Green Sikkim and Green World and Hunger Strikes

Sikkim sometimes reminds me of a "hippie" state... well not really... but it seems to have an activist and self-responsibility flair.

Signs along the road talk about keeping Sikkim Green, and say that Sikkim is pledged to organic farming and foods. One sign says "We do not inherit the Earth from the Past, but we borrow it from our children". There are anti litter signs and signs on protective cages around planted trees. People litter anyways...not used to garbage that doesn't biodegrade. Plastic shopping bags are banned. Newspaper is used to wrap purchased goods, folded into makeshift bags for produce, and even used for disposable food plates.

I think about how many resources are saved by the traditional way of life here. Mud and lathe homes made of local materials and independently of fossil fuel. Brooms made without wooden handles. Short stools used in homes to squat on. Most people are used to squatting for the toilet and also just as a way to "sit" wherever they gather. How much lumber does this all save? What will happen environmentally if they become "devolped" like the West and have chairs and brooms with handles. Multiply that by the population of India, and it is staggering.

I think people are much more limber here from all the squatting. Little stalls like convenience marts are usually hosted by a clerk/owner sitting lotus position in the little booth. I also would love to see a study of bone density and spinal health with all the carrying of loads suspended from the head. Working bones is supposed to be the best prevention against osteoporosis. They ought to be healthy here! The loads I see carried by young and old are amazing. Furniture... large cabinets... wood, produce, you name it. All with a simple locally made rope headband and perhaps a bamboo basket.

Currently there is a hunger strike going on (over 30 days). See http://weepingsikkim.blogspot.com for details. The local tribes and community are protesting a hydro-electric project that threatens local culture socially, environmentally, and physically. It's beautiful to see the empowerment of these people and the interest in cultural preservation. There are 12 participants about 15 meters from my hotel. Everyday local Buddhist monks and community members come and pray and make music, chants, and "puja" for them.

It's fascinating to see how technology and Westernization affect the culture and environment. In Ladakh two years ago, I learned how government sponsored projects bringing electricity to rural communities created poverty... because suddenly people needed cash to pay electric bills. Previously, they were able to grow or barter their necessities. I continually am upset by people's belief that poverty is based on dollar ammounts rather than a person/family's ability to have food, shelter, community and basic needs. And yet I see people pull themselves into it... wanting to have luxuries like the "developed world", and I see world corporations push it for the sake of money.

Speaking of things that smell of permaculture and sustainability, some friends of mine have an organization to teach people how to build sustainably:
http://kleiwerks.org

And I found this website on water collection:
http://raincatcher.org/

Gangtok, Sikkim

Last night I went out to eat for about the third night in a row with an older Englishman and younger Australian guy I met a few days ago. I've been enjoying eating some different foods as I'd been mainly eating the same stuff for days: Puri Sabji for breakfast (fried chapati's and stewed potatoes); Samosa Sabji for lunch (samosas are fried pastries full of vegetables and the sabji is often stewed potatoes and chickpeas); thali for dinner (thali's are complete meals including rice and 3-4 stewed vegetable/dahl toppings... dahl is lentil stew or broth depending on the preparation). Cheap and local and easy, but I was getting bored and I think protein deficient. So eating with Eric and Trent in some different places has been a treat. We went to Little Italy one night and I had what was really a decent pizza... something that can be hard to find in a country where cheese selection is often non-existant, and dough/bread often means chapati. So last night we had Chinese food, and tried to make a special order... some chilis added to the stir fry. Our first hurdle was when we asked for rice. The waiter said, "No, we don't have." Eric said, "You must have rice this is India!". "No." "Rice! Rice!" "Ohhhhh... rice... yes we have rice." Then Eric asked for some chile peppers to be added to a dish. "No, chicken vegetable does not come with chiles." "But you can add some chiles, can't you?" "Ok". The food comes and there are some strange looking bright red round things in it. I think maybe a tomato or some unique Indian vegetable. We taste them, and determine that they are cherries! We decide that the waiter heard "cherries" not "chiles". They must have thought we were so strange! Sometimes I wonder that we communicate anything. There is so much difference in accents and pronounciations.

Finding a good place to eat can be a cherished treasure. Eating local food is usually a good bet, but even still it varies. One Samosa Sabji comes with a vegetable broth/soup; another may come with a more hearty stew. The place I like to get my Puri Sabji comes with 4-6 large light puri's, and refills of stewed potato sabji... a good deal for about 20rs. One day they were out of Puri Sabji, so I got their vegetable chowmein: it was a tea saucer full for 18rs... not a very good deal. Western food, can be a real crap shoot (sometimes literally, because they don't know how to prepare it safely); pizza can be anything from a chapati with some sort of soft cheese to an airfilled dough with a more real cheese, to full blown woodfired oven cooked dough with sauce. Trent had Hawaiian pizza at a place that prides itself as a western style bakery the other night. He couldn't find the ham on the pizza, untill I pointed to a little piece of pinkish substance, and I don't think he ever found the pineapple that was supposed to be on it. The dough was full of air and sugar.

I try to eat local foods as much as possible, but usually find I prefer a little variety from time to time. We are so spoiled in the West. The locals here eat virtually the same thing everyday. Rice and rice and rice, and stewed vegetables and dahl. The vegetables are usually cooked to death. I can't really discern much difference in the spices.

Simple things can become so complicated.

A couple days ago, a couple of younger English guys showed up at the guesthouse. It's been raining everyday. Umbrellas are important here. Jerome's umbrella was broken already, only a few days old... so I took him to the umbrella repairman. I got mine about two weeks ago when I decided a rain coat or poncho just weren't so handy around town. I made the mistake of not trying it out myself when I bought it. From the start it would occassionally close itself. The metal tab that slides out of the shaft was sticky. It was also shaped to gradually so as to not form a good ledge for the sliding and holding mechanism to rest on. Within a week, it was no longer working. I tried to work on it myself a little; my local friend said there are "umbrella wallahs"... umbrella fixers. Sure enough, I remembered seeing men sitting on the side of the street with assortments of umbrella parts. So I sought one out. He held up a new catch to replace my old one. I thought this would mean disassembling the umbrella, but he merely slid the old one out through the slot, and inserted the new one. Less than five minutes. He charged me the tourist price of 25 rs. I imagine locals pay half that. I wondered why the umbrella manufacturer couldn't have just made a decent product to begin with. But this is typical of India. There are so many people here, so many customers, that quality doesn't matter. Someone will buy whatever you make. And labor is so cheap, that most anything will have a repairperson.

It can be frustrating. A few weeks ago I bought a manual pencil sharpener. It was only 3 rs (about 0.10 US$), but it didn't work. The pencil was rather flaky for that matter. Last week I went in search of some glue to afix photos to thicker paper in an attempt to make postcards myself. Finding a suitable glue was an ordeal. I told the first shop what I wanted, and they gave me some glue they said would work. It didn't. The paper peeled right off of the photo... it might have worked in a photo album, but not for going through the postal service. Then I tried to find "Fabquick" suggested by a local friend, and I ended up with super glue. It worked, but was difficult to work with and expensive. I went to a couple of shops and they tried to sell me a glue stick, which I just didn't trust to be permanent. So I gave up and bought envelopes... not wanting to spend more money on glue that didn't work. Everything takes longer and has more complications than you think here. Communication is probably the biggest factor besides it just being a different culture and world here.

I often go to the View Point... about a 10 minute walk from the guesthouse, its a relatively quiet pathway around the side of the hill that Gangtok sits on. From it, there is a nice view of the valley and river below, as well as surrounding hills. That is there is a view when it is not cloudy, which is rare this time of year. Many days, you just see the white of the clouds rolling by. The first day I went, I me a husband, wife, and their little girl selling peanuts, popcorn, and some snack I can't remember the name of made with dried noodle, fresh herbs and onions and peppers chopped in.... and then tea. One day the girl was practicing her ABC's. They are the sweetest family... always with broad, genuine smiles for me. Often when I walk the main street here after dinner (it is closed to cars after 6pm), I hear a "Hello" and see the man or his wife smiling at me. They speak about as much English as I speak Nepali and Hindi, so we can't communicate much. But I cherish seeing them. It can be relatively rare to find genuine, beaming smiles of friendship here. So often relationships are based on needs and expectations. And so often people are caught up in their own world... I know I often am. And I appreciate that they take me as they get me... sometimes I buy some snacks from them... sometimes I don't... there is never any pressure. They obviously trust their abundance.

Sikkim: Temi Tea Garden

Two weeks ago, Bhychung, a young man on the staff at the New Modern Central Lodge where I'd been staying in Gangtok, was laid off for the slow season. I found out after he had left and I was sad to not have been able to say goodbye. Bhychung always smiled and didn't gossip or tease, and never asked me for anything. Many of the other staff seemed to have ulterior motives. I searched the bus depot and jeep stand hoping to say farewell to Bhy. Fruitless in my search I wandered out to the viewpoint, a nice quiet area overlooking surrounding valleys. To my joy, there was Bhy, sitting on a bench. We chatted a bit. We watched workers clear a fallen tree by hand saw and human power. On their shoulders, four workers carried each log suspended on crosspieces lashed to the log. The strongest appeared to be a wrinkel faced 50-60 year old man who showed superior strength and grace to the 20 somethings assisting him. We watched him balance on the near vertical slope and heave logs up as the others pulled by rope from above.

Bhy and I enjoyed a hike down to the river through local farm villages: terraces of corn surrounding simple mud and thatch houses. I sang and prayed at the raging river. Then we hiked back up the steep hill. Bhy invited me to his village: Temi Tea Garden, Namchi, South Sikkim. He said we could jeep there the next day and do some treks together. I said I'd sleep on it. My pendulum said to go for it. And so the next day I met him at the jeep stand for the 2.5 hour ride to his home. I fought some car sickness on the winding roads... typical steep switchbacks of Sikkim. You can usually see your destination from a viewpoint, and practically throw a stone on it, yet the switchbacks and hills make a long journey out of it.

We arrived about midday at his village which was a smattering of farm houses amidst a vast tea estate. His home was rather like a compound of simple daub and wattle barracks around a central kitchen/home/living room complex. The coupound was shared by his grandmother, mother (his father deceased), several siblings and their spouses, and several aunts/uncles. Bhy and his brother Binod were my main companions. A couple siblings spoke some English, but to much of the family, communication was limited.

The household activity revolved around the central water spigot of spring water in the center of the compound, the kitchen hearth where the meals were cooked and eaten. There was also a living room with TV (a sattelite dish outside). The hearth made of clay was typical of those I've seen trekking in Nepal. About 15 inches high, 2 feet deep, and 4 feet wide, the hearth had a central hole about 12 inches into which the ends of firewood pieces could be stuck. Several burner holes for pots like on a cookstove were over top. A stove pipe carried some of the smoke out, slots in the roof took the rest. It was made out of adobe/clay. Burning embers were dipped in water to make charcoal for later fires. The family sat around the hearth on little wood stools (maybe 3 inches high). For a squatting culture, this is comfortable... the dishes were done squatting on one's haunches around the spigot... the toilet is a traditional squat toilet. One of the Aunties would laugh and bring me a stool when I tired of squatting by the water spigot to wash my feet.

Meals consisted of rice, a potato based curry, often dahl or lentils, some vegetables (beans, bitter melon, or squash). Three times a day! I sometimes grew bored... mainly because they wanted me to be well fed and often heaped my plate up with rice... too much rice for my tastes! All in all it was delicious though. Sometimes some sour milk left over from making curd was served as well.

About three doe goats and their offspring, a cow and calf made up the livestock. The cow provided milk for the family. The goats were raised to sell for mutton at 100 rs/kg. Terraces of corn with some squash and vegetables surrounded the compound. And a shade house for ornamental plants completed the compound.

I stayed in Binod's room (he stayed at his aunt's) which was one room in a row of three making a sort of barracks. The walls were paper thin and when the toddler on the other side moved in the night, I felt it.

The tea estate was the big employer in the area. Bhy's mom worked at a guest house on the estate. His sister in law picked tea. I think one Uncle worked for the government.

The day started at 5 am with dishes being washed, teeth being brushed, the cow being milked and animals fed. At 6 am the little nieces and nephews were singing and reciting their lessons outloud guided by parents or uncles. I got to help escort the 3 little children to school (about 20 minutes walk) a couple times. This was one of Binod's "duties". Binod, 19, had quit school a couple years ago after completing 8th grade; he did "duty" for the family which consisted of cutting a couple of baskets of fresh fodder for the livestock, chopping wood, escorting the children to and from school, and errands. The fodder was cut from the undergrowth in the nearby tea estate. It took maybe an hour to hour and a half for him to fill the large basket that would be suspended from his head. I helped a couple of days and was not very fast with the sickle and didn't dare try a big load without working up to it for fear I'd hurt my neck. The onlookers laughed and laughed at "the big man with the small basket!"

Binod says he wants to make money to have luxury. I find it odd. He doesn't realize the luxury of time he has in his life. He cuts fodder for a a couple hours per day, chops some wood, escorts the younger children to and from school and a few other chores. Maybe it adds up to 4-6 hours per day. Hard to say. He works a bit, watches TV a bit. Maybe plays card with relative. Visits with some friends. I know few people in the states who have such a relaxed life. Most are running around finding money to support their gadgets, then maintain their gadgets, in an endless cycle. Binod and his family seem to have what we say are the important things: family, food, shelter. They have a TV and phone. A car would be useless as there are share jeeps by the dozen passing by the nearest roadhead. Most of the village is connected by paths that cut across the steep switchbacks. Roads would be inefficient and environmental disasters.

The home is relatively comfortable and appropriate for the local conditions. Most of it is made from local materials except the metal roof, which has replaced the bamboo/thatch roofs of the past. The lumber, mud, daub, plaster... all are local, cheap. Some houses/buildings have roofs of flattened tins. I love the recycling here. Newspaper is used to wrap things at stores and even folded into makeshift bags. Sikkim has a ban on plastic shopping bags. Unfortunately corporate marketing still brings in plenty of plastic wrappers for things like candies, tobacco, detergent, processed foods. Locals are used to the past when they could just throw garbage over the bank and it would biodegrade. Hillsides are covered with litter now that doesn't biodegrade. Binod told me that the government pays people to pick it up. I'm not sure that happens or that it happens everywhere. Binod chastises me for always bringing my garbage home. It can be a real challenge to balance imposing my standards from my culture on another, and educating, and just trying to BE. After a week or two, I cringe and throw a potato chip bag on the ground. Binod laughs. I pray for environmental forgiveness.

The day we go out to cut fodder together with a sickle and basket, it is raining. Bhy asks if I want mosquito repellant. He is slathering kerosene on his legs. I decline. I haven't noticed many mosquitoes and usually don't use repellent in any case. I think about telling him that fuel is toxic. But I don't want to impose my reality on him. I wonder when someone will educate the community about the harmful effects of kerosene, and then sell them some chemical product like DEET which also has harmful effects, yet makes some corporation a lot more money.

It takes me a long time to fill the small basket I've chosen; I've never carried a basket from my head before, so I don't want to strain anything. I'm surprised how long it is taking me. They make it look so easy to gather a large amount of fodder from herbage that is maybe 6 inches high on average. Somehow they make a even cut about 1.5 inches off the ground. We are cutting the undergrowth from around the tea plants on the tea plantation. Tea pickers are above us on the hillside, laughing at me... the big man with the little basket. It took some effort for me to convince Bhy and Binod that I should cut fodder with them. They are so honoring of their guests. I tried sweeping one day, and immediately got the broom taken away from me.

I spend two weeks with Bhy's family. The first week, Bhy and I went trekking to Maenam Hill (10,300 ft) by Ravangla. Mist, rain, leeches. I had my first real bought with leeches. In West Sikkim, I had a few bite between my toes without me noticing. Now, my feet were getting attacked. Trying to scrape them off, I learned the meaning of the phrase "You bloodsucking leech!" They hold on like super glue. It reminded me of how some of the touts hang onto tourists for money.

It took a long time to hike to Ravangla from Bhy's village. We passed a group of road workers and Bhy used my camera to take some pictures. A roadsign said Ravangla was 8 km. We figured two hours. We hiked and played the game of guessing the distance on the next roadsign. It said 12 km! The next one was unreadable. Bhy said the bus would come by. Eventually it did. Luckily we took it (we debated thinking we must be nearly to Ravangla). We took lunch in Ravangla and bought some vegetables (onions, radish, carrots), crackers, and snacks to tide us over for the night. We then started through the state forest to Maenam hill amidst heavy rain. Bhy took the water bottle and filled it from water running over the ground, saying it was good water because it was running over soap plant. I didn't believe him. Later I looked at the water and it was very clear. I tasted it and it tasted very good. It was fine. I learned a lesson about wilderness water. The rain was fairly heavy, and so we decided to stay in one of the rest houses... an open sided shelter with concrete floor. I would later curse that concrete floor. In the meantime I had one of the best meditations ever with visions of travel to Ladakh, memories of hikes in college, memories of my farming days, thoughts of friends and family, and a real feeling of empowerment. That ended quickly when I lay down to sleep. We had just two blankets and a bamboo mat. I had left my sleeping bag behind when I realized that it hadn't gone through a suitable quarantine from the lice infestation I had a few weeks before (I think 4-6 weeks sealed in a bag will break the cycle, if I remember correctly). The concrete sapped all of our heat. Luckily with the two of us we could share body heat, and we were cold enough we had no hangups about that. (Actually, like in many traditional cultures, it is common for guys to sleep together here.) It wasn't that cold temperature wise, yet cold enough to be miserable. We got up at 5 am and took off for the peak of Maenam hill. By 7 am we were on top enjoying a sunny view above the clouds. Kachenjunga (I believe is is the third highest peak in the world ...Everest, K2, then Kachenjunga) is the local peak to see. I got sunburned in the thin air. We blew a conch we found at the hilltop altar... Hindu tridents as well as Buddhist pictures of the Dalai Lama.

We returned to Bhy's house for a day or two of recovery. Some of my leech bits got slightly infected and irritated by my sandal straps. Bhy and Binod treated me to my first taste of "chang" ... a fermented millet drink, kind of like a milky wine in taste. I liked it. It felt somewhat nutritious and not like empty calories. The "high" is different than alcohol... more dreamy. The chang was served in a local house. We tried it on several more occasions and learned that the strength varied alot depending on how long it had fermented. The first three times it was mild and relatively "harmless." The last evening we went, it was strong... very strong! It was cheap at 20 rs/ kg.

Then Bhy and Radeep (a friend of his) and I hiked Tendong Hill (8,000+ feet). It was a nice day hike from his house. There was a monastery on top. A few days later we bused to Namchi together and saw Sandruptse, a huge Buddha statue...it was very powerful and I had some good prayers there. We walked through the "rock garden" a ornamental garden. Played a bit on the seesaws and swings and sauntered into Namchi. We had planned to spend the night and have some pictures printed from my camera, but printing prices were too high. Bhy had used my camera to take pictures of his family and wanted them printed out.

The remaining days were spent hanging around the home and village. It rained daily. I got back in touch with my painting. The family was mesmerized by this. I ended up buying them some paints and papers. Bhy's sister had me make some illustrated ABC charts for her.



For me it was hard at times. Communication with much of the family was extremely limited. Bhy and Binod were my main companions, but even with them communication could be difficult. Many times we discovered we were understanding things two different ways, when we thought we were on the same page. Often, someone would just come up and say "you come here now". One morning at 7am, Binod said, "come with me, we are going to the village." I didn't know for what, for how long, but got prepared within five minutes. It turns out he was distributing some papers to different families for his mother. We enjoyed a nice hour walk around the village before coming back for breakfast. I got so if asked if I were hungry, I would always say "a little bit", because I never knew the days plan. There was no privacy. Writing or painting in a journal is an invitation for someone to come along and look through the journal. That seems common here.

They have very strong community and family. We have very strong individualism. In Tashiding, I told some locals I was gay, when they asked why I wasn't married. They asked if my mother and family was terribly upset. I said not, that my family respects what I need to do to be happy. They said they couldn't do anything without family, friends, community overlooking and directing them. They can't fathom traveling or being or doing things alone. Both cultures have their advantages and disadvantages. The way Bhy's family lives, child care is shared between parents, aunts/uncles, grandparents. Resources like land, food, money, TV and phone are shared. There is great security. But there is a sacrifice to individuality and being oneself.

I was quite sad to leave the day I finally left. I realized I had fallen in love with this family and their simple life. I enjoyed simple walks with friends and meeting their friends and family around the village. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene. Simple. I think it must have been something like this years ago, perhaps in the village my father grew up in. I'll miss my new found family and look forward to seeing them again if and when I make it back to Sikkim.

West Sikkim

I started in Pelling, a town full of hotels. I forget the exact statistics: 200 residents, 500 hotels or somethings. It's not a bad place, at least when the hotels are empty. There were a smattering of Bengali tourists escaping the heat of the Plains when I was there, and a handful of westerners. The food and lodging is cheap.

The sights are Sanga Choeling Monastery, Pemyangtse Monastery, and Rabdentse Ruins.

Trekking up to Sanga Choeling, me and my friend Esben were caught in the rain. We took refuge under an overhang with a road crew and chatted with them. Esben, who has spent a year in Mumbai, did most of the talking with his conversational knowledge of Hindi.



I stayed a couple nights at Sanga Choeling Monastery where there is a guesthouse run by the monks. Very peaceful. Very sweet. It sits upon a steep hilltop like a fortress above the town. The clouds flow through the chortens. The Gompa has some tantric paintings on the walls and an older monk does a nice daily puja. A couple adult monks, and the rest are little children who have classes daily.

One day a little monk sat by me cleaning his nails with an old razor blade; his hands were pretty filthy. He was maybe 8 or 10 yo. A couple nights later I was by the kitchen hearth watching the little monks boil potatoes in a steam cooker. They weren't done the first time, so they repacked them and put them on the hearth again. Then the older monk told them to mash the potatoes. They peeled them hot with their tough little hands and mashed them between their fingers. Amazing how much responsibility they give the little tykes here, I thought. I prayed he had washed his hands! It was all reheated anyways, and tasted good... a potato dahl curry. And it sat well in my stomach.

There is much more trust here. Usually, I find little kids just want to do what adults do, but we in the West tend to put them off, not taking the time to teach them, to let them do what they are able to do... telling them they are not old enough. Then we kick them out at 18 yo and expect them to know how to do all the things we didn't teach them. But here children are given what they can handle. Little kids have little baskets to carry things in.

One day, I went with the monk on the hour long walk to Pemyangtse Monastery where a Rinpoche was giving a special blessing. I was amazed at how the little kids walked without complaint or grimace. I sat for a couple hours on the floor enjoying the good energy I felt from the Rinpoche ... then my knees and legs began to cramp so I went outside. I chatted with a couple of monks outside and learned that they and the locals do not commonly feel energy. I was surprised because I figured they could. I learned that because of my Reiki experience and energy awareness, I was special even here. I had wondered why I hadn't found some of the mystical experiences I expected here in India.

Afterwards, the monks from Sanga Choeling and I sauntered home to Sanga Choeling, a group of playful boys wandering the road. It was fun.

The next day I started my trek to Ketchopari Lake. It took 6 hours. It was grueling as I took the shortcuts across the switchback road. The short cut was paved with cement for quite aways. This is not a good thing in a humid country on a steep slope. Moss covered cement is slippery! and so I had to go slowly. Then, like many paths here, the cement ended and the trail turned to rock or dirt and grew smaller until it was a mere footpath. Then it came to houses and cornfields and split. So I had to stop and guess which way to take several times. Often someone would be nearby that I could ask "River?".... and they would point.

I saw some lumbermen in the woods. Two men using a pitsaw... a large crosscut ripsaw ... to make boards out of a log. One on a platform, the other underneath, on either end of the saw. It was impressive. They didn't even rest between boards. I passed another similar operation a bit later. Funny, at Sanga Choeling, I had inspected some boards being used to build a shop there, and thought the saw marks were those of a pitsaw.

I was weary by the time I got to Ketchapari Lake. I met a fellow who said he was staying at the monastery and he guided me there. I discovered that he was running a guesthouse by the monastery. I had the impression that I could stay at the monastery and became mistrustful of the gentlemen. I eventually learned that he was correct and there was no lodging at the monastery. I enjoyed a night up on this hilltop "village"... a monastery, a smattering of houses among cornfields and pasture.

The next morning I checked out the Holy Lake of K., and a monk guided me around. Allegedly because of its spiritual significance, a leaf never settles on the water even though it is surrounded by trees. There were quite a few Bengali tourists. I found it amusing that the Hindus did not know to spin the Buddhist prayer wheels in a clockwise direction! They obviously hadn't read a Lonely Planet Guidebook!

I trekked to Yuksom. The path was better marked and more level than the day before. Yuksom proved a nice village with Dzo (Yak / cow crosses) teams wandering through. Yuksom is a gateway to the mountains. I spent a couple nights here in the pleasant village. Some day hikes to the Coronation Throne and Dubdhi Monastery. My knees were sore, so I rested them a bit. Food and lodging were cheap and good here. Some other tourists to socialize with.

Then I jeeped to Tashiding. Tried to trek to some hot springs with Leon, and Israeli guy. It started raining and we couldn't find the way. A local family invited us in for tea and encouraged us to stay the night, saying the hot springs were flooded. Leon went on. I turned back at the next steep part... wanting to save my knees. I stayed with the family. It was strange. They had invited us before when we stopped for tea. Now when I returned, it was not offered. A neighbor boy spoke a little English, and eventually it was ok for me to stay. They put me in a room It was like 3 or 4 pm. No tour. Grandpa had invited me. He was dour faced. His wife or daughter was quite grimfaced and expressionless. She occassionally looked in on me. The neighbor boy hung out for a while. And some small kids. Occassionally, grandma would look in with her cataracted eyes, but not say anything. Tea was brought in. Grandpa came in and motioned "food". seeming to ask if I had food. So I pulled out my biscuits and offered them to him. He refused and indicated I should eat them. So I did. Thinking this was my dinner. I shared them with the little boys. Grandpa had indicated I shouldn't give them much. I couldn't resist giving them more. After a while, Grandpa signed me and I realized he was asking if I eat meat... he indicated goat or cow with horns, then chopping. I made the mistake of saying yes. Eventually rice came in on a plate. Then dahl.... but when I poured the dahl on the rice, it turned out to be a meat stew. Mutton, I think. Rank tasting. I didn't want to be impolite so I forced it down, only to be given a second bowl. I prayed it would settle ok. Soon it was dark and I walked outside, virtually forcing my way out... until they understood I wanted to relieve myself and a boy pointed to the burlap sack sided outhouse. Then I went in and grandpa and uncle were making my bed. It was a long night until morning when I heard Grandpa yelling at family members. It didn't seem like a happy house. They brought me tea in my room. I didn't wait for breakfast. I packed and left. I debated whether to give them money, but didn't want to insult them. I gave them my remaining biscuits, which Grandpa took readily.

It was a long hike back down to the river gorge and up the steep hillside to Tashiding. But I got to the guesthouse by 9 am and enjoyed a proper breakfast. Leon showed up hours later. He never found the hot springs, but enjoyed a much nicer homestay.

Tashiding had a beautiful monastery with a "resident" stone mason who carves om mani padme om into stones continually. Beautiful work. A peaceful devoted man. The monastery was having a ceremony and I sat with the monks a while enjoying the chanting.

I ended up getting approached for Reiki by a man with marital problems which were interesting to hear about and harder to discuss across cultural and lingual boundaries. Then several of his friends came in for sessions. I found it felt awkward because I am used to being able to communicate complicated concepts with my clients regarding intentions and the modality.

After Tashiding, I jeeped to Ravangla where I found a town into drinking with alcohol sold in every other shop. I was told a guide was required for Maenam Hill... the trek I wanted to do. And it rained heavily. I went to a Bon Monastery where I ended up spending the night. I enjoyed it alot.

Then I escaped to Gangtok, where I thought I might find a gay scene in a city of 250,000. Not!