A Shopping Trip to McLeod Ganj

17^th June 2017

Successful shopping:  3 lengths of brocade

I wasn’t going to go to McLeod Ganj again – it’s just way too crowded, but a conversation with Zokkar suggested that it’s the only place I am going to be able to buy some of the gorgeous brocades locally.  And if I can buy some locally, I do not have to return to the Tibetan quarter in Delhi to buy some.  I can therefore avoid probably 1700 rupees in taxi fares and 2 hours of heart stopping Delhi traffic and stay in a hotel much closer to the airport.

I was awake early, so go up shortly after 6am.  I carried water from the stream to flush the loo, carried water from the kitchen to bathe, then checked in on the students.  Normally on a Saturday I am lucky to see anyone before 10am but they are up and busy.  Kunzang and Lungrig are making tingmo for breakfast, Deki is preparing to make cheese, to mix with tsampa, the traditional Tibetan ground barley staple, and others are busy with various other things.  I actually find it rather disorientating.  I check with them if there is something special happening today, but no.

Deki starting to make her cheese

Tashi, the new school captain, is an interesting one.  He will tend to shout at me, first in Tibetan, then maybe in English.  I sometimes wonder if he is an Aspergers case, he is really very good at English and I suspect very intelligent (even if he is refusing to write anything for me – he participates in reading and discussion in class).  If not, he has a really weird sense of humour.  However, as I headed down from my room with my backpack, and my water bottles in my hand to fill them from the filtered water in the kitchen, he suggested I should take plastic drink bottles instead (from the supply designated for recycling) so I could throw them away rather than have to carry bottles back, then told me to take care as I left. 

I’m out of the school gate just after 8 for the 20 minute walk up the road to catch the bus from Fatiphur.

A bus comes along and I need to check with a group of schoolgirls whether it’s a school bus or a public bus and whether its going to Dharamsala, before I board.

Once off the bus, I head around the corner to where a jeep is being besieged by a crowd of people, all trying to establish their right to get in before the passengers inside the vehicle are out.  Although this vehicle is headed to McLeod Ganj, I am unsuccessful in my attempts to get in – along with about 20 others.  Another vehicle pulls up and there is a repeat performance but this time I am successful – by virtue of not making eye contact with anyone but continuing to inch inexorably forward – I am learning from the locals, although I think I have an edge, they don’t seem to shove me quite as much as they shove each other - victory - I am the fourth person in the back seat.  Then a fifth gets in.  Both he and I have to half stand so that he can slam the door closed.  I am then sitting as far forward as my legs and the available space will allow, with my right buttock more or less on the seat and my left jammed somewhere against his right hip.  Every time he breathes, I can feel the movement of his abdomen against my side.  And I thought I had played real sardines before today!

It is a relief when the jeep stops and one of the 5 wants to get out.  We are reduced to the normal overcrowded 4 on the back seat.

We eventually reach McLeod Ganj, after a few traffic jams, and I realize it’s actually been quite a quick trip – just under an hour and twenty from school.  A taxi would do it quicker, but if I use the public transport I can spend more money on fabric!

I wander up to the main square and head straight for where I think Zokkar told me there were tailoring shops.  I stop at one point to ask a stall holder, and she points to one directly opposite – which is small, and somewhat below street level, but has a sizeable workroom and a wall of fabrics.  I’ve struck gold, there are brocades (and silks, which I decide not to look at…. Might regret that…) and I select a couple of rather lovely patterns, but suspect there might not be enough left on the bolt.

I’ve decided I need 3.5 metres for a jacket – its only 70cm wide, and some will need pattern matching.  The last jacket I made from a taego piece purchased in Trashigang took a massive effort to work out the pattern layout, and I had to end up piecing a facing.  The first piece the man measures is about 3.25m, but has some other longer bits attached where something has been cut from it, and he’s going to throw those in – that should work – and the second piece is marginally over 3.5 metres.  All good. 

I pay and check with the cashier where else there are other tailoring shops, and am vaguely directed, but do manage to find the Tibetan Women’s Association shop.  They don’t have a lot, but there are a few bits I am tempted by, but settle for a fairly intense pink   The girls tell me that blue or red would suit me, but I already have quite a bit of blue, and the reds are a bit orange for my taste.

I was rather amazed that one shopkeeper recognized me:  a jeweler who had enticed to me into his shop on my first visit to McLeod Ganj 6 weeks ago, and tried to sell me a (rather nice) gold and ruby ring.  He stopped me for a chat and asked if I would like to come in and buy it, or look at some more – very good prices for me (of course).  I really don’t need to buy myself jewellery!  (I don’t need to buy more fabric, but that is not going to impact my plans for today!)

I decide it’s time for a break and something to eat.  Unfortunately the Japanese restaurant is not yet open, so I head for a café that I know has an open terrace with a roof and a view (and clean, easily accessible toilets) – and enjoy an enormous café latte with a sesame cookie.  I was tempted by the salt and pepper corn, but despite the fact that one can buy roasted corn in many places on the street, they were serving stuff out of a can…

It was starting to spit with rain as I left the café and by the time I got back up to the Temple, it was pouring.  My umbrella was working very well for its intended purpose, but I decided to shelter under some awnings for a while.  A taste of things to come – July is the start of the monsoon season.  I am glad I will only get a couple of weeks of that.

It did make me realize though, the answer to a question that’s been on my mind.  The students are planning their graduation picnic – for before they graduate – actually for next Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday.  I was verging on feeling slightly miffed, we have only been back at school one week after the last break from study, and they are planning another half a week off for the coming week.  They have invited me to join them – camping, probably at another school.  I had thought, since I am the only teacher left, and I will be here only for another month, that waiting until I finish would be more appropriate, but today’s weather made me realize that there would be some imperative to hold the picnic/party before the monsoon sets in and the rain is really full on.

I wander back towards that bus station, pausing to buy some mushrooms, toiletries I cannot get in Fatiphur, new charging cable for my phone (not impressed that the one I purchased not long before leaving Tas has become dodgy) and snack foods, and there is a tourista vehicle with a sign in English in the window stating Dharamsala – miracle!  I get on, but then ask if the bus attempting to make its way out of the bus station is going to Dharamsala and the tourista driver redirects me to that. 

I settle myself down, and a middle aged man sits next to me, one of his red sari – clad female companions behind me, of noticeable girth, signals to ask if she can take a photo – I agree, and the phone comes out.  She then changes places with him – I guess I can be added to his photo harem but sitting next to me for a whole bus ride is considered too much.  It’s one of the few seats that has a rail on the isle side, and I feel as crowded as I was earlier in the jeep. 

The bus works its way past the chaotic parking and maneuverings of the car park to the chaotic maneuverings of the narrow road.  There is a traffic jam – actually, there are several traffic jams, this is just the first of them.  I have insufficient vision to see that actual nature of it, but it does involve inching past a tourist bus, with roughly half a hair’s breadth to spare while a frazzled traffic policeman does his best to control what is going on.  It reminds me that I had needed to explain “one track” road to a class prior to reading an article earlier this week.  It had taken some repeated efforts and examples before they understood.  Many of the roads I travel at the moment really are one-track roads, but that neither stops 2-way traffic, nor overtaking and parking on the side.  Put all of that together on the same width of road and you have rural India traffic. On a good day.

Once we reach Dharamsala bus station, I check with the conductor which bus is for Fatiphur, and he directs me accordingly.  The ladies in the red saris are requesting more “clicks” but I’m more focused on catching the bus.  I double check before getting on, but my request “Fatiphur” is not understood.  I try “Norbulinka” and a couple of Tibetan ladies say yes. I settle myself on a double seat, next to a primary school girl.  I figure this will probably give me maximum room once the bus starts to fill up.  I am right.  A standing young Indian man apologizes profusely as the bus jolts and he goes to grab the back of the seat in front of me, and grabs my backpack on my lap instead.

I buy some fruit and vegetables, butter and paneer and head back down to school, hoping that someone has cooked lunch and there are leftovers.  I make do with a tingmo from breakfast and a couple of bananas from my newly purchased supplies.

Deki with her finished cheese set out to dry

Deki shows me her cheese - set out to dry.  She  has made quite a lot, but the supply is to last through the monsoon season - she will not be able to make and dry cheese once the rains set in.

Tashi appears on the verandah, as I am sitting in the enclosed verandah which is the teachers’ office, shouts at me in Tibetan and then in English, demanding to know what I am doing.  I tell him I am looking at the photos of my garden, just sent to me by Fin, and show him my sunflowers (with lemon tree in the background – he has never seen a lemon tree) and then the photo of my vegetable garden and we discuss the vegetables – both those with which he is familiar and those he isn’t.  It’s an intelligent and sensible conversation and he finishes by thanking me and telling me he is going to Norbulinka for the evening.   He really is an odd one, but I refuse to be phased by his behaviours that I don’t like.  That would take way too much energy.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully; I cook myself dinner, adding chilli, tumeric and garlic from the scanty kitchen stores to my groceries purchased earlier and curry leaf from the tree by the gate.  It produces a sizeable quantity, especially with rice added, so there is enough to put leftovers in the fridge for Sunday.