So the backstory is i visited Kathmandu towards the tail end of a year long adventure in 1995. Quite the highlight of my year. Three months. Trekking. Whitewater rafting. Drinking.

In 1998 I returned and my buddy Gary (a Canadian whitewater guide I met in 1995) introduced me to the family of Sunil, Bishnu, Sagar, Sabina and Korfina.

I spent many days with them in 1998, 2000 and most recently in 2006. So it’s been ten years. Our relationship has continued and my first goal was spending time with them. I arrived a few days ago. I am staying wth them a ten minute walk from Thamel. The irony is Sagar, Sabina, and Korfina are all living and working in other countries to make life work. But Sagar’s wife and two year old daughter are here.

Kathmandu continues to feel like a shit hole when you arrive. This might have been the first time I had a clear day landing. Even my first time here I was like WTF? Gross. But as you’ll see the place grows on you. And it changes you.

The population has exploded. Introduction of antibiotics years ago, lack of family planning, and migration to cities for jobs has Kathmandu being like the Mexico City of Nepal. But smaller scale. Nestled between soaring peaks at about 4500 feet, the pollution becomes apparent as you drop down from 35000 feet into the bowl. Whoa. I was warned.

It seems every single street is broken down except for the ones in the tourist area, Thamel, and the big ring road. It also seems like every single person now owns a moto, wears a mask when driving and, quite honestly, think walking would be a more efficient method of getting around. The traffic without any traffic lights (that I’ve seen) is like motocross on steroids. I mean I have NEVER seen that many motorcycles. Even in Beijing but that was 22 years ago.

I said back in 1995 never trust an overweight Nepali or one who wore jeans. Haha. Well, not too many overweight ones but jeans and smart phones and motos are ubiquitous (there’s that word again) and normally all three are combined.

The normal conservative dress down culture is gone. For the most part. Still there are men in traditional clothes and hats and women in saris. Now add to that stretchy pants, tons of makeup and new hair styles. Leather jackets.

I still think the Nepali people are the most visually stunning in the world and definitely the most friendly. From maybe 12-15 years old to around 40, they are striking. A mix of Indian, Tibetan, Chinese. All very different. Add in the sometimes jet black hair and high cheekbones and there are both men and women that are runway worthy. They rarely grey or lose their hair. And as they age they just become more regal. Get to 60 here and life makes you stunning again.

Namaste with hands pressed together. I salute the god in you. Incredible.

It’s mainly a subsistence economy here. Lots of corruption and bullshit. Tourism is massive as you can expect. Trekking and rafting and homestays. It keeps the economy afloat. The earthquake in 2015 broke my heart as I was helpless to do much but it didn’t break the spirit of these deeply spiritual people. Temples on every corner.

Walking through Thamel was like walking back in time for me. My old hotel, Hotel The Earth, has been closed for ten years but other mainstays are still here. The Kathmandu Guest house. Yin Yang restaurant. Ultimate Descents rafting though the owner died years ago. Fire and Ice Pizza. I am still expecting to just run into an old raft guide buddy, someone I bought hash from or an aging Sadhu that hung rocks from his dick. Yes. It used to happen.

In 1950, around the time Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay started dreaming of climbing Everest, the population stood at about 100,000.

Today it’s over 2 million for the valley. Go outside of the Thamel playland and it blows you away. The twisting turning roads of Thamel are just so cool still. I told Pandora there was probably 5000 shops here today when we spoke. Then I revised it down to 1000. I’m revising back up. You can get ANYTHING you want from the Himalaya regions here. Anything. And most people do. I could buy ten buddhas, ten tapestries, ten thankas. I mean the stuff is all gorgeous. The incense. The burning wood. The sewage. The fumes. You just can’t beat the place. Even though its idyllic veneer fails to address the massive inequality, poverty, child trafficking, drug trade (hash doesn’t count but for the record I don’t smoke anymore!) and dramatic environmental devastation (Sir Edmund Hillary said before he died he regretted building the airport in the Everest Region) that comes with both tourist consumption as well as the consumption associated with pleasing and carting said tourists and their shit up Everest and other trekking peaks. Yes. I’m a trekking snob. Big time. And I’m gonna carry my own shit up here by myself until I can’t carry it anymore. Or they carry me out. But I contribute to it just being here.

Google Maps sucks here. They can’t keep up with twisting turning roads (and likely some user error) and I kept failing trying to find where to get my trekking permit. So I succumbed to a rickshaw ride to get there. Yep. They are still here. Not the most crowded shot but you get it.

So i went ahead and said it. I’m going to trek to the Khumbu from Tumlingtar to Namche Bazaar (at least) on trails and through villages I’ve been many years before. More on that later but my heart is swelling with happiness to be able to do this. It just means so much to me. I’m not sure if I even realized it.

For the record I don’t need permits for my route. No one goes that route for some reason. Exactly.

My heart is so full and so emotional for this place finally. This place and these people have had such a profound influence on my life it’s hard to describe.

And i am so happy to be here.

Bhutan is amazing. And unique. If you wanna go, let me know and I will hook you up. Won’t be free. But it will be good.

I feel as though I had the whole country as my personal playland. Every time I changed hotels, buses or cities, someone was looking out for the stray Chilip (tourist) and making sure I got where I was going.

Getting to spend so much time with Chhimi, his wife Seday, her parents (Ama and Apa), and their three wonderful kids, (along with most of Chhimi’s family), was quite a treat. It felt like home. Easy. Drama free. Fun. Safe. Wonderful.

Seeing how Buddhism is integrated into most of their lives (I mean no shit there is a temple in EVERY town!) is quite astonishing and comforting. It’s watching a traditional culture grow up right before your eyes, while they (hopefully) take into account the mistakes many cultures make.

Now it’s not perfect. There are blemishes. It’s free market. People see and want more. Especially in the city. Who knows? Maybe in 20 years they will morph into little America? Haha.

I will say that they are asking the right questions. As long as they don’t (and I doubt they will) open up investment to other countries (meaning buying up property), they will fight it out amongst themselves. It’s the one MASSIVE mistake communities and countries make. Letting outsiders buy property. If you live and work there. Fine. If the community needs investment to survive? Maybe. With limits.

But every single community in the US (certainly the beautiful ones) have made the mistake of letting investors and massive amounts of second homes drive up costs and drive out regular folks. I’m not saying the second home owners or investors are horrible people. I’m saying it happens. Over and over. And people in the margins that don’t own property get screwed or are pushed out. You make up your own mind. Don’t pretend it’s not happening. Ask yourself.

I had a great trip and looking forward to returning. I feel comfortable here but only as a tourist. Wish i could have my camper here and just cruise around. Chhimi being here made the trip. His family. Friends. People he knows. I am so fortunate and wish everyone could do it this way. Even got a traditional hot stone bath tonight! And man. The chilis! Ara! Druk 11000. Suja. I could do without the Doma.

Painful to watch the news from Texas and our local election. Can we just have a real conversation and not the name calling? Guess what? The founding fathers didn’t dream about semi automatic weapons and an armed 300 million people. They didn’t. I don’t want to take your guns. I also don’t want to carry one. Can we talk about it and stop thinking the extreme will happen? Can we also focus on mental health? And a healthy interdependent society? I WANT different opinions. Real ones. Not bullshit. But man. Can we just have a real conversation that is not so self interested and paranoid that we shout each other out? I remember when i could have a beer with my conservative friends and at least talk about it. Now? I am not missing America right now. Just the woman i love and family and friends. The bullshit is sickening. Truly.

Off to Kathmandu and another land I love tomorrow. My love to all the Bhutanese. What a place! Maybe the Snowman Trek next time. Right Chhimi?

Kuzudzongbola!

Well not exactly. The Khenpo and I. Yes. Tecnichally today is the 4th day and 30 monks is an estimate. I mean who can keep track of these guys? They are everywhere! They come. They go. They are in Puja. They are cooking. They are debating. 1 guitar? Well if you don’t count the musical contraption the Khenpo has.

I have been so lucky to spend (nearly) five days here at Nalinda or Dali Goempa as it is called both.

I visited here five years ago and connected with the (now sort of retired) Khenpo. Khenpo means a lot of things but to me it means a super evolved Buddhist teacher. You can see our pictures from five years ago and now here.

The Khenpo is a cousin to Chhimis wife Seday. While other tourists came and went, I got to sleep here. Eat here. Hike here.

The Khenpo is about my age and just such a cool guy. His English is pretty good, he is funny and quite the loving charismatic guy. We have a great connection and similar world view. And he is, well, a monk!

I also brought my guitar. I’ve never traveled here in Asia with a guitar. Now those of you that know me know I’ve been playing for a few years and by no means think I am any sort of real musician. I like playing. I can play alone. It makes me happy.

However, having a guitar at a monastery is like having beer after a hard day of construction. People think either a. You invented the beer or b. It’s the best beer they have ever tasted.

The first day the Khenpo asked me to play a song. Later that night I sat in on English class as a request. They asked me questions for 30 minutes. Then they asked me about my guitar. I begged off but the monk English teacher said he would get it and my harmonica holder from my room. Of course the first song they wanted was from One Direction. Umm. No. I don’t play that.

Well if you can imagine 30 or so monks singing the chorus to 4 non-blondes “What’s up?”, you can imagine the smile on my face. It goes ” I said hey yeah yeah yeah I said hey yeah yeah, I said hey, what’s goin’ on?” All in unison. Yep.

Finally they said “sir, can you play one more song? A sad one?” Well yes. I played The Ghost of Tom Joad. By Springsteen. One monk came up to me after and said “Sir, I felt the sadness.” Haha. No shit.

So my day began (not at my request) with the helpers making rice under my window over an open fire at 4:30 AM. The monks are performing a puja, have English class, and are super busy. Oddly the rice making is less invasive than the cacophony of dogs that sleep all day and wake up around 2 am to bark via call and response for about two hours. Like Chinese water torture, you think they have stopped, then continue again. Maybe now? No. Maybe now? No. Geez. Shut up! I nestled into my mattress on the floor (I doubled it. I’m soft) and cranked the loudest soft music I could find to attempt to drown it out. At 5 am came sleep.

For four days I was assigned a monk that basically babysat me. First came Sikkim (his nickname), an aspiring rap singer. He also made me food.

I would have breakfast with the Khenpo. The first day he mentioned about Donald Trump’s son being indicted. Since I have gone dark for almost five days (as of this draft), I still don’t know what happened and still don’t know who won the World Series!

After breakfast, first Sikkim, then Gyem, took me hiking. I donned my full trekking pack as yes I have a dream for my next country. 4 days of hiking to villages for temples, archery, and yes guitar.

Gyem had me for three days. On day two he insisted on carrying our lunch. I wanted some weight. He said bring your guitar. We hiked all the way up to a village a few hours above us. At our lunch stop he asked if I could play a song he could sing? Sure. What song? One Direction. WTF? I pulled it up on my phone to learn the chords. Imagine a monk singing about other guys wanting his girl while i butchered the chords. No, the irony was not lost on me.

The highlight (so far) was me being invited to watch part of the puja. Chhimi suggested I bring gum for the monks. So as you see the pictures and/or video imagine me passing out gum right as they start to beat the drums just as I am bending over with the gum. It scared the shit out of me! I almost shit myself!

Every night I got to have dinner with the Khenpo and Sikkim and Gyem.

Spending time around people with unending love and kindness is quite special. Being able to connect with these folks, young and old, has been amazing. So real. So friendly. Not wanting anything but real connection. And laughs. Even the 8 year old Rinpoche, or reincarnated lama. I fell in love with his energy.

I lived pretty simply while here. Got to be outdoors. Learned so much about how they lived without focusing on their teachings per se. Got to play guitar in the afternoon while tour groups came through. You’re STAYING here? Yep.

I’m both happy and sad to leave. Knowing I really enjoyed myself and connected with these folks that do so much with so little. Time was short. Yet knowing i could never fit in in the long run.

Even if I learned a One Direction song…..

Haha. Just kidding. But I will say some or most of their ideas may help save the world. Renewable energy, sustainable development, responsible tourism and, through Buddhism, a belief we are all interconnected. Now if they can just lay off the rice a little bit…

I completed my journey on the shittiest road on the planet. Bhutan is turning their one lane road from west to east into a two lane road. The interim step is basically a one lane road, dirt, meandering thru mountains and over a dozen passes higher than say 13000 feet. No small task. I’m gonna say from Thimphu, the largest city, to Samdrup where I crossed from India, is like 475 miles. It took me 40 hours, all in bus or shared taxi. Except for the last 4 hours with Chhimi and his family. Do the math. Chhimi says it will be done next year. Those Buddhists! Positive thinking!

The amazing thing about their society is they make a conscious effort to utilize the good in the world and try to shield the communities from the bad.

Now, let me explain how this utopian approach is the perfect storm. They’ve only had TV since 1999, they have the ultimate consumer in India as a neighbor to buy their green energy and stimulate the economy, and they wisely implemented high value/low impact tourism. The goal being to bring money into the country while preserving their cultural uniqueness. It also keeps dirty broke backpackers from laying around here forever. If you’ve ever experienced that type of travel, it’s fun, interesting, and never dull. But it can get old and rot communities. Imagine 200 Israeli backpackers, fresh out of the military, creating a little Jerusalem in Goa India (or Lake Atitlan in Guatemala for that matter), setting up shop for months to scrounge on 10 bucks a day. Not picking on them, but you’ve all met a group like them or from another country that move in and screw up the economics. I digress. Sorry.

So I wish I had longer in the east as I loved it and WAS THE ONLY TOURIST! So great. Even the sore butt from sitting.

Chhimi and his family picked me up in Phobjigan, an isolated Hamlet with rolling hills and the winter home of the endangered black neck cranes. Saw an injured one in captivity. Beautiful animals. There are also Himalayan bears, yaks, and leopards.

We stayed in another nice hotel as again, they are creating this model of comfy tourism around cultural uniqueness. Then we had a home cooked meal at one of the homestays.

So Bhutan is taking an active stance of spreading the wealth and redirecting the pipe of money to create sustainable development in rural communities. What. A. Concept. You mean Jeffrey Bezos isn’t creating a supply chain model to have cheap rice delivered by drone there? No.

And that is perhaps the single most important point in this whole rant during my travels here. Buddhism believes in the interdependent nature of all beings. You hurt. I hurt. You thrive I thrive. There is a WE surrounding ME. Essentially. And it is the prism, the undercurrent from which all their thoughts and actions arise. I thank my girlfriend Pandora for helping me come to that conclusion today while discussing this.

More importantly, even though they have an open and free economy, from the top down it’s “hey, how do we all thrive and what programs can we put in place to give EVERYONE a chance.” Collectively.

That of course is the exact opposite mentality of many Americans. In particular the orange man in the White House. His “I’m gonna take daddy’s money and parlay it into way more through bullying, lawyering and overall self promotion and bullshit. I win. You lose. Always. AND I’m gonna do my best to constantly show off my gaudy unnecessary shit while i only play nice with people that share MY goal. Which is to make me look better and feed my massive ego to likely overcompensate for my small… soul.”

You may have voted for him. And I’m not gonna not be your friend because you still support him. But if you did and do, your brain and soul are both in question. The man embodies every single thing I

struggle with as an American. You may say “screw you Bob, go live somewhere else or try to affect change.” Well I have tried and just because I can honestly critique my country and myself (because I am in no way above and beyond reproach), does not make me unpatriotic or whatever other stupid classification one may throw on me for pointing out our completely fucked up culture and whacked out priorities. And our willful ignorance when they are presented to us. Rant completed.

Back to Buddhism. The King abdicated his power to create a Democracy about ten years ago. Imagine that. You can believe in free markets, being rich or having a lot. But if you don’t believe we ALL benefit by a healthy complete total community, a healthy environment and a just world, and work in some small way every day to move our collective consciousness in that direction, in any way YOU see fit, not me. Well. You’re your own judge. I’m just asking the questions. Kadrin chey

I got a taxi to the “Swiss Guest House.” It’s been there for a long time. Not sure how long. As i walked up to the front a Bhutanese woman came out and greeted me. Kuzudzongpola i said. Yeah. It’s a tough greeting. But after awhile it just rolls off your tongue. The lazier you are with it, the more respect you get it seems.

I asked her where the trail started for Petsoling monastery. She said “follow me. And that is Tiger and Lily. They know the way and will follow you.” The collared lab/shepherd/rottie mixes and I headed off.

I had decided to do a nice hike to gauge my strength and my knee as I am dreaming of a big Nepal trek next month. The book said a 2600 foot climb. I’m already at right around 10000 feet. Alrighty. And a monastery up top!?! I packed a 20 or so pound pack to give me a little weight. Let’s go.

Well Tiger and Lily knew the way, but they weren’t very vocal when i went the wrong way. I was rocking it. Knocking it out faster than I thought when a few “options” came my way. Hmmm. I’ll go this way. They followed. I came across a not so good English speaking local. Which way? He says right. Motioning with his left hand. Then go left of the mani wall. Motioning with his right hand. Hmm. Not confident at this point. I took off. As I got higher the brush got thicker. Should I turn back? Nah. Just bushwhack. I mean, I saw kinda where it was. Oh man. A solid hour of me hiking thru the densest Amazon like forest. As steep as a step ladder. Thick deep soft earth. Running into impossible thickets. The dogs frolicking and taking advantage of their low center of gravity. I gotta take a break. Clouds coming in. I mean it’s RIGHT THERE!

A small feeling of panic set in. I am glad there are no thorns or poison oak. I’m getting tired. This is hard work. Dogs chasing some beast in the bush. I break right. See a little less brush up ahead and burst onto the trail. A stone stupa in my sights. Damn. I gotta get a ride down. There is a road up there I heard. I’m wrecked.

As I approached the monastery, a few young monks waved. I motioned which way.? They directed me. I arrived with my pack of animals in tow. I poked around. Put on my pullover all the while noticing the protective nature of my two furry friends. I mean they had never left me but certainly hadn’t corrected my mistakes. All of a sudden they jump to attention. Become really focused on me and warded off the monastery dogs as they looked to challenge and harass me. It was amazing. It was like instant bonding. They drew close. Literally attaching themselves to my side and trading off. I found later they are brother and sister.

We move around the monastery to where all the young monks are playing. I come up and they of course engage me. The English speaking ones asking questions. They ask me if I want to play. Motioning to this dart like object with a thick handle. Kind of like a big dandelion weeder/dart. The boy says “hit post.” I’m like a good forty feet away, being watched by 20 some monks and all the while thinking “the national pastime is ARCHERY! I feel pressure!” A few older monks peek out from the building above the field to watch.

I wind up like I’m throwing a baseball and let it fly. Whack! Dead center. I’m not sure who was more surprised. I’m like, yeah. No big deal. Had I hit the second one they might have really been impressed. I should have walked away.

I told my sad story of being lost, all the while the monks are feeding the dogs and laughing in the flirtatious ways monks do. From maybe 5 yrs old to 20?

After a while the oldest and best English speaking monk says he will show you the way down motioning to one monk. He has to go to town to get his tooth pulled. But he can’t speak English.

Let’s do it!

I’m thinking back to my first monk interaction in China 22 years ago and taking some pics and chatting. While waiting the older monk says. “Now you have two” as another young monk saunters over. AND he speaks English. He’s sick too.

So we start down the trail, dogs in tow and started chatting. This is EXACTLY why I’m traveling solo. I get to connect with these young monks both verbally and non verbally, hear their life stories (one is a dancer and one a singer) and have a good laugh for 90 minutes.

We stopped halfway down, the dogs nuzzled up to me as if they were mine and the English speaking monk says he never spoken at length with any tourist as they are in a group. Man. I was so lucky. The boy says “did you see bear on your way up?” What? “Yes. Small Himalayan bear here.” Maybe THAT’S what they were chasing!

We continued on. Saw where I missed the turn and rolled into the Swiss Guest House just as it got dark. I told them how awesome their dogs were in spite of them letting me wander, had tea and cookies and got a taxi into town. With the monks. We capped the night off with a plate of momos at a local haunt. Yep. That’s why I’m here. Rescued by monks. Hope the pictures attach. If not i will post to FB next. Get to finally see Chhimi and his family tomorrow!

So if you don’t know, Bhutan measures its economy on Gross National Happiness. I must go to Wikipedia for you if you want to know more.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gross_National_Happiness

It’s real. It’s true. It’s Bhutan. About 700k people. Used to be a Buddhist Monarchy. Now a democracy. More facts later. I call it Switzerland in the Himalayas.

So some backstory here. When I went to Humboldt State for my Graduate degree in Energy Environment and Society from 2007-10, I was lucky enough to become good friends with Chhimi Dorji. He is from here. I love Chhimi. He’s been back to the states a few times. He is married with three kids. We had some adventures in grad school. He was my tech guru. Backpacking. Learning to drive in the US. Momo making parties.

My old girlfriend Andrea and I came here in 2012 to see Chhimi and his family.

The rub is that while Bhutan is on many travelers bucket list, for reasons you will see, the Bhutanese govt has a very very controlled approach to tourism.

One normally has to pay to join a group tour. The minimum cost being $250 a day. Per person. However, if a Bhutanese lives abroad they are allowed to have two visitors a year. I believe that’s the rule. So do the math, Andrea and I went for two weeks. But we were Chhimis friends and thus didn’t have to pay and could travel independently. Sweet.

This time I got a one month visa and crossed at Samdrup Jongkar. A remote southeastern border near Guwahati India. Yes. I’m lucky and very appreciative of this opportunity. Not many people get to do this.

So you can basically walk across the border. But of course you have to check in. Indians can enter with no fee and move around freely. But have to register.

So. In I walk into Bhutan. I gave them my passport and visa and he says okay. Please make a copy and drop it later. AND you have to register at the regional immigration office. But rest first.

Of course everyone seems to know everyone and my buddy Chhimi hooked me up with hotels and permits etc. AND he knew the director of immigration. Because they had no idea what to do with an old scruffy backpacker without a guide and tour. 2 1/2 hours later. I got my thru permit today. Monday.

Of course my first night was amazing here. I used to say it takes three weeks to shed your American skin. Less true with mobile data. Samdrup is a cool border town. Safe. Not crowded. Still low so still hot but just a little less so. I sat down for dinner and said man, I gotta explore. So I walked around town in the dark, settling in a “bar” that had about 7 Indian laborers. I walked in. Ordered a Druk beer and stood in the 15 by 30 foot room. No room to sit. The laborers (i found out what they did later) looked at quizzically until I bought a small bottle of whiskey. I don’t think they liked me. But dammit they respected me! There were a few English speaking locals in the place and they invited me to sit and share a beer. They invited me to Karaoke. I went. I drank more. They starting singing. They asked me to. I looked at the list. Knew two songs.

My rendition of Knocking on Heavens Door (Dylan version) got good reviews. My rendition of Californication did not.

I really liked the town. I don’t want to be redundant as I wrote a few emails five years ago on this topic but rolling into Bhutan from India is surreal. Now this border is not as crazy as the other i crossed five years ago. That one had a massive difference in cultures and energy when crossing. This one was just a line. A little less crazy in Bhutan.

Chhimi will tell you it’s not perfect here. But imagine a really old Buddhist Culture combined with a really progressive society. Without a massive amount of people. Well educated. Friendly as hell. Safe. Many speak English as well as Dzongkha. Beautiful hills and mountains with the Himalayas behind them. Traditional festivals and events. Stunning religious sites. Cell service. Incredible food.

What’s the catch? There is none. It’s a great place. You just gotta take a tour. And I don’t.

In addition to their Gross National Happiness, they up until recently were considered 100% renewable energy. They have moved towards some dams as opposed to all run of the river hydro (I gotta get an update when I see Chhimi) but they sell all their excess energy to India. And invest it back in their communities. So one could argue they might not be thriving as much if they didn’t have a billion people south of them charging their cell phones. But they are trying to do it right. If not already, they have a goal of being carbon negative (again gotta check updates but think they are already) and have an intense drive towards sustainability.

Yeah. Go there. You can trek too. What?! Their big bank is Bank of Bhutan. Yes. BoB. And they call it that.

My good fortune was drilled into my head as I walked into my hotel last night, dare I say tipsy, and there were 30 Spanish tourists having the last meal of their tour, all with matching tour t shirts sitting together.

Now I’m gonna miss a lot taking local transport and no tour bus. But

I’ll be at my speed and pace. Just how I like it. Except for the landslides again today…..

While grammatically incorrect, this correctly describes my last hours in India. With no other option to get to the Indian/Bhutanese border from Guwahati, Manoush and I rolled out of town this morning to Springsteen’s Born to Run on my iPod. He asked for a famous US singer.

We set out early and I don’t think he smokes pot in the AM. But I was a little concerned when he asked me where we were going and how to get there. I pulled it up on Google Maps and away we went.

My last few days in India have been great. The heat dropped a tad and I got to spend a whole day in Guwahati not rushed or driving.

I finally started feeling a tad connected with the people that worked at  the hotel, some street vendors and of course Manoush.

After seeking out the only coffee shop in town, I expertly found an internet cafe using my handy Indian smartphone to  print out my Bhutan documents. Google would not let me log on from another computer and wanted to send me a text to unlock. Fatal flaw in their system. Frantic moments ensued as I had asked the owner of the cafe to use his computer, bypassing waiting for students. After 10 frustrating minutes and feeling pressured, I forwarded the documents from gmail on my smart phone to my yahoo account and felt vindicated. Fuck Google. Greedy pricks anyway.

I decided to walk around town since it was less than 90 and sauntered over to a restaurant recommended by the Bible. Lonely Planet India. I sampled the BBQ fish (more like a herring) and yes,  the fried pidgeon. It was early and I knew I would pay for it so I slid over to the bar across the street for a beer,  some cheap whiskey and my own private viewing of The X Factor on the bar TV. I was mesmerized. Simon is such a dick  I want to punch him!  Haha.

Anyway I got to walk home in the early evening finally getting a real Indian evening with the traffic and madness. I was the only westerner in all my days in Guwahati and this was no different. The smells. The sounds. The looks. But mostly indifference.

However I got a chance to really look and see how people interact. I mean there is soooo much shit for sale. Everything from fruit and toenail clippers to cars and jewelry. Every single place on the street sells stuff. It’s like people are passing money around in the great dance of needs and wants for them and their kids. Shoe repairs. Knife sharpening. Tailors. Sari makers. And a food stand every other door.

There was an article online about how small vendors and skilled workers are getting hammered by the new economy. They use to have to restuff beds every year with cotton to maintain comfort for example.  So this new raging tech economy is going to push some people down even more. And not just because there is no app for good street food,  it’s because the rising Consumptive class is driving costs up while many of the services are provided to the poor,  by the poor. Trickle down economics my Ass. Economists and politicians always seem to focus on the income and revenue side but rarely the cost side. This is where the little guy gets hammered again. It flies right in the face of Ghandis argument of production by the masses instead of mass production. And that’s what happens with the aggregation of resources into the hands of a few in EVERY economy. New or old. And that, I believe, is the saviour for communities. A local economy based focus. Limiting mass accumulation in some form. Or least has the conversation within communities. Just a thought.

So thank you India and here comes Bhutan!

And Manoush DOES smoke a spliff in the morning. FYI.

As I went into my harmonica solo for Bruce Springsteen’s “Darkness on the Edge of Town” I realized that something was wrong. Well, I had switched to a D harp for the previous Springsteen song. But they don’t know the difference. Do they? . I quickly popped my A harp back into my holder and completed the song to the mild amusement of the onlookers. They seemed happy.

Landslides are a pretty grim reality here at times. In the middle hills in front of the Himalayas. Every year hundreds, if not thousands, of people die during the monsoon across the large swath of Himalayan foothills likely from Pakistan all the way to Eastern India. Sometimes whole villages. Buried.  Communities and families destroyed. Farms wiped out. Then they rebuild. Karma? Hmmmm.

They are also a daily occurrence along the roads.

Today we were lucky enough to experience three. One that lasted a long time as the villagers nearby armed with a big backhoe device cleared the road. As I shared my driver’s spliff (yes my driver likes to smoke pot while navigating these winding treacherous dirt roads as we roll down from 10000 feet to near sea level.) “Two hours sir.” So I pulled out my travel guitar and harmonica and perched myself on the nearest errant boulder and started to play.

What started as a few people, quickly grew to 20 (maybe 100 people are waiting on each side. Growing every minute.) As I looked up at the end of the first song and saw the people, I had my first real connection with the people here. I got a good laugh and smile out of them when I smiled. Realizing  I was the only westerner there and we were all in the same boat. Pictures and videos ensued.

It has been so hard to connect with people here as I have mentioned. So any chance I get……

So the rest of my time in Tawang was great. It’s a beautiful place and you likely saw pictures of my taxi ride to the Bhutan border. I am crossing into Bhutan on Sunday to see my friend Chhimi from Grad school. Everyone should have a Bhutanese friend!  Haha.

But I’m crossing a different border. The one I visited I am not allowed to cross. But the Indian guards made me fill out all the forms so I could walk 100 meters past their post. Then fill them out again when I returned. I got a good laugh with the army dudes.

My taxi driver,  Tashi, was a nightmare. If you can imagine 9 hours in a taxi with an Indian guy with very basic English trying to impress you enough to go back to the US with you. “sir one time I have tourist and they said I’m the best driver” in the first five minutes. “Sir you bring girlfriend next time and I marry and come to USA” And my favorite. “More rice sir? ” No. More rice sir. No. More rice sir. No. More rice.  NO!!!

AND he insisted on making me skip songs on my iPod he didn’t like.

I kid you not that was the exchange. “Sir I come to hotel with gift later.” Dude just get me home.

So the drive was basically like driving thru the Nepalese foothills weaving thru valleys and villages with the highlight being the giant white Tara statue I put in pics. Just staring out over the valley. Stunning.

My long drive back was me trying to figure out how to get out of this painful situation. Knowing full well I got fleeced on the fare.

We finally left yesterday to make the now two  day drive back to the heat in Guwahati. The highlight  today being my driver, not high yet, flying down the twisting and turning dirt roads in the densest fog I have ever been in. And I lived in San Francisco! No shit maybe 40 feet of visibility. Maybe. He hates using headlights. Some mild buttpuckering moments as he leaned his head out of the car to see better,  then slammed on the brakes to avoid an oncoming vehicle. Careful not to slip too close to the side. Its a one lane road. It’s an absolutely stunning drive thru rolling mountains and steep drop offs and waterfalls and rivers and streams.

We dropped thru the fog enough to start to feel the heat right when we stopped with these 100 or so cars eventually. Parked on this landslide road, totally exposed. Light drizzle. Bugs. Sweaty.  Steep 500 foot drop down to our side. And I am just so happy not to

have the shits.

So we climbed out of Bahlonpong to start driving thru the foothills and up to Sela pass. Which is redundant as La means pass here. A solid ten hours and a day and a half brought us to the relatively low approx 14000 foot Sela. Landslides,  Indian military (we are close to Tibet) and rainy mountain scenery. It’s closer in geography to Bhutan or Nepal. The comfort of prayer flags and stupas makes me feel at home. 

For some incredible reason, once we got over the pass, the road was lined with Tibetan women (well they looked and dressed Tibetan)  breaking and moving rocks by hand. Young and old. Some with small children.  In the cold and rain. What? Very humbling. All women. 

The Tawang valley is incredible. Beautiful. Steep hills. Amazing waterfalls. Warmer. 

The relationship with dogs here is different. They seem to have the same bulletproof quality as cows. They sleep in the road and people avoid them. Of course they are the ubiquitous black or brown. 35 lbs. All look alike. You know the ones. Like the Adam and Eve of street dogs started populating years ago and they look and act the same across Asia and Latin America. 

Now where these dogs seem bulletproof, they are the dirtiest, dingiest, skanky  assed dogs I’ve ever seen. Mange. Half of them are limping. Yet they remain fearless and don’t budge as cars whizz by while walking or sleeping. . 

And the Yaks. Clearly the most regal of animals and I am continually mesmorized by them. They must live at high altitude . Now there is some scientific dispute on whether they can’t live low because of heat or genes. But you don’t see purebred yaks below say 8000 feet. Once when trekking I awoke in the middle of the night to pee of course. There had been a thunder and lightning snow storm. A foot of snow had fallen since I went to bed. Sadly before digital cameras,  my stunning picture of a yak, asleep in the field next to the tea house,  a foot of snow on his back,  steam emanating into the night, didn’t come out. Wow. 

Tawang is beautiful. The growing wealth of the Indian population has made it a tourist destination. And if you had taken the road here,  you would be astonished at its size. Big. No lack of new cement buildings going up. Markets. The smell of smoke that accompanies this culture and takes me back to every small village I have ever been through up here. 

Watching cultures grow up can be tough. I mean you want them to thrive but at what cost to both their culture and the planet?

A book called Ancient Futures published in the 80s looked at some of these questions in Ladakh. Knowing these folks will all want cement homes (and certainly have every right to them), and cars or motos  (same),  you feel caught in the cross hairs. 

The maze of thought I was caught in whilst volunteering in Guatemala a few years ago was just that. The people have a right to develop, but when they cross the chasm from needs to wants the planet inevitably suffers. Needs are predictable. Poverty is somewhat predictable. Food, clothing, shelter right? 

But wants? Man. Say goodbye to the planet if every person can fulfill his/her wants. And I have this theory that education regarding ones actions on the planet tracks slowly behind in a culture that starts to become affluent. They get a few extra bucks. Want maybe some education but man. TV. Meat. Cell phone. Moto. And they don’t know the ramifications. 

I’m not saying they shouldnt have it. I’m saying its an emotional conundrum when doing any development work. Where do you put that in your brain? 

I love this place and this culture. Always.  Language is hard. Communication difficult. But the Tawang Monastery filled up my heart. 

I specifically asked the owner if the tour company for an English speaking guide. He said “Sure. But you need to pay more. ” I’m like, I’m spending a week with this dude. I don’t need to discuss foreign relations or the difference between Hinduism and Buddhism with him. It’d be nice but I would just like to know a tad about what we are seeing. When we are eating. How far. What time we are starting. The bar is not high. I mean I HAVE to take a guide by law. 

I showed up last night and the owner said “I wanted my friend to go but he said no so I am going.” Great. I’ve been waiting four days. Let’s f ing go! 

He was supposed to come to my hotel at 9 am the next day. Not there. Finally at ten I walk across the street. He says “I’m sick. Stomach. Dysentery.” I’m like “dude. I told you not to go to KFC! ” HAHA. Seriously. He looked sick. 

“But my friend will take you.”

Ah so I’m traveling with the reluctant friend and driver for a week. Can’t wait. He shows up and his name is Rinku Roy. I ask him if he’s was a Bollywood porn star with a name like that. Or a Vegas act. The driver’s name is Manoush. And there English is non existent. 

We set off for our five hour drive to Bahlanpong. I’m exhausted as i woke up to pee around 2:30 AM or so (promising myself I wouldn’t set the alarm. But the internal clock….) Maybe I will just check how my hometown Cleveland Indians are doing against the hated Yankees…..

Bad idea. 5 hour game.  Watched it all on my IPhone  Via gamecast on ESPN. No video. Just pitch by pitch. They won. I’m tired. At one point gamecast was not working right (of course in inning 13) and my friend Rita in Cleveland had to use facebook to comment and give me highlights. While driving. 

So off we go to the mountains. Before leaving town we had our obligatory stop at the drive by Ganesh. Ganesh is the elephant looking Hindu god. They have these roadside shrines (one in Kathmandu is actually a drive thru), where you can get a good luck blessing and toss in some rupees. So we pull up and toss some in.

It’s an 18 hour drive but these first five hours were more the  traditional India I’m used to. Beautiful green farms along the valley. The Brahmaputra river. Bamboo farmers. Shops. Kids on bikes. Women in traditional saris. Farther up the road some monkeys. And cows.

 Tons of them. Man. If you’re a Hindu or a Buddhist and/or believe in some sort of reincarnation, make sure you get it right when you’re ready to come back as a cow. Don’t think Indiana instead if India. You will end up on someone’s plate instead of being allowed to walk around naked overweight and/or pregnant. Sleep wherever you want (especially the middle of the road) and have even the most determined driver/madman slam on his brakes at 60 and nearly swerve into a bicyclist to avoid hitting you. 

It’s a crime to kill a cow here if you didn’t know. A person accidentally?  Not so much. 

The people here are not particularly friendly and can’t speak much English. I was warned via guidebook. My guide and driver are nice. But man it’s hard to get even a smile out of anyone else. I don’t know enough about it. I’ll have to ask neighbor Frank who comes here a lot. Culturally what’s up?  I mean in Shillong I thought it was because they were all Christian (seriously they were)  so maybe they all had some guilt complex instead of hey,  my karma man! 

But no. I did get sort of a smirk from the police dude checking my permit. He says “which country?” I said USA. He smiled. I’m sure he’s like “you got THAT dickhead for president? I thought WE we uneducated! ”

So I am finally at the base of the hills. As you slowly move away from the city, the feeling that progress and capitalism are like a large Pacman. Slowly chomping up bits of nature as you move north. The farther away from the city, you feel more like the Pacman has less to fuel him so the the greenery is spared. For now. 

I finally got the chance again to experience the living, breathing organism that is India. The madness. The side saddle girls on the back of motorbikes. With the kid in the middle. The fact that nearly every man, woman and child, but especially the women, look like they just came from a photoshoot. Clean beautiful clothes. Hair perfect. No sweat. It’s still 95 degrees! The weaving in and out of traffic. The buses and taxis whizzing by within a hair of people waking in the street. Nobody flinches or shows fear. That’s the ticket. Don’t hesitate. Let the symphony of Indian street life play out. Karma. It’s beautiful to watch. And you get used to it. 

Hills finally tomorrow. Back in Buddhist country!