Into the Mountains

Today is our last day in Shimla, a summer administrative center for the Indian and, while it still held colonial sway, British governments. Due to the ridiculous heat on the plains, the British established Shimla as the summer capital back in the mid-1800's. Shimla sits at just over 7000 feet and the temperatures are much more tolerable than down in Delhi. We've had a nice time exploring the colonial legacy and soaking in the cooler mountain air.

Tomorrow we take a ten hour bus ride further east into the Kinnaur Valley. Over the next two to three weeks we'll be in a pretty remote region populated by people whose culture is more similar to Tibetan than Indian. For the first week, we'll be following the route of the old Hindustan-Tibet Highway which linked the British Raj with Tibet. We'll turn north into the Spiti Valley where the terrain should start to become much more arid. I don't know what if we'll have a chance to get on-line for awhile so don't worry if you don't see or hear anything.

'Bye for now.

Undiluted Pop Ghosts

Across the Universe?

A few days ago,we took a break from our regimen of two-a-day yoga classes and did some exploring around Rishikesh. For centuries, pilgrims and 'holy people' have come here to meditate and pay homage to the Ganges. Ashrams (religious living and study centers) dot both sides of the river. Many people claim that Rishikesh is one of the world centers for the study of yoga so Tami and I decided to focus on that while we're here and get in a bit better shape. I can vouch for it's effectiveness. I feel better than I have in months. Yoga is hard work.

Positive results notwithstanding, a break was in order. Other than yoga, meditation, reading and some light, outdoor recreation, there isn't a lot to do in Rishikesh. Like Indians, foreign travelers come seeking peace or focus. Some come just to take a break from the mass of humanity India can impose. People from the West haven't been journeying to Rishikesh for so long. That changed just over thirty-eight years ago. In February of 1968, four young men in their twenties along with some friends hopped a plane in London and came here to study with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (link).

Searching for something more 'transcendental' or meaningful than the global adoration and financial success that their music had brought them, the Beatles camped out for several weeks at the Maharishi's ashram. Most Beatles fans know the story. Led by George Harrison and John Lennon, the group agreed to explore the teachings of the Maharishi and his practice of Transcendental Meditation.

I knew the story as well but my interest was piqued by a French fellow we met on the train from Delhi. He'd spent a lot of time in Rishikesh and said one of his favorite diversions was wandering around the now abandoned ashram. The afternoon we went to find it, the temps were well above a hundred degrees. We shuffled through the heat passing the last buildings along the Ganges. At the south end of 'town', we saw a small, hand-lettered sign that said "Beatles Ashram - 100 Meters". The road petered out to a trail then died into a rocky river wash. Up the wash, we saw some wierd, conical gate towers among the forest.

















Behind the gate, a bent old man sat on a bench staring at the ground. He looked like one of the ubiquitous sadhus (wandering Hindu 'holy' men) you see everywhere in India. His clothes were loose and unkempt and he had a yellow and red stained bandage over the stump of where the last digit of his left index finger should have been. As I stood a dozen feet away, he didn't look up. He kept taking slow, resigned drags from his 'bidi' (bad smelling, cheap, Indian cigarettes) staring vacantly at the ground. This was a little odd. I knew he was there, officially or otherwise, to try get some money from anyone who wanted to enter. After some time I called out, "My friend!". He looked up and, continuing his vacant stare at me, finally communicated that it would cost us twenty rupees (about 45 cents) to get in. He shuffled over to the gate, jiggled the pad lock and dangled the key in front of me. Because there was no apparent infrastructure for visitors and he had no uniform I was sure this was a just another Indian shakedown.

I walked away and surveyed the wall around the encampment. We could have hopped over at a couple of places but, given that this was his turf, I decided to avoid a confrontation. I went back and offered ten rupees. Without looking up from his bench, he took long drag on the bidi and a couple breaths later, shook his head and held fast; twenty. I know that's not much cash but he and I both knew he had no legal authority to do this. He was just fleecing us. Even if expediency directed me to play along, in the domain of the black market, negotiation is always accepted. He wasn't being reasonable.

I walked away and surveyed the walls again. I knew we could have easily argued him down if he tried to do anything to stop us once we were in. There were, however, a couple dozen other sadhus a stone's throw down the river wash. Not knowing if they'd come to his aid if they heard a confrontation, I decided to pay the twenty and go in.


I had no idea what to expect (a helpful survival posture in India, btw). Ashrams come in all shapes and sizes. Some acommodate just a few dozen people, some thousands. I also didn't know how long it had been since the Maharishi's had been occupied. At the minimum, I hoped to find some relic establishing the Beatle's presence here, something to bridge the gap of time between their visit and my own. My main reason for having any hope was how far we were from where most pop fans would be willing to tread. How many Beatles fans have posed in the zebra stripe crossing of Abbey Road (link)? So many, I think, that any sense of unique 'communion' with the creative energy of the Boys must have been flushed decades ago. Of course the chances of touching or feeling anything 'inspirational' thirty-eight years down the line might be just as far fetched even here but, because few can make the journey and even fewer have a similar motivation, I didn't feel silly for being hopeful.






Meditation Buildings








It wasn't just that the Beatles had been on this ground. They came, unpacked their bags and made this their collective home for a month and a half. During their stay they wrote all the songs that would eventually make up the 'White Album' and much of 'Abbey Road'.







"Number 9?"













The visit didn't turn out as the Beatles had hoped. Due to some questionable behavior on the part of the Maharishi (link), John and George (the final two Beatles remaining) and the last of the entourage hastily packed and left the ashram. John said later, "There is no guru. You have to believe in yourself. You've got to get down to your own God in your own temple. It's all down to you, mate."

For our part, Tami and I had a hell of a day. The whole thing was like a spooky treasure hunt. We found strange meditation buildings that would merit historical preservation status on their own (see Tami's blog). We dodged monkeys and and a bat. I reflected on the comingling of cultures and how those have evolved since 1968. I thought long and hard about muses and gurus, pop and otherwise. For sure we had a day we'll both remember for a long time.

It's On

Today we begin our journey toward and ultimately into the Himalayas....and none too soon. The heat for sure is on but the excitement of the trip is on even more. The only other time I visited India was in 1994-5. Over the following three or four years, a day literally did not pass without some thought or memory of India passing in my mind. I'm not sure why I feel so at home here. Sure....it costs a fraction of what it costs to live in the West but so do many other developing countries. Now that I'm back, I see that there is something in the way the people interact, the way they make their lives that inspires me. At first, I likened life here to the fabled times of New York City; times of the Bowrey Boys and fast talking hustlers in Times Square. Now, I think it goes deeper in the human experience and farther back in time. Being here is more like being in a Charles Dickens novel. For the vast majority of the populace, life is hard. There are over a billion people here and the cities are full of characters and hustlers and saintly older folks who have seen more weird things than a CIA agent but can still stay circumspect and chuckle at misfortune that would send most Americans to the liquor cabinet or worse.

Today we take the train to Haridwar, one of the holiest places in Hinduism. There, the sacred river Ganges emerges from the mountains to begin its long flow over the plains to the Bay of Bengal. We'll follow the river north and west to the "Cow's Mouth", the glacier that is its source high in the Himalaya. I'm sure the way will be populated by folk who'll be sure to teach us a thing or two about what it is to be human.

Bang...Boom...Pow!

The national symbol of the Netherlands. They´re EVERYWHERE!

















Bang!....across the US.

Boom!....Spain oddessy.

Pow!....Paris romance.

Zing!...Amsterdam and goodbye to the West.

Has it really been over four months since we pulled out of the driveway? Oh yes.
Today we leave for India. The weather reports we see on the internet show the temperature in New Delhi to be around 43 degrees Centigrade, that´s about 111 degrees Fahrenheit for you non-metric folks. Gulp...!

Just before we left Arizona, Tami and I watched the movie Castaway with some friends. The scenario of a man, a person, having to do without all his creature comforts got under my skin. We were about to embark on a long drive and camping trip across the US in the dead of winter. After that, we were shedding the truck and most of our gear in Michigan and paring down to backpacks. Less and less again.

Now we´re on the brink of leaving for the real destination we dreamed about, Asia. Our time in Europe was capped by a reunion of sorts. We were lucky enough to stay in Amsterdam with our gracious and wonderful friend, Karolina. Captain Ken Phelps, Richard `Manhattan` Janda and Johan from Stockholm all made the trip to visit with us. The company has made being on the road feel a lot like home.

Yesterday, as we were riding bikes around the tulip fields, I thought again about Castaway. Tom Hanks´ character dealt with all the material privations in stride. It was only when his imaginary friend, "Wilson", drifted away that he lost hope. I know that scene made me a little uneasy as we were leaving our friends in Arizona, the last friends we'd see for some time. As we say so long to our little reunion here and head further out into it, we certainly lose no hope but, more than ever, we think of all the people we know and care about. Know that we think of you and that you are with us.

Are you ready for 111? :)

Bye for now.