Happy Man is here, anyways and the train adventure south...

Ah, Goa. What can you say: cresent shaped beaches pushed up to the bathwater-warm Arabian Sea by millions of gracefully arched palm trees. This tourists' heaven is compounded by the relative permissiveness of the culture of the only state that was never colonized by the Brits and is now a classic easy going southern mixture of Portuguese Christianity, some Hindus and Muslims, and pervasive catering to the whims of the tourist culture (i.e. the regular Indian modesty expected of women is seemingly on hold here where white women go freely on the beach in their bikinis or even topless). Michael and I found a cheap flight from Delhi and on arrival quickly made our way through the dense humid heat to Palolem, one of the southern most beach towns in Goa, that I had been to with Emily two years ago. We checked ourselves into a palm frond hut with a balcony up in the branches of the jungle, and possessing the two necessitities of a high powered fan next to the bed and airy mosquito net. From that first evening on through the next week, the days and evenings seem, now in hindsight, an indistinguishable and thoroughly pleasant haze of swimming and catching waves for hours in the warm ocean, wandering the beach, napping in the shade, languidly drinking fresh tropic fruit juices, punctuated only by our nightly dinners at the place we discovered the first night where we were offered "the coldest beer on the beach" (which we found out not only to be true but also turned out, delightfully, to be the cheapest) by a Himachali man named Pani, who prefered to be known as Happy Man. We couldn't help going back every night to sit with our feet in the sand both facing the ocean at a low table and drink cold beer with the fresh seafood. Our long, relaxed conversations peppered with little visits from the waiter who would wrap up most interactions by saying "Happy Man is here, anyways!"









faced comatose 'station master' lolling with his feet up in front of a television that we were on our own. Then on the train platform we made friends with a young Indian yoga instructor on his way to Kerala who assured us that we just had to get on the train and he'd help us sort out the rest. But the ways of the Indian railway system are forever mercurial and inscrutable: when the train did appear on the dark track it stopped for only a minute, in which we ran down the length in disbelief tryingAfter a week of beach and sun and the tourist bubble, our skin brown and starting to get a little used to the heat, we were ready to move south to Kerala where my uncle lives in Kochi. We had booked train tickets a week before, but the day we were supposed to leave our spots where still waitlisted at around 56 and 57. After a bit of research and some thoroughly vague advice from a travel agent we decided to just get on the train and just work it out with the conductor if we were not able to get seats in the sleeper class we were hoping for. We took a rickshaw around 10pm to the sleepy little railway station in Cancona a few miles away after a last beer at Happy Man's hoping to get more information. It became clear as soon as we approached the puffy to open one locked door after another before it started up again leaving the lot of us huffing and puffing, looking at the tail end of the train disappear into the night. Now it's the middle of the night, we are sleepy and still cheerfully relaxed from our week at the beach and we take the advice from our young friend and the apparently lobatomized 'station master' to catch the next train coming through which would at least take us to Mangalore. And take us to Mangalore it did. We jumped on when it came, only to find each car packed full with sleeping bodies, a few on each berth and the rest on every available floor space... except at the end of the cars next to the ripe and rancid toilets! So that's where we spent 6 hours, intermittently sitting propped on our bags with scarves over our assaulted noses or standing in the open door of the train watching the slightly lit curve of the train lead its way down the track, the hot southern air and thick tropical vegetation rolling past in the moonlight. The rest of the time I wheedled and argued with the hassled conductor, bargaining our way out of a fine for having no ticket. Our Indian friend ended up being just argumentative but no help, but after a night of cajoling and demanding, in the early morning light as we finally rolled into Mangalore, the conductor sat down with us and told us about his family, his love-marriage and decided not to charge us anything at all, after all. In Mangalore, 100 rupees bought us both tickets on the slow trains down to Kochi (one with seats by the window, one spent mosty up in the luggage rack) and we arrived hotter, more tired, stickier than any other time on this entire trip, and also some how still thoroughly cheerful. [We didn't find out until later that our original waitlisted tickets were never accepted so we were refunded that amount, which means that we ended up paying only 100 rupees ($2 USD) to travel over 400 miles and almost 20 hours.]

Tso Pema\ Ronge Visit

Moving on from our home-stay we had two more destinations left in Northern India before going south to Kerala to visit Corey's uncle Neal or as he is now known Swami Paranatmandananda. Our first stop was Rawalsar, also known to the Tibetans as Tso Pema. The focal point of the area is a lake in the center of a small valley, and it is said that Padmasambhava (Indian Buddhist saint credited for bringing the teachings of the Buddha to Tibet) meditated in various caves in the surrounding hills.

There are many stories of wondrous miracles which took place there, such as Padmasambhava's footprint in the solid rock wall of a cave as well as legends of how he created the very lake itself.

The whole area is full of temples of not only Buddhist persuasion but of Hindu and Sikh as well. The place is rich with devotion, and, if the Lonely Planet guide book is a credible source, has been ruled by many different peoples over its long history. The first thing you notice as you approach along the windy hill side road is an approximately 100 foot tall statue of Padmasambhava gazing down over the lake. Upon seeing the statue I felt simulatiously in awe and like I had made it to the Buddhist version of Disney Land.

Accommodation is scattered around the lake, and Corey and I chose to stay at the Nyingma monastery by the lakes edge partly because the price was right and partly because we wanted to investigate a stupa which was built on their property by Trungpa Rinpoche after he escaped from Tibet and before he moved to the west. We both seemed to be a little startled by what I described as being "back in India" after our somewhat mythical stay in the mountains. Our room was mediocre at best, and it appeared to be a theme in that monastery as many things were left unattended. Not least of which was the stupa which was practically renovated on top of while rubble surrounded the rest and cobwebs sealed the cracks in the rusty defunct door. India's special ability to combine the sacred and profane without apology.
Despite the pain of alternation we enjoyed our stay there quite a bit and there was certainly something intriguing about the place. We also happened to be there on Trungpa Rinpoches Paranirvana which pleased me immensely. After spending the better part of the day trying to hunt out these caves using the conflicting and basically useless information that most people where giving us, we found a quite place on the back side of the hills facing the unthinkably large mountain range which stand as the gateway to Tibet and sat for a while.

After just a couple of days we had to head north on a four hour local bus ride to visit my extended family Noedup and Rinzin Ronge. Both of them had trained as Thangka (traditional Tibetan Buddhist scroll paintings) painters, and after working for many years Noedup followed his dream to create a painting school or as he told me, "Some people don't know how to retire."



Inaugurated as the Shambhala Arts School, it is set in a town called Bhuntar which also has the only airport in that area. The hospitality was amazing, especially the morning and afternoon tea which was brought to us where ever we happened to be on the compound. We spent most of our time catching up we each other and walking around the property.

It turns out that the land which the school is on was actually donated by a family friend and teacher to the Ronge family named Chogyen Rinpoche. His story is an interesting one because he was born an Indian national in the northern part of Himachal Pradesh where there is a long history of Indians practicing Tibetan Buddhism as it used to be a part of Tibet a long time ago. So right outside of the painting school is a very beautiful monastery in the later stages of construction. The highlights of my time there would have to be playing with the Didi's children who call Noedup grandpa and a spontaneous final banquet the night before we left where we got a traditional drinking lesson from a visiting Bhutanese sculptor who was working on some projects for Noedup. One drink when you first see each other, another to honor the celebration, another after you finish dinner and finally one for the road. We all sprung into a talkative and festive mood and I was so glad to have gotten to know these men on a deeper level then ever before.

Our next task was to get from the top of the subcontinent to the bottom by way of an overnight bus to Delhi followed by a domestic flight to Goa (spending five day there to you know just check it out) and finally a train down to Kerala. After hearing so many positive things about southern India, I was very excited to go and continue our rumblings across The Great Mother.

Good Food/Cheerful World

"The Great Escape" is the name of the home-stay near the Kullu Valley that was our next destination after leaving Bir, but to even name the place seems unnecessary. Tucked away in a remote and tiny village near the Himalayan National Forest, the home-stay run by Raju and his wife has purposefully never advertised. Despite their lack of ambition and because of its intimate setting and magnificent food, word of mouth recommendations keep them basically full most of the year. Corey, Emily and I embarked on the five hour car ride optimistic that the place would live up to its reputation as we all felt ready for some rest.
Before we could get there though we had to pay our penance to the Indian Gods of travel (obviously) by waiting out a 5 hour traffic jam approximately 1 hour away from our final destination on a somewhat precarious two lane cliff side highway. The cause of the exaggerated halt was a large crane trying to retrieve the wreckage from an accident 3 days prior where a truck had fallen down the ravine. Of coarse everyone waiting had to get out of their cars and walk down to stare at the crane and its painstakingly slow operations. This turned into a rather humorous scramble back to the vehicles when traffic was finally allowed to pass. We spent the time telling jokes and taking pictures. As the hours dragged on and our hunger increased we made the stupid mistake of talking about the best food we had ever eaten. Our sense of humor started to dwindle and I could feel both the ladies becoming increasingly more cranky.

Luckily for us the wait turned out to be a small trouble compared to the absolutely wonderful time we had staying there. The food ( home cooked, and plenty of it) turned out to be the best on this trip. All the ingredients seemed to be so fresh and vital that we almost felt like we were hallucinating. Many times our joy would give way into hysterics, and all three of us would be doubled over laughing hard enough to cry. The setting seemed completely improbable in India, especially the crystal clear and clean river that was falling from the western Himalayas and running directly next to our room. In fact, to even get to the Raju's place you have to be curried across the river by way of a metal basket hanging from a thick cable connecting either shore.

We spent our couple of days there hiking trails in the National Forest, over enjoying our meals accompanied by fresh home bottled apple juice and praising our good fortune for getting to be in such a place together. Our nights would drag on until past 1 a.m. talking by the fire pit listening to the crackle of the wood from the apple trees burn, and talking about any and everything that would come to mind. I think we all kind of felt like slightly different people as we left. I certainly felt like I left a piece of myself there, some kind of Walden or mountain man alternate reality in which I would live out the rest of my days tending to the orchard and becoming ever more intimate with the deep and penetrating calls of the mountains and river.

Outside the gates of Deer Park Institute in Bir.



On the paths through the fields behind the Old Lhabrang where we were staying.


The view west toward Dharamsala from Bir.

Mani stones on the path past Chokling Monastry in Bir.

Translators galore.
Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche enjoys the conference in style.

Bhutanese media covered the conference.

Tea in Paprola with Emily.

Wyatt's gorgeous garden where we stayed at the Old Lhabrang.


One of many raucous dinners we all made at the Old Lhabrang.

Holi colors and offerings.

Wyatt and Elise on Holi.

Wyatt and Lata on Holi.

Mikey shows his Holi colors.
Paloma.
The other Corey.Em.John.The real Michael.

Bir part 2: Conference and Beyond

*(pictures to follow shortly)

With all the preparations in place, including ear plugs with instructions, Deer Park Institute sat ready to host some of the biggest names in Buddhist translation. The purpose of the conference was to initiate a group dialog that would address the most pressing issues surrounding the preservation of the Tibetan Buddhist cannon. Such topics included the waning interest among the younger generation of Tibetans in their own language and culture, as well as the loss of many old masters and the dwindling number of people who can read and understand the classical Tibetan which much of the scripture is written in. Other topics included obstacles to translation such as funding, issues of working together and much much more. Corey and I were poised to document the goings on, and there was certainly a feeling of historical importance that was swelling in atmosphere.

The event was catapulted into action by an extremely well worded and inspiring opening address from Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche. Following his lead, all the participants really launched into the discussions, and by the end of the first day they had set the lofty goal of having the entirety of what exists as the Tibetan Buddhist cannon translated in 100yrs. Corey and I were on from morning till late at night juggling still/video cameras, various audio equipment and whatever technical needs that arouse. It was definitely a lot of work, especially after traveling for three months where our only job was to look at things, but after it was over we felt very glad to have had the opportunity to contribute in some way.

One of the most enjoyable elements of the conference was that DKR (Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche) and the Khyentse Foundation had brought in a professional "facilitator" named Ivy.
She ran the event in a strict and somewhat corporate way and it was very humorous to see high level Buddhist teachers, and translators of greater and lesser celebrity all have to wait their turn to speak with hands raised similar to the way school children do. They were an extremely lively and opinionated bunch to say the least, and their discussions spilled out of the meeting room and dominated their meal and free time.

The conference ended on a high note as the participants were granted an audience with His Holiness the Dali Lama. They were quickly bussed off to Dharamsala, while back in Bir there was still work to be done. Both Corey's and my services were solicited( Corey's photography and my DJ skills) for the wedding of a young Bhutanese man named Pawo and a young Taiwanese lady named Stephanie. Both of them and their families have been long time students of DKR, and Rinpoche orchestrated the entire day and night down to the last detail as well as hosting it at his house. The wedding was light hearted, kind and outrageously photogenic. Here I will let Corey's pictures tell the rest.

As the king of non-stop activity, DKR began a Vajrayogini Drupcho (approx. eight day long Tibetan Buddhist puja) the following day. Corey and I were very lucky to be on the list of allowed persons so for the next week we spent our mornings at Deer Park in the computer room editing the footage from the conference into a four minute piece for the Khyentse Foundation, and our afternoons were spent in the depths of ritualistic Buddhism in a small room full of curious and beautiful people.

After two weeks of non-stop activity we bid farewell to the sweet and peculiar town of Bir, and to some new and old friends. Persisting in his kindness, DKR sent us packing with his expressed appreciation and some gifts of incense, malas, and small porcelain animal figurines (a cat for me and a frog for Corey). We drove out of town with Emily Crow on board for a couple of nights at a highly recommended home-stay near the Kullu Valley. I felt fairly tired but also blessed, and I was full of appreciation for the connections I had made.

Bir part 1 (pre conference)

Well it has been quite a busy month for us, and the fun has not stopped yet. The beginning of March was mostly spent helping the good people at the Deer Park Institute get their place ready to host what turned out to be a very successful conference. Inspired by the energetic, mischievous and ultimately wonderful Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, "Translating the Words of the Buddha" brought many luminaries in the world of translation to the small town of Bir in Himachal Pradesh. Gene Smith, Bob Thurman, Matthieu Ricard, John Dunn, Peter Skilling (via video from Thailand) to name the first few that come to mind.

 

Our tasks before the conference ranged from interior decorators, lifting things and moving them to other locations and preparing to be a two person audio/visual team with the charge of documenting the conference. It wasn't all work though and we spent some relaxing moments with our dear friend Emily Crow sipping chai and musing over the display of our lives.

 

We also took some time to trek up to a near by waterfall in the wild of the foothills of the Himalayas. A group of younger travelers and residents of Bir who are all students of Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche started to coalesce, and within a week some strong friendships had formed. It was quite a joy for me to get out from under Shambhala brat domination and meet some very beautiful and dedicated contemporaries. It was this group who would take these hikes up to the mountains, cook dinner together and talk into the evenings. On one excursion up the mountain trail we actually found a full grown leopard who seemed to have fallen from the cliffs of the waterfall, and lay dead in the pool of water at the bottom of the fall. She looked so powerful it was hard to imagine that she could have made such a mistake as to slip or fall. We pulled her out of the water (because the stream turned into drinking water down in the village) and said a few prayers. We were all kind of jazzed to be that close to such a powerful animal, whom if not dead would have made the atmosphere of the encounter much more serious.

On the whole Bir is a strange place with a bizarre mixture of Rinpoches (OT, Dzongsar Khyentse, Dzigar Kongtrol, Choling ext.) displaced western dharma students, Tibetan refugees, local Indians and of course rice paddies. We have enjoyed staying put and digging our heals in a little bit with idea of giving back in sweat what we were so fortunate to receive from all of you which is this pilgrimage experience. Deer Park Institute is a compelling place to visit. With the subtitle "A Center for the Study of Classical Indian Wisdom Traditions," it rubs against the tendency to become some kind of Tibetophile and opens up the context of Buddhism in a larger way which I quite enjoy. It is quite a beautiful thought that the teachings of the Buddha are coming back to India, and that some teachers have the vision to include the natives in this movement. 

It has also been enriching to have the space to reflect on our journey thus far.  My gratitude is so great, as well as my wonderment of all the causes and conditions that have brought me here. We have also been blessed to spend a good deal of time with Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche, 

who's humor and unpredictability makes for a truly enjoyable experience.  Bir reminds me of Crestone or Shambhala mountain center in that most everyone knows each other, and besides the worthwhile endeavor of dhamra practice, not much else is going on.  I hope the pictures help to fill the image.

  

Of course the conference that happened here was quite bustling, so I will give that its own blog entry.

Tashi Delek and No Losar

The signs and posters were up everywhere: "No Losar! " and "No Losar Celebrations to Our Solidarity with Tibetan Martyrs." Really no New Year's celebrations? At first Michael and I were a little dismayed but it soon became clear that this effort was drawing much needed media attention and this was an effective way for communities both in Tibet and in exile to express their horror and protest the ongoing human rights violations occuring under Chinese governance.


(Locals walking by the huge No Losar posters on the front of the Tibetan Youth Congress building down the street from our guesthouse.) 

(A poster hung from barbed wire on the walkway through the woods around the Dalai Lama's residence- an enlarged photograph of a bare chest pierced by a bullet hole. The caption reads: "A Ngapa Amdo person was killed under Chinese force March 16, 2008.")

The violence continues in Tibet with Chinese soldiers gunning down a protesting monk as he set fire to himself, just last week. And needless to say the tone in Dharamsala / McLeod Ganj, the Indian site to the Tibetan Government in Exile was sombre. Nonetheless the place is fairly indefatigable, lively and bustling and Michael and I had a great time for the almost two weeks we were there.

There was much relaxing, meeting of fellow travelers from around the world (including a regular mealtime companion in his 80's from New Orleans named Tom), and long walks on mountain roads in the area. One of the highlights was making friends with Tahir and Raj, young Kashmiri brothers running the rug and shawl shop next to the fast internet spot on Temple Rd. Tahir's idealistic sweet kindness was well matched by is younger brother's playboy good looks and flirtatiousness. Many hours were spent drinking tea on their stoop and in the shop taking about the difficulties and charms of life. We got a broad history of challenges that Muslims have faced in the area, a series of insistent invitations to visit Kashmir, and a lexicon on inspirational mottos about love and friendship delivered by Tahir with a sparkle in his eye. The redheaded fiesty and funny Carrie Marks was with us for much our time in McLeod and was the object of much attention from the Kashmiri brothers and all their friends! 

(Carrie and me in Tahir's shop- Raj in the mirror taking the photo.)

(Michael and slow moving path-hogger on the Dalai Lama residence kora path that we liked to walk.)

There is a lot more to report from our stay in McLeod, like probably most significantly Michael's meeting with H.H. the 17th Karmapa and, maybe less importantly, my love of veg momo soup. But I will leave this post as it is, for now, and only say that we left McLeod happy and well-fed, took a local bus (actually 3 buses) to the little village of Bir Tibetan Colony a few hours away, and are now contentedly and busily engaged in tasks great (preparing to document a massive conference translator bigwigs) and smaller (hanging art in the dining room) at the beehive of activity called Deer Park Institute. More soon...