Revolving Tower of Om

I wrote this last night in the revolving restaurant atop Om Tower: Even after travelling all over the world, I sit atop a revolving Om and my mind revolves in time. I miss home, community, companionship and oddly enough - the wise Sufi wisdom of my persian friend Reza. I think he'll be a good friend to me for a long, long time. He has been. He is the one who reminded me that Rum wrote about the few people that hear the call and the fewer still that heed it. Many have done the spiritual journey before me. Is this a spiritual journey or a cop out? It's up to my attitude to decide. I am growing tired of a life without purpose as I sit here surrounded by Indian families who look at me sitting alone in a nice restaurant with curiosity and pity. So, I'll make this a purposeful journey - an exploration of other cultures infused with my spiritual journey. I'll really delve in to the taste and the culture. So, I ate a Rajasthani Thali that had seven types of local dishes (mostly made of spices and dahl). When I lauged to the waiter that I heard westerns lost weight in India, he balked: no, madam, you must get fatter in India - it shows you have been enjoying the food properly. Sometimes, I just love Indian logic.

I started today with a new mission: to melt into the cultures - less tourists, more locals. Ironically, I started the day with a full-day tour from the rickshaw driver who drove us into Jaipur on Day 1. His name is Chandra, which means Moon in Hindi. When I said this, his green yellow eyes grew huge and a smile sprung across his face. I knew he'd be a great tour guide. Raymundo decided not to come and is heading out of town tomorrow.

So I went out alone - day 1 with a local, even if this is his job. I threw on a blue headscarf to avoid the exhaust and fit right in with the veiled ladies - although still terribly shoddy looking comparatively (except for my fancy orange reflective designer sunglasses, of course). I went to the City Palace which was ornate and lovely. I sat with a painter for five minutes and watched him paint miniature stills of royal life. He painted a portrait of me and gave it to me. When I passed the shops, I was reminded of aggressive Kashmiri shopkeepers vying for my business all the way across the courtyard. I kept walking - this is not the culture I want to immerse myself in. I then paid a local guide to tell me how the neighboring giant observatory functioned back in the 1500s and was firmly reminded that I am not scientifically inclined, even if I am a modern woman - at all.

I asked Chandra to take me to a real Indian thali place - cheap and spicy - and he takes me to Venus. Across the park is a temple for a water god, like Poseidon. He is surrounded by durga, ganesh, vishnu, parvati, ram, sitta, hanuman...the shiva clan..everybody is in the house. I sing little songs to all of them as I wander around the temple and feel very at home.

At Venus, the owner sits across the table from me and when he gets up, the waiter sits down. Men from the kitchen come out and just kinda hover around the table. I decide that I'm just going to be myself and chat away amiably. After the meal, the owner invites me out for the night. I tell him that "being friends" means no touching, okay? He looks taken aback and says "I understand, madam." Was this too far or necessary? Who knows? I just felt the need to let him know a woman could be friendly, but that doesn't mean she's a benefits package. The thali was terrific and I left with a few more friends shaking hands and wishing me well as they commented on my positive energy. Groovy.

We next drove 11 kms from town to sprawling Amber Fort. Along the way, men stared at me from the streets and the women that passed smiled from beneath their gloriously bedecked veils - I smiled back and loved being a woman in this place. As I looked around on the street, I realized that there really weren't too many westerners out on the street. As this was Sunday, all of the shopping stalls were closed, so the shopping tourists were gone. It was just me buzzing along blue eyed and light haired through the pink city in the ever smiling Chandra's rickshaw. This was a prelude to celebrity status...

Chandra dropped me at the bottom of Amber Fort and I started to walk through the beautiful garden. Families were sprawled out en masse b/c Sunday is the most popular time for villagers to come to the Fort and enjoy a picnic all day long. Of course, the ladies were dressed in their finest saris and the golds and oranges and yellows billowed resplendent in the bright green gardens of the palace grounds. One of the lovely ladies approached me in my rag tag skirt, black shirt and blue scarf (and fabulous glasses) and asked if I would take a picture of her family. So I did. Lovely. As I walked up the path, an intrepid youth named Raj tried to sell me pictures that his sister painted. Rather than take no for an answer, he agreed that I would meet him there later. Fine. A group of elderly ladies, thin and poor, but radiant in their bright saris sat in the shade of an ornate entryway. We smiled at eachother and I greeted them with 'Namaste,' to which they invited me to join them. I almost sat down, but saw one of the ladies gesturing that she wanted money for food. I kept walking and declined with a 'Danuvad,' then wondered if the lady was actually using sign language to invite me to eat with them. Next time, go a little slower Kyra. Every fourth man said 'hello' or something synonymous and every second woman exchanged a smile with me. I finally made it to the entrance of the fort and bought a head set.

As I listened to number 1, I noticed a group of small children wildly gesticulating at me from a nearby turret where they were having a picnic with three lovely sarie'd ladies. I smiled and waved and they broke into fits of giggles. When I got to number 2, the kids were alongside me and the mother explained they are an entire family that lives together and would I please take their picture. So I did, we shook hands, exchanged smiles and they all left in fits of giggles. When I was at number 5, one woman and five men approached me and again asked me to take their picture. THEN, everything shifted - they asked if they could take a picture with me. Sure, I said - only to then have each of them take at least two pics each with me with various cameras. I told them it would cost 500 ruppees each and they laughed and kept swapping people to sit next to me. As I walked under the Ganesh gate, number 7, I noticed several Indian tourists pretending to take pictures of eachother or the gate, but actually zooming in on me. This was weird. I checked my skirt to make sure it didn't have a giant hole or something. All well.

As soon as I walked through the Ganesh gate, I was bombarded with Indian tourists at every step, literally, asking to take my picture and asking me to take theirs. Here was a beautiful fort and palace over 500 years old with intricate carving and mirrored moghul ceilings, and the Indian tourists were gawking at me! None of them spoke much English and I only new my happy yoga words, so it was a postive exchange again and again and again. I moved on to the ancient queen and women's quarters - naturally hidden out of public view - and had an entire family of men with one matriarchal lady follow me down the corridors and into a chamber overlooking the lake - just to ask me to take photos. What?!

I decided to ditch all the Indians as well as my idea to assimilate cultures and I took a turn away from the path. One hour later, I'm in awe of the Escher (sp?)esqueness of the place b/c I STILL can't figure out how to get the hell out of the Red Fort maze. I hear music and people's voices and laughter echoing through the corridors, but can't find anyone. I finally find a group of teenagers who tell me to come with them. We all stumble around and find two security guards - both of whom have three different directions for how to get out of the place. They have no idea and join our reality show team from "Lost" as we stumble through endless stairways and pathways. I wondered if Sarah Winchester was a reincarnated lady from these days and places.
Finally, we find our way out and I take a few more photos and pose or a few more before slipping out of the Red Fort. All the Indian tourists I had seen that day shook my hand and smiled as I left the Fort. It was a very welcoming departure.

It got a little too welcoming as I descended as Raj and a bevy of young men were waiting outside. I felt like the pied piper as they all shouted "madam, madam, you buy this..." Just when I thought I was going to go nuts, I saw a group of people carrying a Ganesh statute while walking through the shallow lake below and singing joyously. On the edge of the lake, two giant elephants were on their sides receiving a bath. It was soooo sweet! I automatically smiled and stopped walking. For whatever reason, the boy swarm melted away from me - was this Ganesh's removing of obstacles or did I suddenly seem like a weird hippy westerner to them or did someone more lucrative looking come along? I don't know. It just changed - everything - in an instant and I felt very bonded with India again. Ganesh, you see, is my favorite deity to whom I sang every day before leaving San Francisco. And elephants! My god, I love elephants! They've been my favorite animal forever. I love India!

I rejoin with Chandra and ask why I got so much attention. He explained that there aren't many westerners here and many of the Indian villagers are tourists seeing a westerner for the first time. I am so used to being an "American" that everybody knows and sees, yet here I was: one of the only white people these people had ever seen in the flesh. Reality check! Whoa. We head to the floating water palace called Jal Mahal. I stop to take a stroll, hear singing from the lake and peek my head over the edge. A family is having their own little puja to Ganesh as they drop the deity in the water and watch it sink. They invite me to join them and I sing a Ganesh song with them: "Gung guna pataye namo namah..." They give me a red and yellow tikka on my third eye and I rejoin Chandra.

It starts pouring down rain and Chandra and I go to a bar for cover. This is completely taboo as drinking with a driver is a big no no in the Lonely Planet. I have one drink. He has one. I show him how to play the card game 'shithead' and we play until he finally wins - round 3 - so that he is no longer "the shithead." He's 39 and not married. This gives me a red flag. He tells me I have a nice figure. Uh oh. Then he buys me a rose. Here we go... We leave - it's still light - and he asks what I want to do this evening. I say go home unless he has a better idea for a tour. He says, "we have another drink" to which I earnestly explain that I don't drink much and I don't want an Indian boyfriend. I say we are friends - no touching - no expectations - can he understand? He has the same shocked look which then softens into understanding and agrees. I hope that I have righted the situation.

Tomorrow, Chandra will pick me up for the continued tour that got rained out and timed out by my celebrity pace and lost hour in the Red Fort. We will see whether it is possible to befriend an Indian man as a western woman and actually NOT have to deal with sexual expectations. Perhaps all it takes is simple communication, rather than not saying anything and hoping it will all magically be understood. I believe that's all it will take. I'll continue to be cautious, but as part of the cultural immersion, we'll have to understand eachother. I'd also really like to meet some Indian ladies...THAT would be great!

October is the beginning of tourist season. Until then, I'll continue to be a celebrity westerner to Indian villagers visiting special places, i.e. all the tourist forts, palaces and parks all around Rajastan. I'll do my best to be open and maintain my sense of humor about India and the ever-revolving sense of Om...

Horn to Please

Somebody once told me that the minute India is no longer funny, it's time to leave. India is hilarious. Phew. Today I took a local bus from Delhi to Jaipur (the mughal pink city).

On the journey, I observed that my new travel partner (a gentle, quiet 50 year old Swiss man) has two arms full of bad tattos, a "freedom rock" sense of style and turrets syndrome that thrice caused the bus driver to stop honking while swerving through the traffic. Just after a bombastic "Donald Duck bellar-quacks/sneezes in frustration" filled the entire bus, Raymundo remained nonplussed as the red scarf tied around his long gray ponytail blew in the ice-cold air conditioning.

Across the aisle, I observe him from the warmth of my down sleeping bag. Outside, it is 42 degrees celscius. The camel carts are just a little faster than the hundreds of chubby Indian middle age executive men in yellow t-shirts having a relay race on the freeway in the midst of all the traffic. Grungy oil tankers whiz by us with a gale force honk and painted messages: "Highly Inflammable," "Edible Oil" and "Horn to Please."

Unlike the night bazaar in Delhi that was teeming with hundreds of aggressive male touts and touchers in the absence of not more than 10 women, the females are out in force walking and working among the lounging men - not walking and not working, rather peacefully watching the cars and animals and people flurry by. And you can't help but notice these gloriously decked ladies as we drive toward Jaipur in Rajastan. The women are wearing screaming bright sarongs of yellow, pink, green, blue...every color imaginable. They make absolutely stunning figures as they float along like garish butterflies carrying giant bundles on their brightly veiled heads (and faces) . I wonder at the ostentatious array of colors flowing from a face veiled with the same bright color - walking purdah day glow sticks who don't want to be seen. What a contrast. "There must be more to this than meets the eye," I think to myself.

And just when the contrasts can't get any more wacko, I see the courtyard of a Hindu temple and hundreds of women are dressed in white and pink alongside hundreds of men clad in white and . They are lined up beneath the trees with their hands in namaste mudra at their hearts. Their heads are bowed in unison and it is one of the most suddenly peaceful flashes on a freeway I've ever seen. Just then, Raymundo quacked again. The driver shuddered and looked back at him like he was possessed. One second later, the looked forward, renestled his bottom on the seat and as if to confirm that he was "back" on the wheel, he layed on the horn. Horn to please, indeed.

I'm not really surprised by any of this - either because everything is wacko in India (kindof) or because it's just plain obvious. India is a land of contrasts. There is always fluidity in the chaos and hundreds of years of history to explain the way things are. All you have to do is open your eyes and refrain from judgement. It's all good.

Raymundo can't help that he has turrets and is stuck in the 1960s when he takes a bus journey through India. Who am I to judge? My clothes look like a pauper's compared to the lovely saris worn by the Indians. And up until this trip, I thought the Indian ladies chose to dress like unevolved fashionistas. In FACT, they are classy and elegant and completely modern. My judgment was turned inside out.

I did, however, decide to find out a bit more about Raymundo after he quacked up a few times. But first, a little history as to how he became my travel pal. In June, I saw him in Pokhara on the street and thought he was one of those mild-eyed, skinny westerners who has been in India for a long, long time. So, when I saw him again on the rooftop of my hotel during dinner in Delhi, I introduced myself and the next day we reconvened and shared a taxi all over town. I had a list of sights and he was wide open. He was also courteous, sweet, unintrusive and quiet. He also planned on leaving to Rajastan for two weeks. "The perfect travel partner!" I thought. And he is. For somebody.

Raymundo doesn't work. His latest business venture involved buying decorated, i.e. jeweled skulls from Kathmandu for $500 USD and selling them in Zurich for $3,000.00. Apparently, Hells Angels like to buy the skulls for their choppers. Who knew? His arms have tattos with knives and "Bugs" (his former nickname) stamped in scuzzy black ink. I found myself making so many judgments with this and the freedom rock and the quacking...it just all spiraled into "be careful who you travel with" and then "you can't judge a book by its cover." Or can you? This will be a lesson in judgment. Raymundo is perfectly nice and harmless. We'll do another tour tomorrow of Jaipur and perhaps then we'll part ways.

But I must admit that it's SOOOOO much nicer to travel with another person, especially a man. Last night, Delhi was crazy and I knew I was not heckled (much) because I was with him. I felt free! However, today I decided to venture out alone (Raymundo was sleeping in his room) and I had dinner on a revolving tower (that reminded me of my senior prom dinner in San Francisco). It was less than 1 km to the hotel, so I decided to walk. Whooeee! It didn't take five seconds to have men coming up and talking to me, every person staring at me, etc. until finally a 15 year old boy rides up on his bicycle and says "hi." I look at him and he has nice eyes so we chat. He escorts me all the way home and answers my question: "there are no other women on the road b/c it is not safe for them to be out at night." When I ask if I'm in danger, he says "no b/c you're a tourist - it's different for foreigners." Another contrast.

So, do I keep a quacking freedom rock security guard or brave this alone?

The Lonely Planet threatens "beware of friendly people that meet you on the streets..." because they want to sell you something. Duh. But, really what is wrong with people trying to sell you something? Some of them are pretty darn creative.

For instance, I met three juvenile boys on the street (I pretended I was spanish and whaddya know, he spoke spanish). They invited me to their puppet show at the hotel directly across the street from my hotel. Later, I went. The puppet show was hilarious and totally amateur. They constructed a puppet stage on the hotel roof garden and had an entire cast of puppet characters. "Who is this?" asked the puppeteer. "The devil," I guessed at the freaky looking creature with blueish horn-looking things before me. "No sir, it's Michael Jackson of Calcutta!" roared the puppeteer as he had him do the moon walk and remove his freakish head from his body in a popping break dance moves. BTW, everyone calls me "sir" in India. The puppets were gorgeous (except for the freaky looking Michael Jackson). I laughed and laughed. What do you know? The puppets were for sale.

The three entrepeneurs then asked if I wanted the special one hour show on mughal history. "Why not?" I said. It's not as if I had anything else I could do since I was without a man at night, after all. And the Mughal influence is interesting, especially in Moghul influenced Rajastan. So, when it started raining after 30 minutes and the one song and dance never changed except to change the name of the historical figure killing another historical figure in a fit of homosexual gyrations on the floor that was a mix between Bollywood and the Castro, I requested that they shorten the show to the reign of Akbar and Shah Jahan (with his wife Mumtaz, for whom he built the Taj Mahal, and his evil son who imprisoned him in the Red Fort overlooking the Taj Mahal and took over the kingdom). As with everything, they said "yes" and did nothing of the sort.

I finally escaped after promising to return if I found nothing better or cheaper the following day. I paid them 200 rupees for the show. They gave me a bunch of elephants hanging from a string. The main guy/singer/drummer/talker turned up the trunks and said "welcome," "welcome," "welcome," with each upturned trunk. These guys were hilarious. Was I unfairly duped into seeing this display of creative desperation to sell puppets? Not really. Did I receive a shock to my moral sensibilities? Not really. After all, I did run alongside freakier people at Bay to Breakers in San Francisco and hello, um, Burning Man??? So, what is so bad about meeting someone and seeing their show? The experience is one I'll never forget. We were perfectly safe on the hotel roof garden with people passing through. I'd have the common sense not to go to a private place for the show. So what is the Lonely Planet so freaked out about?

I believe if you use your judgment, all will be well. But sometimes, not responding to anyone b/c you're a female and he's a male and this is India is just plain rude. And a bummer. I like people. I'll continue to use my intuition. My intuition tells me to ditch "freedom rock" and actually travel free. I'm sure I won't be alone for long. Travel companions are everywhere. But, do I want one? Perhaps this woman can take India on alone. Why not? Or perhaps I'll wake up tomorrow, go on the tour with Raymundo and decide not to be so judgmental. Quack, quack, quack...

Delhi Daze

The first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane was the heat. Heavy - too heavy - and it was only 7:50 a.m. The second thing I noticed was the yellowish brown fog resting on the airport runway and beyond. Leh was beautiful, clear, blue and refreshingly cold when I left. My, how things change quickly. My sunglasses broke as soon as I put them in my purse at baggage claim. A taxi driver charged to charge me twice the rate to get to the backpacker area and walked me all the way back to the airport lying about the rate. He said "you see, you go ask and you'll come back." I saw, I asked, I came back with a receipt for half the rate for another driver and he was nowhere to be found. The drive into town was stop and go with no air conditioning, plenty of horns and burps of exhaust through the windows. I checked into a nicer hotel with a/c and a television - I watched the drama of Bollywood and fell asleep only to be awoken from my sweet sleep by the sounds of Delhi - incessant honks, so many horns, non-stop horns, to greet my new afternoon. Welcome back to Delhi.
I feel very alone. I just bought a pair of sunglasses that are glamorous and impractical b/c I'm sick of all of my ragged clothes and wild hair. I tried to buy some clothes, but all of the material in this area of Delhi is cheap and tacky. I could walk to Connaught Place and do some western shopping, but that's not why I'm in India. When I was trekking in Zanskar, I dreamt one night of my supple leather skirt that is camel colored and my carmel colored suede boots and my soft mohair overcoat - I was so happy to have nice clothes again...then I woke up in a tent with a hat on my greasy head to keep from freezing or getting wet from the condensation of the tent, which was hardly long enough for my 5'9 1/2" frame. I am feeling the need for luxury right now. Or company. I don't know. Both, actually. I wish I had my girlfriends from San Francisco and we could go hiking or dining in whatever felt comfortable and looked great and clean to wear. I know this is a spiritual journey, but sometimes I just want luxury. Guess saddhuhood isn't for me.
I also started feeling really alone in Zanskar. I blogged about it a bit with "what is my place, et al." but now I see how people are together while travelling and wish I had someone. Now I see mothers on bollywood shows doting on their sons and I wish I had my mother or I actually would marry someone and have a fun. I wonder often if I should have married my first true love, RK. Did I make a mistake? Will I be alone forever? I just felt like wallowing on my blog b/c I'm so utterly depressed today and I figured I should capture it and share it with you all. It's real.
I bought a book on Egypt and am looking forward to my lonely five days at the beach before my two week tour with Intrepid. After, in Morocco, it's hard to tell whether I'll feel alone or not. After Morocco, where will I go? Why am I still travelling? What am I doing?
Today, I really don't know. I'm in a dirty city with a crumby attitude. Even still, at the hotel desk, I met two travellers who are looking to rent a car and drive around Rajastan. I'm supposed to meet them in 30 minutes to see how we get along and whether I can join them for two weeks. I'm in a really grumpy mood and am wondering if I'm weak to just grab on to the first people who came along. But then again, they're the ONLY people I've spoken to since I got here aside from service people. So, is this the universe once again providing me with exactly what I need?
If so, I am grateful. Yet, I just feel very, very, very alone today. Woe is me. Happy real birthday to my beloved sister Lisa - she is a beautiful human being and I wish I could hug her right now. Sometimes, she's lonely too. Family shouldn't be so far apart. Why am I so far away from everyone right now? It hurts.

Leaving Loving Ladakh

Happy (almost) Birthday, Lisa!!! Happy soon-birthday, Audrey!!!! I love you guys (sister and niece).
Today is my last day in Leh. I started the day admiring the bright blue skies, white fluffy clouds, golden fields of wheat billowing on the farmlands spreading out from my hotel window and overlooking the resplendent rainbow of colors in the Guesthouse vegetable and flower garden. I finished reading ‘The Prophet,’ saw a friend off onto the road of travels and taught a class eight people chakra yoga for two hours. And now, this.

Today is the first full day of Ramadan. The Kashmiri shopkeepers are uncharacteristically quiet as they aren’t supposed to speak much to conserve their energy during the day while they fast. The streets of Leh are actually uncharacteristically quiet compared to the buzzing activity of July. Most of the tourists have gone and all shopkeepers will leave by Sept. 15. It’s nice to have the streets of this gorgeous valley so still and calm. I’m sure the shopkeepers agree on a certain level, while they surely disagree on a financial levely. They’re as amiable and calm as ever and I feel at home as we exchange our usual chats, occasionally sharing a cup of black tea.

I haven’t written for a while because so much has been happening here that I can’t distill into words. Rather than drag on and forget so much, I’ll make an effort here on my trusty blog. Perhaps I’ll work backwards.

For the past three days, the fellows who own La Pizzeria, Praful and Sunni, and I have been trying to sort out a trip to an and the paint shop. None of it has manifested and so La Pizzeria will remain unpainted and my story unspoken to me by the Oracle. I now have two incredible reasons to return to Leh. Since neither plan would work out, the lads invited me to go to Spituk monastery with them to see a Champa (a masked dance). As time passes in India, by the time we arrived, it was already over. Since I’d already seen Spituk (a la the fire puja with the head lama) and my Zanskar trekking partner Silvaine from France had also seen it, we decided on plan B – no plan. The lads took us on their favorite drive for making decisions. We drove through small villages with the noticeable change in building materials from mud bricks to cement bricks and tin roofs to accommodate the increasing amounts of rain from melting glaciers all around the valley. We drove past the Indus River, in parts with cows sloshing through it for no apparent reason and in other parts with two men relaxing alongside the shore in the sun and in other parts with 10 different vehicles being washed on (and in) its river banks – a natural car wash! We drove past the park where ‘’young Ladakhis go to be romantic and disappear into the brush’as Praful said. So, there is some sort of romantic tactility in this country…who knew? We continued on to the picnic grounds where they go to relax along the offshoot of the Indus. Where our picnics may last an afternoon, theirs often go from one week to two weeks! They just bring tents and provisions and stay as long as they last. What a pace.
As we lunched by the side of the river and discussed politics, materialism and spirituality, a cow walked across the creek to join us. We fed it small apples and eventually, I had the cow literally eating out of my hand. Another one joined and I found I have an uncanny ability to speak to cows. I’m not kidding. Initially, the cow wouldn’t let either man touch her, but literally walked up to me even though I didn’t have any apples. The other cow walked directly toward me while I whistling (or trying to whistle) and then posed for photographs with me. Every time I turned my head, it turned its head. When I told it to look at the camera, she did! It was a very sweet experience to connect with such a docile and revered creature. The eyes of a cow are like a deer’s eye – calm and beautiful. I felt like Leh was giving me a little lick of love to send me on my way.
The sun was shining and illuminating the entire brook and forests in glittering bastions of gold. We walked through the forest slowly – snapping photos and savoring the beauty of India. The valley was of course the snow-capped Himalayas on one side and the dilapidated stupas and fortress of Shey Palace on the other side. I felt warm and lucky in the embrace of nature and man-made spiritual history.

We drove back through Chogsalmer, where I’d been invited to return to teach English and yoga. After notifying the headmaster that I’d be on a trek for a while, I haven’t contacted him since. There is a block in me that is not ready to return to classrooms of children and actually teach English or yoga. I feel bad about this block and will call the man today to say that I am leaving, but it just didn’t feel right. I made no promises to the man, but still realize that this was a beautiful opportunity offered to me that I did not take. Why not? I don’t know. This is something to look at. Maybe it’s okay if I don’t want to. But, I still feel bad about it. Bless the little children without my English or yoga.

Last night, I walked up to Shanti Stupa at sunset – or actually just after sunset. The wisened old Kashmiri man with the crooked smile and soft brown eyes who sells tea at the bottom of the steps (“there are 600 steps!” beamed an enthusiastic German trekker as he descended the stairs past me) shook his head when he saw me approaching, solo per usual. “You are always late” he says, echoing numerous other greetings of the past such as ‎‎’’you’re too late” and “the sunset is gone already.’’ I raised my arms and said ‘that’s my nature’and for the first time since I’ve taken this journey, the man smiled at me and said ‘sometimes that is a better way.’ I shared with him a bit of the banana chocolate pie that I picked up from my favorite bakery, Babylon. I bought this pie to celebrate the beauty of Leh for one of my final evenings at Shanti Stupa. “Take a slow pace and enjoy”’ he called to me as I left on my ascent. Words to live by…

At the top of the stupa, the tourists were gone, the sun was gone and everything sparkled silvery pink in the aftermath of the sunset. The empty platform spilled silver and inviting from the stupa to the valley and mountains below. I couldn’t resist the calling and started doing heart openers and downward dogs through yoga right there on the platform. It was beautiful and empowering. I rested and chanted a guidance song ‘’aum asatoma sat gamaya, tamasoma jyotir gamaya, mrityor ma amritam gamaya, auuuuuummm, hari aum.’’ This sweet song I’d sung many a times with Sarah and as Shanti Stupa was one of her favorite places, I though of her. Suddenly, two Tibetan men appeared (not monks) and sat down to chat with me. They complimented my yoga and we began a nice dialogue about breathing and God and Tibet and Leh. I realized that there I was alone on a high hill with two strange men. Yet, there was such a kind goodness to them that I felt no fear and only camaraderie in our joint appreciation of the universe and ways to feel it within. Everything happens in threes – sure enough, my Tibetan massage partner (I took a five-day course and am now certified to give a full body massage!) Tim showed up at the stupa and joined us. We gazed in silence for a while, then went onto the stupa to say goodbye to the beautiful figures within the stupa depicting the life of Buddha. We sat in front of the ‘Turning the Wheel of Dharma”and I sang some devotional songs. It was mixing religions, but Buddha surely didn’t care as I offered it up to the universe and Tim and me as I hoped that our dharma wheels would continue to unfurl as they should.

I returned home from the stupa to a note from a San Francisco yoga instructor that I met here named Rani and a swiss cheese maker named Bhim. Bhim’s note included a lovely bouquet of flowers and some sweets. I placed them next to the card Tim had given me with two kit kats and a card quoting the Dalai Lama about friendship. I suddenly became aware that I had gathered an amazing array of friends and teachers here in Leh and they were very generous with their kindness and offers of friendship. Each note and card was given to me b/c all of us are taking off on our own paths and may or may not reconvene. Rani and I know many of the same people in San Francisco and Fairfax and actually dated the same man. Bhim is the last initiate of Swami Gitananda, who is the exact same Swami with whom my teacher David at Pyramid Yoga studied with. Thus, I studied in Thailand the science of yoga and the chakras, as taught by swami Gitananda and received by Bhim the cheesemaker who I just happened to meet in Leh (through Sarah). When I met Bhim, I liked him automatically and thought I would very much like to discuss yoga with him. What do you know? We literally speak the same language when it comes to yoga and it was a very fortuitous meeting, indeed. (Tim – well there is no connection – he’s a kind, gentle traveler on his own path and I wish him well. He has great hands and is a terrific masseuse. I hope he keeps it up.)

Two days ago was the first day of the Leh festival. I watched the parade of Ladakhis from all the various villages that I’d visited in the past two months. They performed dances and songs as they paraded through the emptying streets of Leh and culminated in a giant stage in the polo field until evening time. Rani and I enjoyed the festival together as we sat side by side with Ladakhi men on a mud fence overlooking the polo grounds. We were, of course, the only women to be so brazen as to join the men on top of a fence – dirt and all. Who cares? That morning as I waited for the parade, I met a crystal shop owner who told me that he noticed my vibrant energy which was very powerful, but I had a blocked second and fifth chakra. He is a kashmiri muslim grandfather, who is also a crystal healer who has worked with Osho and is a disciple of Sai Baba. Only in India. We shared a delicious cup of chai as we discussed energy centers and his experiences with crystals. We were interrupted by a Frenchman who was an old friend of his - I left them to catch up. I think I’ll spend a bit of my last day with him to see what crystals are about and how they may help this blockage. Why not? The second chakra, by the way, is the covalent force of nature that brings two molecules together to create a new thing – such as H2O – water. It has to do with your ability to receive emotional energies from other people and to be fluid with their energies, take it in and enjoy it, learn from it, but don’t lose your own energy in the surge of another’s. Keep the balance, stay open, share discriminatingly or else you give too much of yourself and are depleted. The fifth chakra is the throat chakra – expression. I have this blog, but why didn’t I go to the Tibetan school to teach English and yoga? A block, perhaps. What else am I not saying???

The prior night, I walked up to Shanti Stupa, bought tea from the Kashmiri man at the base that he says is good for chest pain. I don’t have any, but why not try some? I told him I could give it to the guesthouse owners and he ordered me to ‘take it home’and share it there. Okay, grandma, I hope you’ll like this tea. It’s for you. At the top of the stupa, I meditated on my girlfriend Marta Maria Marraccini who is marrying imminently a French man she met on a Mexican beach. His name is Phillipe and they are very much in love. I’m very, very sad to miss the wedding. So, I went to the top and meditated on their union. I opened my eyes and saw a rainbow arching over Leh Palace across the valley. A very auspicious symbol, indeed, for their union. I then closed my eyes and wished them the wisdom to compromise and learn from eachother and have compassion for their differences. I opened my eyes and looked to the Himalayan side of the valley. Half of the valley was a pink billowing fog and the other half was a heavy blue fog – just lingering together side by side over the Indus River and crowned by the snowy Himalayas. It was a perfect affirmation from nature, yet again, that the Himalayas bless their union. So…even if I’m not there in person, the Himalayas and I are there in nature and spirit 100%.

At night, the dogs continue to howl with the Muslim call to prayer. Last night, for no reason at all, the dogs barked all around the valley for about an hour. They wouldn’t stop and the barks and howls came from all sides of the valley. Hundreds of dogs releasing their song and I contemplated the beauty of the wild dogs of Ladakh – in community through the vibrations of their barks, alone. I wished I could howl to my mom and hear her call in return to bridge our distance. Then I wondered if I was becoming a little crazy with such thoughts????

As surely as the dogs howl around here, the flies have arrived in Leh to die, according to Praful. One day, I was receiving a massage from a Tibetan (the school where I learned Tibetan massage) and a fly was buzzing around and landing on me. He occasionally brushed it off of me. As I turned over, I asked if Buddhists didn’t believe in killing even one fly. He laughed, said a guard of the Dalai Lama’s had killed a fly in front of him and been told that was not good. Then he asked if I wanted to kill it – I lied and said ‘no.’ That night, when I returned to my hotel room, there were swarms of flies that magically appeared from the ceiling. Initially, I freaked out and thought it was too similar to Amityville Horror, then lauged at the lesson. So, okay, I want to kill a fly. I don’t, but I REALLY wanted to. That was just one. Now, my place of rest must be shared with hundreds of them. It was too cold for me to open a window – they were inside with me where it was warm and dry. So, I surrendered to the fact that I must be respectful of all creatures and went to bed covered as much as I could from their curious little legs and buzzes. I was surprised that they left me alone. We could all share the room without killing or irritating eachother. Who knew?

That was the same day that I celebrated the completion of my course by doing the unthinkable…I ate ice cream. Tim wanted a beer and went off after our celebration lunch to find a place that would serve it. Very hard to find alcohol up here. I went to a clean, touristy place for vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. It was good, but as I ate it, I cringed. Sure enough, one hour later as I’m listening to a Tibetan astrologer telling me that I was a dog in my past life, I felt that familiar bubble of gas swell up like a giant balloon inside me. The rest of the day was misery. I’ll never eat ice cream in India again. Ever. The astrologer told me to stick to the spiritual precepts and to stop thinking so much and my path will unfurl. I hoped that it wouldn’t unfurl too much in his presence. Ha ha. But really, there is a theme here of relenting, surrender, spiritual practice and a natural path. I’m living it now and it is beautiful. So, here goes a big ruff and a howl to the dharma wheel – it’s unfurling and yelping in just the right time and place and pace. Sweetness is everywhere and there’s no need to poison oneself with temptations that we know are bad for us, like ice cream in India. There are so many other sweet things to do and try instead. Wonderful…

I spent some time in the garden of the guesthouse with the neighbor’s seven-year old daughter. We painted flowers and mountains and the sky. Hers was a celebration of everything within eye’s view, while mine focused more on a single flower. We brought our wet paintings into the sun and danced around with them as they dried. It was lovely to giggle by doing such a simple thing. I wish that all of us would spend even one hour with a child painting in a sunny garden. Everything is a celebration and it’s everywhere!
Even when a cow steps out of the dark shadows directly in front of me as I walk the roads at night, I am initially startled than just have to laugh at the reality of it – the cow is queen (and prolific).

I’ve previously alluded to the flow within the chaos of India. It is here with all aspects of nature all the time – and rather than run from it, to simply observe it is a beautiful blend of feeling and experience. At La Pizzeria, a gale-force wind blew through Leh and we all simply stood and watched the force of nature as it howled across the valley in silence for about 30 minutes. While trekking, I avoided hale pummeling down on us at 4,000 meters, just by bending my head and enjoying the popcorn effects of the hale hitting the ground. As we walked through the sunny groves, it felt like golden nectar was bathing us in sweetness. When fording a river or a creek, you simply feel the curve of the river rock on which you’ve stepped so that you may move forward with firm footing in a flowing current. When the electricity went out during the Leh festival, everyone cheered and the performers kept singing and dancing until the power went on again – no beat was missed – but there was celebration at the fluctuation and power of nature. I love the way India celebrates nature. It is, like the cow, highly revered. And….it makes sense.

These are some examples of what I mean when I say that I haven’t written b/c so much has been happening. Words can’t really capture the love, the peace, the celebration, the alignment of things. I feel very safe and peaceful and held in Leh. I think of heading to the next destination of the unknown and get nervous. Then I realize that India is safer than the USA and I have nothing to fear. As Rusty would say, courage not fear.

I saw Obama’s acceptance speech at the Democratic Nat’l Convention and was almost moved to tears. The many erosions of civil rights and liberties inflicted upon the middle and lower classes was recognized, voiced and addressed. While listening to this articulate, grounded, charismatic man with a heart and a brain, I felt an infusion of hope for America. In listening to him, I realized how very disenchanted I had become with my country, with my job and with my life. Much of it was wrapped up in fighting the powers that be and go unchecked due to political corruption and consumer laziness. When Obama said that the change comes from within the moral structure of America, I hoped that this would be a wake-up call for Americans to learn, know and assert their rights again. Having the lawyers do it for them is too soul sucking for the lawyers – at least that’s how I feel. But, if Obama wins, will the people of America heed his call? Are they so fed up with debt and lies and war that they’ll vote for someone with vision, clarity, leadership and insight that has a heart? God, I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. And I hope Obama lives a very long time. God I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. This must be how people felt about Kennedy and his promise. I swell with hope at the prospect of a “changed”America. No one knows who will win. When I heard Bush wasn’t attending the Republican National Convention so he could go to New Orleans before the storm hit, I just felt sick. You know why…

So, it’s lunch time and I think I’ll go to my family at La Pizzeria. I have been eating staff meals with them and tasting the “real Indian food,”including a delicious mutton rogan josh last night. I don’t eat meat, usually, but this was a kashmiri speciality and delicious!! The lads have invited me to join them in Goa – where they are opening a new restaurant and guest house facility. If I teach yoga for two hours a day, they will build me a bamboo hut of my own to live for free. I can help them design the place and paint a wall, finally. The chef will show me how to cook his delicious foods. Praful and I can continue to discuss Hinduism and Sunni can describe further aspects of Tibetan Buddhism to me. Vinny, the sleazy waiter, will continue to hit on me and act desperately wounded when nothing pans out for him again and again and again. It’s an option with a group I’ve become very close to. They are like my brothers and their insights are 100% India. As Alex told me at the Indian border, India will take care of you and then you’ll take care of India. We’ll see whether our paths will reunite in India and the men who have been so good to me in Leh can be taken care of by my yoga, wit, and calm presence. I alone have this invitation and they are sincere. Again, the universe just provides. My plan doesn’t at the moment include Goa. We will see…

My current plan is to leave tomorrow on Lisa’s birthday and fly to Delhi. Perhaps I’ll spend one night in Amritsar at the Golden Temple to give due reverence to the Sikhs. Then, or otherwise, I’ll go straight to Rajastan and explore on my own for three weeks. This is the REAL India – gorgeous, colorful, zany, harassing and chaotic. After the peace of Leh, it will be a real shift. I’ll have to remember to breath, but what a gorgeous rainbow of energy and light swirling everywhere that will be. Wow. Courage not fear. After that, I fly to Europe on Sept. 27 for five days at the Red Sea and a two week tour through the pyramids and to luxor and Alexandria and a night in the desert. Thereafter, I reunite with Christian in Morocco for I hope a jeep ride through the sand dunes, a la his invitation. I depart to Morocco on October 16. I will likely return to Bombay on Nov. 1 when Christian leaves and explore Southern India. Goa is there. We will see…An ashram experience sounds pretty interesting, so perhaps Kerala or Tamil Nadu…or the Andaman Islands… or visit Bhim at his yoga hospital in Karnataka….who knows?

The path continues to unfurl…thank you beautiful, beautiful Leh. I love you.
FarewLeaving Ladakh

Purpose?

Exactly seven months ago, I "left my life" in San Francisco and decided to surrender to the universe to see what would unfurl. My only plan was to attend Pyramid Yoga Center's three month program in Koh Phangan, Thailand. Thereafter, the unfurling resulted in a position to teach yoga for one month on a gorgeous paradisal beach and to study ashtanga yoga with a great teacher. When I fell on my back cleaning my jungle bungalow terrace during a monsoon-force rain one morning, I could no longer do any physcal activity. The resulting infection to my entire arm was further incapacitating. Instead of active yoga, I became more self-reflective in paradise - yet another form of yoga. Then, I went to Kathmandu and had a wild time with expat friends that I'd met along the way. A suitor followed me from Thailand and that didn't work. Two English actors danced with me on the dance floor and the next morning I was off on a motorcycle journey across Nepal to India with them. Because Nepal had no petrol, it took longer than expected and we were stuck in Pokhara. In Pokhara, I sang with a band and had my camera and I-pod with 15 days worth of carefully selected songs burgled from my hotel room while I suffered my first delirious bout of diarreaha and vomitting from whatever. I became accustomed to leaches just as the petrol returned and we rode free and not-so-easy across beautiful, beautiful Nepal. Then...India. I cried when I was alone at the border b/c I was terrified to be alone in India. Alex (one of the English actors) told me: "India will take care of you and then you'll take care of India." Indeed, he has been correct. I have studied yoga in Rishikesh and met a wonderful friend. We experienced "real India" in Agra and travelled far, far north to Leh for moonscape musings and Tibetan rituals. I had an adventurous romance, further motorbike explorations with my lover and myself, practiced English and taught a bit of yoga to Tibetan refugee children, attended three pujas and visited over 10 monasteries, then trekked through the highest peaks and remotest regions of Zanskar for 10 days and nearly 200 kms. What has unfurled has been rich and full and vivid and I remain grateful as ever for this life.

Yet, in retrospect, I'm a bit lonely. The recent trek has highlighted that there is a price for this freedom. With each step I took to ascend an even greater peak of the Himalayas, I would see families and farms and communities. I'd hear laughter and crying and the sound of a single person pounding a granite boulder with an axe to split it in half. For me, I have no land to till. I can just leave without worrying that the crops won't return. I am fortunate that I don't have to do back breaking labor EVERY SINGLE DAY in the field of stone and sand like those in Ladakh and Zanskar...but where do I belong? I love San Francisco, but it goes on without me -- beautiful, funky, wild and sophisticated, international, savvy, unexpectedly incredible San Francisco...it goes on without my steps trodding to the law firm along its undulating hills every morning. It goes on. I have chosen no marriage. I have chosen no family. I have chosen no work. Yet, I see families and women cooking and working and cleaning and carrying snot-nosed babies and I feel that I am just floating along. Society and community...they go on without me. Where is my place? I've considered marriage, but chosen independence and lovers, then independence again. Yet, I'm lonely. I feel that I'm like a broad swathed river seaping into crevices here and there, but never too deeply. I have travelled far and wide and made many beautiful connections and experienced many incredible adventures, but for what? This blog. I travel, but what do I really know? There is so much that goes on without me right under my nose and I'm clueless. What are these rituals I see during pujas? How long were there asian slaves working in a sweat shop under my apartment in San Francisco when I lived in Nob Hill? How many dogs had been kidnapped and sold by the Mexican gangs whom I walked alongside every day in the Mission District of San Francisco? Now, in Leh, how do they till this land that looks so barren and unforgiving and produce such a bounty of food and flowers? How does a woman work land, cook food, care for babies and love her husband all in one day every day? I don't know how to do this. I am a woman. I am 35, educated, worldly, attractive, adventurous, open-minded and curious (so curious!), yet all that I have done has been, it seems, like water spilling over a surface. Temporarily there and refreshing and delicious, then gone. As I sit here today, I wonder what to do with the remaining five months and I honestly feel a bit lost and uninspired. On one hand, I realize the bliss of being free, completely free. But on the other hand, I would like to have a purpose - connection - understanding - continuity. This is rarely had on the road. I've had glimpses. I realized this years ago when I was 20 and lived in Scotland for a year. I had two lives on either side of the Atlantic and they never met. It was a hard lesson. Now, I've repeated and broadened that reality across the Pacific. At least it's global now. Well rounded. Ha ha.

The trek made me think about my chosen isolation in this life. In many ways it was a metaphor for me. New heights, new challenges, new experiences, new friends, new stories, new adventures -- all as I trod upon a well worn path through ancient mountains and kingdoms peppered with communities and families and traditions. I noticed these things, but didn't stop to savor them, I just kept walking and enjoyed the beauty surrounding me at the moment. That was it. This is it. It is said in yogic tradition that if you can quiet the mind and tune into the self, none of these desires for wealth, beauty, enjoyment, adventure, etc. are of any import. I find it funny that nothing is said of the desire to connect with another or community or a place. Instead, the life's purpose becomes clear with a steady, quiet mind. So, does this mean that if I find my life's purpose, the rest will fall into place i.e. community and family and I'll no longer have such wanderlust? I truly don't know. All I know is that I'm tired. I'm inspired. I'm grateful. And I'm alone. If all of this is meaningless and a construct of my imagination, then there is no point in questioning any of this. I should just go with the flow. Perhaps Christian was right when he said that he feels women feel and think so much that it creates unnecessary pain for them. Today, I feel that that is true. It's been seven months. It's also the second time I am actually alone. The first day was in India when I arrived. This second day is now - the day after I return from a trek through the wilds of the remotest region in India. What a trip.

Just as I write this and am feeling alone and out of community and feeling that I've chosen isolation and I'll always be in it, the internet connection came back up and through incredible Facebook, friends from as early as eight years old have reconnected with me. One of my friends from yoga school told me "this is what the universe has in store for you in this present moment," "love, love, love beautiful Kyra," "You are incredible!" and her e-mail is entitled "I love you Kyra!" Another friend from university writes that he just read my blog and "You are one of the most deeply poetic and spirited people I have ever known (shows too in your writing) and you deserve someone just as amazing. Maybe thats why you are having such trouble find the "right" guy. People of your character and fearless spirit are very rare." Another yoga friend gives me the name of a captain in Greece looking for a yoga instructor through October in two weeks. My sister writes "Miss you my adventurousa sister." So...here is the universe giving me love and love and love just when I most need it. Thank you, universe. I feel better now. I love my friends and family.

Philosophizing, or wallowing in self pity (?), aside, I will discuss the trip through Zanskar. Of course, it was mind altering. Of course, it was beautiful. Of course, it was difficult. Of course, I got sick either from drinking boiled water that had things floating in it and was slightly murky in taste and color or from bathing in the same water in the rivers that were littered on either side with yak, horse, goat, sheep and human feces - hard to tell. I saw the brightest of stars in clear, clean air with the full moon glowing full and majestic among the roaring of Himalayan winds. I wondered at villages seemingly in the middle of nowhere where entire families lived on farms that appeared out of sand and rock, surrounded by impenetrable mountain passes that crumbled under your feet if you got too close to the edge. I was brushed aside by yaks and donkeys and horses on narrow trails and covered like a muslim to avoid too much inhalation of the dust kicked up from their hooves as they teetered along in front of me on the path. I smiled at snot-nosed dusty children, adorable in their filth b/c they were (miraculously, it seemed) well fed and would appear out of nowhere to say "julay" and ask for a pen or chocolate. I drank teas with monks in a monastery built in the 10C BC and b/c I forgot my money at the bottom of the arduous hill, I sang him a song in Sanskrit instead that sought divine guidance, while they beamed at me with obvious amusement.

Every person on the trek was single and in their 30s, save one American student and the two Indian guides in their mid-20s. We got along very well. It lasted 10 days, 136 kms/85 miles and we went over seven peaks from 3200 meters to 5050 meters (10,663 feet to 16,569 feet) up and down and up and down through rivers and valleys and mountains and deserts and sloshy green fields. It was breathtakingly beautiful and just plain breathtaking as we were up at incredible altitudes that made breathing quite difficult. We camped in spartan conditions and ate over a camping stove. We had seven horses for our stuff, two horsemen, a guide and a helper. We bathed in rivers and drank boiled river water. I loved camping, but was really grateful for a hot shower upon my return to Leh. There is much, much more that I will update in a further blog (I wrote it all in my diary this morning for two hours already - I usually write this stuff on a blog, instead - but it was early, oops). Right now, I think I'll go buy a new toothbrush before meeting back up with the group b/c the guide wants to cook us lunch at his house. He's great and will a Bollywood actor someday, I am sure. More adventures and thoughts to come...
I love you world! All is as it should be. I trust that. Even when it's not a bed of roses.

Paradise in Angst

Ladakh has been in mourning. Two day ago, all of the Tibetan shops and restaurants were closed in protest of the opening day of Olympics in China. The Chinese persecution of the Tibetans is atrocious and monstrous. Hundreds of thousands of Buddhists have been killed, tortured or displaced...why? What threat do they pose to China? Why? Tibetans are very peaceful people. I have not met a threatening Tibetan since I arrived in Nepal and then India for over two months now. Why? This, I do not understand. As if the universe agreed with the plight of the Tibetans, it rained all day in Leh.

The following day, all shops in Leh were closed in support of the protests currently happening in Jammu - a place relatively far southwest of Leh, but in the same state of Jammu Kashmir. Again, it rained. Hindu Jammu believes that there is a sacred Shiva lingam site made out of an iceberg in Jammu. Muslim Kashmir is blocking any tourist development around the site and Hindu Jammu is saying they have no right to do this. There has been a strike for almost 20 days in Jammu with a curfew imposed. Soldiers are allowed to shoot after 11 p.m. if they see someone on the street. All roads to/from Kashmir are blocked (except for tourists). The famous Kashmiri apples are rotting by the bushel as they await some sort of lift on the road block.

Yesterday, 2000 Ladakhi students returned from Jammu b/c they simply couldn't eat and school had been closed for a while. It is very dangerous and volatile there. There is no other place that the students can study - they must complete their curriculum in Jammu.

The Kashmiris want their own state - half Pakistan, half India. This has been a state of contention since partition in 1947. Now, it is spreading to Jammu b/c the Kashmiris don't want further development of Hindu places b/c it threatens them. I wonder at the quickness to violence by conflicting religions - if God and Allah and Shiva and the universe all believe in universal love and peace, why fight if you disagree? Here in Leh, it seems that the buddhists, hindus and muslims live in peace. Why is a place so steeped in history like the Pakistan Indian border or Israel Palestine so embroiled in conflict? What on earth is a solution? I have no idea. It makes me sad. I wish I could understand. But I don't.

Today is sunny. Sarah and I rented Pulsar motorbikes and met up with a friend of Christian's named Klaudia. She is an Austrian who has been riding her motorbike around the world for three years. She is gregarious, helpful, adventurous and very cool. Christian met her on the road with the Rakatanga motorcycle gang and we ran into her his second to the last night in Leh. She joined us for dinner (Sarah also) and Christian offered to help her the following day with a mechanical issue she was having. At the same time, Sarah and I expressed an interest in learning how to ride motorbikes and she readily assented to teach us. So, today we learned and I, according to Klaudia "am a natural." I love riding motorcycles, even against incredibly insane traffic. Somehow, it all makes sense if you just relax and flow into it...just like India.

She has participated in a ralley where bikers ride from Manali to an undisclosed location up north. She came in 5th place and is the only woman on the ralley. She returned to Leh to train for this year. As part of her training, she'll ride down to Manali and has invited me to join her if I like riding. We'll see. She'll go slow, but I'm not sure. Safety is always first for me, even with the flow of India.

I'll think about it as I go trekking through the Zanskar region on a 10-day camping trek with horses, a guide, a cook, a helper, two dutch ladies and two men who I haven't met. I leave the day after tomorrow. I dreamt I saw a wolf on a mountain in Zanskar - if that comes true, that will be special. I hope that there will be no more rain as I don't look forward to trekking and sleeping in wet conditions. If so, however, que sera sera. There will be no cars and only traditional Ladakhi village life for 10 days and seven passes. It is a difficult trek, but I'm up for it. I've gained a bit of weight here in Ladakh as it's so cold and I'm eating to stay warm. It seems I'm always hungry here. A trek up seven peaks should sort that right out. Thereafter, I'll go by bus through the Suru valley, Kargil and back down to Leh. My friend Praful may also have his bike and perhaps I'll ride with him. We'll see.

Now, for the week with Christian. Christian decided he didn't trust the bike enough to go all the way to Kargil and would rather do day trips from Leh due to the lack of repair facilities. This dissappointed me, but I had to defer to his judgment. And I readily agreed with him as the bike was nowhere near as strong, reliable and steady as his other one, even though he is an excellent driver and I readily trust him with my life. This is not something I do lightly.

I must first say that I was really looking forward to Christian returning to Leh because even though we had some lapses in connection, ours was a romantic and adventurous one based on a fierce independent streak, self confidence and mutual attraction for our free spirits. He wrote lovely e-mails stating that he wanted to share things important to me and him. I believe that is true. It still is as I sit here today. But, things aren't always what they seem. I believe we both have learned this the hard way. It wasn't the first time for me. Nor him, I am certain.

On our first day with the bike (his second day) we drove about 2 hours up to Alchi monastery. It was great to be on the back of the bike again and he's a superb rider so I had no fear. There was rain in the surrounding Himalayas that Christian kept pointing out. We spilled into Alchi, surrounded by gompas, and proceeded to the monastery. The monastery was closed and we toured the grounds. Just below was the Indus River. I suggested we go down to dip our feet in the oldest river in Indian civilization and Christian declined. That made me a little sad.

I went down without him and sang several hindi tunes as I waded in the ice cold river. This was history in the making and I felt honored to be there. The river gorge was wild and beautiful. I threw stones into the river and meditated on a rock for only a short time b/c I knew Christian was waiting.

When I arrived to the monastery, it had opened back up. I wondered whether Christian had seen this on his way out of the grounds, but didn't want to go look for him for fear he wouldn't care and would want to leave b/c of the apparent thunder. Because this was the reason we came, I entered the monastery and was in awe of the most incredible and intricate paintings on monastery walls I had seen to date. There were multi storied buddhas with scenes of elegant Kashmiri princesses in bright saris and gold on jeweled horses approaching the buddha. The paint was intricate and flecked with gold everywhere. There were kashmiri soldiers in a proud assembly charging through battle - again in elegant bright colors - looking straight out of 1001 Arabian nights (yes, I know the Kashmiris are Muslims - but that's how exotic it was to see these people in a buddhist temple - totally unique and absolutely splendid!). There were three buddhas in the first temple and the walls and ceilings and buddhas were all so elegantly adorned. It was truly awe inspiring and I hoped Christian had seen it.

I put my shoes on and started to leave when the monk told me the other temple was open. I again considered whether I should get Christian and the same logic prevailed that this was why we came to see it. As the thunder pealed, I thought it actually might be kindof fun and romantic to ride in the rain. It was a relatively short drive, or we could've waited out the rain eating lunch in Alchi. I was of course hungry.

The next monastery was just as extraordinary in a more traditional buddhist way. There were the usual demonic deities decking the walls, but also huge buddhas surrounded by circles on every wall that were peace-invoking and inspiring. There were elaborately carved wooden structures and a sand mandala made by monks in twenty different colors. I know that the monks frequently make these mandalas only to blow them apart as a symbol of the impermanence of things in life. Looking at the spectacular detail and beauty of this mandala made me consider that even the most beautiful object that we hold to our hearts is an illusion. All of this (with the exception of the sand mandala) dates back hundreds and hundreds of centuries. It was truly a gift to walk through these monasteries and to behold such splendor.

I was musing on this when I came to the restaurant where a pacing Christian came to the gate and said "Kyra, let's get the fuck out of here!" I need not convey my utter disappointment here. You get it. He then said that the apricot juice was homemade and delicious and I could try it quickly. I conceded, but only b/c I had to use the toilet and thought he might be impatient and at least juice ordering would distract him for a minute. Indeed, the juice was delicious and I appreciated his suggestion. He asked if I was hungry and said we could eat real fast. I was so dissapointed that I said I wasn't hungry. In truth, my romantic notions of us either dining to wait out the rain in a mild pace or driving through the rain getting wet were eviscerated and I was utterly disappointed. We rushed to the bike and Christian pointed out for the next hour all of the rain surrounding the Himalayas. I kept saying it didn't matter if we got wet - but he kept pointing out the rain - so I kept quiet and started to agree "yes, it's raining over there." It never caught up to us. The lustre of Christian had dissolved with the grey mountains around us.

We went to a monastery called Likur where there was a giant gold buddha outside on a hill. We could see it for miles as we approached the idyllic little town set back in a long river gorge. We snaked up the hill to Likur, which was aptly called Naga, i.e. Snake, monastery in the past b/c it was believed that the serpent king lived here. It was breathtaking and I stayed silent and distant from Christian as I explored the area. He suggested we go to the museum and I said I'd walk down the hill and have lunch while he looked. Well, the museum was closed and the restaurant was just a shop so we left that place and carried back to Leh.

To try and bring some light back to our situation, I asked Chrisitan about his friend that lived in Morocco. He said Sven was about to have a fourth child - a fourth daughter. "Poor Sven, he's only shooting girls," he said and I wanted to jump off the motorbike with the rage and disgust I felt for him. I had told him only the night before that I met my dad's best friend at my sister's wedding and when I was introduced as the youngest, he said "Oh, you must be aw shit. when your dad heard he had a fourth daughter, the first words out of his mouth were 'aw shit.'" I told Christian how I believed all of my life that my dad didn't love me b/c he considered girls worthless and it wasn't until I called him when I was 30 that we patched things up and started a father daughter relationship. The fact that Christian said this about Sven was ignoble, callous, hurtful and I was so angry that I started crying (silently). "What the hell am I doing with this man," I thought? After a couple of minutes, I asked if he remembered our conversation at all. "I was talking about Sven" he said. I said nothing more. I wondered on the bike why this hurt me so deeply as it wasn't about Christian - there was something deeper. At the same time, he was either a bad listener and totally clueless or a total jerk, I thought. I wanted nothing to do with him when we returned to Leh. I'd had enough.

When we passed a beautiful town called Basgo that I had previously suggested we stop in to on the way home, he asked if I wanted lunch. "No," I sulked. We drove on. That night, I said I'd go online. He did, too. After, I said I'd meet some friends for drinks. He came. He wanted to leave and I said I'd stay. During our drinks, he explained that he never ever meant to hurt my feelings and didn't make any connection between Sven and I. He apologized if he hurt my feelings. He meant it and I was grateful that he wasn't a monster. At the same time, I needed space. Why was I so upset? I couldn't understand my own emotions here.

The following day, I spent some time alone and met up with him in the afternoon. We got along well and just enjoyed strolling around Leh. We kept the conversation light. That night, we went up to the Shanti Stupa and while he took pictures (per usual), I played with some darling Tibetan girls on the stairs. We then moved down and I started teaching them some yoga. More Tibetan kids came to follow. We ended up having wheelbarrow races and they gave song and dance performances in English. It was super, super sweet. Christian took many photos and I laughed a lot. Two of the kids, Tenzin boy and Tenzin girl (cousins) asked if I'd come to their school. The tibetan mother gave me the name of their school and their phone number to call in advance. I looked at Christian and he agreed that we would visit before we left.

Indeed, we visited the school and the first question asked by a child was to Christian: "what is your life's aim?" "That's a difficult question," said a flabbergasted Christian. "I guess to do good for other people and to be happy and content." "What's yours?" "To be an engineer," smiled the child. A question of interpretation, I guess. But, I liked Christian's answer. That's my "life's aim," too. The kids asked me if I had a baby, how big my family was, if I liked Christmas and to sing a Christmas song, my birthday and asked Christian several similar questions. We reciprocated the questions and they answered in perfect English. This was a level 5 gifted class, so all the kids were about 10 years old and very intelligent. The sang us two songs - one about god and "the Milky Way" and recited a strange poem about a plump boy named Augustus that stopped eating his soup and died four days later due to starvation. They were bright eyed and charming and sweet. It was so fun! Then, Tenzin asked me to teach yoga. So, I showed them tree and a little head trick my girlfriend Jody Bryson taught me in San Francisco. They were titillated. When we left, the headmaster suggested I return to teach English for three periods and perhaps teach some yoga, too. I readily agreed. I will visit after my trek.

One day, we went to Spituk monastery just outside of Leh and spent six hours in the village. The head lama (the same one I'd seen in the Nubra Valley) was present to celebrate the "dawn of buddha." There were dozens of monks from around Ladakh in attendance. The people were gathered in the courtyard with low-lying tibetan painted tables and lovely tibetan rugs. They were dressed in traditional Ladakhi attire - their very best - and extremely excited to be hosting the head lama. They offered a giant buffet lunch. While Christian went back to the hotel to get his camera, I chatted with two teenage girls about their life in Ladakh. They were appreciative of their culture and concerned that consumerism would upset the balance of life they had with the onslaught of tourism. They walked me around the village and showed me the meanings of Hindu deities painted on the walls - basically reminders to overcome ignorance, lust and greed in very scary ways. We waited for every single elder villager to go through the buffet line before we went - a gesture of respect for the elders. I inquired about a group of young boys in the line and was told they were "very, very naughty boys."

By the time it was our turn to get food, Christian had returned, but he was so excited to take everyone's pictures that he didn't eat. This went on for hours. I sat and observed and interacted with the people while Christian snapped photographs. In six hours, we exchanged maybe 10 words. At times, people just wanted to eat or relax - they were so happy chatting and waiting together - and I felt he didn't even notice b/c he was so eager for a picture. This bothered me, but I let it go. To each his/her own, right?

Later in the evening, after listening to the monks chant as they ate their food in a different temple with the head lama, the head lama came into the courtyard with the waiting Ladakhis. There was much pomp and fanfare. A giant fire of cowdung was lit and the lama was decked in colorful attire with three different layers of crown upon his head. He ceremoniously threw the crops of the land into the fire with much chanting and bugle blowing and drum beating from monks in various states of attire. There were many strange hats and crowns and monks of all ages and states of interest. They were all calm and peaceful as the fire burned the offerings and the monk blessed the village and its crops. My sister Stacy's birthday was this day, so I offered her a birthday prayer into the fire, too. I'm sure the Tibetans wouldn't object. Both Christian and I felt fortunate to have attended the village ceremony. Christian discovered that this happens very rarely. There was a painting by the villagers that was blessed and their are only 31 in Ladakh. We were very, very fortunate to have stumbled upon this event. We returned to Leh happy and content. Yet, barely spoke about it to eachother. We had a warm understanding.

I wondered at the fact that we experienced this incredible day, yet barely spoke. Here was a gorgeous Frenchman who was very generous to me. He paid for everything all week long. He didn't offer many compliments to me aside from "your lips are like spanish muscles" which I THINK is a compliment, right? But, his actions were very loving when we did actually connect with eachother. He's a deeply passionate man and he loves life and is open to what cultures and places offer, if not the individual on an emotionally intimate level. I too love the adventure and appreciate a distance to avoid my hurt feelings. He is an immensely talented photographer and a caring man. One night, a french lady passed out at the table next to us. Her friends were baffled as to what to do. He asked why I wasn't eating and I said I couldn't b/c I was worried about her. He proceeded to take care of the lady in the most nurturing way until she was alight again. The same with Sarah discussing relationship issues. He asked several questions and gave the most common sense, direct answers in a way that wouldn't hurt her feelings, but set her expectations straight and put it all in perspective. I appreciate his compassion, his caring, his nurturing nature, his self confidence and assurance and the fact that he knows exactly who he is. No one will take advantage of him. He's brilliant and resourceful and self-sufficient. He's very masculine and incredibly tolerant of Americans for a frenchman. He also smells delicious and is a wonderful, wonderful kisser with large lips. He's one of the most generous men I've met on many levels and at the same time, one of the most closed off. I am confused.

I honestly believe that every person comes into your life as a reflection of something you need to see in yourself or deal with. I found Christian's closed manner at times to be truly heart-breaking and all I wanted to do was leave his side. At other times, he was so charming and fun and adventurous and sweet and romantic that I wanted to stay by his side and fill him with love b/c he didn't seem to have received much from the outside world. B/c I understand this side of him, I want to end his pain. I saw a lot of myself in his stubborness and unwillingness to truly express his feelings. This was part of the reason I came on this trip - to open up, to soften up, to be loveable again. Because, before I left, I truly felt unlovable. There is an element to Christian that mandates he is unlovable and the only person making that a reality is him. He sees it, but I don't know if he wants to address it. If I could, I would force him to do it, but instead all I can do is either embrace him in his entirety or let him go. At the same time, all of this is for naught as it is only a travel romance....right?

Christian and I had some really deep conversations about our background and our feelings and our past and I garnered a deeper understanding for him. In essence, he's right brained - utilitarian and functional and I am left brained - sensory and imaginative. He told me that the way I feel so strongly about places as beautiful could be seen as "freaky." I told him I didn't care and that's how I experienced life. I told him I felt sorry for him that he didn't feel that way. When we met with Sarah for dinner, she pointed out that women have a neurological bridge that connects things emotionally that men don't have as much as. Christian responded that he felt sorry for women b/c they experienced so much turmoil all the time. He didn't understand why. Even though Sarah had just explained why. I remained silent. That night, the stars were out and as we left the restaurant I exclaimed at how lovely they were and asked him to stop. "I'm tired, I'm cold, Kyra!" he agonized and he refused to stop or even to look up while walking. As this was our last night, I felt it was his way of closing up entirely. When we got back to the hotel, he conceded that he'd look from the garden, so we did, but there were too many lights. Rather than suggest we go to the front of the hotel to look up, I kept silent. I was truly disappointed again.

Our last day, he told me that I can not work for him b/c I'm not trained to deal with photos and its a very personal choice. I agreed. We discussed perhaps going to Morocco for three weeks together to visit Sven's new hotel and then take a four wheel drive south for two more weeks. He offered to fly me to Egypt if I flew to Morocco. This is a very generous offer. However, I wondered whether he'd admire the stars there and how often I'd remain silent due to dissapointment. At the same time, I feel that I understand him and may be able to open him up. This is what my mother thought about my father. However, a 41 year old man doesn't change. I either take him as he is and enjoy our mutual sense of adventure and lower my expectations or don't go. There is no in-between.

The day that Christian left, I went to a two hour yoga class that was more meditation than asanas. I realized how agitated I was physcially and mentally. I had only done one day of yoga the entire week that Christian was here. As I slipped into a calm, I thought about how far off my path I had gotten in order to accomodate this man. I questioned why I was here. To celebrate me, to soften, to love, to grow. During my week with him, I often felt compromised and disappointed and I couldn't get him to open up even though I tried and tried. This was selfish in a way b/c it didn't recognize his boundaries and I tried to force my experience on him. But it shouldn't be so hard, right?

This man has helped me to see the pain and isolation that we subject ourselves to by choice. I don't want that. I don't want a partner that opens to me, that celebrates with me. I want to be appreciated for my sensory side, not critizied. And I'd also like to celebrate him, rather than sensor him. At one point, he proclaimed that if we only had a month, we'd understand eachother much better. I think he's right. At the same time, need to hold true to what I'm looking for b/c this is my life and it's the only one I have right now. What do I want? I'd like a partner that laughs at the rain and doesn't live striving constantly for perfection in everything only to have the joy of bruises and life's offerings pass me by. There is much, much, much beauty and sweetness in him - and it came out at times - but it was mostly closed. Perhaps if I didn't need so much emotional connection and understanding, I wouldn't have constantly forced him to refuse to answer my questions. If he ever chooses to meet me halfway, I'd love to join him. I don't think I can be with a partner that doesn't meet me halfway and I'm not going to change. But in the meantime, I recognize that I deeply appreciate yet another interaction with another man of the world, and continue on my journey alone and hopefully very, very lovingly to myself and those around me. I wait for a response from Christian to see whether I'll join him in Morocco. Is there more to this than a quick romance? I doubt it. But, does that mean I'm just as closed as he is by dismissing him so quickly as soon as he is physically gone? Can I accept him and just have fun without reading so much into everything?

Will the love of my life ever meet up with me??? We will see...

Moonscape Musings

Ladakh, literally 'the land of high passes', separates the peaks of the western Himalaya from the vast Tibetan plateau. It sits in northeast India, precipitously close to the China and Pakistan borders: an amalgam of Muslim Kashmir, Buddhist Ladakh and Hindu Jammu cultures. The friction between cultures and religions has plagued relations between India and Pakistan since partition and the northwest region of Kashmir still remains volatile. There are military posts and rifle toting soldiers at every corner and in the middle of vast landscapes. Yet, the place remains distinctively Indian. Just outside a military camp rests a sign singing 'Spread Happiness.'

Ladakh only opened up to tourism in 1974 and is called 'Little Tibet' due to its similarities in topography and culture with Tibet. This is particularly evident in the Indus Valley as the oldest river in Idian/Ancient civilization gushes past whitewashed gompas (Buddhist monasteries) precariously perched on hillsides. Due to its high climate and crown of mountains exceeding 7000 meters, Ladakh is only accessible on land between May and October. The landscape during this summer season is like a moonscape - an arid desert with splashes of green spilling out from the riverbeds and resulting villages within the green zones. The mountains rise high and fortess-like with spectacular snow-capped peaks and blue skys covered by fluffy white clouds and a very, very, very strong sun. Leh, the capital of Ladakh is 3505 meters high. We are practically touching the sky and everything - the sun, the moon, the twinkling of the stars and Venus (bright pink twinkling planet that looks like you can touch it) - seems as if its RIGHT. NEXT.TO. YOU.

This is a land of meditation and calm and contradictions of nature juxtaposing extremes. The arid landscape spreads for miles with rocks and shrubs containing bright orange berries and the occasional donkey and then suddenly erupts into a plot of vibrant, verdant, lush green filled with flowers, apricot trees, apple trees, vegetable gardens, mustard seed plants, rhodedendrons and grass. The Ladakhis are terrific gardeners and take full advantage of the limited sun months by prolifically planting all of their fruits and vegetables to use for the remainder of the year. Meandering streams flush from the Indus and wend through small villages decked by cows, donkeys, sheeps and village people in traditional dress. This means old ladies, wrinkled prunelike from the sun, smiling beneath a furry top-hat and thick red/black dress and equally wrinkled and smiling men peering beneath their topi hats as they spin their prayer wheels with one hand and with their other hand direct their heard of animals with a walking stick and occasional "tsks." When the sun ducks behind a cloud or finally sets at 8 p.m., the cold spills over the barren landscape and there is no escape from its chill. Each restaurant in Leh is outdoors, so you bundle up in woolen blankets, hats and socks to enjoy the vast night sky stretching its milky way in a rainbow arch above the valley. When the moon is full, the land glows white and silver - vibrant and ghostlike. The night sky literally dances with falling stars and twinkling lights that enchant and beguile those down in the cold with their proximate luminosity.

The whole place, Ladakh, as far as I have explored thus far is peaceful, mystical and calm. It is a marvel of nature and a testament to human survival and ingenuity in the harshest of conditions. I like it here.

I met a lovely lady named Sarah in Rishikesh. She is the best travel partner I have ever met and we have become close friends. She is a school psychologist from Philadelphia, aged 31, and left for India on her own for her very first international holiday. I respect the woman and am glad to share so much of the following with her.

We ran into eachother in Agra and decided to take a tour together the next day with a rickshaw driver. For some reason, I expected the city of Taj Mahal to be a calm, small place. Little did I know that it was literally the heart of India in all ways - traffic, pollution, beautiful saris, camels and cows and donkeys and bulls and bull carts and ox carts and motorcycles and lepers and screeching cars and black belching rickshaws and beggars and rich Indians flashing gold and muslim women ducking underneath gorgeous bright colored scarves and deliciuos fried foods from makeshift "restaurants" and sweet masala chai steaming in dark hovels and donkeys and pariahs and saddhus (holy men) and tourists and snot-nosed children in tattered rags scheming and playing amid dung and exhaust and horns (always the horns) and ancient temples dating back hundreds of centuries amid the lush river valley that makes up Agra. Chaos. Incredible. India.

So, we are sitting in traffic and wondering at how nine Indian women can fit into the rickshaw next to us. The heat and the gawking of men are so unbearable that we fully cover our faces with scarves (our bodies are already veiled), only leaving space for our sunglasses to rest over our eyes. It is preferable to be hidden from sight in this way and I get at least one reason why the women are happy to veil in foreign countries. The sun is bearable and the men almost let you pass by without a stare - at least it is fleeting - and that feels nice as their lascivious looks can sit on you like a bad odor that taints the moment.

We have seen the beautiful Taj Mahal and rested in the shady gardens, watching hindus and muslims go by with beams of pride as they approach the greatest tomb ever built in the name of love. It is lovely and white and full of optical illusions - a playful, respectful place along the river. Its neighbor on one side is a hindu temple with burning ghats for cremations and the other side is a leather factory (they use camels and goats - not the holy cows, of course). Across the river is a vacant plot of land where the raj planned to build a black taj, equal in size and splendor to the white taj (mahal), but the raj's plans were foiled by his son who promptly imprisoned him in the ancient red fort and took over the kingdom. The red fort looks over the existing and planned taj and is particularly cruel and dramatic. I would like to read about this father son dynamic. Sounds unique and is an important part of Indian history. Apparently, the raj didn't care that the people of Agra were starving and wanted to spend even more money creating a tomb for himself. Didn't happen.

We went to the 'Baby Taj' and took a break just across the street from its entrance. We enjoyed pokoras and papadams from a dirty man and his piping hot griddle set up alongside the road. From nowhere, a crone appeared and offered us masala chai - sweetened with sugar, cinnamon and cardomon. We trust that it is boiled and sip away. We watch as the tour buses roll in and dispense the tourists directly to the entrance. They barely notice the ebb and flow of India on the street as they enter and exit the gate and disappear into the bus just in time for the next bus to roll in. A gang of Indian children is begging for money from the travellers. Between buses, they come over to the stall and stare at us. I take off my sunglasses and give the leader, a mischevious looking adorable eight year old, a knowing look - "I know you, troublemaker" I think with a smile, and she is prideful as she blushes back at me - she understands. She smiles and continues to stare, but doesn't ask us for money. It's like that. Calm reality in the midst of chaos. The food is delicious, the tea sweet and another man appears with a tiny chess board and offers us a game. Unfortunately, neither of us play and our rickshaw driver wouldn't be too thrilled if we took the time to learn. So, we leave our Indian hotspot and cross the street into Baby Taj.

We both prefer this to the Taj Mahal as the floral designs and jeweled inlay designs are more intricate and abundant. It feels more feminine here. We love it. On our way home, I ask the driver to take us to "real, spicy Indian food restaurant" and he takes us to a simple place called 'Family Restaurant.' We proceed to have the most deliciuos Indian food thali I have had in my entire life. The whole meal costs about$1.50 each. We decide we'll celebrate India and buy a bottle of Indian red wine to have on the roof of our guesthouse overlooking the Taj Mahal that evening. We slowly get used to the acrid red wine as the prayers from the muslim mosque screech out into the streets at sunset and the Taj Mahal glows pink and calm. I see a couple of mexicans that I met at the Dehli train station on the roof next door and we join them as we finish the bottle and celebrate the glory of India into the night.

From Agra, we returned to Delhi by train at 6 a.m. the next morning. The train was hot and dusty and uneventful. I bought several chais in dixi cups for 5 rupees each - but they tasted nothing like the delicious sweet concoctions we enjoyed on the side of the road across from the Baby Taj. Delhi was everything that everyone says about it - crazy, sad, hot, unpleasant. But it was also full of culture and shopping and interesting scams. There are museums and representatives from all over India selling their local handicrafts. I purchased a camera to replace the one stolen in Nepal. I bought two pairs of jeans to keep warm in Leh.

I paid one baba 300 rupees to tell me how to obtain calm. "Be more courageous." That was about it after 30 minutes of mystical palm reading and pointing at saddus on a photograph, etc. I knew it was a scam, but was curious. Rusty Wells already told the entire class to choose courage, not fear, about 400 days ago. This is a maxim I hold true and always have. Perhaps the baba was a reminder of the same. Whatever.

Not wanting to drive along the precipitous cliffs on a three day journey by bus from Delhi to Leh, we both took flights to Leh. It was incredible to fly over the snow-capped Himalayas and to land in a peaceful, calm place that felt like an entirely different country full of contrasts. In the one-room airport, buddhist monks floated past military men decking the doors with full rifles and either a tilted beret or a punjabi head wrap. The sun slapped my face the instant I walked outside, yet it was only 7:00 a.m. and the brittle chill seemed to emanate directly from the snowy peaks surrounding the barren, dusty valley.

Sarah had been here before and we took a taxi into town and went straight to a German Bakery for delicious pastries made with Kashmiri apples and yak butter. The bakery was owned by a happy sikh man and his son with shining eyes and broad smiles. We were delirious from the altitude sickness and giggled our way through pastries and black tea. A man joined us and told us all about his journeys through Ladakh. Neither of us really cared and he didn't seem to mind that we didn't care - he just kept talking. This was even funnier. He is the first of many Israelis travelling through Leh.

This place is filled with Israeli tourists in their 20s on one side and older French tourists on the other side. The rumble of Royal Enfield motorcycles ripples through town and reminds me of the motorcycle journey through Nepal. I miss Ed and Alex and hope to see them again. I also wish that I can find another motorcyclist with whom I can explore this mysterious place.

We spend our first day at a restaurant with no walls or ceilings called La Pizzeria. I am watercoloring the scene around me and the owner asks me to paint the outside wall alongside the street. I agree. Another person is seeking a yoga teacher. These are inviting prospects. I become friends with the owner, Praful from Kashmir, and we talk for hours about hinduism, yoga and life. He tells me again and again with a laugh "you are such an indian!" Well, allright, then. It's nice to be here.

Voila! My third night here I meet an international group on a motorbike tour at La Pizzeria b/c I offer to take their picture for them in Spanish. They are all men in their early 40s (mostly) - three spaniards, one argentinian, a scottsman and two frenchman. They invite me to join them the following morning. I do. The following day, I bring Sarah along and all of us tour the valley for two more days. It is incredible!

Day 1: We drive two hours up to Khardung La, the highest motorable pass in the world at 5,606 meters. I hop on the back of the frenchman, Christian's, bike at the suggestion of the Argentian lawyer named Miguel. Christian has been riding for 20 years and is an expert navigator through the fallen rocks and narrow roads suddenly filled by honking ta ta trucks and buses. He is very french as he tells the drivers with his hands to move to the left. Of course, they ignore him until the very last second.

He maintains airplanes for a living as an aeronautics engineer so I ask him whether one plane could've actually destroyed the world trade center. He apologizes, says he's studied this a lot, and it is impossible. I tell him about the movie 'Zeitgeist' I have seen and we discuss the sad (very real) possibility that 9-11 was an insider job consisting of bombs planted within the twin towers to detonate the steel beams and level the buildings in conjunction with the plane's impact. An insider job to create a catastrophe to incense a sleeping giant to wage war. For oil. Horrible if true. And I believe it is. Please see 'Zeitgeist.' It will explain so much.

My hands get cold and Christian covers them with one of his own as we ascend even higher into cold air. A sweet gesture. We get to the top of Kardung La and it's so high that we can see the snow capped mountains of Pakistan three ranges away. There are prayer flags and snow at the top. I bow to Shiva in the temple, sing him a little Shiva song, ring the bell underneath an om flag and carry on to the hiking trail. I am breathless and dizzy, but climb to a high stone to look on high all alone. It is marvelously calm and quiet as the wind whispers past me with icy licks I find delirious.

I head down the path to meet Christian, who offers to give me the 'highest kiss in the world.' I accept the kiss on my cheek and thank my luck as I actually 'check him out' for the first time and admire his arched eyebrows, big lips, dimpled smile, full head of wavy dark brown hair, nice teeth and very french style of a white scarf, black jeans and pefectly tailored army green overcoat. He's 41, a world traveller, intelligent, tall, smells nice, owns a house where he's from in the Alsace region of France, loves wine and motorcycles, has financial freedom as he works on a contract basis in his country of choice and is single b/c "he hasn't met the right woman yet." Hmmm...

As we ride down the mountain, out of nowhere he tells me that after driving up from Manali - a truly adventurous ride, i.e. to pass a bus on a one lane road that already has another bus passing on the other side, you may very well teeter on the edge of a cliff and if you put your foot down, you will fall thousands of meters down the cliff to your death, it's really nice to have me on the back of his bike. "You are like the unexpected cherry on a cake," he says. "Wow," I think - "where did that come from?"

We discuss where he has lived: Uzbekistan, the Isle of Mann, Rome, France, Germany and his stay in Chile. He volunteered three weeks in an orphanage and after noting the deplorable state of the toilets, he tore them up and rebuilt the with tiles and proper plumbing - all of which he did himself for 150 Euros. I hug him tighter and appreciate that he is manly, resourceful and has a heart. What luck to be on his bike. Hurray!

We head to a nearby monastery overlooking Leh Palace that is hundreds of years old. The gompa wafts prayer flags down the barren cliffs. Inside the monastery are beautiful paintings of Buddhist images, a green Tara and a wrathful looking deity reminding the monks of the destruction of ignorance and evil and materialism. I wish for George Bush to have this vision and perhaps change a bit... Pablo, the Spanish leader of the group, is always on a time frame and doesn't seem to relish the spirituality of the monastery - we leave quickly. Too quickly.

We return to town for a delicious meal and a discussion of science and spirituality initiated by yours truly. I say everything is all one - all interconnected by a vibration/ripple. Christian is a skeptic - he says his theory on life is "I'm right until someone proves me wrong." Red flag. Definately.

We later head up to Shanti Stupa, a pagoda dedicated to peace and visited by the Dalai Lama in 1985. It is lovely and white and illuminated at night. There are buddhas on each of the four sides representing the wheel of dharma, birth, overcoming evil and something else that I can't read that looks like peaceful existence amid chaos. Christian tells me that he doesn't want me to leave and I laugh, saying 'you're the one whose leaving, I'm here until Sept.' and also wonder why on earth he's telling me this. We stop by Sarah's guesthouse and invite us to join us the next day. He gives me a kiss on the lips in the garden of my guesthouse seven times and I'm floored.

The next day, we take a long trip for four hours along marvelous canyons with the rushing Indus that display purple and pink and yellow sands cascading from high mountain tops decked with snow. It is incredible! Along the way, we pass countless construction workers chipping away at the rocky craggs which make the road by hand. They are black with soot and grit and it's miraculous that these people regularly maintain the roads as they try to conquer the elements taking over the roads. We arrive in Lamayuru, 125 kms from Leh, and it is gorgeous as it overlooks a valley of white houses spilling over a cliff into the great river valley.

We spin prayer wheels along with three old ladies with fur on their backs and top hapts to keep warm - even though its blazing hot. Lamayuru is one of the oldest and the most important monasteries set in a landscape that looks like a moon. The peace and mysticism is palpable.

We head back and stop at a sikh temple for tea. Even though we are in the middle of nowhere, sikhs have made pilgrimages all the way from Punjab just to be here. I don't understand the spirituality, but appreciate how very faithful the people of India are. I wish I had such faith. We have dinner and Sarah and I head home early for a night's sleep. Her driver, the other frenchman, has clearly expressed an interest in her. It is unreciprocated.

The third day, we head for Thiksey and Hemis. Both are impressive monasteries overlooking small towns spilling over cliffs. They are centuries old and contain impressive paintings and statues of buddhist deities. Thiksey has a buddha that is three stories tall and is absolutely beautiful and calm. I love these places and want to understand them more. Hemis has a spiritual residential retreat program. I may return here soon. Westop by Stok Palace, where the royal family of Ladakh resides and view artifacts in the museum, including ritual objects and jewelry. I am again amazed by the fortitude of these people to live and worship in the harshest of conditions during the winter months.

That night we have dinner and Christian tries to convince me to come to Kathmandu with he and the other frenchman as they have agreed to explore Kathmandu Valley by motorbike. My answer to return to Nepal for a motorbike tour during the monsoon is unequivocal, even though he offers to pay for everything including my return ticket: no. Again, I am surprised by his level of interest. I think it is funny that I have an invitation back to Kathmandu. They leave the next morning and Christian tells me he may return after one week in Nepal. I tell him I'm happy either way and to do what he wants.

I'm a little put off by the dutch man who came to Kathmandu from Thailand to be with me. It didn't really work out and the last report from Kathmandu was that he was still there instead of on his planned journey of Cambodia and Laos. I refuse to be a factor of another traveller changing his plans for the sake of romance. So, he goes.

The following day, Sarah and I wake up early and attend a 6 a.m. puja (spiritual ceremony) at Thiksey monastery. They chant and eat ladakhi bread with butter tea for two hours. I don't know what they're saying, but it's a good experience into their rituals, nonetheless. We head to Shey palace on the way and appreciate a two-storey buddha - maitreya - the boddhisatva of compassion that will come in the future to enlighten all sentient beings. I bow my head and hope that whenever he comes, I am sentient enough for enlightenment. I miss travelling these roads by motorbike.

I start reading a book called "Jesus lived in India" and see that Isah/Jesus allegedly travelled through these same roads and monasteries hundreds of years ago. Proof of his travels was contained in the library of the Hemis Monastery until the 1900s. Wow!

We book a trip to the Nubra Valley - a land of sand dunes, rivers, monasteries, lush valleys and rivers. We decide to share a taxi with two other people to save money. The prospect of two 20-something Israeli girls is not promising. We're about to leave when a swami in white robes and several mala beads with moses like long grey black hair and beard and his disciple enter the building looking for the same trip. The decision is easy. We leave after two days.

The day in between, Christian writes an e-mail saying he made a mistake, should've never left, and will return in one week for his last week of vacation. He'd like me to join him for more touring of the valley by motorbike. Okay!

The swami's is named Swami Dayunanda and spends the majority of his trip talking about yoga and how famous he is. "People bow down to kiss my feet when they see me," "this is impossible for americans to understand." He offers to teach Sarah and I kundalini yoga back in Leh. Perhaps. Then, he tells us that Bush and Clinton know him but he doesn't know them. He then tells Sarah that they are videotaping him all the time, even now, in the garden in Sumoor - a little village in the Nubra Valley. While Sarah says that schizophrenics make the best teachers with their subject of choice, I decide to defer study with him.

The Nubra Valley is beautiful. We eat in Disket and stay the night in Hunder in a tent by the river. The swami and disciple get rooms inside. Sarah and I walk up to the monastery in the hills and sing songs that I teach her in hindi until sunset. That night, our driver takes Sarah and I into the sand dunes. It is nearly a new moon and the stars are twinkling closer and brighter than ever in the calm quiet of the billowing dunes.

The next morning, the four of us return to the dunes for a camel ride. It is again quiet and calm and I enjoy the way the swami looks riding a camel ahead of me in the dunes as his white robe ripples with the gentle breeze. But, it's hot. We're all roasting and Sarah and I look like muslims again as we cover our heads with pajminas and sunglasses.We head to the other side of the valley after waiting for construction to end.

The other side is gorgeous and verdant. Sarah and I take a long walk down to the river and meditate and sing even more hindu songs that I teach her (thanks, Rusty and Janet and Jennika and Marina!) until sunset. We go to a morning puja with the head lama and a three-year-old Rinpoche who falls asleep during the ceremony. They serve us masala tea, black tea and delicious homemade ladakhi bread with yak butter and yak cheese. Locals come in making abulations to the lama and rinpoche. We sit in the corner taking it all in. It's incredible! Again, I wish I understood what was going on.

Sarah and I spend that day in the garden of our guesthouse relaxing while the swami and devotee go to hot mineral baths and another temple. We need a break. It's refreshing and lovely. I write 16 pages in my journal (the unedited version of this blog). I feel content and at peace. I love Sumoor very, very much!

On our way home, the car breaks down and we're picked up by four rich Indian women and one man on holiday from Bombay. They ask if we know any hindu songs and b/c Sarah and I have been singing them throughout this trip, we do. We take turns selecting and singing songs all the way home. Just as I'm trying to remember a song Rusty always sang in San Francisco, the women next to me sings it to me and I follow. She takes my face in both of her hands and says in hindi that I am sent to her from God. It is very sweet.

The next day, Sarah and I head to a festival in Phyang - yet another monastery and village in the middle of nowhere - yet this one sits amid a verdant green patch spilling out on either side from the river. We see traditional dances performed by monks dressed as the deities we've seen on the walls in the monastery courtyard. There are other monks wearing silly looking head dresses playing horns, flutes, cymbals and drums. It is spectacular and the performance has something to do with overcoming evil and ignorance in the name of enlightenment. I buy one apricot, one apple and a bronze ganesh figure. We hike out to the gompa overlookng the valley and again meditate in the tranquil, majestic calm of Ladakh.

We return to Leh and get a full ayuverdic massage, facial and pedicure. It is oily, but incredible b/c my skin is so dry from this high altitude that my feet are cracked and I have laugh lines visible around my eyes and mouth (more than ever). She massages my breasts several times and I wonder if this is standard procedure. Sarah confirms that it is. I feel nourished and refreshed and we head to La Pizzeria yet again for dinner and a chat with Praful. Another wonderful day and evening. I have numerous magic dreams that night of flying (for the first time) and the beauty of change.

The next day, Christian arrives and we look for a motorbike to rent. I take him to the ayuverdic place for a nasal cleanse since he's been stuffed up for one month since he's been in India. He looks a little frazzled when he gets out. We have delicious Tibetan food for lunch - momos and salad - and plan our adventure up to Kargil - on the way to Srinigar, Kashmir. He is not too talkative about why he came back and I don't press it. I'm just happy that he's returned and that we will explore this valley even further.

He would like someone to organize the thousands of beautiful photos he's taken in his travels over the years. He's an exceptionally talented photographer. I suggest that if he flies me to and from Europe, lets me live in his house in Alsace (he lives in Germany) and pays me a salary, I'll do it for him. He needs to teach me first and I think it's an interesting idea to learn and do this. He agrees. We will see what happens next...

Today, I woke up, did yoga and met Christian for breakfast. We were told that a good bike will come into town this evening. I hope so. The bike we have now is rickety, at best. Time will tell...

All in all, Ladakh is magic. I am going with the flow and it's easy and restful and mystical and now, romantic, too. I love this life.