A Disfunctional Diary of India - Recong Peo to Jalori Pass: DAY 33

We left at 7:00am sharp and skipped out on the dinner bill. Trust me, they deserved it. We were eager to wind up somewhere in the Banjar Valley by the end of the day. Once again we gunned it, as safe n' smooth as we could. Some serious road work with explosives and huge falling boulders being moved by heavy machinery delayed us by about an hour. We made two stops, outside n' inside Rampur. Another welding job for Laura Jean- this time it was the carriage rack. And then an internet stop to make contact with one Mr. Vishnu Helper, our man in Nepal. We'd been informed by the Israelis, who'd just come from there, that the monsoon season was on the way and that our plans to trek the Annapurna circuit may be thwarted. The city of Rampur was rampant with hot, bustling action. We had to park our bikes a distance away from the internet place, so we bought a big half of watermelon from a street vendor and asked him to watch them for us.  Jon got locked into a conversation with a guy that seemed like a waste of time at first but payed off in the end. He provided directions by a smaller, more secluded way to our destination. It was all ours; a narrow, but smooth road that slithered rapidly through the mountains, progressively enfolding sunspots of greenery. By late afternoon the cold, snow-capped landscape was behind us, and we felt as if we were driving through the fresh forests of B.C. again. Jackets came off and sleeves rolled up. It was camping country, and we drove with eyes open wide for a place to set up as we kept on toward Banjar. Finally, we reached a high point, where the road leveled off to a shelf of seven chai shops and a monastery. We stopped there for a meal, knowing it would likely be the last modest place before hitting the lowlands touched by tourism. The shop owner was as friendly as they come. He dressed like a bartender of a wild west saloon, with a mustache that curled slightly at the ends. He cooked us cheap, hot, delicious food and then offered us 10 grams of charas for 200 rupees, which re-up'd our supply to last for the remainder of the journey. It was another 30km to Banjar and once again there were thunderous dark clouds advancing on us. There was one spare room available at the side of one of the chai shops. It was perfect, in the most haggard sort of way, with yellow newspapers and faded posters as wallpaper. There was a floor board in the center of the room that shook the entire place when stepped on. I will forever compare this small living quarter with every place I sleep from now on. The shop owner came to have a smoke with us once we were settled. We got acquainted with the small cast of locals and spent the rest of the evening playing chess in a smokey chai hut, with a storm that sounded like dinosaurs fucking outside. 

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A Disfunctional Diary of India - Kaza (return) to Recong Peo: DAY 32

Back to 97% health. We joined the two Israelis we met the day before and had an Israeli breakfast out in the front yard of Jamaica's place. We had a good hug out with the memorable man Jamaica and were on the road by 9:30, hoping to make it to Rampur by dark, but doubting it. We rode harder and faster than normal, stopping once for cookies n water. As we rolled back through Recong Peo I noticed that the front wheel well of my bike had cracked and was about to fall off. It needed to be welded right away. I found a mechanic shop that was buzzing like a hive while Jon found an internet spot. I hung out there at that shop for over an hour, comparing my dirty hands to theirs. They spoke no English whatsoever, but there was a level of mutual respect that was evident in our similar appearances. The weld job was only 100 rupees. When I met up with Jon it was 5:00pm and the sky was about to unload some mad rain. We decided to shut 'er down and stay the night at the same guest house we had found before. The room was exactly how we left it. We smoked our last joint of charas and then tried to place an order at the kitchen. It was an awkward disaster. After the lousy dinner we planned our next day, played a game of chess, wrote and hit the bed.
I had this day chalked up as one of our least positive days on the road, but looking back on it now I gotta laugh. All setbacks aside, we were still free and on the move. That's not something a lot of people can say honestly. And it makes me think hard. When one starts taking the great simplicities for granted, it's time for a soulful uppercut.

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A Disfunctional Diary of India - Buddha's Birthday in Kaza: DAY 31

It started with a sleep in. Then a breakfast of melba toast n' veg. When we went outside to tighten up the bikes and fill up for our long trip to Rampur we found that Jon's bike, Golden Macenzie had been tampered with, and not at the same level as the previous village kid stupidity. No, no. This was a full blown attempted theft that would have been successful if the front wheel hadn't been locked. The bastards had got the bike started and left it on when they abandoned it because of the lock. The battery was plum-rot dead, which gave us a bit more to do with our morning. The blossoming village of Kaza was more like a really small town. They had a new monastery with a fresh and colorful paint job and so it was decided that Buddha's birthday would be celebrated there. We got a formal invite from our buddy Jamaica, who we pinned as the unofficial mayor of Kaza, and then we learned more from Dorje in Kibber, that all neighbouring villages in the Lahaul / Spiti region would be making the trip to celebrate in Kaza. By noon it was nearly filled to the brim with people. Jon and I walked up the only street in the town, through the white-washed houses, across the river to the new monastery where every able-bodied Buddhist and/or Hindu had flocked to wish the big guy a happy one. We had missed the song n' dance so we walked around the spacious grounds and scoped out a lot of happiness. We entered the main prayer hall of the monastery and were floored by the paint job and the skill that went into the wall art. We paid birthday respect by giving the traditional three bows to the giant gold Buddha statue and within a matter of minutes later, we were rewarded with free a lunch that was incredible. In search of a place to sit down and eat we found Eli the Israeli fiddler and Agee the intellectual Indian, with two more Israelis and a 50 year old Hungarian dude who swore constantly, as if he just learned the F-word. We sat around and ate in a circle, talking about travelling (what else) and where the best food was in every village or stop along Highway 22. We all walked back to the heart of the town looking for Jamaica for different reasons. I just wanted a bottle of apple whiskey. My plan was to catch a buzz while playing chess n' watching cricket at Jamaica's restaurant. But when I stopped in at our guest house I was hit with a huge wave of lethargy, so heavy that I had to lie down. An hour later I was fighting world war three in the bathroom that didn't have running water.  My night was pretty much over, but I still had things to do. I had to settle a bill with Jamaica and deliver a bottle of apple whiskey to the Hungarian who had tossed me some cash. I drank some electrolytes (a traveller's saviour) and went out into the chilly night. I got everything accomplished, with one brief intermission of puking my guts out, which made me feel good enough to hang around and watch some criket at the restaurant. Then I yakked up a litre of water on the walk home and went to bed trying to figure out the lesson of the day. I couldn't come up with anything.

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A Disfunctional Diary of India - Kibber to Kie Gompa to Kaza: DAY 30

A frustrating beginning to the day prevented us from making it to Kie Gompa on time for morning 'Puja' – meditation, prayers and offerings to the Gods (and free porridge). It was an easy 7km from Kibber, and we were up n' ready to go with time for Chai. But when we went to fire up the dusty bitches, I found a small stick jammed into the ignition key slot. The teen-dude-brat squad of the village had taken a liking to our bikes. We had noticed but never expected a dumb move like this.

When I was a real young turd, I stabbed holes in the dashboard of my Dad's new car for no reason but childish curiosity. Curiosity for what? I still don't know. It was the only time I can remember getting spanked. Finally, I can completely share that anger my Pop's felt. It took Jon and I just a shade under a bloody hour to fix the ignition and as we rode out of town I wanted to kick every boy we passed on general principal.

It was 9:00am when we arrived at Kie Gompa. The 'Puja' was over. I could smell the leftover porridge as we entered the monastery grounds. One of the monks greeted us and took us to a very old kitchen that felt more like a cave. There we were introduced to a monk named Tenzin. Every monk in the monastery is delegated different duties that they carry for a full year. The concept is to become as professional at your duties as possible in those 365 days. And when it's over, you take on a new duty and pass your last ones on to other monks. These are things like cooking, making trips to the village for supplies, painting, and serving as an English speaking spokesman to all visitors. Yeah, there aren't too many monasteries that have spokesmen but a place like Kie Gompa is in the monastery Hall of Fame. Tenzin was a tenacious monk who was as hyper-active as a monk can be. He had come to live in the monastery at the age of 8 and had been present for the last two visits from his holiness, The Dalai Lama. He took us up to the decorated room where his holiness stayed. There was so much art to look at, and so many questions to ask about Tibetan Buddhism. That's where Jon n' I first got interested in Thangka art. Tenzin was doing his best to explain the meaning of the Buddhamandala and TheWheel of Life, but he couldn't always get the words right. He kept writing his English blunders on a small pad of paper he kept at his side. Then, like classic Shakespear, our Indian friend Agee entered the room and I recognized him right off the bat- he was the guy who taught me the rules of Cricket, seven days back in Sarahan. He had made it to Kie Gompa by hitching a ride with the jeep-full of Americans we met the same night. Agee turned out to know even more about Tibetan monasteries than Cricket. The dude had done his homework, and was happy to act as a tour guide alongside Tenzin. We spent the rest of the morning in the monastery and learned a lot about reincarnation. I admired how strong Tenzin's faith was in the Buddhism. I'll probably never know that kind of faith, but I respect the hell out of it. Some carpe diem type cats from Goa had just set up a small restaurant and guest house near the Gompa, so we had a meal there and then Jon n' I took an hour to hike up to the top of rocky mountain that overlooked the entire region of Kie. We headed back to Kaza in the mid afternoon. It was a slow, peaceful ride because I had Agee on the back of my bike. He was coming to Kaza for the same reason as us; the next day was Buddha's birthday and there was a festival in town. It was sunny n' warm when we arrived and checked into our cheap guest house with no running water, but a spectacular view of the mountains. I walked over to Jamaicas to pick up our backpacks that we'd left with him. Jon took Golden McEnzie to the mechanics again. I forget what the problem was this time. It took quite a while to find Jamaica, but eventually he hooked us up with two bottles of home-made apple whiskey, which we took back to our room and sipped on while playing chess with the windows open. Neil Young provided the soundtrack and Agee showed up to teach us the strategy of proper “castling”. Jon won his second game against me before we went for a late dinner at Jamaica's restaurant. He was making chicken curry just for us. It was our first time eating meat in a month. I didn't miss it as much as I thought I would, but it was good.

We had a relaxing pow-wow with Jamaica, who brought a third bottle of apple whiskey. I think I liked him a lot because he reminded me of Flan- always either workin', drinkin' or eatin' (sometimes all at the same time). He talked about his big plans for the future of Spiti valley and I agreed to help him with a website he was working on (it's not very good at the moment). We also talked about the Rainbow people, with whom he'd hung out with for 2 days. I don't remember where or when I'd first heard of them, but I'm a bit intrigued. The apple whiskey tasted strong, but didn't last. So Jon and I stretched the night out, smoked some more charas and played two more games of chess. Tomorrow is the rubber match. 

 Read Day 31