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A Hug, a Kiss, and a Busride Inches from Death

Alright before you go judgin' everybody for not blogging let me explain the last several days' schedule to you. Let's start with Budda the camel. We stayed the night in the desert then the next morning saddled up our pitiful camels and treked back to town. I just had time to take a shower, check email and eat, then I boarded a 20 hour train ride for Delhi. Arriving in Delhi long enough to get irritated (and it doesn't take long), I boarded another overnight train for Shimla.

It's Friday when I arrive to Shimla which sits in the beautiful mountains at about 7,000 feet elevation. Now I have a decision to make: From Shimla I can see one snow capped Himalayan mountain just peeking over a smaller range, whispering my name. My plane leaves for London on Monday, and the next bus for a town in the Himalayas (or at least nestled in a Himalayan valley)leaves the next day-Saturday. What I didn't realize was it takes at least 10 hours by bus to get anywhere in the mountains. You're a smart bunch, so you can probably figure out that would put me at my destination on Saturday evening, one day further from Delhi where my plane leaves on Monday. Option 2, settle with a distant glance of snow-caps, enjoy myself and relax.

Well I've come to accept the life montra: Live without regret. Thinking to myself, when will I be so close to the Himalayas again? I decide to go for it, even if I have to do the unthinkable and extend my time in India. 'Get busy livin', or get busy dying!'

In these few days there are quite a few stories to tell, but I don't have much time so I'll share what I can. There was nothing too eventful about the overnight trains. Really it was just a train ride, and a British girl talking almost the entire time about what she was going to do in the next 3 days...(!)After the second overnighter, I switched to a 'toy train' from Kalka to Shimla. Which was a very cool 5 hour train with more than 100 tunnels and 900 trestles and bridges. Finally, I arrived to Shimla mid-day and aware of the decision before me, decided to walk around town until I reached a conclusion. Enter Mr. Huggles.

Yes, it's a MR. And no Mr. Huggles is not really his name. I can't remember his name, so I have taken the liberty to assign a fitting nickname. So I'm walking down the road, breathing the fresh mountain air, wrestling my thoughts on what to do when this Indian guy comes up and introduces himself. He's maybe mid 20's and it starts off like most conversations: "Hi, where are you from?" "America." "America?" "America." And then it got a little weird: "You are my brother," exclaimed Mr. Huggles and pulls me in for a hug. Now one cultural lesson is that Indian guys are much more affectionate with each other than American guys. So without getting an "I like guys" vibe from Mr. Huggles, I go with it. "Ok, brothers," I say. "Where are you going?" He asks, and we keep walking. After about 3 more minutes, Mr. Huggles says again, "You are my brother, huh?" and you know what follows. Another hug.

Now instead of the "I like boys" vibe, I'm picking up an "I'm not all there" vibe. I think our friend maybe is slightly special. We keep walking, me a little more determined than he. Then Huggles, invites me to sit to talk. "Well, I really need to make a phone call." I say having decided I'm gonna go for the Himalaya run. "We are brothers, huh?" (oh, boy) Now remember, we are in India, which holds almost 1/6 of the worlds population. Needless to say there are plenty of people watching. "We are brothers!" Only this time instead of a mere hug, I get the hug and a kiss planted right my cheek! "Yep, brothers. Hey I really gotta go." And with a little resistance I seperate and get the _ out of there.

Calling my agent back home he assures me I can reschedule my flight to Thursday, I just need to call someone in India by tomorrow. Perfect. The next morning, I buy a bus ticket to Sangla, which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful valleys in the Himalayas. I throw my bags on top of the bus and climb onto one of the most cramped and uncomfortable busses I have ever seen. I said my montra was "Live without regret", but I forgot the most important part of that-LIVE! This bus ride was unbelievably beatuiful and sketchy. Majestic mountains demanded respect and intimidated everything except the angry river that carved it's way unforgivingly through the mountains heart. The ride started on a road that was barely 2 lanes and paved, with no guard rails. It ended with a 1/2 lane dirt road made partially out of the rocks from rock slides that clearly once covered the road.

I am not usually made nervous by switchbacks or canyons, but this was a new breed of road, and I was on a BUS with a driver that I assume had no respect for life based on his speed and driving style. In my row of 3 seats there was barely enough room for 1 but sat as many as 6 people, including one precious old Indian lady who found sleeping comfort in my shoulder. Despite a concerned 8 (of 10) hours, we arrived to Sangla at 6 pm, and even with no feeling my legs, the scene was breathtaking. Sangla is a small village in a narrow valley brushed with apple orchards. The walls of the mountains that surrounded it, held smaller villages with no clear means of access.

At this point I know I made the right decission, but still had one more phone call to make. When I contacted the airlines to change my ticket they informed me I would have to bring in my ticket to do so. In otherwords, I couldn't. So no sooner did I get to the Himalayas I had to leave. No problem because at 6 am, 12 hours after I arrived there was return 10 hour bus ride to Shimla where I could catch another overnight train to Delhi. So after about 30 hours of traveling, I had 12 hours to sleep, soak in the view, and get my butt back to Delhi. The ride back was just as hair-raising, the only difference being what looked like a couple of fresh slides we had to work bus around.

And now, not 48 hours later I am sitting in downtown London, spending more on internet than I did on a room in India, and it is worth every penny. From the moment I stepped off that plane I've been smiling and gilgling like a school girl. True I've been traveling for a few months, but most of that I would call an adventure more than a vacation. Now I think I am in the vacation part of my vacation. And it feels good!

How good? When I was 16, 3 months after getting my license, I rolled my car on the highway. I crawled out of the broken windshield with nothing more than a papercut-sized cut on my finger. And the next day, the birds chirped louder, the sun shined brighter, the colors and sounds of life were all more vibrant. Kind of like that.
Like I just crawled out of a car wreck (India) barely escaping with my life and entered a new and brighter world. A world with toilets and hot water. A world with espressos, cheese, and fresh baked bread. Clean sheets. Trash cans. And personal space! Can you imagine? There's personal space!

Yes, my friends, life is good. Real good.

posted by Travelin' D @ 1:52 AM