With minds as clear as the upper Ganga, we left Phool Chatti with inner peace and outward tranquility. Music rang throughout the bus on our way to the train station, thoughtless contemplation ran high. Then the tornado of Indian travel ripped its way into our consciousness, tearing at our vulnerablilities and peaceful minds. Indian stares and crowded trains were bolstered with clashing vibes and unknown motives. We looked out the window not to see the Wicked Witch of the West on her flying broomstick, but instead the tattered reality of so many Indians. A similar disturbance. The busy streets of Amritsar threw dust in our eyes and the dark night was filled with blaring horns and headlights. And just when things seemed about to brim over, the storm settled. We had arrived at the Golden Temple, a little place I like to call the Emerald City of India. For the next three days we were fed and housed in this land of enchantment free of charge. The Golden Temple, the holiest center in Sikhism, was a place of breathtaking beauty and rich splendor. We ate our meals in the massive dining halls that give out 60-80,000 meals a day to pilgrims and foreigners. In case you were wondering, the cooking pots were the size of Paul Bunyans cereal bowl which is approximately the size of a medium sized rickshaw which is approximately the size of a small American car. We spent most of our time in the safe-haven that the temple had to offer, excluding our trip to the India/Pakistan border closing ceremony that featured the high kicks and battle-like cries of Indian border guards. A very odd experience I might say. When it came time to leave Amritsar, few tears were shed and a gentle excitement for our next destination set in. And so we arrived in Bir-a small Tibetan village nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. For the sake of the greater metaphor, we’ll call it Kansas. Back in the comfort of natures silence and home-cooked meals, we settled into the Deer Park Institute brimming with childish excitement to pour our souls into our journals. We learned to travel write from Janet, our travel writing instructor. And so we did. We wrote, we shared, we listened. In a matter of days we were transformed from lowly squires to the fuedal lord of Travel Writing,I expect into immortal Kings sitting high atop the writing hierarchy. I expect at least all of us to be potentially published in the moderate future. We relaxed in Bir and spent our free time exploring a Tibetan temple, going for walks, admiring the paragliders overhead, and meandering amongst our fellow writing students. Our final night in Bir was capped with an epic lightning storm that illuminated the entire sky and a piece of our souls. The intensity of the piercing lightning and ferocious thunder mixed with the sound of spattering rain was something that I’ll never forget. With Mcleod Ganj on the immediate horizon, the build-up to India’s most storied location(thanks to Ben and Lotte) reached an all-time high. We scarfed our breakfasts, snapped some photos, and piled into the taxis that would be our vehicles into the next stratosphere of our Indian adventure-its gonna be a wild ride to the finish…-Noha
