Dog

Today I rescued a dog which was stuck up a tree. Yes, up a tree. I'm not entirely sure how he got there, but he was stood on branch quivering and whimpering. I inched my way along the branch to where he was and took hold of him. But this was all very dangerous. If I lost balance, me and the dog would fall.

Luckily I have a cold and I was wearing a scarf which someone had bought me for my birthday. So I tied one end around the dog and the other end around my neck.

At that point, a monk walked past, laughed at me and then walked away. Similarly, an old Tibetan man walked past, laughed at me and then walked away. Finally a Tibetan boy walked past. I told him to help me and I lowered the dog down to him.

On the ground, I told the dog he was now free and he should run away. He didn't. He just stood there quivering, presumably having a panic attack.

Cows

Dharamsala is run by cows. They give orders to the dogs who control the streets. The dogs assert their authority by barking all night. All f-----g night.

The humans are the workers and required to produce food and luxury items for the cows.

The monkeys aren't happy with this and they're trying to subvert this system. They are therefore terrorists. The cow below is 'censoring' radical material placed there by the monkeys.

Spices

Not long ago, I was walking down into Dharamsala and I passed a spice mill. My nutty Hare Krishna brother had previously introduced me to vegetarian Indian cooking, so I decided to have a buy-in of all the funky spices.

The shop was staffed by a sweet old Indian gentleman who presumably remembers the days when India was ruled by the British Raj.

I had a lot of fun trying to express which spices I wanted to buy. I would identify spices by pointing or smelling, and he also suggested unknown and exciting spices that I may like to try. Every time I would indicate that I only want a small amount of the spice, and he would load a bag with a whole kilo. But that was OK - he was old and slightly doolally. And it wasn't going to cost *that* much, was it?

I eventually left the spice mill with my backpack and two carrier bags loaded with spices. The total price was one-thousand one-hundred and eighty-three rupees.

In reterospect, the shopkeeper wasn't sweet and quaint at all. He was a capitalist vulture and saw me coming a mile away. I eventually gave 90% of the spices away to my classmates, as they would have gone mouldy in my kitchen.

Extractor

I walk past this extractor fan every day on my way home. I think it's enough to put anyone off smoking.

Hant

On Sunday mornings, I am an "conversation partner" for monks who are learning English in the local monestary. The monks are new to English pronunciation, so the lessons mainly consist of the following:

Adam: Hand
Student: Hant
Adam: No, 'Hand'
Student: Hant
Adam: No, not 'Hant', 'Hand'
Student: Hant
Adam: No, look at my mouth, 'Hand'
Student: Hant
Adam: No, you're still saying 'Hant', I want you to say 'Hand'
Student: Hant
Adam: Can anyone else say Hand?
Another student: Hand
Adam: Exactly, now say Hand again
Student: Hant
Adam: No, you said 'Hant', I want you to say 'Hand'
Student: Hant
Adam: Can anyone explain how to say Hand?
Another student: (in Tibetan) Imagine that you're spitting a piece of spinach at a passing yak, but you get hit in the face with a prayer wheel that was spinning too fast.
Student: Hand
Adam: Exactly! Now say 'this'
Student: Jis
Adam: No, not 'jis', 'this'

And so on and so forth...

Sorry

Hi folks, sorry I've not updated the blog for ages. It's due to a combination of being work-logged and being lazy. My brother Guy is recovering just fine after having a load of snot sucked out of his head. I'm overloaded with Tibetan studying and every now and then I want to cry and go back home to my mummy. The first student dropped out yesterday. I saw her this morning and she seems very relieved and happy, instead of the neurotic stressed-out mess she was last week.

I'll try to add some more stories sometime soon. But to be honest, don't get your hopes up. :-)