DHARMASALA, India - At dinner this evening, a man with a knotted, leathery face came into the Indian-Chinese fusion joint and started talking with another gentleman, eating alone in the back of the restaurant. I couldn't see their exchange but after a couple minutes I heard the sitting man saying in American-accented English, "No, no thank you. I'm not interested."
And then the old man headed for the door. He got stuck between our table and the one directly across from it, his several canvas bags wedging themselves on one side of the table while his body went to the other. Facial hair sprouted out of every corner of his visage, with bushy eyebrows and a beard half a foot long.
And then the old man headed for the door. He got stuck between our table and the one directly across from it, his several canvas bags wedging themselves on one side of the table while his body went to the other. Facial hair sprouted out of every corner of his visage, with bushy eyebrows and a beard half a foot long.
After he left, I turned to the man at a table, who an although much more conservative demeanor, and asked what the conversation concerned.
"He wanted to sell me some watches," he said. "But as you can see, I already have one." He rotated his left arm to show a gold-plated wristwatch.
Dharmsala is a hodge-podge. There are of course the Tibetans, many of them in full monk regalia. A sobering documentary I saw in a tiny screening room off the town's main drag made this clear. It showed the 33 day walk a group of six refugees made to escape (some rather horrific) repression in China. The Tibetans also man the shops, especially ones hawking "Free Tibet" shirts and incense sticks.
There is an Indian presence here as well. Most work as the town's backbone, running food shops and driving auto-ricksaws along the narrow streets.
This is a major pilgrimage site for Buddhists and believers in alternative religions, so there are plenty of Western people wearing robes, bindis, and Buddhist iconography. They come to see the Dalai Lama, take courses or just meditate in the pine-scented air. There are many backpackers, too, people on summer vacation or wandering around Asia. They can be hard to separate from the devotees, as they also have acquired plenty of mystic articles of clothing during their Indian stay.
The young, the old, the poor and yuppie, they all have a place in Dharmsala. There is even room for a group I didn't think I would encounter. They gave themselves as with their matching blue visors and parading down the rode to the Dalai Lama's monastery in a long, thin line.
They were East Asian, but I thought surely they must be Japanese or Korean. But then I saw the characters on their matching backpackers, and heard the standard Mandarin coming out of their mouths. They were Chinese, dozens of them.
I found out later they were a group from Taiwan, the same group that is sponsoring this week's teachings. The teachings are a dialogue between a senior Chinese Buddhist and the Dalai Lama, so it makes sense that the (Republican) Chinese are in town. But it still is strange to hear Chinese here.
Hippies with crazy beards and strange watches I expected, but "ni hao" I did not.
