Time Warp

8/22/16   7:15 p.m.

  The internet is failing and my blood glucose level is 62.  In other words, 0 for 2.  The wine is good, Chilean of course, about the only country that Guatemala seems to have a wine connection with.  The name of the hostel we are staying at seems fitting, Los Volcanes.  I certainly can’t see a volcano but the memories are fresh.  I know I am about ready to enter a time warp.  As in, it is now 6:45 a.m. tomorrow in Delhi.  What?  Where the hell did that half hour go?  Whose time do I try and set my brain to?  I am leaving Guatemala but haven’t arrived anywhere yet.  Limbo.  Time out of mind.  Kind of like Dali’s clock.  Bent.  OK, back to the book.  It’s about a double agent Vietnamese refugee. 1975.  Sounds as confusing as my time warp!

8/27/16   8:00 p.m.

  Five days later???  Impossible.  Seems like I wrote the above at the most 3 days ago.  Well one day went into the never land. Flying West.  Changing date lines. One day just sort of went up in smoke.  Not to be regained until we do the reverse flight.  Then, poof, we’ll regain a day.  At least that is the promise.  I followed our flight path.  The most direct route would have taken us over Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan.  Apparently not advisable.  Instead we did a northerly arc.  The Stans.  Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan.  Of course there would of been the day when that would’ve been “enemy territory”.  Back in the USSR.  But things change. 

The Route

       Which brings me to Delhi.  The first time I landed there, 1988, I immediately knew I had arrived at a place beyond my imagination. The airport was packed.  But not necessarily with passengers.  It was the crash pad.  People everywhere, but not going anywhere.  Some food and a blanket, if you were lucky.  Today the new Indira Gandhi International Airport is state of the art.  Apparently it won the “Best International Airport” award two years in a row.  And from what I saw it deserved it.  A large bronze sculpture greeted us with all the positions of the yoga mantra, Salutation to the Sun.  Pretty cool.  Delhi was a whirlwind.  We stayed on the edge of old and new Delhi.  And what a difference.  Old Delhi is non stop “in your face”.  Crowded, noisy, fascinating.  New Delhi was what made the British comfortable.  Wide avenues, lots of trees and landscaping, a feeling of cleanliness.  The Indians, of course, took it over in 1947.  But they take pride in it.  All the government buildings are there.   The president lives there.  The parliament works there. Mahatma  Gandhi and Indira Gandhi met their fate there. On the opposite spectrum, Old Delhi is just that.  It is the way India has been for centuries.  Crowded, deals on the street, sleep on the street, piss on the street, honk on the street, thrive on the street.  Take your choice, Delhi has both.  

       We had a contact in Delhi, compliments of Chicago Irving, Nadim.   A fine young man whom Irving met in India some ten years ago.  Took him from the street and helped him get his degree as a tour guide.  We spent an evening and a day with him.  

Nadim and Cynthia at Humayun's Tomb, Delhi

Cynthia and I picked the sights, he was the guide.  He definitely wanted to show off New Delhi. He thought, probably correctly, that that is where the Western tourist would want to go.  (I, on the other hand, was drawn to Chandni Chowk, heart of Old Delhi and the place of all things).  So we toured the tourist highlights.  Walked the final path of Gandhi, marked by cement imprints of his sandal tracks, to the place he was assassinated by his Sikh guard. So classic of the world we live in.  The man dedicated to the non-violent way (ie. Martin Luther King) assassinated by the men that just couldn’t handle it.   

     

Gandhi's Last Walk

       Speaking of the Sikh’s. The highlight of the day was the Gurudwara Bangla Sahib temple. It was glorious in its majesty, and its message.  One thing that got our immediate attention was its kitchen.  As we toured it there was a throng of volunteers preparing food in its massive space.  The Sikh Temple, in a mission to be of the people, prepare three meals a day available to anyone who needs to eat.  Given the throngs of poor in Delhi, I can’t imagine how this is played out.  Since we were not there at mealtime we do not know what restrictions, if any, are placed on those who come.  Nadim said none, though I find that hard to believe.  Anyway, an abundance of food was being prepared and I am sure it was being consumed by those in need.

Gurudwara Bangla Sahib Temple, Delhi

     Just as we thought we were getting passed our jet lag (11-1/2 hours difference from the Lake) we had to arise at 3:30 a.m. to make our 6:30 a.m. flight to Manali.  Somehow both Cynthia and I felt rested.  We were ready to leave Delhi.  The two prop plane took us up and into the thick clouds for the 1:15 hour flight.  Talking about different worlds. We landed on the single runway with the same clouds completely enshrouding us. 

Kullu Airport

The raging Beas river was running mad and muddy close to the runway.  However, as we left the airport an immediate smile came to both of our faces.  Four cows were leisurely strolling the street.  Ahh, now we were in the India we knew and loved.  The one where animals, particularly the sacred cow, has as much right to the road as the human carrying car.  A 30-minute ride along a narrow two lane road, flanked by the unbelievably wild movement of the river, brought us to Old Manali.  

     The jury is still out here.  Cynthia came down with a ferocious cold.  She is definitely out of it and slept most of the day. The monsoon season has not left yet, thus the raging river.  Our hotel got excellent write ups in LP and Trip Advisor.   Given that, it was a shock.  Kind of out of town, not really a hotel, more like a stay at the old farmhouse.  Our room is large and comfortable, but modern it is not.  Feels like the 19th century.  More types of animals than I can count, flowers in a thriving garden, a beautiful view from the expansive porch down the cloud covered valley will eventually make us glad to be here.  

Porch view of Manali Valley

But right now I must admit we are in a bit of befuddlement.  I keep in mind what I long ago learned from my travels.  To arrive in a strange new place is seldom easy.  It takes getting one's legs.  Right now it is way too early to write anything off.  

8/28/16  8:30 a.m.

  Remembering the lack of good coffee in India, Cynthia and I came prepared.  Starbucks French Roast Instant.  Recommended by good friend Pat Torpie.  Smart.  The choice of coffee was Nescafe or nothing.  Yikes.  No restaurant as such at the “hotel”.  However, a decent breakfast was served on our porch.  The sky is certainly not clear, but not threatening either.  A peace prevails.  Cynthia is better this morning.  I am going from half empty to half full.  One thing that is absolutely positive.  We are in the mountains!