The Hobbly Hobbly.

Scrinagar, 03/05/1994.The Kashmiri are definitely smooth talking and hard working! I arranged a house boat with a Kashmiri in Jammu for a mere 100 Rp. with dinner and breakfast included. After a 12 hour busride which went through some rugged country side, hills and mountainous scenery and not to forget the Jawahar Nehru tunnel, impressive all in itself, 2500 m. long and damp and dusty inside, it was sort of nice to see there was actually someone to pick us up from the bus. They really picked us up way before Scrinagar by Maruti minibus, were they afraid the competion might snatch us away from them at the Scrinagar bus depot, but they bring us to the promised house boat. Good food and a nice house boat in the middle of Dal Lake. But after dinner me and Mo, the male part of an english young hippie couple i share the house boat with and were with me on the bus, got taken into a small shed with the family s son and father that own the boat, for a hobbly hobbly, local waterpipe, filled with hashish. Me and Mo were the only people smoking while the family present ate their food and watched how the son tried to talk us into buying carpet, smuggle hashish which he supplied naturally, into Europe and all that shit. Mo, however handled him pretty well and he never got a hold on us and the scene never got violent. We both got quite stoned from the hobbly hobbly and, lettin Mo do all the talking i found the whole scene quite comical.

On the way to Kashmir.

Jammu, same day. After the cool days in Manali Valley and Mc Leod Ganj it is sort of hot here in Jammu which is despite being part of Kashmir still on the indian plains. Just have to change busses here for the long haul to Scrinagar.

A Quebec folksong.

Papillon tu est volage. tu resmbles a mon amant. L amour est un bandinage. L amour est un passe/temp.Quant j ai mon amant, j ai le coeur content. Si L amour avait des ailes comme toi joli papillon, je retournerais a elle. Comme une ame en sa maison. Je mourrai d amour. Je pense a elle toujours!

My reward from Lord Buddha.

Mc Leod Ganj, 01=05-1994. My last day in Mc Leod Ganj and the rain is coming down in buckets, it really is rainig cats and dogs, wonder if that is some sort of bad omen.... A couple of bottles of ruma nad the sexy company of Maija celebrated my final evening in this small but very sympathetic and peaceful tibetan community. I will be hard to forget my strange time here and the things that have happened to me, the people i met and how things went after the "heroic action thing", was teaming up with this young and volumtuous finnish lady my reward from Lord Buddha after i rushed in to help this one/legged german from getting beat up by enraged indians while they whole population of foreigners stood by and did nada= Maybe i will find out in the next life but then i have no hurries to find out too soon!!!!!

Dutch queensday.

Mc Leod Ganj, 30-04-1994. Dutch queensday and i miss all the fun, well can`t be changed! We spent most of today in my room, walking around and visiting an elderly german who has got a house here. He filled us up with cakes and pastries so much i had lost my appetite later on in the restaurant.

A 7 year old tibetan boy.

Mc Leod Ganj, 29-04-1994. The contact between me and Maija, my finnish love, is improving rapidly. It definitely is nice to be around her apart from of course the physical thing. Together we went all the way up to the hill above the ZKL monastery where they train a 7 year old tibetan boy to take over the duties of His Holiness The Dalai Lama when he will be to old to continue his peaceful work. A very bored looking 7 year old boy greeted us and after we had prostated ourselves in front of him which is the custom, < 3 times as a matter of fact> asked us a couple of all-day-questions in pretty good english like "wher you are from?" and "she your wife?" His english was quite Oxfort accented though.

A 20 year old blond from Finland.

Mc Leod Ganj, 28-04-1994. Despite a strong catarro i spent most of yestrady in the charming company of a 20 year old blond from Finland, talking and walking around the hilly surroundings of Mc Leod Ganj. I brought her back to her hotel around midnight and we ended up sort of french kissing but nada mas which was okay with me for a first date. It has, after all, been a while since last i was in the company of such charming and beautiful finnish lady.

A room that is alive.

Mc Leod Ganj, 27-04-1994. The last couple of days i have been spending quite a bit of time with the israeli neighbors in my hotel. They like to smoke pot and chat up the ladies, obviously they are having a good time here in Mc Leod Ganj. Their room, at the street side of the hotel, is a melting pot of people, A spanish nymphomaniac is a frequent visitos as well as what is probably the only tibetan prostitute in this small tibetan refugee city. They all come to this room that gives out to the street which is convenient because because from their balconey they can see and call to all the western and tibetan beauties alike to come up and pay us a visit.The shops are finally strating to open as well as the restaurants, hesitantly and slowy though. The general admosphere is slowly improving.

My heroism action.

Mc Leod Ganj, 25-04-1994. After smasing the peaceful community of tibetan refugees, the indian "heros" stick to threatening speeches down in Dharamsala. Together with Shifra, a duch jewish blond from Israel we had a look at the damage done to the tibetan library, mostly broken windows and a few cars set on fire. My heroism action during the indian mop violence has made me quite a few friends here in Mc Leod Ganj, foreign tourists as well as tibetan refugees!

Mop violence.

Mc Leod Ganj, 23-04-1994. Being in a country where shops are open 365 days a year i was sort of surprised this morning to find everything closed but my mind dismissed it as something local and i therefore didn`t consciously try to figure out what was wrong. Only after my return from my walk to Disala and at St. John`s church in the Wilderness did the shit really hit the fan with irrate mops of hindus armed to the teeth with wooden clubs and iron staves ransacking tibetan shops, restaurants and hotels, beating up those tibetans dumb enough to still be outside. Setting things on fire and trowing stones through windows were common with the indian riot police standing by idly, fingering their bambu cane shields. Trying to free a one-legged german from a threatening crowd i got them all against me but being aforeign tourist finally spurred the police into action and with a serious lathi charge scared away my would-be assailants. Hindus are not exactly big heros and when they do get into fights they like their friends to hold them back so that they can show off safely. However, an indian mop is capable of murder! All their repressed frustrations just come out!!! A tibetan killed a Hindu lat night down in Dharamsala and that is the cause of everything, the hindu crowd says and conveniently leave out the jealously part, a crime pasionel by the spoud of it. The tibetans in Mc Leod Ganj are slowly getting rich and their bellies grow by the day on the lucrative tourist industry. The Hindus down in Dharamsala only see the tourists passing through and not spending any money apart from, maybe, a cup of chai waiting for their bus up to Mc Leod Ganj.

Bagsu.

Mc. Leod Ganj, 21-04-1994. Mr. Dalai Lama fled to dharamsala after his volutary exile from Tibet, a lot of his country people came with him and today the place is quite a scene with hotels, restaurants, movie houses and all sorts of peopl, freaks, hippies, people in search of themselves, idiolisers of tibetology, buddism seekers or whatever they call themselves. I saw one tourist with huge tibetan scribts tattoed all over his legs today. I meet lots of people i have met already on this trip, yeah the place really is popular. Only a short walk got me to Bagsu, a nearby village where the locals hope to make a bit of dough on this huge tourist implosion at the nearby holy presence of the Dalai Lama.

The Dalai Lama.

Mc. Leod Ganj, 20/04/1994. Mc. Leod Ganj is officially a part of Daramsala but it is 10 km. furter up the road and 500m. higher. Full with tibetan refugees, the residence of the Dalai Lama, full with good food and a shitload of foreigners. My hotel room is a sorry affairs with no windows and i pay a hefty fee of 70 Rp. a night. Today for the first time since being on this trip did i have to stay in the bus, no seats, sir. Using the roads in India you can be sure to come along flocks of sheep, cows, donkeys, horses and mules thrown in for good measure. Especially in the Himachal Pradesh.

The weirdness of Malana.

Mandi, 19-04-1994. Still not sure if the weirdness of Malana was a charras induced nightmare/dream or actual reality!!! At any point i put my pack on my back and hiked back to Jari and hence on to Bhuntar where i took yet again a bus to Mandi. I took the same guest house as last time i was here, the place is still dirty like hell but cheap enough at 40 Rp. a night.

Malana.

Malana, 18-04-1994.A hard day of walking with my backpack on my back, brought me to Malana brought me to Malana where the houses and the people should not be touched-punishabe by Malana law with a fine of 1000 Rp. The villagers are a strange and weird lot, they inbreed, but the village is probably the most intence experience i ever had. On entering i thought i was on another planet or something. Not just the people and their dresses and jewelery, not just the looks they give you but the wholew ambience/admosphere is completely diferent as i have yet experienced! I must have looked like a complete idiot the way i staggered into the village and gaped around. The place has no running water nor electricity and the locals seem to spend most of their time sitting around and rolling charras. They have a guest house, 60 Rp. for board and lodging, the owner is the government representative and not from the village itself. Apart from me there are some Italian alternatives around that, i have no doubt have come to Malana to buy bags full with tolas of charras.

A panther

I saw some green parakeets, black head and yellow tail, size of am comon indian green parakeet today on my way back from Jari. Some locals told me there was a panther nearby, actually throwing stones at the presumed location of the beast to scare it away. The only thing alive i ever saw up there was a Rhesus Macaque and the stupid monkey seemed quite unnerved by all the commotion.

A fly in your food.

The waiter of the mountain restauren-watch the spelling-a dopehead who always hovers near the table when a chilam or joints goes around, told one of my table partners that she should remove the fly in her food before eting it!!!

The gurdwara sikh temple

Manikaran, 17-04-1994. There are some great walks to be made in this area, like the one to kasol, following small paths at the other side of the river. Tends to be a bit complicated finding my way around being stoned out of my heads as i seem to be most of the time. Being stoned is like a shifting of consciousnesses. The rael world and the not so real world!Lots of sikh tourists in Manikaran. They come to this small village with the whole family in tow, all dressed in their best clothes which is so typical for the locals when they go on holiday, driving these small Maruti vans that are popular among indians, to see the Gurdwara temple, the sikh temple.

Pulga.

Manikaran, 16-04-1994. Like in Vashisht there is quite a chilam and charras culture in Manikaran. The beautiful trek to Pulga, a small village full with long term visitors and 14 km. from Manikaran was very nice and took me through some wild and rugged parts of Parvati Valley-as they call this valley. A small village, the ocasional bunch of small kids, a few local women in ragged clothes that were suposed to be tradional i believe, looking after their cattle, goats and sheep and strong looking but not very tall, black cows and bulls were all i saw on my trek to Pulga. Did see some rhesus macaque and Hanuman monkeys but they were much more shy as in other parts of India.

No toilet

Manikaran, 15-04-1994. Not much to say about Manikaran mainly because i got myself stoned out of my mind only a few hours after arrival. I changed my hotel this morning because the other place didnot have a toilet, i had to piss off the verandah last night! Like Vashisht this place has natural baths but the water is much hotter here, in fact close to boiling temperature. At the main gurdwara are many babas smoking charras from a chilam, nothing new in that.

Leaving the freaks and weirdos behind.

Vashisht, 13-o4-1994. Probably my last entry in this travellog from this small and picturesque himalayan village, gonna leave all these freaks and weirdos behind. Coming back from Nagar, a stiff 18 km. walk i met this bloke from Down Under i met two months ago in Calcutta having just come over on his first trip to Asia. He was there and then pretty green but now he talks chilam, charras and that sort of shit. The jargon of the experienced chilam smoker. Tomorrow is defitely LEAVING TIME!!!

The chaishop

Vashisht, 12-04-1994. Whenever someone wants to light up a chilam and has the hashish but not the chilam they borrow the chilam from an old grey haired, bearded local who is always around probably for just that purpose. After all when other people borrow your chilam you naturally get a good hit from it too! An ugly frenchman with a nose that resembles a carrot, is also always near waiting for someone to light up a chilam and pass it along, accidendly is always seated in the direction the chilam gets around. The man has got no shame whatsoever and even eats the leftovers from a pancake or any other food people have ordered. You do hold on to your money this way though. A local who looks pretty much 90 % out of this world also behaves as though he is 90 % out of this sorry excistence! He lights up a chilam-if he doesn`t fall asleep in the process-and cleans it out straight after, knocking a fully prepared mix on the table.