Much has changed for us since last Passover. A mere year ago, The Beard and I were bumping through the night on a rickety old bus en-route to heaven. The growing anticipation of returning to the most glorious place I knew killed any chance of sleep, so instead I passed the time snacking on masala-fried peanuts and replaying the memories from three years prior. It was then, on a girl’s trip through Northern India, that I first heard of Dharamshala. Tales of the angelic mountain town passed down from backpacker to backpacker reached the ears of my friend who insisted we pay a visit. Reluctantly, the rest of us agreed to go and thank Ganesh we did, because all that followed was a beautiful blur. To paint the scene, we stayed in a guesthouse at the top of the mountain surrounded by snowcapped peaks, lush green hills and smiling children with rosy cheeks. We spent our mornings basking in the sun and enjoying big delicious breakfasts on the terrace of the loveliest Nepalese restaurant imaginable. We went for long forest walks where we passed red-robed monks meditating and red-assed monkeys peaking through the trees. I even recall our regular run-ins with an extremely playful pack of puppies that can only be described as fluff-balls with eyes. It was January (before tourist season) and Dharamkot, the neighborhood in which we stayed, was a fairytale land – quiet, peaceful and all ours. When it was over, we counted our blessings to have experienced such bliss and stored the memories for gloomier days.
So obviously there was no question that while in India, El Beards and I would be visiting Dharmashala at all costs. Like the Hebrews leaving Egypt, the journey was a treacherous one. Highlights included our bus flying down steep mountain roads with reckless abandon and a minor crash (see: reckless abandon) that resulted in a window shattering all over a sleeping man, who simply cleared the glass shards from his seat and resumed his slumber. We arrived at sunrise with no guesthouse booked and preceded to follow an Israeli backpacker in a Chewbacca t-shirt to “Big Mama’s” where he insisted we would find the best rates in town. But after boasting about his perfect Hindi and then wildly overpaying for a rickshaw, we grew skeptical of the alleged “good rates” that Chewy and Big Mama had to offer. Still, I was too preoccupied with the excitement of reaching my beloved Dharamkot to care. When we arrived though, something felt different. The Himalayas were still there but that seemed to be about it…where were the charming guesthouse or the delightful Nepalese restaurant? Too many new buildings had sprung up that I could barely find them. In fact, there were so many guesthouses, storefronts and construction sites that the greenery I remembered was scarce and far between. I tried to stay positive but as we walked further down the path I couldn’t shake my disappointment. It was all terribly wrong… and so was Big Mama’s house. Before I knew it, we were sipping tea in her shack (which was essentially a cramped room with a giant bed) listening to Chewy attempt to play sitar whilst trying to convince us that we were all Big Mama’s children. But what kind of mother, may I ask, aggressively haggles with their kids and charges them inflated prices for “welcome” chai? Thankfully we managed to escape Mama’s clutches and subsequently spent the rest of our time avoiding eye contact with the matron and her cronies.
To The Beard’s dismay, I spent the next three days making snide remarks about the crowds of tourists and lack of greenery while dropping one liners like “It’s just not what it use to be” or “I wish you could have seen it then.” I could feel him growing weary but just when I’d start to move on, we’d pass a three-story building obstructing a once accessible mountain view or overhear a barefooted white guy with stringy dreadlocks profess how shoes are a social construct. For the poor Bearded one though, everything was still shiny and new. After all, at its core Dharamshala was still a charming Himalayan town surrounded by the same monolithic mountains, forests and rivers of 3 years ago (not to mention the official residence of the Dalai Lama and world headquarters of Tibetan Buddhism). So they paved paradise and put up a parking lot? Wouldn’t be the first time…
With Passover approaching, we began to scout out fellow brethren to celebrate the holiday with and as India is a Mecca for Israeli backpackers, our suspicions told us that finding a Jew crew wouldn’t be too hard. What we didn’t expect though was to enter a mini Israeli commune where most local shopkeepers spoke fluent Hebrew and hummus and falafel were staples on every menu. We even met several people who booked round trip tickets from Tel Aviv to Dharamshala just for the holiday. With two big Chabad Houses and a number of other Jewish groups hosting Passover meals in the area, we weirdly had a plethora of options to choose from.
But that only half explains why our daily actives over the next two weeks resembled what would probably go down in a retirement home for young people (if only they existed…). Many of the shops in Dharmakot and the neighboring Bhagsu housed spaces for visitors to practice woodworking, hair braiding, painting, yoga, basket weaving and even gold/silver-smithing. Walking down the street, it was not uncommon to see groups of youths brushing up on their hula-hoop and juggling skills or spinning cloths for literally hours (don’t ask, just watch THIS vid). I didn’t recall these clown school antics from my last visit, but as they say, if you can’t beat em’ join em.’ Soon enough we were sitting cross-legged in a shop owned by Rajasthani man named Om learning/more watching him weld gold nose-rings and other jewelry items. On the days when we weren’t bracelet making, we’d go on hikes (our favorite being Triund - see pic above #heybrian) where we met quality people hailing from NY to Afghanistan. In fact, everyday we met new people and by the end of the week we felt like old-timers, waving to friends all over town as if we’d lived there forever. While sightseeing is neat, the best part of traveling for us has always been immersing ourselves in new surroundings, engaging with different cultures and sharing experiences with the people we meet along the way. And obviously the FOOD…chilly paneer still haunts my dreams. According to this metric, Dharamshala round two was actually killing it on all counts. It seemed that only when I stopped reminiscing about the “golden days” I could start enjoying my life in real time. Things weren’t the same as they were three years ago, but are they ever? In Vispassana (see 10 Days of Silent Meditation) I learned (clearly not well enough) that everything in life is constantly changing and trying to turn back the clock or recreate the past only leads to bitterness and disappointment. It’s those Debbie-downers who cling to the same old progress-stifling ideas that end up moping on the beach with an ice-cream full of sand and statistics have shown that nobody likes sandy scream. The key to rekindling my love was accepting the reality free of preconceived notions and starting over, this time with fresh eyes and an open mind.
This Passover we celebrated the holiday at our new residence in Denver, Colorado. While still surrounded by great mountains, the hula-hoopers and Big Mamas of last year were nowhere to be found. Moving to an unfamiliar place leaves many things left unknown, which can be super unsettling or totally invigorating depending on the day. But come what may, our tactic this time has been to keep expectations to a minimum and see what the future has in store for us besides excessive amounts of free beer...so I guess one might say we're off to a decent start :)
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