Not Bored in New York

I don’t know if I can stress the immaculate wonder of the place that I am currently staying. The altitude repeatedly leaves me thoughtless every time I look out across the mountains:

1.) Pink House is a three story–with accesiable roof–guest house situated on a slope within the Himalayan mountain range. It is surrouned by other guest houses which are situated in the same format. The wonder lies in accessing the roof–when you are on top of the roof you are at the same height , or a bit lower, as the flight path of the local birds (eagles, large crows, various finches, and other birds that I cannot identify). This morning I had a pot of tea on the roof and there were eagles flying around no more than thirty feet from where I was sitting. I am perpetually awed by this.

2.) If I look out–I think to the West, although I’m not quite sure–I can see the ridge of a nearby mountain, but beyond that there is zero visibility. The reason why I cannot see past the mountain is because of clouds. I am so high up from sea level–Florida–that I am where the clouds are, this concept is mind-boggling.

It has been quite difficult to find a decent pot/cup of tea here in India; chai abounds, but for those of us who prefer the fidelity of a fine full leaf brew there is little accomodation. As luck would have it though, my guest house serves a peculiar full-leaf green tea. They call it Kashmiri green tea, and it has notes of cinnamon, clove, and corriander in the bouquet, as well as up fropnt in the palette. It finishes with a subtle notion of warm clove.

I have decided that going out in mid-afternoon here is a bad idea–traffic is at its peak, thus exhaust fumes are as well. This wouldn’t be so bad if walking didn’t put me within inches of every vehicle, and its exhaust pipe; havoc for the lungs and the body.

I went yesterday with Chie and Kimiko to try and make arrangements to meet with the Dalai Lama, but we had no luck. Next time.

Last night I went to a concert of Tibetan folk music that was certainly taking place at some degree of fantastichood. The concert was a solo recital, and began in the dark because the power went out. After two songs with a two-stringed folk violin–that is quite similar to the chinese er-hu–the fellow performing proceeded to treat us to performances on two different types of lutes–one small with a low dynamic, and high pitch, and one large with a beefier dynamic, and lower pitch– coupled with singing, as well as two different flutes, and more violin songs. The concert took place at the local school in a concrete room, where we sat on faintly raised platforms, and watched our entertainer play before a wall painted with mountains and clouds, and adorned with a shrine for the Dalai Lama.

Of considerable import are the many colors and varieties of yak, and sheep hair socks–all are considerably well-colored and come in a variety of shapes, including one with a toe sleeve for use with sandals.