Ladakh: Like no place on earth

Debating whether I should go to India had me wrapping myself in knots more than any yoga class ever could. I didn’t know what was holding me back. All I knew was that I didn’t feel particularly drawn to it either. Memories of the pungent smell of Delhi’s back streets and the overwhelming sense of overcrowding as the Mother Land bore down on me in all her glory didn’t evoke the type of feelings that made me want to pack my bag, kiss goodbye to the air conditioned comfort of 7/11 and Mango shakes, and wade in amongst the sacred cows and sadu’s.

So I decided. India was a no. After all I still had the sharp words of the Russian Psychic ringing violently in my ears – ‘Don’t go to India’ she said. Oh. I don’t know about you, but I don’t find that kind of warning particularly encouraging.

I couldn’t shake off this feeling that this wasn’t the case though. That indeed I should go. But try as I might I couldn’t picture myself in India. I just kept thinking of the Himalaya, of Tibet, those snow peaked mountains, epic and vast, their strength and their silence as awe inspiring as it is frightening and brilliant blue skies.

I had toyed with the idea of Ladakh, right from the get go, even before I left home. It sounded like some mythical, magical land, akin to Bhutan not only on account of it only having been open to tourists since around the 70’s, but because of its isolated existence tucked high into the mountains between the border of Kashmir and Tibet. For 90% of the year the roads are impassable and the places disappears until a blanket of snow. For this reason it didn’t occur to me that I somehow might be in the right place at the right time. Then two things happened - I had a conversation with someone, having mentioned none of this, who I was boring with my should I/shouldn’t I debate re: India. And the minute they said it – I’d go to Ladakh at this time of year, it’s the most incredible place on earth – it struck something deep inside, louder than a temple gong and I knew I had to go there. Then the next day, I was browsing through an old magazine in a coffee shop in Chaing Mai and the pages fell open on a double page spread about Leh, the capital of Ladakh. From corner to corner it was filled with images of breathtaking, open blue skies, snow capped mountains – just like the ones I have been day dreaming and dreaming about - and Tibetan monks in traditional dress. I could almost smell the Yak butter candles and toasty, aromatic Sampa flat bread.

I book a flight to Leh, without even thinking about it twice.

Two weeks later I am at Bangkok airport, boarding a flight to Delhi and it’s as if I’m already there. Men queue, nose to tail, all sporting impressive colonial mustaches, a beady eye and a crisp white collar shirt. Bursts of Hindi radiate from each and every one of them in some kind of disorganized exchange. Fast forward a few hours, a long flight, two curries and a night spent on the airport floor, I find myself soaring about the mountains that have filled my dreams. I feel like I have fallen down a wormhole into a far and distant land, untouched by common society and filled with magic and promise.

The sky is so startlingly blue and so stunningly infinite and intense I can’t quite believe I am here. What is it about this part of the world – this culture – that tugs on my heart strings like no other?

Down below I can see a tiny toy town, sheltered by raising mountains that utterly drown and encapsulate them. The tips of the planes wings are practically touching the peaks as we circle the airfield (the only flat surface for miles and it’s minimal at that) and prepare to land. How anyone ever found out this place is existed is almost beyond me. It is everything you would except and imagine from Shangri-La. Except this is real and it’s unfolding before me.

I start to spot small Stupas rising proudly, as if to greet me, and the old familiar site of Tibetan monasteries which have grown to mean so much and stir such longing in me. I am impossibly happy to be ‘home.’

Whilst I hold my breath, we touch down. It’s early. I’m jet lagged and utterly spun out from the altitude. I’ve just deposited myself about 3,500 metres above sea level after all. No steady assent when you fly in. The sun is up, but its easily only hovering above freezing. I jump in a little taxi and request to be taken to a little guesthouse a friend recommended, that isn’t in the bloody Lonely Planet. He drops me off, my jaw still nailed to the floor as I try to take in everything that this place is.

It turns out its full. I have no idea where I am, so start to wander in the direction of town, my pack weighing my down.

And that’s when it happens. I am walking down the street, happy, tired and disoriented - wondering where the devil I will find somewhere to stay, when I see him. Or maybe he see’s me. Either way, we walk over to one another, in a moment of instant recognition, despite having never met one another before.

Lassif is half French, half Kashmiri. He’s at least 40, has lived an interesting life, having ran away first to the Shivinanda Ashram before spending years learning with Osho in Pune, and now runs a modest jewellery shop on the edge of town. He is charming and full of charisma. We chat and he recommends somewhere for me to stay.

From this moment we are friends.

I know him, maybe from somewhere - another place, another time perhaps. Here, anything feels possible.
It may sound ridiculous, (in fact I have no doubt that it does) and that alone in this remote place I simply fell under the spell of a local, but it wasn’t like that. To put the recognition I felt into words even now is difficult, but I just had this overwhelming sense he was someone familiar. And the amount of peace I felt whilst in his presence was phenomenal, so much so that after an evening I spent in a tiny hut he’d erected on the side of his shop, mopping up rice with our fingers and sipping on spicy Kashmiri tea I started to avoid him, because all of this scared me.
It scared me that he knew me and it scared me that I had stumbled across this stranger, who seemed as if he was not a stranger at all.

At no point should this be misinterpreted for romantic love, because it wasn’t. I don’t’ know what it was, but it wasn’t that. The man had a child and a wife, who I liked equally, but with whom I didn’t not seem to share this unexplainable bond.

I keep trying to figure out why he came into my life like that – if there was some lesson to learn from him. But I’m not sure if it didn’t somehow pass me by.

One night I got very sick. I don’t know what caused it, if it was a stomach bug or the altitude or perhaps even the intense ritual I had just witnessed at a nearby Monastery during their annual mask festival, during which they danced to eradicate demons, but I returned to Leh feeling like I had one foot in reality and the other had slipped off somewhere. When I got back to my guesthouse I had a high fever and passed out for several hours, only to wake up so I could throw up.

I felt bad enough that I was frightened. I was beginning to think maybe I needed to go to hospital and that the Russian’s prophecy was being foretold. Someone in my guesthouse suggested I might have got Hepatitis from the water and there was talk of blood test with rusty needles if I did seek out local medical help.

There was no-one else nearby and no-one else I could trust, so I sought out Lassif. He closed his shop, brought me mint tea and came and gave me some kind of Reiki. Afterwards I fell into a deep, deep sleep and when I woke the next day I was fine.

When my time in Leh was drawing to a close, I could not bear the idea of leaving. There was something about this place that made me melt. Literally, the beauty of Ladakh and its people (with the exception of a monk who tried to feel me up on a bus!) became so overwhelming for my poor heart, conditioned to the western world and the western way, it was almost more than I could take.

The affect of being in such an open, friendly environment where everyone was so lovely to one another, where everyone said hello, where I could take little cups of ginger honey tea back to my guest house to fight the affects of the cold, as I curled up on a tiny straw mattress in a mud hut (with no heating), from a nearby Chaiwaller without having to pay for it really does something funny to you. This is a place where Buddists, Hindu’s, Sikh’s and Muslim’s live along side one another and carry a huge amount of respect for the faith of one another. It is a country flanked by trouble – Tibet, China, Kashmir/Jammu and Pakistan and yet no-one lives in fear and everyone is still smiling.

I have always been enchanted by Tibetan culture, but perhaps without the weighty influence of China there was something about this particular brand of spirituality/Buddism that was just more raw and more pure in its form.
It was not fake, colour coded or packaged up for the tourist trade, it just was what it was – a simple way of life, based upon compassion and community. It’s a real model for how society should and could be. Our lives may be richer and more convenient in so many ways, but for all the ‘progress’ we have made, we seem to have lost so much, become so disconnected and with it disheartened.

I can’t help but question if we’ll ever get that back and what the future if for somewhere like Ladakh, that is now starting to open its doors to tourism and with that, take on more western values which frankly just don’t fit or have a place here.

The day I met the Dalai Lama

I’m in the back of a Jeep, Shakira is blasting out of the stereo and I have tears streaming down my face. It’s not that I really have anything against Shakira – although I do think her music is bad – but I’m crying and laughing at the same time in sadness and in gratitude for the scenery that is unfolding before me and the past few days that I have spent in the Nubra Valley.

Just a few days early I was in the same Jeep, singing an all too different song. For 6 hours straight I solomly chant the Triumbyke mantra in Sankrit; a mantra that is said to omit fear and ensure safe travel. I’m not usually a nervous passenger, but then I don’t usually attempt to conquer the world’s highest motorble pass. It’s just short of 19,000 feet high to be exact.

We’re driving from Leh in Ladakh to the Nubra Valley, close to the Chinese border, to attend a series of teachings by the Dalai Lama. In order to get there we need to make a journey that will take us across some of the most impenetrable roads in the Himalaya. Although it’s only something like 60k’s, it will take hours and we have no choice but to just take it slow. The road is rocky and there is a very serious danger of falling rocks and landslides as the melting ice from the surrounding snowcapped mountains gushes towards lower land during the summer months.

We tell our driver Hosey to take it ‘slowly, slowly’ and he seems to understand. There are a few times we meet oncoming trucks, heading the opposite way and it’s a narrow squeeze and a test of our nerve whilst the two vehicles negotiate around one another and avoid the sheer drop on one side and the vertical cliff face on the other. I confess, there were a couple of moments when I stop chanting and hold my breath, which I really wouldn’t recommend at that altitude unless you want to turn blue. I promise myself if/when I get there AND, more importantly, back I’m buying the t-shirt. Luckily, the journey goes smoothly or as smoothly as is possible on choppy mountain passes and we make the ascent wailing along tunefully (?!!) to Panjabi techno, Bollywood hits and the occasional instrumental Ladakhi song. On the basis that the car is full of fellow yogi’s and meditaters, I figure we must have built up enough good karma to arrive at our destination safely. It really would be rather bad luck dying on the way to see His Holiness.

I confess to feeling rather privileged to be joining throngs of Tibetan, Ladahki and Indian Pilgrims on their way to see the ‘Dalai Lama-ji.’ If I’m honest, I actually don’t know what to expect. Although I was hoping to make it as far as Dharamsala to visit the small Himalayan, hillside village in which he took refuge and set up home when he was forced to flee Tibet I never quite anticipated I might be lucky enough to come face to face with him, let alone listen to him share some of his wisdom. But here I was, on my way.

To describe the scenery as breathtaking would be to do it a severe injustice. It is only when you’re amongst something so dramatically beautiful and so staggeringly enormous that you appreciate just how small we really are. Here, where the mountains are so high they touch the sky and the Grand Canyon-esq valleys are so deep they seem to penetrate the very core of the earth itself you simply cannot help but stare in wonder at all of this – and really question, why are we here, in this world that is so idyllically perfect without us?

Anyone who questions the existence of Creation, of the Divine, of the supreme consciousness…whatever label you wish to put on it… clearly hasn’t been to the Himalaya’s, for this is the very seat of God itself. As crazy as it sounds, and maybe you really had to be there to arrive at this conclusion, but as I stare, bewitched by these beautiful mountains and marvel at their sheer scale I somehow understand that they have been born from the same creative energy as me and in that sense I am part of these mountains, just as much as they are part of me.

You often hear people refer to feeling at one with themselves, with nature or with another. And we have all had moments of peace when we feel connected to something outside ourselves and this is what life is about. We are all interconnected. All interdependent – not independent (as we like to think in the West). We are all part of the same tapestry. If we could only remember and accept this; embrace it even, a lot of the world’s problems would be greatly reduced, because you cannot live in this knowledge and fail to treat others with respect and compassion.

We arrive in the tiny town of Disket, along with a multitude of other Jeeps, minivans and buses. The usually quiet main bazaar is overrun with local pilgrims, tourists, monks and nuns. The streets are awash with colour. Prayer flags flutter from every available window overhead, gangs of burgundy clad monks bustle about on their daily business, clutching their mala beads and softly murmuring ancient mantras, the smell of freshly baked Tibetan bread wafts from every doorway and local people in traditional dress turn prayer wheels as they spill out onto the street and chat noisily about the upcoming visit of their revered spiritual leader.

High on the hill above the town sits a shiney new Golden Buddha, which is approximately the size of your average multi-story car park. As far as India/China/Tibet is concerned the bigger, brighter and more shiney the deity, the better and this one is no exception. I understand it has been about 5 years in the making and now His Holiness will kick of the three day teaching program with a special blessing ceremony.

The following morning beneath brilliant blue skies, we make the 45 minute trek up to the big Buddha, together with about 50,000 Ladahki’s. This is a world in which I don’t belong, at least not in this body; not in this lifetime, yet one that welcomes me with open arms.
Both serenity and excitement fill the air as we pass Gompa’s, more prayer flags, pop-up campsites and gaggles of local people gossiping in anticipation or quietly reciting prayer. Everyone has a warm wave and a friendly smile. No-one makes us feel unwelcome or like we shouldn’t be there. I lose count of the amount of time I cry ‘Julay’ (Hello/Goodbye/Thank-you. In fact it just about passes or anything) as I make the climb. I stop briefly, fearing I may burst a lung (we are at altitude after all), to regain my oxygen starved breath and observe those in their hundreds scurry to be part of this local celebration. It’s incredible.

There is something of a festival atmosphere when the guttural chants of the monks begin the Puja (Prayer) ceremony. Their other-worldly song drifts across the Himalayan plains and seems to alter the very vibration of the entire valley.

No-one but Monks and the DL are allowed on the actual Buddha today, but provision has been made for us to sit in the lower grazing fields which have been kitted out with tents and thick canvas for sitting on. Groups of Pilgrims patiently group together, sitting in their full length, thick Ladahki coats in the blistering heat. I’m suffering in a simple t-shirt and seek shelter in one of the tents. We soon discover these have been set up for the Ladakhi women, who will be performing dance in the cultural display later, to get into costume, so we’re promptly ushered out, but not before they insist on sharing sweet bread and freshly picked apricots with us.

There’s a long wait between the blessing and opening ceremonies, so we have to hang around for several hours which provides the perfect opportunity for some people watching… and to get sun-stroke. The contrast between the local people and the foreigners and staggering and I confess to being really rather disgusted at ‘our’ behavior.

To my horror the Westerners have a special designated area, which is not only closest to the stage but filled with chairs too. But evidently this is not good enough. ‘We’ shuffle around impatiently, smoking (which is supposed to be prohibited as this is considered a sacred site), snogging and sticking our enormous telephoto lenses in startled Ladakhi’s faces without asking. To make matters worse, incredibly, food and chai is provided for the entire waiting audience. Talk about the feeding of the 5,000 – try 50,000. But instead of waiting our turn, in fear that the food will run out, everyone starts jumping up and climbing over one another to get a plate of rice. Meanwhile, the Ladahki’s just sit and wait for the food to come to them, happy in the knowledge that there will be enough or that they will simply share with their neighbor if supplies get short.

I don’t know what it is about the Western mind that is conditioned to hanker for more. To freak out and think that somehow we might get overlooked or left behind. From this little display it seemed obvious that we some kind of inbuilt function that has pre-programmed us to be dissatisfied with almost everything and really only look out for number one.

This is really a sad state of affairs, especially when you consider that these people are attending teachings about compassions – there was no compassion displayed when the DL finally made his way on stage and everyone started jostling and elbowing one another to get a better look, nor was there any compassion displayed when everyone tried to move their chairs 2 inches further forward just to be a little closer and then proceeded to stand on them, thus blocking the view of the Ladakhi’s seated on the floor behind. And there certainly wasn’t any compassion shown when I saw someone swipe an umbrella from a woman’s hand who was just trying to shelter from the sun. Perhaps they’d have been happier sitting on his lap, like visiting Santa in a Christmas Grotto.

All of this made me wonder how many of the Westerners here were just opportunists, looking for the photo-op that meant they could go home and brag to their friends they’d seen the Dalai Lama, rather than having a genuine interest in what he had to say on Buddhism. I really rather suspect that for the most part it is the former, sadly. But I suppose if they take on board just 1% of his teachings and go home and think about it, the message will spread.

In a way being in the Dalai Lama’s presence is a little like meeting the real Santa Claus. There is something really rather magical and mystical about him, even though he insists he is just a simple monk. Despite the hardship he has faced and the peaceful yet relentless campaign he makes for his freedom and the liberation of Tibet, his spirit it every bit as light as that of a new born baby. He radiates with love and compassion and a certain purity that is scarce. He giggles like a child and has the most extraordinary smile. At 75 years old he is amazing. His energy seems boundless and just being around him seems to make your heart sing. And to my delight, he sounded just like Yoda.

On day 2, I sit amongst the Ladakhi’s, cross legged on the floor. I am delirious from heat-stroke and just the joy of being here. I’m not even sure it’s real. We’re all huddle together under a sea of multi-coloured umbrellas, perched on top of a mountain, where the dry, clay coloured desert gives way to infinite blue skies speckled with fluffy white clouds. Mountain ranges extend in every direction, prayer flags flutter overhead and we’re surrounded by monks, listening intently to every syllable that passes from the lips of His Holiness. I watch in awe as everyone prostrates silently when he arrives. I understand nothing of the teachings itself, because he’s talking in Tibetan and its being translated into Hindi, but it doesn’t seems to matter one little bit, I’m happy just to simply soak up the atmosphere.

I could continue to rant about the behavior of the tourists, but what would be the point? Yes, we’re different, but perhaps this just one of the things I have to accept in this life time. Being somewhere like this makes you realise how much we have lost in the persuit of happiness through technological growth and economic prosperity, but you know what things will change, because this lifestyle that we have created for ourselves is not sustainable because it is too far removed from living harmoniously with the world and one another.

I can honestly say that attending these teaching days, high up amongst those mountains and eventually sitting just metres away, in a small audience with the Dalai Lama (an invitation which was extended to just 100 or so Western people) will always remain one of the most incredibly special experiences of my life. Finally I understand what a spiritual experience is.

Never under estimate a decent cup of tea

Its time to go home and shape this new life of mine. Stand on my own too feet and make happen what is meant to be. I pray for good people. I pray for health. I pray for happiness – all of this for myself and my family. And I pray for a little bit of stability. I thought before I came here I might want to spend a few years wandering, travelling from place to place, but actually I just want a place to call home for a while, where I can sit on a sofa and enjoy a decent cup of tea.

The tricky part is what the heck I do next?

Latest Loas tourist attraction - Electiricty Ladders

I have no idea why anyone would want to come to Vietiane. Like any captical city, there is a distinct sense of East meets West and all the construction that is going on here indicates that it won’t be long before in fact the West catches up.

The most recent addition to this city is an air conditioned shopping mall, which has become something of a tourist attraction for the surrounding villages. They specifically come to marvel at the ‘Electricity Ladders,’ commonly known as Escalators to you and me.

Temple living; not for me

Its time to resurrect the blog.

I have been writing, I just haven’t been publishing. I needed some time, alone. Alone in my own space and alone with my own thoughts. For a while there I needed to retreat into my own head and my own heart. Seek some silence and stop running.
This travelling, journey of self discovery thing isn’t easy. Everyone imagines that as you swam around exotic countries, conversing with exotic people and sampling exotic food you will feel fabulous. But actually, sometimes you don’t. With no-one else to rely on but yourself, you get to know yourself in an entirely different way – the good, the bad and the very, very ugly. Acknowledging and accepting all parts of yourself is not easy. I hope this doesn't make me sounds like a nutter ;)

Whether it’s a travelling thing or a yoga thing, you become very self aware. You see how your thoughts and your behavior is connected, the patterns in creates in your life and the outcome that these dictate. And just when you think you’re done they keep on coming, like layers of an onion that just keep on peeling.

Since the last post I went into the meditation retreat, only to run away after 3 days having broken all the rules (ie. texting, talking, checking to see if I could get a wifi conncetion in my cell, sleeping in, doing yoga… you name it I did it) because I realised that I had had enough of doing what I felt I ‘should’ be doing, enough of judging myself against what was expected of me (usually self imposed) and enough of sitting still and being quiet – dancing to someone elses tune, acting on what society or our parents or peers dictate? – so, I ran away. Packed my bags, gave back my white uniform and jumped on the next bus back to town. It felt good.

I thought it would be an incredibly spiritual experience, during which I’d feel liberated and enlighted. But I didn’t. There was a war raging inside my head and even living in a temple with monks and nuns, sleeping on hard floors, chanting and meditating for 18 hours a day (with the odd trip to the 7/11 for chocolate milk to break up the day) couldn’t calm the fire that burnt. And, it’s because I kept fueling it – where should I be? Do I want to be in this temple? Or should I be somewhere else? What did I want to do with my life? Where should I go next? This wasn’t really the ‘right’ kind of spiritual experience… I expected to feel more… I dunno, spiritual. If I cannot have a spiritual experience whilst living in a buddhist temple for goodness sake then I clearly I needed to reassess my expectations and have a strong chat with myself.

In short, expectations suck. They alter how you perceive everything. If you have an idealist view in your head about things should be, you’ll always going to be comparing how things are to how you thought things would be. And that creates a massive amount of conflict and duality within.

Clearly, this was something I needed to work on as it was starting to turn into a bit of a theme.
So, I said fuck it to expectation (from this point onwards I will practice the art of having non) and flew down to Koh Yoa Noi – just about the most remote island you could find and did a spot of rock climbing, just because it wasn’t a Vipassana meditation retreat and just because I could.
Then, I spent a very chilled birthday in Chiang Mai – my all time favourite place – and bit the bullet and ended up in India. But not just India – Ladakh.