Learning - it's a two way street

The 'teacher & assistant' do not show up for day care. The children must know because neither do they. We wait around at the bori watching the young girls aged about 4-10 scrubbing the family clothes and then themselves. They work so hard, happily.

There is a small truck in front of us as we drive back to camp, it is a village road so it is very narrow barely wide enough for the truck and he drives over the water pipe. They all lay exposed along the side of the tracks, it bursts and he continues along. There will now be a village without water.

The no show at day care gives S & I 2 hours spare so we catch the bus to Dharamsala it is about 7km up hill from Sidwari village where we stay. I've heard there is a refugee camp there for 40,000 Tibetans but I don't see it. Varun offers me the opportunity to, (kindly) but I'm not sure what purpose I could serve by visiting. It isn't a circus, so I decline. Dharamsala is host to a large bright red cricket stadium, clearly the pride and joy of the city. They will host 3 IPL matches here next month. We are not long off the bus when approached by two beggar women with babies aged 1-2. They have thin hair, hollow eyes, no bums, they dangle off their mothers like rag dolls, they are filthy. We buy each mother a large bag of powdered milk. A mother washes her toddler's clothes in the gutter while he stands beside her naked. S buy shoes for children who come along to our second computer class. S has set up a day care session for this group of very poor looking children while I do the computer lesson - she helps with this too - S is very busy during this 2 hours! I'm not sure who got the most pleasure of the shoes the giver or receivers.

The computer classes are exhausting! The numbers have swelled, we will not turn anyone away. I think of more resources I could have brought. They are loud & keen, we have to be patient. They, like everyone else we have come across are respectful to us. Importantly, they are learning.

Triund Trek Dhauladhao Ranges

Perhaps the vodka was not a good idea, but surely I can handle 2 vodka & limes with my volunteering friend & daughter. I'm up most of the night not knowing which end to put to the toilet first. One look at breakfast and I run off again. It's 8am and we're supposed to be leaving for our trek, I feel dreadful. Ve sys I should stay home and rest - do a short trek tomorrow. Please give me half an hour I ask. I take prescription medicine & will myself to be fit. I don't want to be a nuisance & be sick along the way, there will be no bathroom facilities at all for the weekend trek to see Everest.

We set off, S, Vineet (our sweet constant companion) and our guide Babu. Babu is 23 and has been guiding treks every day for the past 6 years. He has an engaging personality and I want to hug him when he offers to carry my pack. We stop at the first tea house & our caring guides persuade me to take chai. It's a nourishing drink & gives me the lift I need. We share the steep, rocky, narrow path with pack mules carrying supplies & I'm not game to look over the edge. We pass a plaque for a successful Everest climber who fell to his death here 2 years ago. 'Small steps, careful' says Babu. I'm only able to take in the surrounding beauty during our brief chai & rest stops, the rest of the time my eyes are busy watching the placement of my feet. Towards the end it gets very hard for us and we psych each step. Babu is singing and laughing all the way. We reach our destination Triund, a beach umbrella and mat has been laid out for us, we are so spoilt. We collapse and fall asleep in the sun until Babu wakes us for a hot meal of noodles. Later we continue trekking and see wild horses, magnificent views and a temple even. Though cloudy I'm enjoying photography. Later as I walk alone the clouds part & I'm able to glimpse the monster mountains Everest I don't have my camera with me but it is photographed in my mind.

We spend a very pleasant evening around a camp fire with 11 young Indian & Tamil men & a young German man. It's cold and our caring guides give us extra blankets. During the night a violent storm hail, thunder, lightening heavy rain brings them ll in to the tiny room next to us. We eat a delicious cooked breakfast in a 4mx2m room that is home, shop & restaurant to our host.

Our descent is in the rain, but I don't mind getting saturated, I'm so high I'm on a high! Again Babu insists on carrying my backpack, I tell him I'm in love with him! The track is now slippery & there are waterfalls. We walk through a cloud & emerge to spectacular views below. The expensive waterproof hiking shoes that sisters laughed at me for buying are drenched & I'm loving every squelching step!

wedding

A colourful, excited array of people have congregted outside a home on the main drag of Sidwari Village, home of our camp. Curiousity gets the better of me and ask what they are waiting for. "they re coming soon Miss, wait with us you will see". A brightly decorated suzuki car comes round the corner carrying bride, groom and mother in law. "you join us Miss, you take snaps Miss" Before we know it we are included in a traditional wedding ceremony. A decorated bus arrives, it is carrying more family and guests and a brass band! It is day 2 of a four day ceremony. We meet siblings of bride and groom and they explain what is going on. The groom emerges from the car first. He is draped in a purchased sash of money notes. Underneath this sash many real notes of money have been pinned to his clothes. He is probably aged 30s and works at a school. His bride won't get out of the car. Her head is down. She looks frightened and tiny. A band like a marching band plays loud music, drums, trumpets and horns, they make quite a racquet! We are talking to many different guests who have a sprinkling of English. They explain that the couple have only just met for this arranged occasion. The guests are beautifully dressed. Eventually a group of women go the car and coax, pull, push the little bride out. She is wearing red and is adourned in a heavy string of coconuts as is her mother-in-law. Mostly her face covered in a red scarf. They make they way down to the entrance of the brides home, the music gets louder. Food appears! They have been partying here for two days, we could hear the music last night from our camp but didn't realise what it was. On the fourth day they will move to the groom's family home for a celebration. This will become a day of wailng as the bride is leaving her family for the final time and moving to his home. We are so blessed to be immersed and included in this rich culture and are learning so much.

Give a man a fish and he feeds his family for one night, teach a man to fish and he feed his family for a lifetime

a ten minute drive delivers us to a village called Sukor visibly unchanged for generations. The women have congregated at the bori to wash clothes and themselves, I decline the offer of a drink of water.
Our tiny suzuki car only just squeezes along the track without scraping both sides.The streets are all un named. Day care is a handful of children looking for education and we try to oblige with bubbles, rhymes, clapping and play.

A delicious Indian lunch and then we return to Sukor to teach computer skills we meander along a rocky pathway through a couple of paddocks past crops, goats and barn homes to a house where our computer lessons will be conducted. Our pupils arrive, aged 11-17 girls,shy and they have never seen a computer. Then another drive, another village, another group of young womenaged 14-27 to be introcuced to a computer for the very first time. It's hard to remember their names, wish we had of brought name tags.The girls in the second group are not shy. They giggle, give cheek and enjoy their lesson. Others walk by and look on with curiosity.
It must be intimidating having strangers come into the village bringing weird technology. Do they really need to know about the other worlld that is out there? aRE THEY BETTER OFF NOT KNOW ING WHAT FACEBOOOK IS?
In the evening we drive toDharmashala to choose fabric for indian outits.
A huge fair is going on ion Dharmashala

Sidwari Village

S worries about her macbook as the cab driver hurls her bag onto the roof of the taxi. It's been a bumpy trip to say the least. About a 10 minute drive to a wrm welcome at our camp. Breakfast, shower, rest then some sightseeing to familirise ourselves with the village. We visit a Buddhist Temple, a Hindu Temple, a museum of Tibetan dolls and we see a pyre for the expired of the village, after cremation the ashes taken to the Ganges. Along a winding mountain road a group of women sit in circle. They are chipping rocks to be used for building material. Such hard work for a pittance I'm sure. We stop and communicate. I've had barely a handful of hours of sleep over the last few days and am looking forward to an early night until the man of the house wants to become acquainted; begins asking loads of questions about Australia, my farm, my family, business, how many servants do I have - why I do not & finally, how old am I?

'But my wife is much older than you, she is 50 years old, and yet she looks much younger than you. What have you done wrong?'

Please, just let me go to bed!

Delhi

'Mam, Mam, I give you lift to market', 'This way Mam, come come'. We only spent a few hours in bed before venturing out, but around the block was enough culture shock for now. We settle on the view from our balcony 0f the street and building site. Without day care for the children they accompany their parents to work and toddlers are playing in the dirt beside very steep cliff edges. No one seems concerned that they may fall, and they don't.

It's Sunday, families are out in force looking so colourful. I wonder how the women manage to be so well groomed with clean outfits for all their families with such limited resources. I think of the rat tails that hang from my head, without exception the women's pony tails and plaits are immaculate. It's clear tht many live on the street, in ramshackle lean-to or plastic sheet. The smell reminds me of wet cement.

Our first Indian meal at a local restaurant is delicious! Surprising how quickly we adapt to eating with our right hand fingers.

We hire driver for the afternoon to see some of the Delhi sights. Siam drives us to Parliament House, the President's house, the Prime minister's house & the Chief's house! The layout reminded me of Canberra how you look down to old Parliament House, here you look down to India Gates our next stop.

The first (of many) men to approach us displays a cobra in front of my face. Again the beauty of S is not lost to these males, they surround her and want to take her photo. We meet an Aussie couple from Tatura. The Lotus Temple is obviously very significant in Delhi, 1000s of gathered here today, our driver thinks we should go in, but the crowds deter us.

I feel like an open mouthed clown at a side show looking from right to left trying to take in all the sights as we meander along weaving between tuk tuk, bikes, cars, people, people, people, skinny cows and stray dogs. We drive past Commonwealth Games stadium and all the while we pass slums upon slums upon slums. They appear to be built on rubbish tips, or perhaps the slums become the rubbish tip. Every time the car stops a vendor approaches, 'buy this mam'. Where there is a spare patch of dirt men and boys will be playing cricket. The hotel staff suddenly respected me when I demonstrate my knowledge of cricket, our passports are returned!

The poverty & beggars at the Delhi bus stop is quite confronting. It is in Tibetan Quarter surrounded by dust, mud puddles. We board the 1960s bus at 6.30 pm for our 12 hour journey, pleased we each have a seat. We drive into the darkness watching through the windows so interesting. We stop at 10.30 for Chai then continue bumping, shaking, shuddering and beeping. We overlook how uncomfortable it is because it is just so interesting to watch through the window. The final two hours I notice my arm is getting wet. It's raining outside, the bus leaks. I wonder about the people who sleep out no longer lying in the dirt but mud. How do they cope?

We 're still at Indira Ghandi Airport, Delhi when a group of young men purve at S. I quip at her to cover up & notice that she is totally covered. It's 2.30 am as we leave the airport for a hotel, the streets are still busy with people wandering around aimlessly, obviously no where to go or they would be there. Shapes lying on the ground. An open truck load of children drives past???

We feel intimidated by the men at reception who demand our passports & ignore my request for thier return, one brushes up against S. It's 4am when we finally enter our room. We bucket wash our bodies in cold water. A msg arrives on my phone from the Australian Embassy wishing us well and please call us if you have any trouble, it's comforting. I had registered our trip with DFAT. and listed 'him' as my contact person. "don't worry', I said, 'I don't plan on doing anything adventurous'. To which he replied, 'Well actually, you are".

Probably shouldn't have driven the van today. But I knew the Bhutanese would be waiting for me in front of the church. They appreciated today's session with some new resources I acquired this week on using the internet in different languages, even Nepali!
I've managed to play 1000's of basketball & netball games and have never injured a knee. But tonight I am on the couch with an icepack on my swollen knee -twisted jumping backwards out of the truck today. It's a big truck. We leave for India in just a few hours. It'll be better by then

"Mum, you're so gay. Don't make a blog!"

Him, "A blog, what's that? You better not step in it"

"Mummy, Is this really necessary?"

"Well I'm not gunna read it."

"You're going to do a travel blog?"

Well, no, not a travel blog. Just a blog. A couple of years ago I blogged a web 2.0 library course.

http://lplatelibraryblogger.blogspot.com/

That was fun. I still cannot imagine why so many Russians were interested in my library learning. Are libraries captivating in some way in the Soviet Union?

Well, anyway, tonight after a few pre & post dinner drinks the blog of Sandylea has emerged. I'm assured that no one will read it. Fine, no need to feel inhibited by what is written!