After a night of resting in Jammu, we headed out to McLeod Ganj, a recommended tourist stop and the home of the 
exiled Dalai Lama. The plan was to take a train most of the way there, and then taxi the remaining few miles 
into town. Jammu, despite being the second biggest city in its state, is given one paragraph in Lonely Planet, 
which basically says, "there's no reason to come here". The towns we'd stop in on the way weren't even 
mentioned. For the first time, we weren't on the tourist track. At the train station, hardly anyone spoke 
English, and we could only get 2nd class tickets, which put you on a hard wooden bench without AC. Despite not 
being able to communicate with words, we had an interesting exchange with a Hindu holy man who seemed to think I 
was a Muslim because of my months of unchecked facial hair growth. The train ride was only about 80 miles, but 
it dragged on for many hours... the crowd began to thin out, and we became alien curiousities as we got away 
from the cities. One guy sat against me, wrapped his arm around, and struck up a conversion, which is apparently 
not a come-on in Indian culture. Evetually the train car emptied out except for me and Roxanne, and it was a 
moonless night. The train followed a course through nowhere in the jungle, stopping for cows to get off the 
tracks. The stops became nothing more than clearings in the brush with signs to mark them. At some point, the 
conductor came back, shut the doors and windows, and instructed us to keep them locked. A while later, a couple 
guys at a stop knocked to be let in, which I did, because I couldn't see how they'd board the train otherwise. 
At the next stop, the conductor pulled them off, scolding them in Hindi, and waited a half hour to bust them at 
the station. When we finally left, he told us again not to let anyone on. Later, paused next to another train at 
a station, Roxanne sat by the open window, when a man popped his head in. She flew into the air screaming, and 
my hair stood up on my neck, ready to wail on him as he climbed in to get us. However, he was a meek 
businessman, speaking good English, just making conversation while his train was stopped. The adrenaline 
subsided and we rode deeper into the jungle, with just a few lights on the mountains in the distance... finding 
a taxi was looking increasingly unlikely. I had the tent, and I was usually fine with sleeping in the woods, but 
our guide in Kashmir had mentioned tigers, and how you were as good as dead if you tried to camp within their 
range... also, it was raining hard on and off. Counting off the kilometer marks, I knew we were just a minute 
from our stop, and still no civilization. Then, mercifully, lights, buildings, and people hawking overpriced 
taxis. Ours had windshield wipers that made demonic moans like tortured cats, but it ferried us to a warm and 
safe hotel.<br/><br/>

McLeod Ganj is a weird mix of Tibetans in exile and tourist traps... it has every type of eastern spirituality 
commoditized, ready to be sold to wealthy hippies. You can pay to live at a vegetarian ashram, or for a 
meditation retreat, or be healed by crystals, or learn Reiki massage... mixed in with this LA new-age schlock is 
a bunch of monastaries, emptying Buddhist monks in robes, and the home of the Dalai Lama. The town is set in the 
mountains, with windy roads through pines forests, dotted by lakes, and roamed by macaques. The town itself was 
a series of cramped alleys with tourist-geared restaurants and handicrafts for sale. One day I rented what 
passes for a motorcycle in India - a 100cc moped looking thing that had difficulty starting and could barely 
pull me up a hill, despite having just 2000 miles on it. I felt gyped riding it, but a passerby looked at me and 
remarked "nice bike", without irony, I think. It makes more sense now that an Indian restaurant owner in LA once 
looked at my 440c 2-cylinder machine with admiration.<br/><br/>

We felt relaxed there but it didn't suit my need to see new things... I imagined myself to be like the tourist 
to Hawaii who never gets beyond the one strip in Waikiki. So we caught a bus up to Manali, another mountain 
town. It was a small bus with hard seats, but the ride was only supposed to be 8 hours. Indian roads tend to 
follow the terrain, where in America we make the road straight and move the terrain to fit. So we swerved back 
and forth, rarely getting faster than about 20 mph, dodging potholes, and falling behind schedule once again. 
The skies opened up, and I climbed on the roof in dumping rain to wrap our bags in plastic. At around midnight, 
we passed another bus which had broken down, so those passengers boarded as well, sitting on other people's laps 
and packing into the aisle. When we got to our stop at about 4am, I had to fight my way out of my seat as others 
mobbed around in the hopes of taking it.<br/><br/>

We hid from the rain for a night in a dim room that smelled like cat piss, and then stayed in a beautiful new 
hotel, perched high on the slpoe above a valley. From the balcony we could watch clouds roll over the mountains, 
see snow-covered peaks far up in the valley, and hear the river below. Manali was comfortable, with the same 
cafes, tourist activities, and so on. We went rock climbing one day, which was something I had tried and hated 
years back, but approached with a new mindset. At first I was hesitant to trust the rope, but surprisingly felt 
little fear of heights, and convinced myself I trusted much more complicated engineering not to kill me on a 
regular basis (cars, buildings, etc...) With the little pointy rubber shoes, I was soon scaling things that felt 
impossible, and got up sections of near-vertical rock with just a few cracks that I wouldn't imagine I could 
have made it up. The final test was a 50 foot crack that required an awkward grip, and a lunge at one point, and 
I made it up, despite limbs that were shaky from extertion.<br/><br/>

Later I walked towards town, to rent a motorcycle again, noticing the huge hedges of wild marijuana growning 
everywhere. Apparently Manali is the center of a drug crackdown, as the area is used for cultivation, but 
somehow they've overlooked the fact that it grows everywhere, without any help from man. As I made my tour of 
motorcycle places, trying to find one a little more suitable to my needs, a guy on the street started talking 
and invited me in for tea.<br/><br/>

We sat and drank, and then his friend and business partner came by, and asked if I wanted some rum. I didn't 
really, but they got some anyway. The guy had some colorful stories, about crashing his motorcycle and getting 
shot, and made me touch his fractured bones. Then he segued into how he was a businessman in the diamond 
business, and then proceeded to explain a scheme where I would export diamonds, as a tourist holding personal 
amounts, and he would avoid taxes. I knew about this scam already, but played along for my own entertainment. I 
started to feel pretty drunk despite not drinking much, and wondered if I could be drugged, even though I 
watched my drink... I played out different scenarios in my head, throwing my glass at their face as they 
attacked, then diving out the open window beside me. I'd lose my shoes, but I'd know where they lived. They 
showed me copies of the passports of others who had "exported" for them, and I imagined how furious those people 
would be, to know that their info is being used to help scam other people. Eventually, they sensed I wasn't 
going to take the bait, and switched gears, trying to sell me a rock with magical powers in their jewelery shop. 
They had me hold it, saying I would feel energy through my body. I felt a bit of heaviness and tingling in my 
hand - what you feel when you hold anything. "I want you to have this", he said forcefully, "it will give you 
good luck and change your life. It's not expensive!" I said that from a western background, with scientific 
training, I had a different belief system, and I didn't think that stone would do anything. "It is scientific" 
he said, "nuclear physicists put this on their head before they go to work." I had to suppress laughter, 
imagining Kevin putting a crystal to his chakras before getting down to business. In frustration, he switched 
gears again, saying "Well, would you at least buy some rum?" I wanted out at that point, but it's hard to be 
rude to someone who acts friendly on the surface, even if you know they're really a slimeball. I got a cheap 
bottle, and we drank a little more. "You can take the bottle if you want", he said casually. "I know." A while 
later, "It's fine if you want to take the bottle." "Uh-huh." Finally, "Are you going to take the bottle?" "Yes" 
I said, standing up. As I walked out with it, he groused "You're a bastard, like Jesus Christ".<br/><br/>

After apologizing to Roxanne for having shown up drunk and hours late, we got on a bus early in the morning for 
Leh, in the high desert of the Himalayas. Despite the bus's "super-deluxe" billing, it was something below what 
Greyhound would operate, and we had the last row of seats, which didn't recline. Tired from waking up so early, 
I tried sleeping on the floor, but re-discovered what I knew as a child - the back of the bus has the most 
bounce. After being thrown into the air a few time, and slamming my head against the wall, I decided I was 
better off sitting up. The road was either a series of tight switchbacks working up or down a steep 
mountainside, or a wavy path above a river, along the side of a valley. With little cover on the ground, 
bathroom stops were a regular mis-adventure, with people repeatedly hiding in ravines up the road to do their 
business, only to be exposed to everyone as the driver pulled forward, anxious to leave. The ride was about 300 
miles done over 2 days, which reflects how poor quality the road is. By the end of the first day, the vicious 
combo of motion sickness and altitude sickness was taking its toll, with the bus surrounded by puddles of puke 
at every stop. Finally, we stopped that night, crawled into tents, and enjoyed a perfect night sky. We were 
hundreds of miles from any sizable town, free of stray light and pollution, and at about 15,000 feet, poking up 
through much of the atmosphere. After lying on my back, watching shooting stars despite the cold, I got rest for 
the next day of bus torment.<br/><br/>

The previous day was nothing compared to the next. Once on the road, the sounds of turning stomachs immediately 
came from the back. A group of Japanese girls had turned back rather than brave more road, so we got decent 
seats that weren't hanging out way over the rear axle. A woman behind let out inhuman moans, puking into a bag, 
and eventually all over the floor. For the rest of the day, she dry-heaved in agony, accompanied by a chorus of 
about half the bus hurling as well. Despite the physical toll, the geography was exceptional - mountains with 
different layers of solid rock on top, melting into gravel that flowed into valleys below, on a majestic scale. 
Parts recalled Death Valley, Bryce Canyon, and Arches national park. The road was often on a sheer slope, 
thousands of feet above the valley floor, with the driver coming so close to the edge that he once sent an 
avalance of rocks crumbling off the side. I wondered how there could be so few accidents, and then began to 
notice rusted-out hulks in ravines and on the hillside below. One bus had rolled at least 2000 feet down before 
stopping. Without seatbelts, we'd probably all be dead by the third roll. Then we passed the exact same tourist 
bus we were riding, that had broken a leaf spring and rolled on its side, luckily on a flat section of road. 
Hoping for the best, we moved up over a 17,500 foot pass, 2nd highest in the world it claimed, and continued to 
Leh. Mountains to the side of gravel had solid rock sticking out in parallel sheets, giving the impressions of 
walls that ran up the slope.<br/><br/>

Finally in Leh, we got off the bus, mobbed by beggars and people diverting us to their hotel. Trying to pack my 
bag in a pack of particularly persistent children and mothers toting babies, I mimicked them and stuck out my 
hand, imploring them with "Money, money", which got smiles and laughter. After getting a hotel, I checked on 
flights, and found that we couldn't fly out for at least a month. Furthermore, I had to show up in person in 
Delhi, earlier than I wanted, to buy my ticket on to China. That left two options - repeat the grueling road we 
had just come in on, and then go even further to the airport, or take a slightly shorter mountain road back to 
Srinagar, the center of Kashmir's troubles. I felt like doing something new, so I ran about Leh trying to 
negotiate a taxi for the 250 mile ride. By now I had some practice at haggling, so I got a good fare from a nice 
old man, and enjoyed a few spare hours before leaving the town I had just arrived in.<br/><br/>

We had the whole back of the mini-van to stretch out in, so this drive was much nicer. We moved through more 
high-desert mountains, with granite peaks covered with snow standing up through the clouds in the distance. One 
distinct section was called the "moonscape", with clay eroded by fractaline creases. Monastaries perched high up 
on ridges, looking out into square miles of valley. I mentioned to the driver needing to be in Srinagar by 9 am, 
and he became surprised and grim, though I thought I had explained this already. "We'll drive until 11 pm... 
then get up at 1 am and continue." He was a small Ladakhi guy, maybe 50, sick with a cough. I wondered if he was 
up to such a long haul, and even if he could pull it off, what toll it would take on him. True to his word, we 
stopped to camp at about 11, him inside the car and me and Roxanne in a field nearby. She was worried about his 
ability to pull through, and was upset at me for drinking his water, when he'd been drinking tea all day, which 
is a diuretic, as she reminded me. I was dismissive, but I had a bad feeling as well... besides pushing this 
grandpa to his limit, I could hear a pack of dogs barking a half mile off as we lay defenseless on the ground, 
and I had seen someone's flashlight moving in the woods nearby. "If anything comes, you blind it with the 
flashlight, and I'll throw rocks", I told her. Not exactly a reassurance, but good preparation in my view. I 
tired to sleep light enough that I couldn't be snuck up on, but the old man was nudging me awake what seemed 
like moments later, and we slept in the back as he pushed through the night. We woke to lush views of Kashmir, 
waterfalls moving into green valleys with enormous mountain peaks. Next we woke in a small town, where I tried 
to reserve my tickets to China, only to have the Air India person become enraged when I didn't know what town I 
was in or what my phone number was. Next we were shaken alert by the old man slamming on the brakes, almost 
having run a checkpoint. On arrival, we gave the old man a large tip, since I had negotiated him so low that he 
was only making about $20 for the 4- day round trip after fuel costs. We made it to the airport with not a 
moment to spare, and ran through multiple luggage searches, friskings, and documents to sign before hopping back 
to Delhi.<br/><br/>

Filthy from days without showering, sleep deprived, and starving, I pushed on upon arrival, since I had to buy 
my China ticket by the end of businees that day. I sat on the edge of my seat as they ran my credit card to buy 
the ticket, since the last airlines had rejected it for some reason, and I didn't want a mad dash to ATMs in the 
few hours remaining. With relief, I took my tickets, and came back to our hotel not sure if I wanted to wash, 
sleep, or eat first. I decided to eat, then wash, then pass out for the next 12 hours.<br/><br/>

The last day in Delhi we got a nice hotel, since I wanted a break before China. Even with a safe retreat, Delhi 
is crazy, with roads of pure honking and anarchy. Pedestrians cross like the videogame Frogger, and we saw a few 
motorbikes pile up as the lead driver was surprised by a person he didn't see. Lane lines mean nothing, and 
traffic lights don't mean much either. Even when walking, people try to pull you to their shop or their taxi, 
and beggars follow persistently. I had long been hardened to most of them, who seem to be professionals who 
annoy you into giving - moms with their babies as ammunition, or children who've been put up to it. I'd give 
sometimes to the genuinely disabled - people with shriveled legs folded up walking on their hands, or digits 
melted by leprosy. On this night, a boy who looked to be about 12 with a hoarse voice followed Roxanne. We 
ignored him for a few blocks, but then Roxanne worried, "I think he can't talk - or he's deaf or something - 
shouldn't we give by your own criteria?" "No!" I said, walking faster, annoyed that we no longer presented a 
unified front. If you give them a glimmer of hope that you'll give something, they become that much more 
determined. Roxanne continued, "I only have a 500 - give me some change." "No...." I said, pressing on. 
Frustrated with me, she stopped to make change, when then shopkeeper told her the boy was a drug addict, and she 
heard him talk in a normal voice. During this exchange, a mom with a baby stood in my face, and I spitefully 
pointed her towards Roxanne. Then Roxanne, yelling "NO!" at the beggars, took off with me to the hotel, running 
through puddles and heavy rain, chased by our begging entourage. They only stopped at the doors of the hotel, as 
though held back by some invisible field. Later, we left to eat at a rotating restaurant, and the same woman was 
waiting outside to chase us, probing her open hand into the rickshaw as we pulled away.<br/><br/>

As I packed my bags that night, I discovered that both cans of bug repellent in my backpack had been emptied 
from pressing my sleeping back inside, and I had a puddle of toxic DEET in my cookware. In the course of 
cleaning it out, I stained the hotel room carpet, and absorbed enough to turn my lips numb and feel queasy. With 
this inauspicious event, I got to sleep, woke up real early and drove to the airport on a rickshaw with one rear 
brake dragging. The driver solved this by pouring water on, which exploded in steam, and then putting along the 
side of the road at a crawl. After fighting through the check in process again, I was on to the next leg of my 
journey...</br>