Himachal Pradesh

Sunday, March 21, 2010

For the last three weeks I have been based near Palampur, teaching the alphabet and numbers at a daycare, and informally teaching intermediate English to the children of workers at the tea plant near where I am staying. I have had moderate success, but the eternally oblivious realities of village hardship in particular, and the hardship of people in general, lessen the sense of achievement I might have otherwise felt after teaching a few kids to ask me my name. Things have been very physically comfortable this month though, however difficult it might be to come to terms with the situation of other people here.

A couple of weeks ago I visited Shimla, which for a hundred years flourished as one of the most renowned British hill stations. In the early part of the 20th century it was home to the British Viceroy in India, and in the years leading to Independence, significant meetings were held in Shimla between the Viceroy, Gandhi, Nehru, Jinnah, &c. Sixth form history students might recall the Second Round Table Conference, the table of which has recently had the additional priveledge of being smudged by my unwitting, scody fingers. Shimla also has a still-thriving shopping disctrict for the wealthy, as well as an impressive monkey temple with angry, violent, deceptively gentle monkeys roaming all over the place.

I'm writing this post just after returning from McLeod Ganj with Sarah, another volunteer. Friday was spent in the tourist-infested town, which is home to the Dalai Lama; visiting the Tibetan Museum, and escaping repeatedly from an elderly Indian man with mannerisms suggestive of both madness and desire for human flesh. Also spent a couple of evening hours in an indescribably brilliant seventies cafe, reminscent of the days when McLeod was a staple town of the far-out hippie-circuit. On Saturday we climbed 7km uphill to Triund (3000m), guided by several dogs (which climb the mountain with a trekker on one day, spend the night at the rocky outcrop of Triund, then accompany someone else down the next day). The two-day trek is quite popular with tourists, and upon arriving we found that the tent and hut accommodation was accordingly expensive. Choosing to ignore the fact that one of the guide dogs was eaten by a leopard the previous night, we instead pocketed our rupees and spent the night in an isolated cave further up the mountain. Dinner was biscuits, bed was a straw and sheep poo mattress, nightmares were leopards, but compensatingly, warmth was a campfire on Pride Rock's Indian brother, and sleep came easily. We survived, and the next morning I hiked with a spiritual Aussie called Brad further up the mountain, reaching the snowline as the sun was rising over the summit. While Brad played some didge, I explored a bit, attempting to keep my footing on the icy ridge, and fighting an internal battle to suppress my eagerness to climb the simple-looking 4900m summit. After a Phyrric victory, we returned to Triund, then to McLeod, then to Palampur. It was good.

I'll try to upload some photos before I head to Varanasi next week, but as with anything on dialup, there can be no room for promises.

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