Sunday, March 19, 2006

Going to Church

The last thing I expected of my travels up to McLeod Ganj was to visit the lovely stone church I saw on my way up here but there I was on a motorcycle holding on to a teenage boy who was telling me about how immature he was speeding down these roads at 18 and how responsible he is these days at 19.

"You want to go to church?"
"Uhm... sure." It was almost Sunday anyway. Might as well. I didn't quite know how much sense it made to ride to a church right outside of town in the dark but I'm travelling and therefore open to any and all experiences.

How I ended up on this bike is a story that starts back on the first day of checking in at the hotel. The place has no name yet as it is still under construction. I wouldn't have known that the hotel existed if a woman at the top of the stairs leading down the hill hadn't told me to try walking down into what looked like a construction zone. Sure enough, at the bottom there was a hotel and a lovely family that runs it. The boy is part of this lovely family. His sister is drop dead gorgeous as is his mother. The family ranks above average on the looks scale.

Back at the church I discovered that there was no moonlight to guide me down the path past the gate. The church and adjoining cemetery sit off to the side of the road surrounded by trees. Walking around a cemetery and a church on a mountain in the night is a bit on the eerie side. Especially when there is a lone dog locked within the church to guard it from intruders. Looking at the star filled sky with the hollow echoes of a dog barking from within the church meant that we were off to a local restaurant sooner rather than later.

Riding on the bike was fun. It was a good day for meeting people. I recommended my hotel to a German guy that had hooked up with a Korean fellow. The Korean man was on a whirlwind tour around the world and had only spent two weeks in India. The best experience aside from the church was walking by a Tibetan woman carrying a load on her back and in her arms. As I walked up next to her in the dusk she just handed me whatever was in her arms. She turned and realized I was not the person she thought I was and laughed and started speaking to me in Tibetan. We laughed and I carried some of the load for her. I had no clue what she was saying but I didn't need to know to understand.

1 Comments:

Blogger Communist Haberdasher said...

Did you ask the German guy if his schwanz was his kampf?

Sun Mar 19, 01:57:00 PM  

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