From Shimla to Dharamsala

Dharamsala, Tuesday 22 January 2013

So, yesterday I left Shimla behind and made the trip to Dharamsala, involving three different buses - the first from the old bus station nearest the centre of Shimla out to a newer bus station. There I had some breakfast, as I was ridiculously early (just in case!), and watched the world go by while I waited for my bus.

The bus conductors go round the building shouting out the destination of the bus they're responsible for, which is a big help to hapless vagabonds like me. In fact, if it hadn't been for the young conductor going round rounding up passengers at the old Shimla station, I might still be there!

Finally, my bus pulled in. Certainly not a deluxe model...

My bus from Shimla to Dharamsala.

 ... but it was comfortable enough. And so the ten-hour journey got under way. The journey headed north west across the foothills. The foothills are like the fingers of your hand, with a gorge or valley between each finger. To make progress, the bus had to go up one side of each finger and down the other making its way gradually west along the vast sprawling hand of the Himalayan foothills. It was a journey of constant twists and turns, through towns and villages, with people getting on and off for shorter rides throughout.

I love long journeys. Those who know me will know that I can't sit still for five minutes, ordinarily... there always seems to be something that I need to do. And so, the only time I can sit and content myself for any length of time is on a long journey. It was, thus, bliss. Well, I didn't exactly do nothing... I decided if I'm going to get anywhere in India these next few months, I need to get on with learning the language, and the script is the key to it. So, in short bursts throughout the journey, I had a go at learning some of the Devanagari script's characters. The bus conductor appeared to be quite a character, and when he saw what I was at he sat down and helped me write a few of the trickier characters, and how to pronounce the vowels. There's a pic of him below in his Playboy jacket, selling fares to some passengers who'd just boarded along the way.

The Playboy conductor selling tickets on board

On seeing this, the guy behind leaned over my seat and asked to see my phrasebook. On handing it back to me, he said: 'You learn Hindi? I teach you.' Well, I figured I knew where this might lead (building on a few days' experience), and politely declined. A few minutes later, he handed a notebook and pen over to me. 'You write name and address.' I don't think so. I mean, really.

It was dark when we pulled into Dharamsala bus station, and I found my way to the bus that would take me up to my destination, the upper part of the town, known as McLeod Ganj. It was another 20 minutes or so. There were a few people at the door of the bus when I got off, offering accommodation. I'd made my mind up to try the Green Hotel, which the folks I'd sat round the fire with at the YMCA in Shimla had recommended. It also got a good mention in Lonely Planet. So, I declined the alternatives being offered, but accepted an offer by one of the chaps to show me to the centre of town. He was from Nepal, and was friendly without being pushy. He gave me his card and said his hotel was quiet, with a nice view out over the valley, and they sit around the fire on the roof at night. I was tempted, and told him if I didn't like the Green Hotel, I'd be down. 

The Green Hotel had rooms (500 rupees, which is about six pounds) and I checked in and came back into the restaurant, to get a bite to eat and use the wifi. It was full of white faces, which was strange after having seen so few since leaving the airport in Delhi. There were a few average-looking British holidaymakers, and a good helping of hippy types. Somehow it just wasn't what I wanted. I've definitely got my hippy side (or I wouldn't be here!) but I felt I'd rather sit around the fire and chat with the Nepali hotelier. 

So, this morning I checked out and went to find his hotel. I eventually asked someone at a wee cafe, and they pointed across the road. By coincidence, I was right beside it. The guy yelled across the road to a fella sitting on a flat roof... I assume it was something along the lines of: 'Hey, you... I think this one's looking for your place.' The roof fella came running across his roof, jumped onto the grassy bank and made his way up to the roadside to meet me. (See pic below)

The roof of my new hotel, which, they tell me, will be another floor soon, with another four rooms.

He showed me a room, which was more like the thing... a superb view over the valley, instead of the view of another room from the window at the Green Hotel. And at 400 rupees a night, cheaper, too.

The view from my room, looking up towards the centre of McLeod Ganj.

My room, complete with balcony and super view. 

My priority for the day was to visit the Dalai Lama's home (well, the complex in which his residence is located, I should say. It's not like I was going in for tea, more's the pity). The Lonely Planet seemed to show a path from the Delek Hospital, further down the hill, and the Nepali hotelier suggested using it and making a round trip back to town. I walked down the road for about 15 minutes and found the hospital, but despite asking every man and his dog, no one could point me to a path to the complex. I gave up in the end and walked back up to town. A sign advertising the facilities at the hospital was a stark reminder about what some of the Tibetans have been through, though. One of the regular clinics they offer is for torture survivor victims. (Pic below)

The Dalai Lama's house is within a compound called the Tsuglagkhang Complex. Leaving the main road, you walk through an entrance gate and up an internal road. You pass a souvenir shop or two, and the Tibet Museum, which tells the story of Tibet, mainly focusing on the aftermath of the arrival of the Chinese. Wandering around in the complex, I'd no idea what to expect or where I was going, but followed some signs for the temple. A man searched my bag and I was allowed into the temple area at the heart of the complex.

A sign outside the temple entrance said to be careful someone doesn't steal your shoes - so I put them in my rucksack and went in. About a third of the temple was covered from floor to ceiling virtually with intricate Buddhist depictions, and dotted around were various offerings piled up, including money, fruit, biscuits and sweets.

People walk around the outside of the temple in a clockwise direction, spinning prayer wheels mounted on the wall as they go. (Pic below)

Prayer wheels along the outside wall of the temple.

The views up to the higher ridges were superb from the temple.

After doing a few laps of the temple and spinning a few prayer wheels, I made my way back down to the museum and went inside to visit. It was one of those occasions when you knew what you were going to read and see, and didn't really want to. It's such a sad and cruel tale, how the peaceful Tibetan culture is being eradicated under Chinese rule. The museum tells you that 1.2 million Tibetans have died due to execution, torture, hunger. Hundreds of thousands have fled Tibet, making the dangerous journey across high mountain passes through the Himalayas to reach India. The Tibetan government in exile and the Dalai Lama are now based here in Dharamsala. Refugees arrive here all the time, and there are various organisations here helping them gain employment, through education and training. There's one particular cooperative that employs refugee women in making carpets (pics below), and sells various other Tibetan goods in the wee shop adjoining the carpet workshop.

And that's the story so far. It's 8.08pm here, and I guess I should go and get something to eat. I'd a late lunch and so I'm only really getting hungry now. I'd Tibetan tsampa porridge for breakfast, which is like Farley's Rusk for any of you who had that as a kid, with bananas and honey, and then Tibetan momos (dumplings) for lunch. Yum. I think a spot of Indian for dinner is called for.