The phone rings. It is Nanch from Mindrolling Monastry.
"What time you coming? Where are you?"
"We're on our way."
We're in an auto on the road to the Interstate Bus Terminal (ISBT). It's howlin a gale, blowing dust and rubbish into the air, as we make our way south from Dehradun to Clement Town. It starts to rain, making travelling conditions difficult for the short journey to our next destination.
"Okay. We'll be there about 12.30."
"Don't mention you'll be staying at the Guest House. Only say you're visiting. Very big problem with the Indians. We're in a military zone."
"Okay. We'll be discreet."
I'm bemused by the apparent need for dishonesty given that we're staying at a Tibetan Monastry for four days, but park the thought to one side to focus on more immediate issues. The air is swirking in mini tornedoes as we hit the traffic jam which accompanies the bus stand. Sunder, the auto cab driver fiddles with velcro and drops the side awning to afford some protection from the elements.
We press on, left off the main road, delving into the extended suburbs of Dehradun. Or was this Clement Town? 'Wouldn't have found this place on our own,' I thought, as we whistle past the ever present shops selling Frito Lays, Pepsi, snacks, nuts and pan. We reach an arched gate on our right, and pass under to a different world.
Neat and tidy streetscape. Faces more familiarly Tibetan than Indian. Right again and through another gate to complete our journey. Ahead is the large stupa with welcoming Buddha. Sunder, points to a building down the road.
"Guest house," he mutters, but I have my doubts.
Backpacks out and relieved of Rs 450, we head in the indicated direction. Inside a courtyard we can see the doord to the meditation hall, closed for now. Office to the left, also closed. An old monk shuffles along the verandah towards us. He speaks in broken English, but understands enougn to know he needs to take us elsewhere. We're passed on to a young monk, Gompo, who seems to know Nanch.
We at last discover Nanch behind the counter in Norjin, the vegetarian restaurant at the right hand end of a two storey semi-circular building, facing the gompa. This muxt be the guest house.
"Rs 350," he says, jiggling the large tag attached to the key to Room 307.
"A day?"
Meals not included.
"What time you coming? Where are you?"
"We're on our way."
We're in an auto on the road to the Interstate Bus Terminal (ISBT). It's howlin a gale, blowing dust and rubbish into the air, as we make our way south from Dehradun to Clement Town. It starts to rain, making travelling conditions difficult for the short journey to our next destination.
"Okay. We'll be there about 12.30."
"Don't mention you'll be staying at the Guest House. Only say you're visiting. Very big problem with the Indians. We're in a military zone."
"Okay. We'll be discreet."
I'm bemused by the apparent need for dishonesty given that we're staying at a Tibetan Monastry for four days, but park the thought to one side to focus on more immediate issues. The air is swirking in mini tornedoes as we hit the traffic jam which accompanies the bus stand. Sunder, the auto cab driver fiddles with velcro and drops the side awning to afford some protection from the elements.
We press on, left off the main road, delving into the extended suburbs of Dehradun. Or was this Clement Town? 'Wouldn't have found this place on our own,' I thought, as we whistle past the ever present shops selling Frito Lays, Pepsi, snacks, nuts and pan. We reach an arched gate on our right, and pass under to a different world.
Neat and tidy streetscape. Faces more familiarly Tibetan than Indian. Right again and through another gate to complete our journey. Ahead is the large stupa with welcoming Buddha. Sunder, points to a building down the road.
"Guest house," he mutters, but I have my doubts.
Backpacks out and relieved of Rs 450, we head in the indicated direction. Inside a courtyard we can see the doord to the meditation hall, closed for now. Office to the left, also closed. An old monk shuffles along the verandah towards us. He speaks in broken English, but understands enougn to know he needs to take us elsewhere. We're passed on to a young monk, Gompo, who seems to know Nanch.
We at last discover Nanch behind the counter in Norjin, the vegetarian restaurant at the right hand end of a two storey semi-circular building, facing the gompa. This muxt be the guest house.
"Rs 350," he says, jiggling the large tag attached to the key to Room 307.
"A day?"
Meals not included.
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