Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Tabo, the vandal and the Dalai Lama

















I left Kaza still laughing, permit in hand, around lunch-time and made it to the small town of Tabo by 16h00. The first thing I did was book into the monastery guesthouse. The facilities were as basic as humanly possible. A small, dark room with a single bed, a small window and a candle. I sighed, I was hoping to charge my camera batteries and MP3 player and then I realized that I was missing the point entirely. Just a few days back I had said that my life was too comfortable and now when I had, basically, everything I needed I was unsatisfied. I adjusted my attitude and went to the (shared) bathroom to take a shower. My new attitude evaporated, instead of a shower I got a bucket of water.


Afterwards I strolled around the monastery and found a library with all sorts of sacred writings, Tibetan books and teachings of the Dalai Lama. I also found a copy of the Lonely Planet, India (probably left behind by another nameless, faceless traveller) and decided to give in and buy it. Up until now I’d not used a guidebook and felt that it kind of steers you away from the real experiences but I was curious. I curled up on my plank-like monastery bed with my new book and flipped to ‘Tabo’. I learnt some interesting facts about the tiny town of Tabo like it’s the place the current Dalai Lama intends to retire. Later that day, in a chai shop, I asked my waiter if that was true. He gave me a stern, doubtful stare and asked me where I got my information from. I smiled, meekly, and said ‘the Lonely Planet?’. His face lit up and he started clapping his hands ‘oh, it’s true then!’

After my second cup of chai I went in search of the best place from which I expected I would be seeing the most amazing sunset of my life. The sky was incredible, a deep blue with a sea of great white clouds spread across it. I found a spot but it was still hours before the sun would set so I had another cup of chai and read my guide book. There was a brochure inside it, for Spiti Valley that read: ‘let your soul take flight and your senses delight in the Valley of the Spiti. Don’t wait for your second life.’ In India, I realized, believing in Karma, is like believing in gravity. You just do.

Unlike Manali, there were only a handful of foreigners in Tabo, walking around, taking photographs, basking in the silence and drinking chai. I met a beautiful Spanish couple inside the monastery but they were both so gorgeous that I was too intimidated to even speak to them. They were perfect, typical body beautiful Ibiza-types and I doubted we would have anything in common. They were probably off to some Tibetan rave, I decided. That night I ran into them again at a dhaba and I tried to shake off my shyness and finally managed to say ‘congratulations on winning the World Cup’. They were not football fans. Of course not. We sat, in silence at different tables and I knew my shyness was the main cause but I couldn’t shake it.

The next morning I stepped out of the Monastery and was greeted by a monk. He was also the receptionist. He pointed to my bike and I saw that one of the indicator lights was snapped off. He said that early that morning he had found the Yamaha lying on its side and after an exhausting struggle he had managed to put it the right way up. What happened? Who would do this? But the meek little monk had no answers, only apologies. If in Kaza I was the victim of a practical joker then in Tabo I was the victim of a sinister vandal. I thanked the monk for helping and smiled but secretly I considered that it would be very possible for me to interrogate the entire village in only a few hours but decided against it and went for breakfast instead.


Again the Spaniards were there. ‘Hello again’ the Spanish goddess said and before I could say anything they invited me to join them. The conversation was a little strained as I tried not to look at them too much. They were so beautiful that it was hard to not stare. I asked the woman (more or less my age) what she did back in Spain and totally expected her to say ‘model’ or ‘editor of Elle, Spain’ but she was a social worker. Only then, for the first time did I notice, not her perfect features, but her kind eyes and gentle manner. She had studied Law for a semester before switching and we both laughed like school girls when I told her I had done exactly the same but in reverse. After that the conversation flowed naturally and easy and I felt convicted, yet again, that I was still judging people by their appearances.

We ordered breakfast and ended up talking for another hour. They thought I was very brave (and cool) for riding a motorbike, solo, through this isolated valley but was modesty personified when they told me they were, get this, hitch-hiking through Spiti Valley. There is isolated and then there is might-as-well-be-on-the-moon isolated and Spiti Valley fell into the latter category. These Spaniards were hard-core and I felt another twinge of envy not just for their beauty but their originality. We ordered some more chai and then I said goodbye to my beautiful hitch-hiking friends, grateful for another incredible, random encounter.

2 comments:

  1. Olga, if there is any better example of finding your purpose than you and your stories, somebody step on my toes please. We knew it all the way and yet we know nothing. Sounds very Spiti Valley monastery wisdom, I know. Yet that is the beauty of God's purpose for each one of us. It is never something unexpected and deeply hidden. The best travel stories I have read in many years unexpectedly come from Olga, and they are very Olga.
    Having been on the roof of the world has taken you to the next level. Wild rivers, rock falls, isolation and the songs of bells rung by horses are clear signs for the new.
    Take heart sister. I just looked for a new scripture that could relieve you from your thirst John 4.14 has left you in. And, ahem sorry, I found ... hunger. Yebo, here we go: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven", Matthew 5.3. So stay hungry in spirit, do not be saturated. Or to put it in olganic perspective: Do not be afraid to be so hungry for more, dig in! That said I picture you on your bike with the kingdom of heaven around your shoulders like Elijah's cloak. Go sister, go!

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  2. Hello Olga!

    I am sitting in London and I am not sure if you remember me but I am Gareth's sister-in-law and we met at his and Amy's wedding in January. I just have to say that I am reading and re-reading your stories over and over. I am only on the day of your mac smash and refuse to jump ahead. Please write more and more and share this INCREDIBLE adventure with us!

    We {Steven and I} are planning on coming to India soon so I might email you to see if we can meet up along the way to hear more stories in person and to enjoy some beer under Indian stars. How is Tolstoy going?

    Love
    Shelley

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