Hopping Hills and Hopping Mad

After getting thoroughly fatigued by Delhi's polluted air and crowded conditions in the tourist ghetto, we were fortunate enough to spend two days with our friends, the Shins, in south Delhi. With their characteristic munificence, they fed us three well-balanced meals a day and we enjoyed playing with their kids, four-year old Ji-Min who speaks perfect English and her little brother who has hair that stands straight up as if by static electricity and has just learned to walk in the few months since we saw him last. We took the train to Kathogdam and then had a nausea-inducing jeep ride up to Almora to find the bike right where Esin and Uli said it would be. After resting for two days in the hamlet of Kasar Devi, once bright shiny morning we were loading all our luggage onto the bike to start moving across the state of Uttaranchal when we got into the first full-fledged fight of our travels of eight months. The proprietors of our guesthouse changed the price of our room from 100 to 150 rupees, which wouldn't have been a big problem if we had rationally discussed the misunderstanding and they had conceeded that the senile elderly father had made a mistake. But they refused to take any money from us, called us cheaters, and Ingrid lost her temper. After screaming her best in hindi, we went down the hill to Almora and found some police, who listened to Ingrid's excited, grammatically tragic version of the story and were very happy to tell us not to worry about it. Long story short, we didn't pay for our two nights stay and proceeded on to Gwaldam. We have hopped from one town to the next over the past four days in the foothills of the Himalayas and have finally ended up back in the hot plains in the city of Dehra Dun, where we are attempting to conglomerate all our supplies for the trip up to the high mountains following our Vipassana. With only the help of some tarp, a pair of bandannas, and an extra mechanics outfit, we are attempting the next metamorphosis of our identities. As Dignan says in the film "Bottle Rocket:" "On the run from Johnny Law; ain't no trip to Cleveland." Adios.

Delhilation

Back in Delhi, and it is hard to convey or even understand the elation we are feeling from the streets that are filled with filth yet so magical. No more straight sidewalks to walk on, or putting your legs on automatic pilot while your mind wonders around. You have to be here now, or you'll get run over. Our minor irritations have left us as soon as we came to Delhi and although it is hot here too not like Thailand. We feel happy and our appetit0es are rising day by day. Streetcarts are full of mangos and we are giddily using our Hindi once again, much to Indians' glee. Alp and his moustache remind folks of Bhagat Singh, the legendary freedom fighter, and people give him his due respect. We are staying in a rat trap hotel but Esin and her travelling swiss cheesemaker companion are staying one floor below us. We are spending a lot of time in our cramped rooms, drinking tea and eating mass quantities of the Isins' favourite things (like honey, yogurt, and bread) and talking about our travels. They left the motorcycle in Almora, in the foothills of the Himalayas near the western Nepali border, and we will pick it up in about a week. We'll be waiting for the high passes to open to start our Ladakh and Kashmir trip, so in the meantime we are going to attend a ten-day Vipassana meditation course in Dehra Dun at the end of May. We don't know too much about it but it is ten days of silence, men and women separate, everyone avoiding interpersonal interaction. There are centers all over the world and it is run on a donation basis. Click on the title for the link to the website.