The Village Guest House up in Matuera was the most eye-opening place I've stayed at yet. I honestly wanted to hang around a few more days just to get to know the family that ran the place. They were 3 generations worth of genuine human beings. They had an honest business that suited an honest life. Everything seemed exactly as it was there. Nothing hiding behind anything. No reading between the lines. It was hard to say goodbye to. Before we left we took 10 minutes to show the youngest in the family how to start an Enfield. I think he was about 8 years old, but he wanted to learn and wasn't afraid to ask.
It was an easy ride to Kasol where we stopped for lunch, internet and writing. I also pulled the trigger on a jar of %100 authentic peanut butter, which I've been exulting like a new God ever since. We spent a little over an hour in Kasol, perched up in a second level bar, watching bus loads of euro-trash backpackers go up n' down the road. As soon as we got on the bikes to leave town it started to rain. For some reason it pissed me off. Maybe it was the sight of all the tourists all over the road, but who the hell was I to be such a cynic about it. Fuck me. I've gotten the same looks from people who've been in a place for a long time and think they belong there. Fuck them too. Still gotta lotta growin' up to do.
Manikaran wasn't much further away, and it turned out to be pretty busy too, but not with tourists. Manikaran is an extremely holy place with a hot spring that runs through it, reaching temperatures of 94 degrees Fahrenheit. There are cement streams and gutters everywhere and people literally cook their rice and vegetable on pots placed in the moving water. It's unbelievable. Very unbelievable. Sikhs and Hindus gravitate here on a pilgrimage to bathe in the hot water and cleanse the hell outta themselves. It's a lot like the scene at the Ganges river but way cleaner and more comfortable. The streets in Manikaran are so narrow that cars can't enter the city very far, but a motorcycle can just squeeze by, so Jon n' I prowled along looking for a guest house, trying not to sound like the short-dick idiots that bounce down the main drag in Grand Bend. But it's hard to keep an Enfield from sounding mean.
We met a man named Tako who gave us what we wanted; a cheap room and free access to one of the hot spring baths in the area (of course people have to pay to bathe in the natural mystic water that comes from the earth. Religion is a business, remember?). He let us park our bikes in a safe spot and then gave us a sample of Cream charas to smoke in the tub. His hospitality was top shelf. We knew that smoking that shit was going to be a commitment so we took a good walk to explore the town and temples first. The lightly falling rain caused the hot spring to steam up an amazing aura around the main temple. It was National Geographic-worthy and I let it go.
We had a local dish of veg thali and then let ourselves get cold in anticipation for the hot bath. Everything was in slow motion after smoking the cream and then hopping in the water. It did wondrous things to my sore back. Afterwards I took a cold shower. It was my first time bathing with soap in two weeks. I was in there for almost an hour, cleaning myself and a pair of pants I'd forgot to wash the day before. Plus I got lost in the mirror for a while too. I was that stoned. I thought of some great things though, and then I wrote them down.
Read Day 37
It was an easy ride to Kasol where we stopped for lunch, internet and writing. I also pulled the trigger on a jar of %100 authentic peanut butter, which I've been exulting like a new God ever since. We spent a little over an hour in Kasol, perched up in a second level bar, watching bus loads of euro-trash backpackers go up n' down the road. As soon as we got on the bikes to leave town it started to rain. For some reason it pissed me off. Maybe it was the sight of all the tourists all over the road, but who the hell was I to be such a cynic about it. Fuck me. I've gotten the same looks from people who've been in a place for a long time and think they belong there. Fuck them too. Still gotta lotta growin' up to do.
Manikaran wasn't much further away, and it turned out to be pretty busy too, but not with tourists. Manikaran is an extremely holy place with a hot spring that runs through it, reaching temperatures of 94 degrees Fahrenheit. There are cement streams and gutters everywhere and people literally cook their rice and vegetable on pots placed in the moving water. It's unbelievable. Very unbelievable. Sikhs and Hindus gravitate here on a pilgrimage to bathe in the hot water and cleanse the hell outta themselves. It's a lot like the scene at the Ganges river but way cleaner and more comfortable. The streets in Manikaran are so narrow that cars can't enter the city very far, but a motorcycle can just squeeze by, so Jon n' I prowled along looking for a guest house, trying not to sound like the short-dick idiots that bounce down the main drag in Grand Bend. But it's hard to keep an Enfield from sounding mean.
We met a man named Tako who gave us what we wanted; a cheap room and free access to one of the hot spring baths in the area (of course people have to pay to bathe in the natural mystic water that comes from the earth. Religion is a business, remember?). He let us park our bikes in a safe spot and then gave us a sample of Cream charas to smoke in the tub. His hospitality was top shelf. We knew that smoking that shit was going to be a commitment so we took a good walk to explore the town and temples first. The lightly falling rain caused the hot spring to steam up an amazing aura around the main temple. It was National Geographic-worthy and I let it go.
We had a local dish of veg thali and then let ourselves get cold in anticipation for the hot bath. Everything was in slow motion after smoking the cream and then hopping in the water. It did wondrous things to my sore back. Afterwards I took a cold shower. It was my first time bathing with soap in two weeks. I was in there for almost an hour, cleaning myself and a pair of pants I'd forgot to wash the day before. Plus I got lost in the mirror for a while too. I was that stoned. I thought of some great things though, and then I wrote them down.
Read Day 37
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