If you had asked me how I felt about India
24 hours into landing in Delhi, I probably would have cried and said I wanted the
first flight home. I was reunited with my mom (the only good part), 12 hours
into the drive to Dharamshala, lost on winding roads as the sun disappeared
over the horizon. Both our stomachs were twisted in knots from the horrific
drive, and we were both sick – possibly from the water, or possibly from the
sketchy lunch we ate at a rest stop along the way.
We had signed up for a yoga retreat at the
Himalayan Iyengar Yoga Centre, and when we finally arrived – in the dark, with
massive backpacks, dirty, tired, our bowels about to explode – we were given
keys to our rooms. When we opened the doors, we nearly broke into tears. Covered
in filth and mold, we could hardly breathe, so we strapped our backpacks right back
on and walked up the mountain in darkness in search of somewhere else to stay
on short notice. Hoping for a place with screens in the windows, doors that
locked, and a toilet that wasn’t already covered in shit.
The Lodge appeared before us and felt like
a haven. Clean sheets, hot water, a place to charge our kindles. We showered,
slept, and woke to gorgeous mountain views and our nerves started to settle. We
took deep breaths of cool mountain air, sipped on hot green tea, and dressed
for yoga. And then, on our first day in Dharamkot, I shit my pants.
Our awful experience with the yoga centre’s
accommodation the night before should have been an omen for the five-day yoga
retreat ahead. I may not be the most seasoned yogi, but I practice yoga because
it makes me feel good – mentally, physically – as most people do. Yet the teachers
at HIYC carry the philosophy that we should push through the pain. And so on the
second day in Dharamkot, I cried while being forced into a backbend that left
me in pain for the next several days.
One day, two days, three days in – I hated
India. So did my mom. But one thing stuck with me. The yoga retreat, while
horrific, introduced us to some truly wonderful people, and our new friend,
Naama, said to us that India may be hard, but most everyone has a moment when
they stumble upon the magic and think, wow, this is what the hype is about.
And so slowly, slowly, we sought it out.
And slowly, slowly, the magic came. Our stomachs
settled. We ditched the yoga class. And we spent all of our time in the town of
Dharamkot, which is one of the most magical villages I’ve seen. We found our
favorite restaurants and quickly became regulars – eating breakfast at Bodhi
Greens every single morning and spending hours sipping chai, dinner at Morgan’s
Place where we had gnocchi that rivaled Little Italy’s and washed it down with
a sneaky glass of Shiraz. We had nothing to do but be present, so we spent
hours in Ali’s crystal shop learning about gemstones, sitting on the ground making
macramé earrings and dream catchers, and chatting with strangers, travelers,
locals, making new friends.
Dharamkot was beautiful, just one street,
pedestrian-only, so there was no noise or pollution from the roads. It is nestled
into the mountain above Dharamshala, with fresh air and gorgeous views. The sun
shines warm every morning, and the misty fog settles over the town every day after
lunchtime. It is the home base for Israeli backpackers in India, so all the
locals have learned to speak English and Hebrew. It’s close to the Dalai Lama
temple in Mcleod Ganj (where we planned to spend several days, but escaped right
back to the Lodge because we missed it so much). It felt like our home away
from home.
It was sad to say goodbye to Dharamkot, to
the friends we’d made and to the serenity of the place. For our last several
days in India, we made the pilgrimage back to Delhi to tour the Taj Mahal and
Agra, but the best part was just spending time with my mom, treating ourselves
to the pool and spa in the fancy airport hotel, and reminiscing about
Dharamkot.
India is huge, and part of me wishes I had
seen more. But part of me also wishes I’d seen less. I would so much rather allow
myself to settle into a place, get to know it to its core, and I only started
to do this with that little hippy village near the border of Tibet. There, we
felt some of India’s magic, and I am truly grateful for that. I am also
grateful to have spent two wonderful weeks with my mom. I’m grateful that she
let me pull her out of her comfort zone, that she was a good sport through the
stomach aches, failed accommodations, hundreds of stairs. India challenged us,
but it also allowed us to grow closer, and I am so happy she was able to join me
on this grand adventure.
Goodbyes are always hard, and I miss my
sweet momma dearly already, but I’m also excited for what is to come: meeting
Nate in Nepal, trekking in the Himalayas, and crossing my fingers I won’t shit
my pants again!
