Destination Dharamsala

Getting to Dharamsala

A sturdy, filth-spewing bus departed from Delhi with only myself and two others aboard—an unexpected luxury, which was nice, I thought, since I’d be here for the next 13 hours (which turned out to be more like 17 due to a couple stops for make-shift repair work).

More driving in Delhi, more mind-blowing scenes.  The first jaw-dropping sight was a huge, ancient castle occupying several city blocks. It was redish and in total disrepair. The large peacock perched on a domed tower was a nice touch. Again, at the red lights, the beggars swarmed: this time children were dancing to a drum, doing cart-wheels and yogi contortions through the huffing traffic.  A woman came, reached her hand up and as I shook it, I realized that the hand belonged to a Hindu drag queen.

“Am I pretty?”  

“Uhhh…”

“Kiss me”. 

“No”. 

“Fuck me”. 

“Please get away from here”. 

Moving again, entire families piled on motor-cycles rode alongside while the multicolour saris of the women flapped in the windy pollution; dusty pedestrians J-walked and J-ran across the hectic highways busy with whatever chore; off the road were garbage can bonfires belching black smoke over old men with long white beards; corrugated metal hovels rusted badly and sagged, while cows, dogs, donkeys, and even camels scuttled or laboured around. Every degree of poverty on the spectrum seemed to be represented here.

And seemingly, every sort of religion. Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Tibetans, Seculars, Christians—all identified by clothing, jewellery and make-up.

Delhi lives. There are so many people.  In every gritty nook and littered hole you see somebody or more. And every inch of the place seems simultaneously under construction and yet falling apart at the seams. Delhi is intense.

Only an hour into our trip we made a stop. In piled people into every vacant seat, and their luggage was crammed everywhere else. Good-bye spacious luxury. 

Five or six hours later, thoroughly cramped and having exhausted every conceivable bodily posture in search for something approaching comfort, we stopped again and the bus emptied. Thank god, or ganesh, or whoever. There were vendors outside and I hadn’t eaten for 18 hours.  After a piss and a chocolate bar, I felt ready to take on India again.

It was mind-boggling that after 9 hours of bus travel, though the city was behind us, humanity was not. There wasn’t a break in traffic or commercial/industrial lights shinning in the night.  Not until the 10^th hour.

The flatlands—which I presumed to be India’s Northern plains—came to an end and from the further north entered the mountains, at first with gradual ups and downs but quickly into more of a hair-raising experience. The road had become narrow and snaking, leading the bus over jaw-dropping cliffs, bowel-clenching bridges and through the rain.  At some points I looked out the window to see mere inches between the wheel and a cliff’s edge. I closed my eyes to summon relaxation but no such thing appeared. I opened them again as the bus wound around the side of a sickly steep mountain slope and I saw an awe-inspiring vista of gigantic emptiness spread across a terrifying gorge that our road wrapped all the way around. After 3 hours of this sort of nerve-jangling drive, we finally reached mountainous Dharamsala. 

Morning

Late Afternoon

Night

The three above photos were taken from my hotel room.