Traveling in Bhutan and India 2008

 

 

As the plane closes in on my final destination—my hometown, Pittsburgh, I found it odd and even difficult to imagine the life I left behind only a month before. Being slam-dunked head-first into an adventure of diverse culture extremes, India is a bit disconcerting at first…until you get used to the constant stimulation of unusual sights, sounds, and smells. Sights so alien to my simple brain that at first I hardly realized what I saw until a few moments passed--a mere taste of what was in store for us in the weeks to come.

 

The first few days in India were rainy and spent in Kolkuta (Calcutta of Mother Theresa fame). The austere mother house where she worked and lived for over fifty years is a monument to the life she gave in service to the poor of that city. It was one of the highlights of the trip.

 

After a few days we were whisked away to the softer side of our journey—the Land of Shangri La, the Mountain Kingdom of Bhutan. In sharp contrast to the over-population and poverty of the streets of Calcutta, the beauty of the Himalayas took my breath away, and the beautiful, clear turquoise river of glacier run-offs called me to my camera over and over again. Polite and kind, the Bhutanese people and our knowledgeable guide, Tandy, gave us rare insights into their history and Buddhism and the mindset and belief system that sets this nation apart from the rest of the world.

 

Our luggage holding warm clothing packed for this leg of the journey was lost for ten days. Fellow travelers lent us jackets to help us stay warm. There is no central heat in Bhutan or India, but space heaters and hot water bottles take the chill from our beds. This tiny kingdom of Buddhist prayer wheels, prayer flags, and ancient fort/monasteries called dzongs, reminds me that this is one of the last holdout of spirituality left on the planet…. with the modern world fast approaching via tourism.

 

One cold, early morning walk in Bhutan brought Ruth and I face-to-face with a snarling pack of wild dogs. Circling us as we walked slowly forward, I felt sharp teeth nip at the back of my calves. I clutched Ruth’s arm in alarm, and she immediately commanded the lead dog “to stop acting like a bully,” or words to that affect. To my amazement they all listened to her and backed away still snarling, but with wagging tails.

 

We began to question the wisdom of early morning walks when another encounter almost pushed us off a cliff. While taking photos of a young woman leading her herd of 10 cows down a narrow mountain road near our hotel, a bull mounted the lead cow. The unwelcome romantic move started a stampede toward our clicking cameras. “Run for your life,” I screech. With only one way to run to avoid the cliff, we clambered over each other to find a safer spot on the side of the road. We could not stop laughing and the cowgirl laughed just as hard as we did. With that, the bull took aggressive steps in our direction, but she swatted her light switch at him until he hung his head in shame and rejoined the ranks of shuffling cows headed toward greener pastures.

 

 

 

After eight days in Bhutan we returned to the over-populated streets of Delhi, India. In sharp contrast to the bucolic life of Bhutan, the mess called everyday traffic is overwhelmingly chaotic. The streets are clogged with every form of honking vehicle you can imagine and pedestrians are at the bottom of the pecking order in every encounter. State-of-the-art coaches jammed with Western tourists easily weave in and out of such jams. Size matters! If it’s bigger than yours, you yield. Motor bikes with 3 to 4 passengers, bicycle-driven rickshaws with wide-eyed westerners and bored-looking locals contend with ox carts moving vegetables or textiles and an occasional camel cart. Jeeps, local buses, and mini-cars careen around anything moving slower—driver always keeping his finger on the horn, but no one really gets mad. A cow or bull might be laying in the middle of traffic or meandering about—one even sat in a shop, but no one seems to mind. Some of my most vivid memories are of wild rickshaw rides through the dark and narrow alleys of Old Delhi and Varanassi. Bracing one foot against the back of the driver’s seat, balance of sorts manages to keep us from tumbling into the streets. Our driver yells, "Old Man!"  I didn’t realize until later that he was setting us up for a bigger payment—over and above what our guide gave him. We bounced along just barely out of the reach of hawkers armed with every imaginable trinket. They will follow you for miles if you make eye contact or say a word.

 

There is a certain casualness about poverty—which is everywhere. Street vendors artfully arrange fruits and vegetables which somehow seem out of place among beggars, lepers, holy men, and wealthy moguls who all live in close proximity. Just beyond filthy streets, complete with public urinating, one or two blocks away, serene courtyards and beautiful homes ignore the chaos. By contrast, the Delhi subway system would be the envy of any city in America.

 

The Taj Mahal was gorgeous by dawn’s early glow, but certainly not the highlight of a trip to India. India itself is a cultural experience that absorbs all of the history of the Maharajas and Moguls and their opulent wealth as well as invaders from everywhere with their conquests and defeats. Ancient temples standing over thousands of years honoring deities of every type and kind. Hinduism encompasses all religions, including Christianity and Buddhism, to name a few that barely survive. Who could forget the holy river, Ganges, from which the first and last drink comes for all Hindus, the funeral pyres and baths of atonement? There is just too much to remember to write about it all now. We will look at photos and review memories safely tucked away now to be brought out at another time. I will never forget India!