Old Manali, India

view from the guesthouse

From Delhi, a 14 hour overnight bus ride north into the Himalayas with the whole back row to myself. I was in the Manali area last spring and the mountains haven't moved. Or maybe they have, it is just that they are so humbling I would never be able to tell. They are still neck breaking steep and a little more snow-dusted than our last meeting. The sun offers plenty or warmth during the day, but with mountains so steep, it starts to fall away at about 330 pm and really doesn't clip the ridge until about 9am or so. There are few tourists this time of year, and most of the shops are closed but the Dragon restaurant is open every day with good food, hot soup, steaming chai, and a fireplace to keep the evenings warm. The village is full of puppies right now- black and chocolate colored fluff balls are running around everywhere. Most of them won't make it through the winter with the nights getting colder, but they are fun to watch, play with and take way too many pictures of.

view from the balcony

diwali 2010

clay diyas

"Diwali is probably the most well-known of all the Indian festivals; it is celebrated throughout India, as well as in Hindu, Sikh and Jain communities around the world in October or November. It is also considered the Hindu New Year and is either a 3-day or 5-day holiday depending on religious background.  The name of the festival comes from the Sanskrit word dipavali, meaning row of lights, thus Diwali is known as the 'festival of lights' because houses, shops and public places are decorated with small earthenware oil lamps called diyas. These lamps, which look like tiny clay saucers, are traditionally fueled by mustard oil and are placed in rows in windows, doors, courtyards, gardens, as well as on roof-tops and outer walls. The lamps are lit to help the goddess Lakshmi (the goddess of wealth) find her way into people's homes.

no, i did not get shot in the head

Diwali is celebrated with traditional sweets, lots of fireworks and the exchanging of gifts.  In north India, Diwali celebrates Rama's homecoming; in Gujarat, the festival honors Lakshmi, and in Bengal, it is associated with the goddess Kali, the Hindu goddess known for her fierceness, destruction and eternal energy. Regardless of the mythological explanation one prefers, what the festival of lights really stands for today is a reaffirmation of hope, a renewed commitment to friendship and goodwill, and a religiously sanctioned celebration of the simple - and not so simple - joys of life."

busy Diwali night in Alwar

I arrived in Delhi November 3rd, with less cultural shock and overwhelming stimulation of the mind and senses than last December's introduction to the Indian subcontinent. My Irish friend, Justin, whom I met last year in Udaipur, is now living and working here in Delhi for his London-based company and I cannot think of anything more welcoming or accommodating than having him, along with his car and driver, pick me up at the airport in the wee hours of the morning last Tuesday after 24 tiring hours of travel. He has a lovely apartment in south Delhi with hardwood floors, huge windows, a guestroom and private bathroom just for me and cold beer in the fridge. He's Irish. There is always beer in the fridge and whiskey on the counter. But what makes him TRULY Irish isn't his insatiable thirst, boisterous accent or Celtic surname, it is his storytelling ability.  I have heard more stories in the past week than I know what to do with and there will probably be a thousand more before I leave sometime this weekend. Most of the stories are interesting, thankfully, even riveting, but I just don't understand how he has the mental capacity to store all of these long-winded anecdotes and hour-long tales.  Good company though, and that is what traveling is all about. He works long hours, but with the Diwali holiday, I tagged along on his brief escape from the city. Manoj, the driver, was heading a few hours south of Delhi to see his family for the holiday, so Justin and I just caught a ride with him and got dropped in dusty Alwar. We found a decent hotel with huge rooms and a lush courtyard and just sat outside and talked, read books, ate paranthas, drank sweet lassis and relaxed. The weather is perfect now, short sleeve shirts by day, cardigan at night.  We walked through town on the evening of the 5th to check out the Diwali celebrations and were met by groups of children all wanting to shake our hands, "Happy Diwali!", over and over, ate traditional sweets, dodged firecrackers exploding on the sides of the road, received a priest's blessing, got lost, walked in a huge circle, eventually found the hotel. Diwali is such an energetic festival with strings of lights decorating the buildings and fireworks going off for hours and hours.

Humayun's tomb, Delhi India

The next day was much more quiet and we hired a taxi to visit a couple of the sights in this very non-touristy area. An old temple, a run-down fort, the grounds of an old palace where a family of ten still lives- the opium smoking grandfather, conservative newlyweds, a couple kids and various other relatives.  Manoj picked us up in the evening and we fought holiday traffic all the way back to Delhi. I've been a little run down the last few days, maybe a bit of a cold and haven't really done much but "hang out". Delhi isn't the most interesting city, but I visited the Lodhi gardens and Humayun's  tomb, just a day after Mr. Obama got his own private tour.  This life of luxury (and free place to stay) must come to an end soon though...I will just have to pick a direction and go.

little friend on the patio

abroad

I love everything about traveling. I love airports, bustling united nations with people everywhere, some running, some sitting, some sleeping, the coming and going. I love airplanes. When I stare at the night sky and see that blinking light making its way through the stars I just want to know where is that plane going? I always want to be on it. People flying to a vacation, business meeting, wedding, reunion, funeral. Who knows. I love flipping through my passport- each stamp a story. Those Cambodian officials, so serious and militant, professional stampers- smiles and welcomes, um, not here. That Laos stamp. Four hours at the Vietnamese border, papers, signatures, currency exchanges, finally walking across some invisible line that means a new country, new people, new language, new money, new customs. To the next bus with my hungover Irish comrades and posse of pasty white Swedes. That Thailand stamp- started with a rickety van in Laos, jump in the back of a truck, quick drive to the river, exit stamp, sprint to the canoe, two minute float across the Mekong, one minute 'til the Thai border shack closes, money flying across the counter, new stamp, just in time for the last van to Chiang Mai. The Singapore stamp. Why do you have wine in your bag? There is no alcohol allowed across the border. It's come all the way from Burma- I didn't know, Thailand and Malaysia didn't seem to care. Ok, just this one time. Hindsight. Tasted like vinegar and should have left it for those Burmese cockroaches at the Golden Guesthouse. India stamp. You are now outside of your comfort zone and there is no better feeling. Overland entry: hello Nepal, I didn't know you were a dust bowl. Airway exit: Holy Buddha, I hope we clear those 8000 meter peaks. Some stamps are fading, the first layer in a building collage of ink and color, dates and ballpoint scribbles, initials, official authorizations. Peru, Ireland, Costa Rica, Amsterdam layovers. Always back to the US. Welcome Home, Miss Tracy... I never left. The world is my home and I have 12 fresh pages newly sewn into my passport-sized, personal story book.