Pitta and Veda, 50:50. I’m yet to do some internet research to really understand what it means. He’s spot on with my astma tendencies, weak uterus, bad lower back, current indigestion (I indulged in some heavy northern indian food). He asks me why I don’t have children, and that I should, just to give my uterus a break. I love browsing his little, packed shop. I’m like a 10-years-old in a candy store. The almond oil is so different than the one I have at home. It tastes great too. I ask him for a natural deodorant – he opens a small container full of sandalwood and saffron oil balm. To apply under the armpits and the crotch. I buy many other things; auyvervedic well-being teas, blood-purifying tables for my poor skin, gas releasing tablets, and something to please my uterus. I pack it all up at night to send off home. I feel healthy already.

India, Day 6

My holiday is beginning to develop a routine now. But this one is good stuff. Ahram breakfast (today was millet cooked with green chilies, dhall seeds, mustard seeds and ginger), yoga from 8 to 1030am, brunch at 11, massage at noon, explore more of Rishikesh, head back for the second yoga session 530 to 8pm, dinner, then the prayers at the ashram shrine.

I also go around tasting coffees at different cafes, and settle for the one that can make it the strongest. I go to one, I sit outside, but as it starts to rain I move inside, end up sharing a table with an eccentric-looking Frenchman. He tells me that he doesn’t know German, in spite of the travel book he’s holding being written in German,. "I know the place, the market, they are talking about, so the language does not manner", he says. I’m in a listening mood today, letting him talk all he wants. He plans to buy an elephant. "What’s a bargain price for an elephant?". "1 lakh" (Rp 100,000 = USD 2,500). There is chocolate fudge around his lips and beard from the cake in front of him. I look at him and decide not to ask him what he plans to do with his elephant.

India, Day 5

I woke up at 4.45 am again but decided to go back to sleep, telling myself to treat it like a real holiday, and instead do the evening session. I’m beginning to enjoy the yoga classes even more, the whole group is on the same wavelength now, we all understand and appreciate what he’s trying to teach us. His emphasis on the precision of the poses is painful at times. Each muscle, each bone and join position can be wrong even in the simplest positions like the standing position. It makes me retrospect how much have my other yoga teachers been compromising. After the class I go for an ayuverdic massage and a reiki session. You can learn Reiki level 1 here in 3-4 days, but I try the session first. Massage is awesome, the woman knows her stuff. The reiki relaxes me at first, then my blood pressure goes up very high, then back to relaxation, then I dose off. My understanding of reiki is too shallow to judge the session. It’s about channeling the energy by the giver, the medium, to a receiver. It’s supposed to have healing properties, but I feel little. My friend Swaran used to heal my headaches and bad moods by placing his palms on my forehead. Maybe today I’m just not in such a bad shape.

The evening class is the best session I’ve done in yoga, ever. He makes us do a series of stretches on ropes suspended from the walls. The rope acts as a counter-lever to my leg, so by pulling up the rope I pull up my leg. One person stands below me, pressing my hip joint down for a maximum stretch of the groins. I got off the ropes feeling like god gave me a new backbone. And this is only day 2. I can’t stop thinking how much Brenda, Annie and Manuella would have loved it here. Ok, so this is the one lousy part of a single travel – you don’t get to share your joys with the other person. But I have my blog.

Over dinner, an Indian man asks me in the first 1 min of the conversation what my qualifications are. The industry of "advertising" seems beyond his generation. "I’m a respectable government servant" he announces. "My children are both computer engineers. Waiting for a visa to America". "Do you use email?" I ask him. "Pardon me madam?" This concept too is beyond his generation.

India, Day 4

Got up at 4.45am to attend the 5am prayers and meditation session. I had an unusually hard time getting up, which I reckon has got to do with eating capatis last nite; once again wheat makes me feel so sluggish! The Shrine is already filled up as I get there. Women all wearing white clothing or scarves, and I’m all in my dry-fit Nike blacks. The sheep. Everybody is in a deep state of meditation. I admit to myself that I do not know how to meditate. I look around me like a child seeking a sister soul for acknowledgment that I’m not alone in my inability to meditate. My thoughts are random, unfocused. I read a few pages before coming to the session last nite. It’s not helping- it says one must be able to give up all his possessions, be freed of all material desires to be truly capable of meditation. I look around me – would that be the case? The Caucasian ladies who look like monks sing the loudest, they look more pious than the men, they give more patronising looks than needed. They remind me off any religious converts who advocate their new religion stronger than people born with it.
Breakfast is at 7am – my favourite idli with sambar and coconut chuttney. "I’m loving it!". I run down over the bridge to the other side of the Ganges to start my first yoga class with Sharuk. It’s a 2-hour class with a great emphasis on correct astanas, rather than the flows and rhythms. This is what Ieyngar is all about. The precision can drive one mad, but once you endure the session, you do appreciate it for the benefits it brings. It’s a 2-week course and I jump in the middle of it. 2 hours pass very quickly and I decide to come back tonite. Each session is USD 4. Wow. The class is very popular, half of the crowd are Israelis. I go for breakie #2 after the class, a group of 5 other people join me; 3 Israelis, 1 Brit, 1 Spaniard. I ask what is it with the Israeli influx to the most holy place in India. They all smile, as this must be the most common question. They come to relax after the military service; 2 yours for girls and 3 years for guys. With government salary of USD 2000 given to start a new life, most of them choose to travel. My table friends are all well travelled, speak a few languages. The girl’s surname is Kirchenberg (kirchen in german is ‘cherry’), her grandparents escaped Poland in 1945. The Brit spent too much time in Darmasalam, where he finished putting together an album, pop music with sounds recorded in Israel, UK, India. He uses a pirated Mac software to put them all together. He disapproves of the term "world music", I agree with him, but defend the term asking what better name would he have given it.
I spend the rest of the afternoon discovering some great beaches along the Ganges River. I see people swimming in it. I dip my feet, too cold to consider anything further. Along the way, wisemen ask me if a want to smoke. I head back to the 2nd yoga session of the day. Our yogi is the commander chief, he yells and scolds us, upsetting some people who leave the class. I like it nevertheless. Dinner with a young Israeli couple. They learn about Malaysia, I about Israel in our Q&A session. It’s pleasantly surprising how balanced, worldly and friendly they are in spite of the history of their country.
On the way to my room, I pass Samadi Shrine where the evening prayers take place from 730 to 930pm. I’m too tired to attend, feeling guilty I continue walking. My welcome letter to the ashram states that scholars should attend the spiritual sessions, especially the evening ones. In the past 3 days I’ve been fairly uninvolved and feel guilty to abuse their hospitality. I will make a good donation, but I know it’s not about the money. See, like today morning the American-born monk was talking about how he had a visitor, who enlighted him on his new mobile phone. The monk articulated the phone features like in a TV commercial. He then paused and said " "What does this phone mean to you? Would you be able to give it up to live a simple, unobstructed life, filled with happiness?" And I think how much I love my iPod, how I love the idea of going to LimeWire and downloading Ravi Shankar’s album when I get back, how I bitch, but love my job, the personal development I have undergone in the past few years. I’m on one side of the spectrum. The Shivananda monk is on the other. As much as I may lack the spiritual depth and finesse, I conclude in my simplistic earthly mind that maybe this is all about finding a balance, a mid-point of it all. A balance that will make me happy with my 40GB iPod and stop thinking of the 60Gb one – as it is sheer greed. A balance that will make me find a charitable cause that appeals to me, and makes me channel 5% of my income to them. I think I will stick to that for now. With this thought, I think I can face another day at the ashram.

India, Day 3

Checked into the Shivananda Ashram after a truly awful breakfast of all-fried food. Am fully briefed on all the DOs of the ashram, the DONT's aren't mentioned . Seems like they just want you to apply some common sense. The Secretary General and his entourage come across as serious people with a deep purpose in life. Explaining that wearing a short skirt around the ashram appears way beneath them. The ashram takes its mission very seriously and expects the scholars to observe the same. My room is in block 1, very clean and tidy place. I'm enquiring on yoga classes - only in the evening for women. "Can I join the men's class in the morning?" I ask sheepishly. "And why would you want to do that, dear madam?" he shoots back at me. I give up. Lunch is at 1130am, served at the 'Dining Hall". Long carpets are rolled out for people to sit on in long rows. Women separate from men. Food is simple yet delicious; rice, capatis, dhulls, ladies fingers, water, salt. No garlic and onions are used. Apparently they make you fart, which is not desirable when you meditate. Men with buckets of food walk along the rows and dish out a portion on each plate.

While walking around the ashram, I bump once again to Raja whom I met yesterday. We go up to the hilltop shrine and talk for a while. He's from the south, a graduate of economics. He tried working before, but found companies and the corporate world to be highly immoral. "I'm a very immoral person" I tell him. We both laugh. Yesterday when we spoke, he was learning from me where Hong Kong, Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur were to be found on the map. India is complicated enough to master. He is a traveller now, seeking a higher purpose in life. I'm feeling very cheeky and ask him how he makes a living. He does not give me an answer and I decide to be polite and stop here. He has interesting views on life - he feels that if girls mature in the age of 13, they should get married at that age. He himself is 35 and still is not married. "Progress is about giving people choices in life" I tell him, not sure if it registers.

I fall asleep in the afternoon, it's the work of the wheat intolerance - it's making me feel so sluggish again. I get up in time for the first yoga class at the ashram. Run by a French african woman, the class starts with 20 min meditaion. I feel like she's lost us and vice versa. I didn't like the class and her teaching. Too passive and not charismatic at all. She forgets what we told her 5 min ago, she calls the Japanese girl Korean and when corrected she says 'close enough'. I decide to explore Rishikesh for better options. Dinner is at 7pm, it's very simple food and I'm feeling peckish. Hit the town, in search for fruit and sweets, I also find Green Hotel with an Iyengar yoga teacher. He tells me to return at 8am the next day. For the sheer fact that he resembles Sharukh Khan, I will.

India, Day 2

My driver calls me at 6am sharp “This is your driver speaking madam”. I love Delhi at 6am, already bright, yet not in the full state of madness. We drive pass a man who made a house or a roof over his head by using a car cut in half. Everything makes sense in this chaos. Every man around the railway station knows which platform the train to Haridwar departs from. No official display is available. The train takes off with a Swiss precision at 655am. Across the tracks, I see a family making their way down for a morning toilet session. The woman has an obvious advantage, by wearing a skirt. But is discretion something that she cares about. Her 2 yr old boy takes the longest, she just leaves him there. There seems to be no train arriving. But does she know it for sure??

On the train, I sit next to a French tour guide, she’s traveled the world and keeps returning to India. Her group is equally enthusiastic. She’s telling me how she still has not found the man of your life, how tough it is to have a man wait for her to come home. She concludes that women are meant to wait, not men. I concur. I tell her about www.match.com and how my friends met there, got married and are now having a baby. She looks very optimistic. Then I also tell her my mother’s experience of being involved in a multi-dating episode, with heart-breaking effects for some. She further tells me that her father was half-Polish, but abandoned her mother. They never married. “You were a love-child”, I tell her. She laughs out loud, telling me that nobody ever called her that. We part after the 5 hour ride, I wish her luck on match.com. At the railway station at Haridwar, I’m surrounded by a few too many taxi drivers, feeling strangely alone in getting rid of them. I jump on a registered taxi, and the unaided suicide on a rural Indian road begins. Being well predispositioned to asian ways, my heart only once skips a beat – when a bus is head-on with us. An hour later I sit at the Sivananda Ashram office, explaining myself why I had supposedly not written in a month ahead to request the Secretary General for a stay permit. But I did. But my work held me back. But he has little consideration and understanding of the mean corporate life. So he turns me down, I can’t stay. He asks me to come back 3 hours from now to speak to the all-mighty General. My backpack is too heavy to walk around, so I give in to the Swiss Cottage, Lonely Planet’s favourite. I don’t like these kind of places. Little UK in India, Little Germany in India, now also Little Israel in India. People travel for months, without interacting with the locals, just burying their noses in LP. Perils of perfection. I drop my bag, rinse down and dash out to see the town. Rishikesh is spread on both the sides of the Ganges river. I’m determined to go back to Sivananda, but planning a back-up yoga place. After crossing the Ramjula Bridge, this part of Rishikesh is no different than Kuta in Bali or Patong in Phuket. I run away, finding surprisingly lush and green areas just 1 km away. This is what I expected it to be. Expectations are the best way to ruin the experience. I hike up the mysterious path up to the ashram, to be welcome by a ‘DO NOT Disturb' sign. I prepare to leave, but am whistled at my the swami. I have to convince him that I’m not just a passing tourist, that I have a higher purpose in life than stretching my bones. I do some name-dropping quoting Karen O’Bannen to be my teacher at some yoga workshops in KL. He’s hardly impressed. I want to understand yoga beyond its physical merits. Now we are connected, at least on the lowest level. He will do a psychological diagnosis on me when I come back, so we align yoga and meditation depending on his verdict. I remind open-minded. I now also see the only-other visitor, a NZ girl sweeping the gardens. I peep at her extremely basic room. The corporate girl of comfort awakes in me and I decide to move on. I go back to Sivananda to present and sell my story to the Secretary General. He finally accepts me at the ashram. I don’t like ‘no’ for an answer… My day tomorrow will start at 5am with some morning sun light shots. Took some shots today, none of them impressive. I’m still warming up.

India, Day 1

Arrived Delhi 10pm local time, 1230am KL time. The aircraft had technical problems right from the start. We departed late and landed with even more delay, so totally late. First impressions are always the most memorable, so when I got off the airport, it was like going 50 years back in time. The travel agent's driver picked me up in his non-airconditioned car. Instead, he is fully equipped with alters of well-lit-up god on his dashboard and a fire extinguisher on my side. These things become handy at times' I'm sure. Never too much protection. The city is scary yet fascinating at night. People sleeping on highway dividers, on the round-abouts. What does it take to get used to it, to become totally oblivious to these scenes? I developed asthma right after exiting the airport. My hotel room is at USD40, has a long fluorescent lamp that flickers most of the time. The room is nevertheless ready to receive its foreign tourist judging by the TV programming offered; AXN, HBO to Star News. The bellboy proudly flicks through the channels, he then proceeded to pressing the light switch on and off hoping for the lamp to display self-remedy properties. He frowns at my Rp10 tip, accepts Rp20 then insists I should be getting some supper. I'm asleep my midnight.