Darmshala: It’s a Nice Place, But the Tibetans Just Want to Go Home

Like Boudinath, which doesn’t feet at all like Nepal, Daramshala doesn’t feel like India. Their residents are primarily Tibetan Buddhists and they seem like I imagine Tibetan villages would feel. A World Heritage site, Boudha has a timeless feel. With its famous stupa and scores of monasteries and temples, I think of it as Tibet’s spiritual heart.  On the other hand, Daramshala, especially the McLeod Ganj area where I stayed, is teeming with energy and political activism. It mushroomed in size following the Chinese invasion of Tibet, when the Dalai Lama settled here after his daring escape over the Himalayas on foot and horseback. Now, it is now home to the Tibetan Government in Exile, a host of youth activists, and a healthy arts scene (for example, while I was there I attended the 2^nd Annual Spiritual Films Festival at Daramshala’s beautiful cultural center). The town’s handful of roads are dotted with Free Tibet signs and billboards demanding release of the Panchen Lama (who was taken into “protective custody” by the Chinese years ago as a child and hasn’t been seen since).

I love street art. This piece was outside a small coffee shop and these hip young dudes were happy to pose, so long as I promised not to make money off the photo.

This is an example of one of the Free Tibet signs you see around Daramshala.

A billboard demanding release of the Panchen Lama, the world’s youngest political prisoner.

Everybody seems well-informed about what is going on at home in Tibet. The local paper carries news from Tibet, including a running death toll of people who have died from starvation or beatings in prison, and from self-immolation, something that happens all too often. They are not just numbers. Through interviews with friends and relatives, you learn about their lives, hopes and dreams, families, and details of the injuries they experienced at the hands of their jailers. Sometimes you read that their families are being threatened and harassed. You can watch live coverage of the exiled government’s hearings on television or wander down the mountainside to the teeming government complex and attend in person. I saw footage of the Dalai Lama testifying before a local panel; it was a more emphatic and serious Dalai Lama than the gentle, smiling person who makes appearances here in the U.S.

I wish I could have seen him while I was there. People speak familiarly about “His Holiness.” Almost every conversation eventually turns to him, though he is gone so much of the time, urgently spreading his message around the world in a schedule that would exhaust someone half his age. When he is gone, you’ll find a photograph of his smiling face in the central chair of every temple in the area.

The Dalai Lama is gone, but his presence is definitely not forgotten in the temples.

His Holiness has a seat in every temple.

He was overseas during most of my visit and only returned on my last day in town. He arrived a couple of hours after I was hit by a car in the busiest intersection of town. (I seem to attract disaster when I travel, but won’t go into those details.) In this case, I remember looking both ways, then starting across the intersection; the next moment I was upside down and flying through space.

I took this photo the day before I got hit by a car, right in this intersection. I wanted to memorialize the crazy traffic, not realizing that I would soon have scars to help me remember the place.

I was picked up, dusted off, and taken to the hospital on a wild ride down the mountainside on the back of a police motorcycle.  My wounds were cleaned and bandaged and I was given a tetanus shot but not examined by the doctor because that would involve…oh, the horror…disrobing. The next thing I knew, I was riding back up the mountain, bruised and hurting but able to function.  I was deposited at the temple, where the policeman was needed to manage the throngs of people waiting to greet the Dalai Lama’s motorcade upon his return. As it slowed down to weave around a clump of donkeys (who seemed unaware that something important was happening), the respectful crowd waved and lifted flags and flowers, in a gentle greeting to their spiritual leader. Some people were so old that they must have followed him to Daramshala decades ago. I realized how strong his connection is with this place and how deeply he is treasured by those who live here.  I felt an undercurrent of fear concerning what will happen when he is gone. But that goes contrary to Buddhist teachings of non-attachment, a concept that comes up again and again in Daramshala, where so many people have lost so much and yet keep on moving forward with equanimity.

These folks are waiting for the Dalai Lama’s return. Doesn’t the lady in the striped apron look as if she’s stepped out of a fairy tale?

This little nun, dressed in red, could hardly wait for the Dalai Lama to appear.

Tibetan people are quite beautiful. Look at the lovely bone structure of this woman’s face.

I was amused to see this donkey train passing in front of the temple just minutes before His Holiness’ motorcade arrived.

As I said, some of Daramshala’s residents followed the Dalai Lama here in the 1950’s. Some were born in exile and some arrived as refugees as little as a day ago. Many left their families behind and can never go back. Some of them don’t speak Hindi and many come from remote rural areas, lacking marketable skills for the “modern world.” Most people I encountered were keen to learn English as soon as possible and volunteer teachers are in high demand. I helped out at two different places after finishing the 10-day yoga workshop at the Iyengar Himalayan Yoga Center, the activity that initially drew me to Daramshala.

The yoga studio at the Himalayan Iyengar Yoga Center in Dharamkot is quite beautiful. I took a 10-day training here.

The yoga center is located in Dharamkot, a little town just up the mountainside from upper Daramshala (McLeod Ganj). It’s said to be a bit of a party town, with a good number of expats there for yoga and meditation, and some folks (but not me) choose to stay there instead of in McLeod Ganj.

In English class, I asked students what they wanted to talk about, expecting it to be topics like movies, music and social media ,but inevitably the talk would turn deeper. People did want to know about life in the Western world, but always through a spiritual lens. What do we value and in what do we believe? What problems do we face and how do we handle them? Do we know about the Dalai Lama and Buddhism, and what do we think about it? Students were kind, thoughtful, serious, and also incredibly shy. Their homework was to engage a tourist in a brief conversation. We practiced the scenario over and over, but only one of them could ever get up the courage to do it. The next day he dutifully pulled out a notebook and reported on his conversation with “Frank.” I had a terrific time volunteering and have become Facebook friends with several of the students.

Getting a bottle of water for teacher. This young monk became a friend and I look forward to seeing him again.

The students in this English class are paying serious attention to the teacher.

I stayed in Daramshala close to three weeks and my days took on a predictable rhythm. In addition to spending time with my friend Susan, I roamed the streets of town.  Most days, I went to Tushita Buddhist Meditation Center for the morning meditation and hiked back through lovely mountain scenery.  There were usually troops of monkeys to amuse me on the way.  Along with Rishikesh and parts of southern India, Daramshala is home to many of India’s yoga schools and studios, so I took advantage of the opportunity to experience as many drop-in yoga classes as possible. During one class, the instructor sang a sort of Indian devotional rap music during the entire savasana, a practice I can’t say I intend to adopt in my own classes, but it was…interesting. I had massages, attended Buddhist philosophy sessions at the Tibetan Library, saw a traditional Tibetan astrologer (His Holiness has championed preservation of Tibet’s traditional medicine and astrology programs). Daramshala is a terrific place to visit.

There’s a lot of construction going on in Daramshala, most of it accomplished with human labor (or, more accurately, woman power) rather than modern machines.

Believe it or not, this building is a butcher’s shop and the butcher had a steady stream of business.

I have no idea why this kid and his mom were selling what looked like Halloween masks. But, with him taking a watermelon break, it made for a terrific photo.

Me with Susan and one of her friends at the Karmapa Temple.

This cow is quite adept at parallel parking, wouldn’t you say?

Susan and one of the nicest monks I’ve ever met (though I can’t spell his name).

View of Daramshala from the balcony of my hotel.

The scenery around Daramshala is incredibly beautiful.

Tushita Buddhist Meditation Center has a well-earned reputation. They offer silent meditation retreats, workshops of all kinds, speakers, weekly free movies and open meditations every morning.

This monkey family was foraging in the trash one morning when I walked back from a meditation at the Tushita Center.

How cute is this tiny monkey’s face?

This monkey chose the middle of the road for some mother/baby bonding and stayed right there, serene in the midst of passing pedestrians and tuk-tuk traffic. It really was quite amazing.

I spent an afternoon at the Norblingka Institute, a lovely non-profit in a nearby village where Buddhist arts are preserved and new refugees are hired to learn the old ways of wood carving, furniture making, rug weaving, bronze casting, lacquer work, thangka painting, weaving, and the like.

All natural ingredients are used to make the paint for thangkas. The blue green color is lapis lazuli.

Before the first dab of paint is applied, the thangka painter will stretch and stitch the canvas and then sketch the design with geometric precision.

Thangka painting requires a very steady hand.

These fellows are Tibetan refugees who are receiving training in thangka painting at the Norblingka Institute.

The Buddha is a favorite design on thangka paintings.

This is a thangka painting of the Medicine Buddha.

Close-up of a refugee working on the casting of a bronze statute.

Refugee working on a lacquer box at the Norblingka Center.

I loved this bird design that was painted on a piece of furniture. Wouldn’t it make terrific upholstery fabric?

I couldn’t resist taking a photo of this snappily dressed man at the Norblingka institute and he was quite willing to pose for me.

I visited as many temples as possible and even had an audience with the Karmapa (2^nd in line to the Dalai Lama) at his temple.

This little temple was on the side of a busy mountain road.

This little darling is waiting for her dad to take her photo at the Karmapa’s Temple.

There was a beautiful column of yellow silk hanging from the ceiling of the Karmapa’s Temple. I took this shot while standing inside it and looking up.

A lovely flower lamp at one of the temples.

Almost every surface of this temple was elaborately decorated.

These nuns are fairly glowing after visiting one of the temples.

This young monk unlocked the temple at his monastery and gave us a private tour. Like most temples, it was full of intricate carvings and paintings.

All alone and gazing out the window, this young monk made for a terrific photo.

The monks were having some kind of a special prayer session on one of the days we visited the Karmapa Temple.

Most mornings I got up early and made a kora (walked in a circle) around the mountainside. So I wouldn’t get lost along the way, I tried to find old ladies to walk with or follow; they kept up such a fast pace that I could hardly keep up with them.

I tried to snap a photo from the front of these ladies who were walking up a steep hill from the temple — but couldn’t catch up with them. They could really hustle.

With her cane and advanced years, this lady was slower than most. It’s one of the few front shots I have of these generally fast-moving women.

Kora ends at the Dalai Lama Temple, where the early morning chanting sessions are so powerful that they drew me like a magnet. The monks enter quietly, some yawning widely, They are dressed in dark red tunics topped by deep golden robes wound tightly or loosely wrapped depending on the morning’s temperature. They sit on red cushions facing each other in two sections of parallel rows along fluted columns that reach from floor to ceiling. Intricate thangkas flutter overhead and before them are bells and dorjies (a bronze object representing the thunderbolt of enlightenment). At the end of the first row, one monk, a master at throat singing, leads the chant. Barely a second after he begins, the others join in and the chanting soon begins to take on a meditative rhythm. The monks sway as they chant, lips seeming to barely move, but emitting an incredibly powerful, rich and resonant sound. Their hands move in graceful mudras and there is a soft rustle as they turn the pages of their prayer books. Musicians occasionally chime in, raising the noise level considerably. Some blow into conch shells that are as long as your forearm and are trimmed with silver. A monk in the back row sits with a bit upright bronze horn; in front they play bells, brass cymbals and big drums.

I do not understand what the monks are saying but since preparations have begun for the Kalachakra festival, I know they are praying for universal peace and for the health of the planet and all who live on it. Among other teachings on the temple wall are these words: “We pray that all major religions of the world may live in harmony and develop mutual respect and understanding and that all sentient beings may be happy and overcome suffering. May the aspirations of the Tibetan people to regain their freedom be fulfilled. We also pray that our great spiritual teacher, the Dalai Lama, may live long and that all his noble wishes be realized. Through the teachings of the Kalachakra may the world live in harmony and free of war, famine, and natural calamities.”

On my last morning at the temple, I feel a surge of emotion for these gentle people who have taught us so much about non-violence and devotion. Then I remember one of my students telling me that there are 2 types of people: those who are attached and those who show compassion but remain unattached. As I sit in the temple, I try hard to regain my composure. I want to be one of those people in the second category, those who feel compassion but don’t become entangled in it. About that time, two small, inquisitive monkeys lean through the window high above us, craning their little heads towards the monks.  They look for all the world as if they are about to swing into the room and join them on their meditation cushions. The monks look up and then break into huge smiles. Though their chanting is surely important, they seem not too attached to having a serious environment. Unattachment message reinforced – but, to be honest, I have become very attached to these people and to Daramshala. I hate to leave, but I need to head back to Rishikesh for a a 6-week, 300 hour yoga teacher training program at Rishikesh Yog Peeth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sadhus, India’s Holy Men

The word sadhu means “good man” or “holy man” in Sanskrit and is formed from the root word “sadh,” which means “to gain power over,” “reach one’s goal.”   Sadhus are completely dedicated to the spiritual path and their search for “moksha” or liberation.   Revered by Indians as representatives of the gods, they have renunciated the so-called “normal life.”  The trappings of the modern world hold no interest to them.  They have few if any possessions, are usually dressed in ragged robes and go about barefoot with wild, matted hair. Though startling, these are public declarations of their disinterest in material things.

Most sadhus with super long dreadlocks wind them on top of their heads. His were down. I wonder how many years it took to grow them?

As a matter of fact, those of us who are who follow Hindu or Buddhist traditions today owe them a debt of gratitude. Back in early times, the sadhus or “renunciants” chafed at the idea that Brahmins or holy men had to intervene between common man and the gods. They walked away from the established religion of the day, dedicated themselves to becoming enlightened, and then began to teach what they had learned to other spiritual aspirants. We still use techniques and tools today that were developed in those times by those people.

While traveling (and at home for that matter), I am a conscientious person who respects cultural differences and people’s right to privacy.  Still, in the early days of traveling about India, my attention couldn’t help but be drawn to sadhus when they passed by.  There is a mysterious air about them…although they are everywhere you look in northern India and most of them live outside in full view of the public.  Yet their way of life is so completely foreign to us as to be unimaginable.

Some sadhus live hidden away in caves, forests, temples.  As you can imagine, Rishkesh is a magnet for them.  In a strategic location on the banks of the Ganges’ source waters, it also has dense forest, mountains and there are caves nearby.

This sadhu lives in a shack at the dead end of a trail out near the abandoned “Beatles ashram.”

Some sadhus sleep in temples but spend most of their day on the streets.

 

He was reading a prayer book.

Some sadhus wander from temple to temple, holy place to holy place, swinging a bag or pack by their side, tiffin can in hand. “Wandering sadhus” may be on the move for their entire lives.

 

You often see dogs with the sadhus, who are gentle with animals.

There are millions of sadhus in India; most are devoted to Shiva, Brahma or Vishnu and his other incarnations Rama and Krishna, but still others dedicate themselves to lesser-known gods. Their spiritual practices vary and some are quite unique, meant to be expressions of their mastery over and/or complete disregard for the physical world. “Standing sadhus” never sit down; some stand on one leg. Some sadhus torture their bodies by doing things like hanging  heavy things from or carrying around heavy objects from their penises. There are sadhus who have maintained total silence for decades.   Some go about naked or with ashes smeared over their bodies. Some can perform magic. Most of them, such as those in the following photos, go in for more traditional things like meditation, contemplation and prayer.

Take an early morning walk along the Ganges and you’ll find it almost deserted, except for sadhus, whose day begins with a dip in the cold water followed by morning prayers, meditation, pranayamas, etc.

I shot this photo one early morning from the balcony of a chai house overlooking a small temple on the banks of the river. These sadhus had just finished doing their laundry.

These men were sitting outside the Beatles Ashram early one morning doing pranayamas (ancient breathing techniques). They were doing Bhastrika and Bhramari (also known as bellows and bee’s breath).

Catching up with the morning’s news.

This fellow hasn’t woken up yet. He looks road-weary and with reason. It can’t be an easy to live on the road, subsist on donations, and eat what you get and when you can. I have yet to see an overweight sadhu…

This sadhu was at one of Parmarth Niketan’s evening arti ceremonies.

This one is a guru perhaps? He looks so stately. When he saw me about to take a photo, he stood calmly and posed for me.

Not sure whether this fellow is a sadhu, but he looked good in his blue robes. The trident on his turban indicates that he is a follower of Vishnu.

If you’d like to see sadhu photos taken by professional photographers, there are some terrific ones on the following sites:

Joey L, a professional photographer who photographs the rich and famous (he did the Twilight posters) and has worked for National Geographic has been traveling to India for years, as part of a larger work focusing on holy men around the work. His photos from Varanasi, another holy city on the other end of the Ganges, are breathtaking.  http://www.joeyl.com/2012/05/1617/

Nepal is home to thousands of sadhus and Thomas Kelly’s exhibit, Sadhus the Great Renouncers, was highly acclaimed in Kathmandu. http://asianart.com/exhibitions/sadhus/index.html#3

I love books about early-day women adventurers (go figure). Back in the 1920’s, Alexandra David-Neel, an explorer, spiritual seeker, opera singer and more, traveled to Tibet. Her book, Magic and Mystery in Tibet, is an incredible yarn about her experiences living in a remote cave for 2 years, masquerading as a man to work her way into inner spiritual circles, and seeking out holy men around the country to learn their secrets. Her life, and that book, are amazing.   Check out more information about her on this wiki link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexandra_David-Néel.

The Ganga: My Siren Song

My next stop after Rajasthan was Rishikesh. I will have additional posts from there, on topics such as yoga, sadhus, cows and monkeys, day-to-day life, etc. But Rishikesh is best known as one of India’s holiest cities and that is the topic I want to highlight first. Rishikesh proper and its two adjacent villages, Ram Jhula and Lakshman Jhula, are located in the Himalayan foothills near Gangotri, the source of the Ganges River.

There is a story about the origin of the Ganga. This comes as no surprise, as you can’t travel in India for very long without hearing stories about the gods. These stories are told with such color and conviction that until I caught on, I actually thought I was being told about real things that had happened to real people.

The story I heard most often about how the Ganges got its start is this one. Long ago, a king and the Goddess Indra were squabbling and she stole one of his horses to spite him. The King sent his 60,000 sons to hunt for the horse. They eventually found it standing by a sage who sat deep in meditation. Disrespectfully (as young princes can be), they disturbed him; in response he put a curse on them and burnt them to ashes. Another of the king’s sons arrived on the scene and asked the sage what could be done to help his brothers attain salvation. “Sprinkle the water of the Ganga on them,” the sage said. That would be no mean feat, because at this time the Ganga flowed in the land of the gods. So for more than a thousand years, the king and his successors did penance to Lord Brahma, in hopes of getting salvation for their ancestors. Eventually one of them succeeded, but there were worries that the Gang’s currents were too strong. The King asked Lord Shiva to help and he agreed to hold the river in the locks of his hair, thus saving the earth from destruction.

This explains why Rishikesh, which lies along the rivers banks, has so many statues, temples, ashrams, and even momo shops dedicated to Shiva (there are hundreds) and why chants are being sung continuously in his honor.

This statue of Shiva is on one side of the Laksman Jhula Bridge. There was another, even larger, at Parmarth Niketan Ashram in Ram Jhula but it was washed away in the 2013 flood.

With lots of Tibetans in Rishikesh, momos (Tibetan dumplings) are easy to find.

This statue of Arjuna and Shiva (in the role of Krishna the charioteer) sits above the gates of Parmarth Niketan ashram.

View towards Lakshman Jhula.

Lakshman Jhula Bridge.

Statues at the massive Kailash Niketan Temple in Lakshman Jhula.

The always-popular Ganesha, who you see depicted in statues as often as Shiva.

They say that you can be freed from moksha, the endless cycle of death and rebirth, by meditating in Rishikesh and/or taking a dip in the Ganges.  Every Indian hopes to visit the river at least once in their lifetime and so families come in droves, separately and in large tour groups. Sadhus (holy men) come from all over the country to live in the mountains overlooking town or along the banks of the river.

People come dressed in their finery. Given the bright oranges, pinks and reds, I think this family might have been from Rajasthan.

You can’t escape the crowds in Rishikesh. Rain or shine and in blistering heat, they are drawn to the river.

A sadhu (holy man) performs his morning toiletries on the river’s banks.

 

Families camp out on temple grounds. The women cook, care for children and sing. The men gather round and talk..

People come to dip their babies and young children in the water, cremate the recently departed, and scatter the ashes of those who died in distant places. They come to bathe, swim and frolic along its banks. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the bathing process.   Women tended to go into the water fully dressed. If they disrobed, someone was usually on hand to drape them back on shore so they could modestly don their clothes.   On the other hand, the men disrobed on shore, right down to their underwear. They stood casually in groups, chatting as if at a men’s club, and seemed entirely unaware of their protruding bellies and “man parts,” awakened by the river’s cold water. An interesting dichotomy.

This kid did not want any part of going in the river, but his mom was insistent.

This kid, on the other hand, relished the experience. He marched up and down the banks, staff in hand, warning away cows and dogs, and guarding the area.

Like some cotton candy while you bathe?

Bathing in the Ganges is a family affair.

Water buffalo in the bath water? No problem! The Ganga is a self-cleaning river.

The river is as crowded as any public swimming pool in the middle of Summer back home.

Boats ferry you back and forth across the river at Ram Jhula.

People come to pray at sunrise, when cool breezes sweep down from the mountains, an all too brief respite from the suffocating pre-monsoon heat. Each morning, I rise early to sit by the shore and watch a parade of people wander downstream. Animals come too. The pigs come daily…four piglets and a mother, mincing downstream with porcine importance. Street dogs lay in a stupor for most of the day, but are invigorated by the cool air and happily wrestle down the path.  A string of horses, carrying off rubble from the devastating floods of 2013. As the sun goes down, people gather at ashrams along the river’s bank for arti ceremonies, to chant, ask for blessings for loved ones and to release lovely flower offerings into the water. Each night from my balcony across the river, I listen to the voices and music…a sublime way to end the day.

Prayers seem to hang in the air around the river, creating a peaceful energy.

Vendors set up shop along the banks, selling flower offerings, fish food, snacks and so on.

This sweet little vendor was out early every morning selling flowers.

 

Each evening, the arti ceremony at Parmarth Niketan draws huge crowds.

Blissed out at Parmarth’s arti.

Swamiji loves to sing. Here he is singing and chanting, along with the other singers and musicians at Parmarth.

 

This floral offering was transformed by the river into a heart.

Jewelry shops and street vendors abound in Rishikesh. People come to buy mala beads and precious stones (shockingly large and expensive ones), bathe them in milk and dip them in the Ganges to bless them. Restaurants and shops are prohibited from selling alcohol and meat in Rishikesh. People come to consult vedic astrologers, healers, priests and vaidyas (ayurvedic doctors). This is a place to rededicate yourself to the spiritual path.

Hey lady, want to buy some malls? And buy them I did…

The Science of Drugless Healing. While I did visit an ayurvedic doctor and vedic astrologer, I didn’t have the nerve to try out this particular service.

Besides gemstones, plastic bottles of all shapes and sizes are in high demand. People fill them with Ganges water to take home for friends and family and use for special occasions. The water is said to stay fresh indefinitely; in fact, I read that the East India Company used to provision its ships with barrels of Ganges water for the long trip home. I was also told that the river is self-purifying. Evidently it has oxygen and ph levels up to 25 times greater than any other river, plus a mysterious “x factor” that destroys bacteria.

These women are carefully filling plastic bottles with water from the Ganges.

Despite the fact that Rishikesh is home to more flies than I’ve ever seen in my life, has horrendous crowds, and was so hot and humid that I sweated profusely all day, the Ganges cast an almost hypnotic spell on me. Since Rishikesh, Ram Jhula and Lakshman Jhula nestle along its banks, the river is almost always within eyeshot and close enough for a quick visit. It became a compass of sorts for me. I began and ended most days there. I was drawn to its cool waters throughout the day. I ate my meals and sipped steaming mugs of chai in river-view restaurants. Even now, as I sit in Bali’s tropical paradise, I find myself longing for the Ganga and its crazy, beautiful, hectic serenity.

View of the Ganges at sunrise, from my balcony at Omkarananda Ganga Sadan.

Night view of Parmarth Niketan, from my balcony.

A New Place and a New Look at Old Places: Jaisalmer, Jodphur and Udaipur

In my younger days, I was hungry to travel to new destinations. I savored every new stamp in my passport and “no backtracking” was my mantra.  Then I fell in love with a few destinations… London and Paris, India and Thailand…and realized that circling back was not such a bad idea.   Although I still enjoy visiting new places (Sri Lanka and Nepal are firsts for me on this trip for example), I have learned that repeat visits can offer new insights and experiences.

Last month, I traveled to Rajasthan for the second time in as many months, to spend time with my friend Elizabeth, a newcomer to India.  (She wrote a guest post on my blog about her experiences, if you want to check it out.)  Below are photos from Jodphur and Udaiput, two old favorites that I tried to see with new eyes, and from Jaisalmer, a city that was new to me and quickly won my heart.

Jodphur: We arrived during the celebration of Hanuman Jayanti, birthday of Hanuman, the monkey god who is a great favorite here in Rajasthan. The old city was barricaded off for a parade; throngs of people gathered along the curbs, and the vendors were out in full force.  Parades seem to be great equalizers in the countries I’ve visited.  They attract crowds of people from all walks of life, city folk and country folk,  rich and poor, young and old.  And, always, everybody seems to be having a good time.

This vendor moved through the crowd with ease, despite the loaded tray on his head.

These little girls asked to pose for me but put on their serious faces for the first photo. It just took a little bit of teasing to bring on the smiles.  Aren’t they adorable?

People camped out on the curb far in advance of the parade. I think they enjoyed the socializing at much as anything.

This handsome guy with the princely bearing was riding on one of the floats.

The next day, we visited Mandore Gardens where a few people were feeding the monkeys in honor of Hanuman’s birthday. This was a nice gesture, but caused the monkeys to get overexcited.  One of them went at a full run towards a group of people, knocking one man to his knees and bounding off of the head of a woman sitting nearby, no small thing as this monkey must have weighed at least 40 lbs.  Now, monkeys don’t need much encouragement to cause trouble – they wreak havoc almost everywhere they go. They snatch food from your hands. They pull laundry off clotheslines and eat it. They sneak up on you when you least expect it, baring their teeth if you are foolish enough to look them in the eye.  I try to avoid monkeys wherever I can but, despite their naughty behavior, they are cute little things and I could hardly blog about India without including an obligatory photo or two:

Thinking deep thoughts.

Artfully arranged tails, don’t you think?

One day, we went zip lining at the fort. It was fun and gave us a different perspective of the beautiful view from up top and over the river and gardens below.

This mom wanted me to hold her baby for a photo (first time that’s ever happened). Both mother and baby were so beautiful that I couldn’t resist asking them to pose for me afterwards.

Other photos taken in and around Jodphur:

As I gazed down at Jodphur from the roof of our hotel, it took on the look of an impressionist painting.

For some reason, barber shops bring out the voyeur in me and I love taking photos of the people inside. Baby’s first haircut is a big deal in India and the barber was being carefully supervised by this little cutie’s father, mother, and grandmother.

Hundreds of varieties of mango can be found in India.  This batch didn’t look ripe to me — maybe it was for mango pickle or a cooked dish of some kind.

Jaisalmer: There is a certain glow about Jaisalmer, the so-called “Golden City.” Built of golden sandstone, it rises from the dunes of the Thar Desert. The town of 80,000 is dominated by Sonar Qila, a “living fort,” where life goes on as it has done for centuries.  Down below are some of the most beautiful old havelis you’ll ever find (though many are in a sad state of disrepair), tiny shops and temples, and warrens of narrow streets winding through neighborhoods which are still identified by what people do there (“this is the cobbler’s area,” “jewelers live here,” and so forth).  Jaisalmer has no airport and, located so close to India’s western border with Pakistan, it is hours and hours from the nearest city.  You really have to want to go there and, when you finally make it, you are rewarded with a lovely and welcoming atmosphere. It’s a place that is definitely worth “circling back” around to visit again.

I just love the pop of color that you find in Rajasthani homes.

The cows in Jaisalmer were adept at climbing stairs.  They seemed to enjoy hanging out on porches and other high places.  Notice the beautiful carved arches on this house.

This photo was taken in the old fort. Notice the swastika over the doorway. This is a very old sign that has many auspicious meanings (including wealth and prosperity) to Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains.

Jaisalmer’s fort is a beautiful color of gold, as you can tell from this photo of the old doors.

The fort’s walls have several places where you can look into the valley below. This is one of them.

Hindu temples are usually lively places.  The gods themselves are brightly colored and they are often draped with brightly colored cloth and littered with candles and flowers.  There is chanting, and music with loud drumming and bells.  They were still celebrating Hanuman’s birthday when we got to Jaisalmer. The Hanuman temple was hopping with devotional music, prayers, offerings, and a puja ceremony.

This is a more traditional statue of Hanuman.

Out behind the main temple complex was another, more primitive, version of Hanuman.  You can see from the devotional offerings that this one is a favorite.

Unlike Hindu temples, Jain temples are bastions of serenity, as you might expect from the gentle Jains, who go so far as to wear face masks to avoid harming another living creature (so as not to accidentally inhale an insect).  There were some particularly beautiful Jain temples in the Jaisalmer Fort.

No visit to Jaisalmer is complete without a trip into the Thar Desert.  We opted for an afternoon camel trek followed by dinner in the dunes.

The camels were draped with padding and adorned with cloths. I call this photo, “Does this skirt make me look fat?”

The first thing our guides did when they made camp was fill a container with water for the birds and for the dogs.  Then the camels were cared for and, finally, they attended to us.  I’d say they took care of business in the proper order.

With the ripples and shifting shapes of the dunes, the desert becomes an art form.

We fell in love with this happy, self-reliant desert dog. He spent some time with us, then buried himself in the sand up to his armpits for a nap.

This budding young entrepreneur hiked in from the next village with a satchel full of beer. Needless to say, he was handsomely rewarded for his efforts.  He was interested in my camera, so we let him take a few shots of us.

Voting was under way for India’s next national Prime Minister.  This, the world’s largest election, has been carried out in stages, with different states voting at different times.  Jaisalmer’s polling place was right around the corner from our hotel and we strolled over for a look.

They look a bit bored, but these two guys were actually pretty excited about voting.

An indelible mark was made on each voters fingernail.

We have elephants and donkeys; why shouldn’t they have camels?

A few random shots taken while wandering through the streets of Jaisalmer watching people, my favorite activity.

One of my absolute favorite photos.

Every few days, I am struck by the beauty and grace of Indian women. These gals were headed to a wedding.

Rajasthani men make an effort with their appearance too, with their turbans, crisply ironed clothing, and waxed mustaches.

Indians are simply mad about cricket. Young and old alike, we see them playing everywhere we go.

A jeweler heats metal over a red hot fire that really glows against the turquoise wall. I love the colors in this photo.

Udaipur:  One of the highlights In Udaipur this time around was a folk dance performance at Bagore Ki Haveli, just down the street from our hotel.

One of the traditional Rajasthani dances involves spinning and swirling around a fire with a copper pot on your head.

Bagore Ki Haveli is beautiful.

A few random shots from Udaipur.

This woman is carrying grass for cows. She’ll sit on a blanket somewhere and sell it so that folks can get some good karma.

These young lovers looked so pensive sitting in the garden of a roadside cafe where we stopped for chai.

No visit to Udaipur is complete without a visit to the Jagdish Temple and resident sadhu.

 

 

 

A Life Enriched – Guest Post by Elizabeth Bushell

I spent 9 days with Paula touring the Rajasthan cities of Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, and Udaipur. Afterwards, we took a midnight train to Agra and paid homage to the Taj Mahal before heading to Delhi so that I could return home to Tucson.  My experiences in India baffled me, made me grateful, moved me to tears, humbled me, and left me speechless.

My first observation in India was the traffic. It typically involved bicycles, individual motorcycles carrying from 2 to 5 people, pedestrians, cows, dogs, tuk tuks (3 wheeled motorcycles with a cover), and cars zipping in and out, honking, and, miraculously, avoiding each other while progressing towards their destinations. There were few stop lights, no traffic signs, and people drove and rode on whatever side of the street suited them. It was anarchy and despite, not seeing any accidents, I repeatedly uttered to myself, “this shouldn’t work.”

Women ride sidesaddle at the back, balancing babies and packages in their arms. Toddlers perch up front, calm at the helm, as the driver weaves in and out of the endless stream of automobiles, rickshaws, horse carts, and what have you.

Next were the cows. They are revered as gods in India and roam freely through the streets, traffic accommodating them as necessary. Women, carrying large bales of sprouts on their heads, walk the streets so that people can buy food for the cows.  It is one way that they tithe for good karma. Seeing cows as I did, I returned home unable to eat meat and I remain curious to see how long it will take to return to my carnivore self.

“Sorry, ma’am, I just ate,” he said as he walked away.

There are also dogs. They are everywhere, boney and seemingly too weak to do anything but lie listlessly along the sides of the roads. With a rare but noteworthy exception, the dogs don’t wag their tales – a fact that often saddened me. I regularly looked closely to confirm that a dog was breathing, there being no other sign of life. I later learned that another tenet of karma requires that people feed the dogs, which was a relief. But, I always had trouble with the concept that instead of being loving companions, dogs in India are really just survivors.

This is Sam, the “notable exception,” who lives happily among the sand dunes of the Sam Desert. The camel trekking folks bring him water and feed him when they come out; he repays them by guiding their guests up the dunes, sitting for a spell and then moving up the dune to keep a leisurely lookout. We really enjoyed his company.

And there are people, lots and lots of them. Despite the extreme crowding and lack of personal space, the people appeared calm and at peace. Despite the poverty, they smiled and rarely passed by us without saying “namaste.” They said things to us like “in India everybody is your friend” and “in India the guest is God.”  People were gracious and personal in a way that I don’t often see at home. For all the things I missed while there, I returned home missing the friendliness of India’s people.

This is the confident-yet-shy young coin collector who sold Paula a pair of blue sunglasses that made her feel like Peggy Lipton in Mod Squad. I rewarded him with an assortment of U.S. quarters and a crisp $5 bill.

I just had to try a Coke in India and these shop keepers were pretty tickled to sell one to me.

We ran into these charming guys quite a few times while touring the Fort in Jodphur.

One of our favorite tuk-tuk drivers (and there were many), this guy picked us up in the middle of a driving rain, despite our being dressed in plastic bags. He drove us to a roadside store and happily waited with us while a shopkeeper ran down the street o get us some umbrellas.

Did I mention that everywhere you turn there are lots of people?

The high point of my trip was visiting the Ranakpur Temple outside of Udaipur. Its art and architecture represent the tenets of the Jain religion, which are: non-violence, truth, non-stealing, celibacy/chastity, and non-attachment/non-possession. It was magnificent and so powerfully spiritual that when I exited the Temple I found myself unable to speak. According to our audio tour, it is said that one cannot live an enriched life without visiting the Ranakpur Temple. I know that my life was greatly enriched by the visit.

Overall, I found India to be a land of contradictions. Things that should not be, are; things that should not work, do; where it appears chaotic, there is functionality; where there should be stress, there is calm; where there should be rage, there is peace; and where there should be no hope, there is happiness. It was a trip of a lifetime that I will surely savor for the rest of my life.

Elizabeth, enjoying a delicious dinner on the rooftop of Trio. The Jaisalmer Fort is in the background.

 

A Monastery & The Burning Ghats – Pharping and Pashupatinath

A Monastery – Pranamaya Yoga is a very cool organization that runs yoga studios in Pokhara, Boudha, and Kathmandu and also manufactures a line of yoga clothing.  While in Nepal, I took some classes at the Boudha studio and participated in a 3-day yoga workshop with London-based instructor Heather Elton at the Neydo Tashi Choeling Monastery in the Pharping Valley.   This area is sacred for Buddhists because it’s home to a cave where the sage Padmasambhava reached the state of enlightenment.  The Neydo Tashi Choeling Monastery is ornately beautiful and sits on the edge of a big bluff overlooking the valley and other monasteries scattered among the rice paddies and hillsides.  It houses the country’s largest Amitabha Buddha and is also home to more than 200 monks, some of them quite young.

Our yoga studio was directly above the main temple. Each morning around 6:00 am before climbing the stairs to class, we got to sit in on the monks’ morning prayers, which were embellished with loud bells, drums and horns.  Later, as we practiced morning asanas, the melodious sound of chanting wafted up from the floor below, occasionally interrupted by trumpeting noises that we later learned were the younger monks’ horn lessons (clearly some of them were not musically inclined).  Monks and temple dogs basked in the sunshine in the afternoon and romped on the lawn as the sun began to set over the valley.  One afternoon, we had the privilege of meeting with the Khenpo Pema Rangdrol for a private teaching.  It was a terrific weekend in an idyllic setting that gave my yoga practice a welcome boost.  I am most grateful!

The monastery, perched on prime real estate overlooking the valley. You couldn’t ask for a more lovely setting.

Another view of the valley and part of the monastery’s roof, this one taken out my bedroom window.

The monastery guesthouse was one of the most comfortable places I stayed in Nepal. Must have had something to do with those peaceful valley vibrations.

The valley in early morning sunlight, taken from the guesthouse window.

The Amitabha Buddha, Nepal’s tallest, in the monastery’s main temple.

Young monks at their desks ready for morning prayers.

Someone else is ready for morning prayer at the temple too.

She looked so beautiful standing on the path to the temple (above photo) that I couldn’t resist following her. I snapped this photo as she approached the temple’s main door.

Prayers over, the monks spill out into the front yard.

Monks, heading towards the front gate and down to the little town at the foot of the hill.

Me, about to head into the temple and up the stairs to class. As you can see, the temple dog is actively guarding the door. Dogs with very good karma must get to be temple dogs…

Group shot of the yoga class. Three of us came from the U.S.; the others were from Canada, Mexico, Jordan, the Netherlands, and France. In the back row are Heather Elton (3rd from the left) and Sam, owner of Pranamaya (far right).

I took this shot out the window of the guesthouse. Our neighbors were entertaining on the roof.

The Burning Ghats –  Pashupatinath dates to around the third century BC and was considered a sacred place even before Hinduism.  Here, on the banks of the Bagmati River, are Nepal’s burning ghats where around 5,000 bodies are cremated each year.  Pashupatinath is Nepal’s holiest Hindu pilgrimage site, especially for those who follow Shiva, the destroyer and regenerator.  Sadhus are said to still inhabit caves in the surrounding hillsides.  The town attracts all manner of holy men including Shaiva sadhus, who smear their bodies with ashes and paint trident-shaped tikas on their foreheads, and those in the Goarkhnath cult, which follows the “left-hand” path and deliberately flaunts convention with wild and transgressive behaviors.  I saw none of that on my visit.

For most westerners, the idea of an open cremation is incomprehensible and I will admit that the smell is unpleasant.  But otherwise, the rituals that I observed were quite lovely and were similar to our own in many ways.  I wasn’t long at the ghats, but I did stay long enough to view (from across the river) and photograph (with a telephoto lens) parts of two cremations.   One of the deceased must have been a high official of some kind.  There were lots of fancy cars in the parking area and “important people” (judging from the reactions of those who saw them) were gathered around the ghat.  The military was out in full force, too; there was a full band and the soldiers fired their rifles in salute.  There was not so much fanfare for lower caste members, whose cremation platforms are further down river.  Regardless of your status in life, though, to be cremated here at Pashupatinath is a high religious achievement.  To die here is even better, almost guaranteeing your release from the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. So people bring their sick to die, placing them on stretchers along the banks of the river or getting them into pilgrims’ rest homes around the temple next door.

Bystanders filled the bridge near the ghat where the high official was being cremated.

The body was wrapped and laid upon the cremation pyre. Then family and friends passed by, laying garlands of flowers on top.

On the other side of the bridge were several ghats for lower caste members.

Small temples to Shiva lined both sides of the steep steps up the hillside above the ghats.

Close-up of one of the temples.

I keep a look out for nursing homes when I travel since my sister Laurie, a registered nurse, works for the U.S. federal government in nursing home regulations. These folks were sitting outside of an “Elderly’s Home” being run by one of the local ashrams.

I was struck by this woman’s beautiful smile while she sorted through a pile of old clothes on the street. I assume she is a vendor of some sort. She seems happy.

I flew to Delhi from Nepal, where I met my friend Liz and had the pleasure of introducing her to India.  We traveled through Rajasthan and then spent a day in Agra.  She accepted my invitation to write a guest post and it will follow this one.

 

 

 

Boudha – Where Life Revolves Around the Stupa

After Pokhara, I headed back to the Kathmandu Valley (but not to the craziness of Kathmandu, which I avoided for the entire trip). I stayed in two monastery guesthouses in Boudha (also called Boudanath) and in a third monastery guesthouse in the Pharping Valley. Located on the old Kathmandu-Tibet trade route and in what the Nepalis believe is an auspicious zone of siddhi (supernatural beings), Boudha has been a sacred site for centuries. It is home of one of the world’s largest stupas, which dates back to around the 5^th century AD. The huge structure has quite a presence. It is a big white dome; at the top is a 4-sided spire with the Buddha’s blue eyes painted on each side and above them are 13 golden steps rising to nirvana.   Prayer flags stream from the top, flapping in the breeze.

 

The stupa is beautiful at night and the lights change color, from blue to pink to green, etc.

The Buddha’s eyes seem to follow you as you walk around the stupa. They are mesmerizing.

While I was there, they were touching up the stupa’s white paint, repainting a section of lovely green Tara’s at the stupa’s entrance, and putting up new prayer flags. I purchased a strand of flags and wrote the names of loved ones both here and departed, so that prayers are continuously being sent out for them by the wind.

This artist’s power of concentration was quite amazing. Despite people looking over his shoulder, asking questions, and snapping photos, he continued painting the tiniest little strokes without hesitation.

The stupa’s dome is supported by a big circular base that encloses golden prayer wheels, small images and smaller dome-like structures. You can climb steps to the top of the base and circle the dome from there, but the real action happens at street level. The stupa is famous for its power to fulfill wishes and give blessings and so people come from afar to circumambulate it, reciting prayers and mantras, clicking mala beads, humming songs, doing a series of prostrations. Tibetans, Nepalis, and people from all over the world come. Especially at dawn and dusk, they come spilling in from the narrow streets and alleys of old Boudha-town that all seem to eventually deposit their foot traffic to the stupa. Alone or in groups, some move slowly, but others (usually the old folks) hustle along at a brisk pace.

There are birds to feed (for good karma), butter lamps to light, flowers to place on the altar, prayer wheels to turn, bells to ring, and a big pot of incense to inhale and move over your head and face with a fanning motion. You are supposed to circle in a clockwise direction so, if you miss the restaurant you planned to visit or street down which you intended to turn, around again you go. You find yourself circling, simply circling. You find that you are counting your footsteps. Your mind fills with thoughts, then empties, and refills again. You find that you are humming.  It’s a delightful way to pass the time.  You step away with the realization that you have been profoundly touched by the devotion of those who have been walking in circles with you, and with a feeling that this devotional energy will work its magic on you for some time to come.

Often you’ll find big pots of incense like this standing at the door of a temple or monastery. You inhale the lovely scent, then use your hands to move the smoke up over your face and head. It’s nice!

I caught this shot of a woman standing under the bell, hands folded in prayer. I love her peaceful demeanor, despite the hustle and bustle around her, and look at the beautiful designs on her clothing. This is a favorite photo.

Despite her age, this little Tibetan lady was zipping around the stupa, clicking her mala beads as she went.

Tibetan ladies wear these beautiful rainbow-colored aprons, or pangden.

In India, I was told that to have good karma: “First you feed the cows, then you feed the dogs, then you feed the people.” I assume the birds fall in line after the dogs…at least here at the stupa in Boudha.

These monks were sitting with a long line of monks, lined along one of the narrow streets leading to the stupa. They were selling devotional items and I think they were also telling fortunes. These two were sharing a big laugh about soothing.

These wrap-around dresses are called chuba and are worn by married Tibetan ladies.

Butter lamps are available at temples throughout Nepal and India.

The ladies of India and Nepal have such beautiful black hair and some of them, like this Tibetan lady, let it grow really long.

Every day, this lady sat by the main gate of the stupa selling peanuts,

This little gal sat around the stupa almost every day, too. Her mom was a street vendor.

When you need a break from circling, there’s always shopping.  Around the stupa, you can find heavy turquoise and coral Tibetan jewelry, thangkas (traditional Tibetan devotional paintings), mala beads and beads for stringing, Tibetan aprons, wall and door hangings, and so many other things. One morning, I sat with closed eyes at the Himalayan Singing Bowl Centre, while 30 or so bowls sang for me, each having its own special tone. I held each one (still unseen lest I be attracted to one solely for its physical beauty) and felt it vibrate in my hands. One bowl called out to me from all the others. A beautiful silver bowl made on a full moon night, it has two distinct notes that, together, make my spirit sing – the perfect thing for an occasional “tune up” when I get tired or out of sorts.

Malas are traditionally used by Buddhists and Hindus (but now popular with meditators and others) to help focus on the sound or meaning of a mantra without having to count the number of repetitions. They come in a wide variety of colors and materials. Malas typically contain 108 beads plus a larger 109th “guru” bead. Recite the mantra once for each bead, moving the beads between your thumb and forefingeruntil you make your way around the strand and come to the guru bead. Then you turn the strand around and go again.

 

Thangkas are intricate paintings on cotton or silk that can take months to make. They may depict the Buddha or a Buddhist deity, like those shown above. Some tell a story (like the popular Life of the Buddha) or a teaching (like the Wheel of Life, one of my favorites) and others contain mandalas. Beautiful works of art in their own right, they have been used for centuries as teaching and meditation tools.

 

The fabric is beautiful and could be used in so many interesting ways. If only there were more room in my suitcase!

While in Boudha, I made side trips  to Pushpatinath and the Pharping Valley.  More about them in the next post.

 

 

Down-Time in Pokhara

While the city itself is not pretty, Pokhara’s location at the foot of the Annapurnas and on the shores of Lake Fewa is magnificent.  My 8-hour bus ride from Kathmandu meandered through some gorgeous scenery; we traveled up the mountains and down along fertile fields and gardens that fanned out along the banks of the river bank.  It was harvest time and people were out in full force, cutting crops and readying their plots for the next round of planting. There’s a line in Rudyard Kipling’s Kim, one of the India-themed books I’ve been reading during my travels: “All India was at work in the fields, to the creaking of well-wheels, the shouting of ploughmen behind their cattle, and the clamour of the crows.”  It was just like that.

Pokhara is as a staging spot for rafting trips and trekking, which is why I went there in the first place (and why I carted my hiking boots, down jacket and heavy woolen underwear through so many tropical environments for so many weeks).  Unfortunately, I had to go to Plan B when my body was hijacked by a nasty bug which took 3 doctor visits and multiple rounds of ayurvedic and traditional medicine to cure. I passed the time by taking yoga classes at Purna Yoga and also with Chetana, a terrific instructor at the lovely Ganden Yiga Chozen Buddhist Meditation Center and Retreat. I went parasailing. I had a wonderful traditional Nepali massage with mustard seed oil at Himalayan Encounters, an organization that teaches people from the Dalit (or untouchable) class to give massages.  I went window shopping.  I enjoyed Pokhara’s wide selection of restaurants and had a drink or two.  I wandered the streets and spent a lot of time walking around the lake.  My down-time would have been wonderful if only that beautiful Annapurna view had not beckoned to me every time I looked at the horizon!

The yellow walls in the yoga room of Ganden Yiga Chozen were covered with beautiful THANGKA paintings, and big windows looked out onto the lake.

Cow watching is always entertaining. After peeing all over the sidewalk, this cow waited patiently in line for some juice at the juice shop.

This trio of water buffalo walked down the middle of main street at the same time every day. I assume they were heading to the lake for some R&R after a long day of plowing.

A new hotel was going up next door to my guesthouse. Unbelievably, all of the excavation work was being done by hand and the work crew was primarily made up of women.

Parasailing was kind of fun though, as an old skydiver, would have much preferred throwing myself out of a moving airplane rather than having to run off the side of a cliff.

There’s something so peaceful about a blue and yellow sunset.

 

The vendors see this view every day – this lady wasn’t having any of it!

The locals, as well as vacationing Nepalis enjoyed spending time on the lake too, as bodies of water this size are unusual in Nepal.

 

 

Bhaktapur – Stepping Back in Time

From Patan, I headed east to the well-preserved town of Bhaktapur, a World Heritage site that boasts more temples per square mile than any other in the Kathmandu Valley and also has the tallest temple in Nepal.  Bhaktapur has always been known for its talented artists, especially in woodcarving, and its temples are intricately made. Bhaktapur means City of Devotees and life still flows around and through those temples, just as it has done for centuries.  Twice a day, at morning and at dusk, people come to say prayers, ring the temple bells, place a flower or two on the altar, and smear their favorite god with a swoosh of red paste. Folks gather to talk and, sometimes, to play music.

These fellows were hearty singers and the temple square rang with sounds of their music.

 

Quick — notice the carved wooden lattices over the windows before your thoughts move on to curiously ponder what these little monks are looking at. By the time I finished photographing them, there was a crowd of 8-10 boys peeking in the window. I never did figure out what they were looking at.

This is the view from atop Nepal’s tallest temple, Nyatapola Temple.

The temple caretaker peers outside the gate, before welcoming me inside.

The roof supports of this temple were amazing. A nearby temple had intricately carved supports too but, on closer examination, I realized the figures were engaged in kama sutra practice and decided to omit them from this blog!

This old gentleman, who sported a jaunty blossom in the folds of his hat, helped her get a finger full of red paste to put on the god.

Many of the intricate wood carvings are painted, like this one.

This man might have been what they call a “photo sadhu” (who poses for photos, then asks for money).

In some ways, the old city seems timeless.   Women still draw water from neighborhood wells and carry it home in pots balanced on their heads.  They buy fruits and vegetables at corner markets, from merchants who carried their bounty into town on their backs, with help from a trump line placed across their foreheads, and then spread it out on blankets along the cobblestone streets.   People lean out from their windows into the streets, sit on their doorsteps to chat, and kids play in the alleyways.

Street art – no matter how old the city, you still seem to find it.

Shot down an alleyway in Bhaktapur.

Nepal has a large Tibetan population – this lady’s heritage shows both from the style of her clothing and her beautiful cheekbones.

This little gal was playing with her baby doll on the steps of her mother’s shop.

This vendor seemed to be mesmerized by her customers, two very animated “modern” girls.

Pumping water is hard work, as you can tell from this woman’s expression.

One of many “pumping water” shots I took in Nepal.

These ladies were removing and scrubbing heritage tiles from the rooftop of a museum that is slowly being restored. They were happy to pose for photographs and went about their work without a hint of self-consciousness. My photos of them are among my favorites of this trip.

The “rooftop ladies” — what beautiful smiles.

A great big pot of mono cooking in a steamer set out in the street.

Many old homes have been restored and now function as guesthouses, restaurants, shops, and museums.  Built of tiny reddish pink bricks that are weathered with age, they delight the eye with exquisite architectural features.  You enter through low, wood-trimmed doorways, moving through narrow, cool passages that open into beautiful sunlit courtyards.   The upper levels are supported by intricately carved wooden pillars and graceful staircases lead you upstairs.  Inside, the walls glow with soft patterns of latticed light that streams through windows ornamented with carved wooden designs.  Some buildings seem to be slowly falling into ruin but even they exhibit a faded kind of grandeur.  I think about the families who once worshipped in these temples, walked these streets and lived in these buildings.  I marvel at the exquisite beauty they created.  Bhaktapur makes you wish that you could step back in time.

These guys were having a great time talking to their neighbors from their upstairs window. Note the carvings on their shutters.

 

The Peacock Window, famous for its quality, and part of Bhaktapur’s Woodcarving Museum

These two ladies were caretakers of Bhaktapur’s woodworking museum, a building that was so beautiful it took my breath away.

Heritage art is still being created in Nepal. This lovely painter was visiting a museum in Chengdu Narayan, a town near Bhaktapur. She was painting the floors and walls with art from her village.

This is one of the drawings that the beauty in the photo above was drawing on the floor of a museum.

 

These women were spinning thread and weaving at a local neighborhood gathering place.

 

They are quite photogenic, don’t you think?

People at home pay lots of money to get this whitewashed, distressed look.

This piece of carved wood was over a doorway.

This carving was on a center door panel.

 

 

Passing Time in Patan

I was enchanted with Nepal, though horrible the air pollution in the Kathmandu Valley and 12-14 hours per day of “load shedding” (power cuts) make travel more difficult. My first stop was in Patan, a town quite close to Kathmandu, but seeming like another world altogether. I stayed near historical Durbar Square, where the old palace and most important temples are located.

Durbar Square in Patan – I stayed just across the street.

View of Durbar Square from atop one of the temples.

In the area, too, are artists whose families for centuries have made the most intricate wood carvings and elaborate metal statues for which Patan is famous. Walking down the streets, you can hear the “tap, tap, tap,” as they work their craft.

Man relaxing on the steps of a temple in Patan’s Durbar Square.

Patan’s Durbar Square

This woman is just beautiful and so are the carved wood pieces behind her – on a temple in Patan’s Durbar Square.

 

You are probably looking at the graffiti on the wall, as I did when I first passed by this building. Notice, too, that the man sitting at its base is a woodcarver, working outside his shop.

There is so much detail in this beautiful statue.

Statues in the window of a shop.

Green Tara – isn’t she lovely?

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know that I am a temple junky.   In Nepal, life seems to revolve around temples, which suited me just fine.  In the temples, they burn incense in big pots and soft light glows from the butter candles that are scattered throughout. The gods are draped with flowers and satin, and they sport bright red or gold tikas on their foreheads.  The most loved are completely smeared with layers of red sandalwood paste or rice flour, applied one touch at a time as worshippers come to pay their respects. Temple dogs bask in the sun and old folks gather to pass the time of day on the steps outside.  Big temple bells hang ready and children stand on tiptoes, flailing in the air until someone lifts them up.  Then the air fairly vibrates with rich, warm tones.  Quickly bored, they run away and climb onto statues of elephants, horses, and lions.  I, on the other hand, never become bored and find myself wandering contentedly from temple to temple.  Here are some of my favorite shots taken around the streets of Patan.

Every temple seems to have one or more dogs. This fellow didn’t let the noise bother a good afternoon nap.

Look at the bright colors and intricate detail on this temple.

A vision in red powder.

I love this statue!

Golden tika.

In every town, there are numerous “men’s clubs,” where the guys gather round to play cards and games or, more commonly, just to chat.

Men on a wall, in Patan’s Durbar Square

This little tot was very happily running around one of the temples.

This little boy was under, over and on top of this big statue in Patan’s Durbar Square. Nobody gave him a second glance, though the statue was centuries old and on a World Heritage Site.

His mother was determined to put him on top of the elephant, though he was none too sure about it.