7.8.2004
HIMALAYAN QUEEN
(toy train from Shimla to Kalka)
We finally made it to the cool heights of the Himalaya -- what a relief. Currently we're in Dharamsala, for the Dalai Lama's birthday celebration. The handlebar-mustachioed machismo and dry desert heat of Rajastan, and the frenetic religious fervor of the Ganges has been replaced by the placid wide faces of beautiful Tibetan women in traditional dresses.
In delirium from our 20-odd hours of travel and sleeplessness, we ended up missing all but the last 5 minutes of the official celebration performances -- but not the air of the occasion (or the delicious food, like mutton momos (dumplings).
To backtrack -- from Rishikesh we traveled to Shimla, where we spent 2 days in the quintessential hill station, 6,000 feet in the Himalayan foothills. Cobblestone buildings lined steep narrow walkways with all manner of Indian sweet shops and bazaars. In the crisp air and pine trees atop misty mountaintops, we felt we'd time-traveled to some alternate Indian/Alp nation.
Shimla was "discovered" by the British in the early 1800's, and chosen as the government's summer refuge from the stifling heat of Delhi. From those heights, roughly 1/5 of the world's population was ruled.
Of course, the town had existed before the British arrived, but ironically as Shyamala, the abode of the dark Hindu goddess Kali. Little evidence of her remains in today's cheerfully tidy Aspen of the Himalaya.
The day of our toy train ride back to the lowlands, we woke up early to climb the steep hillside to the Jakhu temple -- a shrine to Hanuman, the monkey/man-hero of the Hindu religious epic, "The Ramayana". Appropriately, the trail and temple are home to a large community of rambunctious monkeys -- waiting to ambush temple visitors. Most carry sticks for protection. I narrowly avoided having a real monkey on my back.
After our delightful journey winding down the valley in the Himalayan Queen (and before the torturous all-night bus ride up to Dharamsala) we had an interesting layover in Chandigarh, the capital of Punjab.
The 50-year old city plan was designed by French architect Le Corbusier. Although mirroring the rational and modern arrangement of an ancient city in the same place, his gridlike and impersonal division into sectors and zones made the city feel like a military base cum strip-mall. I prefer the older cities of India, where streets spiral into black holes and cubby-hole temples.
In contrast, the Nek Chand rock garden (which we visited at sunset) was one of the most inspired places I've been to, in India or elsewhere. Acres of land were covered with rock alleys lined with beautiful and bizarre sculptures made of stone and recycled bits of metal and porcelain. Lined up, they looked like soldiers for the cause of the imagination. "Phase three" included a waterfall and tall concrete canyons leading to a giant hall of swings hanging in high archways. I met the artist -- a gifted spirit who has been working here since 1958.
Carl Lindquist aptly describes the garden: "Built of industrial waste and thrown-away items, it is perhaps the world's most poignant and salient statement of the possibility of finding beauty in the unexpected and accidental."
Check out the link at right if you'd like to read more about Nek Chand, or see photos of the garden.
(toy train from Shimla to Kalka)
We finally made it to the cool heights of the Himalaya -- what a relief. Currently we're in Dharamsala, for the Dalai Lama's birthday celebration. The handlebar-mustachioed machismo and dry desert heat of Rajastan, and the frenetic religious fervor of the Ganges has been replaced by the placid wide faces of beautiful Tibetan women in traditional dresses.
In delirium from our 20-odd hours of travel and sleeplessness, we ended up missing all but the last 5 minutes of the official celebration performances -- but not the air of the occasion (or the delicious food, like mutton momos (dumplings).
To backtrack -- from Rishikesh we traveled to Shimla, where we spent 2 days in the quintessential hill station, 6,000 feet in the Himalayan foothills. Cobblestone buildings lined steep narrow walkways with all manner of Indian sweet shops and bazaars. In the crisp air and pine trees atop misty mountaintops, we felt we'd time-traveled to some alternate Indian/Alp nation.
Shimla was "discovered" by the British in the early 1800's, and chosen as the government's summer refuge from the stifling heat of Delhi. From those heights, roughly 1/5 of the world's population was ruled.
Of course, the town had existed before the British arrived, but ironically as Shyamala, the abode of the dark Hindu goddess Kali. Little evidence of her remains in today's cheerfully tidy Aspen of the Himalaya.
The day of our toy train ride back to the lowlands, we woke up early to climb the steep hillside to the Jakhu temple -- a shrine to Hanuman, the monkey/man-hero of the Hindu religious epic, "The Ramayana". Appropriately, the trail and temple are home to a large community of rambunctious monkeys -- waiting to ambush temple visitors. Most carry sticks for protection. I narrowly avoided having a real monkey on my back.
After our delightful journey winding down the valley in the Himalayan Queen (and before the torturous all-night bus ride up to Dharamsala) we had an interesting layover in Chandigarh, the capital of Punjab.
The 50-year old city plan was designed by French architect Le Corbusier. Although mirroring the rational and modern arrangement of an ancient city in the same place, his gridlike and impersonal division into sectors and zones made the city feel like a military base cum strip-mall. I prefer the older cities of India, where streets spiral into black holes and cubby-hole temples.
In contrast, the Nek Chand rock garden (which we visited at sunset) was one of the most inspired places I've been to, in India or elsewhere. Acres of land were covered with rock alleys lined with beautiful and bizarre sculptures made of stone and recycled bits of metal and porcelain. Lined up, they looked like soldiers for the cause of the imagination. "Phase three" included a waterfall and tall concrete canyons leading to a giant hall of swings hanging in high archways. I met the artist -- a gifted spirit who has been working here since 1958.
Carl Lindquist aptly describes the garden: "Built of industrial waste and thrown-away items, it is perhaps the world's most poignant and salient statement of the possibility of finding beauty in the unexpected and accidental."
Check out the link at right if you'd like to read more about Nek Chand, or see photos of the garden.
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