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Badrinath Temple

Kak Chowk Ashram, where we regularly went for dinner.

I think this is Mana..

Another very special road sign (and small temple), on the way to Mana.

A Bhotia woman in Mana, doing what they all do: knitting woolen stuff.

A random snap capturing the constant attention from Indians...we were definitely celebrities in Mana.

A "last photo" with friends before we headed up to Neelkanth Valley (to sleep under the rock).

The beautiful valley inspired some impromptu yoga (and a funny picture): this is "downward dog."

The promised rock, and our sleeping place.

Edelweiss flowers!

The view of Neelkanth Mountain and our magic valley, as seen from Koji Baba's cave.

Yours Truly, Shepherd Dan and Romas. Photo courtesy of Koji Baba.

Koji Baba jamming with Shepherd Dan (on the one-stringed base guitar)

Unforgettable.

Part II: Welcome to India, Please Don't Strangulate the Indians.

It took us three days to hitch hike to Gaurikund, the last town on the motorable road just 14 km before Kedarnath. Our rides ranged from jeeps to private cars and taxis to one huge potato truck. I especially enjoyed the potato truck.

The first night we stayed in a huge ashram in a small place called Mayapur. We were the only people when we arrived and felt quite lucky as we surveyed the peaceful countryside surrounding us. But within the hour, seven thousand screaming Indians showed up - okay maybe it was two, and maybe they were just talking really loud.

I gathered they were the sort of Indians who don't get to see foreigners too often when ten or twenty of them accumulated outside our window. They were intensely curious - what are those foreigners doing in there? - and I was tolerating the invasion rather well, I thought, until some boys followed me to the bathroom to watch me shower. That was finally too much.

As maddening as these experiences can be, I can't help but appreciate the strong education I am getting. The more frustration I experience, the more sensitive and aware I become with regard to my own ignorance.

. . . . .

The next morning we walked less than one kilometer before a small car picked us up and drove us to Chamoli. From there we continued west to Gopeshwar, the very cute town where the entire village of Mana relocates in November (it's impossible to stay in the mountains during winter).

By this time I had begun to exhibit signs of sickness, including a headache and a complete lack of physical energy. All I wanted was to do was sleep, so in the next small town I sat down with our bags while Shepherd Dan went in search of a place to nap.

He found a cleanish-looking spot at the mandir (temple), so I unrolled my blanket and fell into a fitful slumber while he busied himself with lunch. I was vaguely aware of the many Indians coming and going, having a look at the foreigners and such, but I was too exhausted to care. After a couple of hours, I woke up feeling dazed.

So you can imagine my shock when a rockin' taxi pulled up directly in front of the mandir and Ringo Starr from Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band stepped out! What I wouldn't give for a picture of this moment!

We both stood, mouths open, as it slowly registered that the very stylish guru who stepped out of the very stylish car was not actually Ringo Starr, but the head of an ashram in Badrinath where Shepherd Dan used to live and an absolute dead ringer for the goofy Beatle. He proceeded immediately to embrace Shepherd Dan while I checked myself to see if I was still dreaming...was he really wearing that shiny pink-striped robe?

Still a bit dazed we again set out walking, but now my confidence in the hitch hiking method was waning. We hadn't seen a single car going in our direction for the last hour and the next thirty kilometers were nothing but dense forest.

But Shepherd Dan was feeling great, insisting we would get a ride no problem. And I have to hand it to him...within fifteen minutes a privately hired white Ambassador taxi, complete with little blue curtains on the back windows, stopped and picked us up. It was more than unlikely...it was completely impossible! Shepherd Dan opened the door for me and I stepped inside, feeling quite the princess in our ongoing fairytale.

The next thirty kilometers were some of the most gorgeous rainforest I have ever seen, and after an hour we had climbed more than a thousand meters to the town of Chopta, a.k.a. "the Switzerland of India." And while it was quite beautiful, we couldn't help calling it "Switzerland with Garbage." In any case we were happy to settle in for the night.

. . . . .

Unfortunately, things took a serious dive when we finally reached Gaurikund the next day; the town was small and dirty with aggressive undertones...a stark contrast from our fairytale existence in Badrinath. We took a dank room at Bharat Seva Ashram and immediately fell into a funk. Something about the place was depressing and neither Shepherd Dan nor I was immune.

Our three days of travel had been adventurous but difficult and we agreed to take one day of rest before walking up to the temple, a six-hour, 1,400 meter climb. Unfortunately, things improved little before we set out early the following morning.

I have since realized that part of our problem was timing. We happened to be caught in the peak days of a peak pilgrimage season, and most of the Indians had opted to hire a mule - or worse, Nepalis - to carry them up the mountain. As the monsoon had not yet arrived in full force, the entire 14 km of path was covered in stinking mule crap. At one point we attempted to circumvent the main path, only to discover the surrounding areas piled high with human crap, which is far, far worse... Needless to say, we were a long way from the magic of Neelkanth Valley.

Our mutual funk was not improved by the countless requests for photos. And although we honored most requests (at least, Shepherd Dan did), those who took photos without permission were sure to regret it afterward. The few lewd men who wanted to [have sex with] me were told to ask their mothers instead.

And when young boys asked us for money, we sent them to their fellow countrymen, specifically the ones who had enough money to ride on the backs of Nepali people. It takes four Nepali men to carry one Indian up the mountain.

Gaurikund and Kedarnath were classic examples of what happens when the despicable behavior of a few taints the whole bunch. It was a tourist town at its worst and we were the only white people there. I am not proud of the vitriol that bubbled to the surface during this last part of our journey; it was the epitome of a lose-lose situation.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I had begun plotting my escape. When I came down from the mountain I would get myself to the internet as fast as possible and book a cheap flight - Istanbul? Marseilles? - I didn't care where; I just needed to get the hell out. I was starting to daydream about strangling the Indians, and everyone knows this is the sign that it's time to leave.

There were a few other factors, irrespective of Indians, that surely contributed to my madness. I had been wearing the same clothes for three weeks, I was sick, I had started my menstruation (three weeks late) as well as suddenly stopped smoking for no apparent reason (If you didn't know I was smoking, you can disregard that last bit). And in the span of two weeks, I had traveled more than I have traveled in the entire six months I have been here. My mental health was in a shambles, and when we continued to get bombarded by thousands of Indians in Kedarnath, I was doing all I could to keep the pieces together...

Once we finally reached the top, we paid our respects at the temple and took a room in yet another ashram. I was pleased to see that it was a quiet place with signs painted on the walls reminding guests to speak softly and observe silence. We had a short nap before all hell broke loose.

For some unfathomable reason, Indians love loudspeakers. And positioned on the wall directly across from the door to our room was a big one, suddenly operating at full blast. I went in search of an ashram representative, determined to inquire about the seeming contradiction between the signs encouraging silence and the blaring loudspeaker.

As it turned out, there was no contradiction because - as it was explained to me - the music is devotional music. Oh yes, of course.

And then God realized I was teetering on the brink and sent me a bit of respite in the form of a very sweet Indian family from Calcutta who were charming, educated, civilized and sitting far away from the loudspeaker. I spent hours talking with them and they insisted that I come to Calcutta as soon as possible to stay with them, adamant that it was nothing like Delhi. For a few moments I relaxed; these people were adorable...perhaps they would adopt me...perhaps I could adjust again to the Indians...

The next morning we packed up early and ran down the mountain, anxious to end our visit to Kedarnath. At this point there was no doubt in my mind that I was finished with my yatra. In fact, I'm still quite sure that I will not need to do any more yatra in India, this year, next year...for as long as I live.

Still salivating for an internet connection - St. Petersburg? Jerusalem? - we searched for a direct bus to Rishikesh. But none was available, so we spent five nauseating hours on a bus to Srinagar and stayed the night before resuming our journey to Rishikesh the next morning.

Conditions back in the kesh were steamy and crowded. I went directly to the internet to send an S.O.S. to my mama. I cried at the computer as I wrote of my mental collapse. All I needed, I was sure, was to become female again; to bathe properly, to brush my hair with an actual comb, to put on different, preferably clean clothes. Maybe even a skirt...

It seems I had simply gone too far. Six weeks of bumming around with babas in a single change of clothing had been too much. Even Swamiji suggested I could lighten up a little bit.

Soon after my return I ran into a western friend, and then another one. Their company did wonders to restore my mental health and after a few days I began to feel at home again; I would not be needing to flee the country after all. Now I am settled into a nice room with a kitchen and feeling quite content to hibernate here for the next long while. And with the monsoon (finally!) here in full force, I don't have much choice anyway.

So my dear friends, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

As I conclude this tale of fantasy and madness, I notice that I am coming down with the flu. No matter. I've got nothing to do and plenty of time to do it. That is, unless I have to make an emergency run to the Pakistani border next week...but I'll deal with that hurdle when I get there. For the moment at least, life is pretty damned good. Until next time, hari om!

A worn-out but slightly wiser,
LMA

PS Three postings in three days! And I still didn't get to the naked baba!