Dharamsala & Dalhausie

Avtobusna postaja za Dharamsalo je ob vznožju hriba, naselje pa je na vrhu, kako uro hoda. Zato bi naj poiskala taxi, ki bi me odpeljal gor, a me je prestregel fant, ki je ponujal prenočišče. Pa sem se odločila za prenočišče v bližini avtobusne postaje, kar se je kasneje izkazalo za kar v redu, saj sem lahko odložila prtljago in se potem peš odpravila gor v hrib. Sicer nisem imela kakih posebnih namenov v Dharamsali razen pač videti kraja in se malo sprehoditi naokoli, saj je tam zelo slikovito, rahlo hribovito območje ob vznožju Himalaje. Bilo je precej oblačno in ko sem prispela na vrh, v vasico, je začelo deževati. Umaknila sem se v knjigarno z rabljenimi knjigami, kjer sem brskala po knjigah in čakala, da dež mine. Lastnik knjigarne mi je ponudil čaj, ki sem ga z veseljem sprejela, plačila pa ni hotel sprejeti, rekoč »you are wet, it is cold«. Prijazno sem se zahvalila, sem pa potem preden sem odšla kupila dve knjigi, saj ker sem potovala sama, sem ob večerih imela časa za branje na pretek. Po dežju je bilo blatno in tokrat mi je zelo prav prišlo, ko je za menoj pritekel mulc in mi ponujal čiščenje čevljev, rade volje sem mu pustila, da jih očisti. Naslednji dan je bilo malo lepše vreme in dan sem izkoristila za hojo po poteh v okolici. Dokler sem bila v hribovskem predelu, sem želela videti še kraj Dalhausie, za katerega je pisalo v turističnem vodniku, da je prelep hribovski kraj in poleti oblegan s turisti. A februarja ni ravno turistična sezona, pravzaprav ni bilo skoraj nikogar, zdi se mi, da sem bila celo edina turistka. Prenočišče sem poiskala v nekakšni stari zapuščeni palači, verjetno nekdanjem počitniškem domu kakih bogatih Angležev. Ko sem se sprehajala okrog, sem naletela na domačinko, mlajšo žensko z dojenčkom, ki bi se sicer zelo rada pogovarjala z menoj, a edino, kar je znala povedati v angleščini, je bilo vprašanje »How are?«. Tako sva se bolj nasmehnili druga drugi, malo mahali z rokami, a nisva mogli preveč klepetati. Žal sem tudi kasneje med potovanjem po Indiji ugotavljala, da ženske v odročnih krajih večinoma ne znajo angleško, res škoda, saj moški so me kar naprej nekaj ogovarjali, a zanimivo bi bilo tudi kdaj kakšno reči s kakšno žensko. V kraju Dalhausie sem srečala enega tipa, ki se je izdajal za novinarja (kar je morda bilo res, ali pa tudi ne, če že, je najverjetneje kdaj kaj napisal za kak lokalni časopis) in me vabil v hotel njegovega kolega, kjer bi naredil intervju z menoj. Saj nisem imela kaj boljšega za počet, pa sem šla. Kolega je res sedel v recepciji popolnoma praznega hotela in gledal televizijo. Povedal je, da se s hotelom preživlja in da poleti, v turistični sezoni, zasluži dovolj denarja, s katerim preživi čez celo leto. Novinarski kolega je potem kar pozabil, da bi se moral pretvarjati, da je novinar, in intervjuja seveda ni bilo. A smo potem kar tam posedali v tisti recepciji in malo čvekali, na dan sta privlekla pijačo Thums Up (ne, ni tipkarska napaka, res se napiše brez b), pač neko indijsko varianto koka kole in rum. Hotela sta me prepričati, da je kraj Dalhausie tako lep, da ga primerjajo s Švico, jaz pa sem si pri sebi mislila, da če bi vi kdaj bili v Švici, bi videli, da se tam smeti ne mečejo kar po tleh. Tako kakor vsi ostali kraji, ki sem jih videla v Indiji, je bil tudi Dalhousie poln smeti ob cestah in v jarkih. Naslednje jutro so mi v mojem prenočišču za zajtrk prinesli jed, ki je kasneje postala ena mojih najljubših indijskih jedi, povedali so mi, da se ji reče pranta. Izgleda kakor dva čapatija zlepljena skupaj, na sredini pa na tanko razvaljan precej pekoč nadev. Glede na to, da sem prejšnji večer za večerjo jedla kari iz cvetače, krompirja in graha, sem sklepala, da je v nadevu zmečkan ostanek te jedi. Bilo pa je res odlično.

The bus arrives at Dharamsala at the bus station at the foot of the hill where the town lies about an hour's walk uphill. I was supposed to look for a taxi to get me up there but a young guy intercepted me offering me a room. I decided to take the room by the bus station which proved to be a good idea because I could leave my luggage and go uphill on foot. I didn't plan to do anything special in Dharamsala except to see the town and look around because it was supposed to be a scenic village below the Himalayas. It was cloudy and when I reached the village it started to rain. I found shelter in a used bookstore where I browsed books and waited for the rain to stop. The owner kindly offered me tea and refused payment for it, saying "you are wet, it is cold". I kindly thanked him and bought two books on my way out, after all I was traveling by myself and I had plenty of time to read in the evenings. It was muddy after the rain and this time it was fortunate that a kid chased after me offering to clean my shoes, I gladly accepted. The next day the weather was nicer and so I took the opportunity to hike around the area.  Next on my list of places to see was Dalhousie which was supposed to be a beautiful mountain village according to my guidebook. While it was supposedly packed with tourists during the summer it wasn't so in February when I was there, in fact, it was quite deserted and I believe I might have been the only tourist. I found a place to sleep in an old palace that might have been the summer home of some rich English people many decades ago.  While walking around I ran into a young local woman with a baby, who was very excited to talk to me, but the only words in English that she could say were "How are?". So we mostly just smiled at each other, tried to communicate with hand signals but didn't make much progress in conversation. Unfortunately I discovered that women in remote places in India generally do not speak English so I wasn't able to communicate with them too much while on the other hand men stopped me to speak with me everywhere. Too bad, I would have liked to have more conversations with women. While in Dalhousie I ran into a guy who claimed to be a reporter (which might have been true or not, and even if it were I'm sure the only thing he ever published was some piece for a local newspaper). He invited me into his friend's hotel to interview me. I didn't have anything better to do so I went. His friend sat in the reception of the completely empty hotel watching TV. He told me that he makes a living off the hotel during the summer months which keeps him going through the year. The reporter guy then forgot that he was supposed to pretend to be a reporter and of course there was no interview. But we all had time and nothing better to do so we sat there at the reception and chatted and they brought a cola drink called Thums Up (no, it's not a typo, it's really spelled without a b) and rum. They tried to convince me that Dalhousie is such a beautiful place they compare it to Switzerland. I thought to myself sure, if you had ever gone to Switzerland, you would see that they don't dump their trash everywhere. Just like any other place in India, Dalhousie was also full of trash lying by the roads. The next morning when I had breakfast at my hotel they served me what later became one of my favorite Indian foods, they called it paratha. It looks like two chappatis stuck together with a hot filling in between. Knowing that the night before I had cauliflower, potato and pea curry for dinner I guessed that the filling was mashed leftovers of that curry. It was really delicious.