Mouse, Monks and Momos

We had a visitor last night, a mouse scrabbling and scratching in the void above our ceiling. It was probably building a nest for the winter. Fortunately it took the hint and scuttled off when I called lights out. 

Today we start to explore McLeod Ganj, the scenic upper settlement of Dharamshala where we're based. This time two years ago we were in Shimla for November's Diwali holiday. But with the "big day" just two days off, here there is none of the frenetic activity, the sales, gaudy street decorations and loud bangs of fireworks let off in the streets. It's very sedate, maybe because this is the stronghold of Tibetan Buddhists in exile. The Dalai Lama lives just down the road from our hotel, though he's away in Japan this week. A Buddhist temple, ringed with heavy prayer wheels set spinning by the faithful, straddles the two main streets of the town. Maroon-robed monks and nuns, individually or in clusters, are much in evidence, some of them slightly incongrously wearing trainers and tapping texts into their cell 'phones. It's Sunday, but local children are in school. Their round smiley Tibetan features are easy to distinguish from other groups of children from elsewhere in India, here on school trips with their teachers. They wear very British-style school uniforms - grey skirts or trousers, white shirts, ties and V-necks, plus badges labelled "monitor" or "librarian". They cluster round, eagerly using their mobiles to take photos of each other standing with us (well, Sara mainly). 

We follow the road to Bhagsu, just glimpsing a sharp snow-covered peak to the north. Bhagsu has an ancient if slightly scruffy Hindu temple where were pay homage to the lingam of Shiva and have our foreheads marked with saffron paste by the priest. There is a natural spring here which is chanelled below the temple into an inviting swimming pool, clean and blue but cold. Beyond the pool we follow a path quite steeply up towards a waterfall and a tumbling stream where monks are washing their robes and draping them over the rocks to dry. We are assailed on the way by a group of crazy young men. They call me Babaji and flirt outrageously with Sara, whose image by now probably beams out of their Facebook pages. 

S is deterred by the final climb, so I continue alone to the waterfall and pool, catching up with the lads. One of them dives into the icy water fully clad, emerges shivering, then realises that he forgot to empty his pockets of cash, keys and 'phone. The cafe by the waterfall says "hookah available" and possibly has Bhangh Lassi (yoghurt flavoured with cannabis - pretty horrid, I've since been told) on the menu, though with S waiting, I can't stay to sample it.

Back to the hotel, where we arrange a fan heater for this evening (extra charge). Later, out for food. Sara orders Chow Chow and I have Momos, which, if you're wondering, are quite like Dim Sin.