We all met up in the morning to hike up to Baghsu to check out the village and waterfall. I had been hearing from many people that Bagsu was the place to stay. It supposedly has all the Tibetan vibe of McLeod without the loud bars and shops. I found it to be less interesting with more modern shops and roadside stall with crappy merchandise. Maybe there's a chiller side of town but it wasn't apparent over the gaggles of Gujrati tourists.
The waterfall was refreshing after a long hike in the sun. But suddenly it was overrun with more Gujus. It seems I can't get away from us. To escape the crowd we tracked the stream further up the mountain. Along the way we stumbled on the inaccessible Shiva Cafe which we figured could only possibly stay in business is by supplying Israeli backpackers with drugs.
We climbed up just a bit farther and stopped on some boulders to enjoy a bit of nature and grafiti. The whole way up my stomach was gurgling and I knew it was only a matter of time. India has taught me to always keep a roll of toilet paper in my bag. When the grumbling became unbearable I squirted at the outhouse in front of the cafe, said my goodbyes and sauntered back down towards town with my sphincter held tight.
I was feeling better in the afternoon and took a break from tending to my case of yucky belly to scope out some thankas. I wanted to get a wheel of life for myself. Unfortunately the first shop I went to had the best ones in town and was, of course, the most expensive. I have no poker face whatsoever so it was obvious I was going to buy something there eventually so there was no break in the price for me. I took note of which pieces I liked and checked out the other shops.
I picked out a Wheel of Life thanka from a Kashmeri who was very much the archetype Kashmiri salesman. I'll tell you more about them in a later post. He was a nice guy but didn't really know all that much about the pieces other than what comes printed on a small, and not fully accurate, blurb handed out to customers. When I asked who painted it he said a Tibetan. Marlene would tell me details about the particular monk who painted each piece, his family, background and inspirations. I decided to sleep on it and make my decisions in the morning. Too many choices, I hate deciding.
The waterfall was refreshing after a long hike in the sun. But suddenly it was overrun with more Gujus. It seems I can't get away from us. To escape the crowd we tracked the stream further up the mountain. Along the way we stumbled on the inaccessible Shiva Cafe which we figured could only possibly stay in business is by supplying Israeli backpackers with drugs.
We climbed up just a bit farther and stopped on some boulders to enjoy a bit of nature and grafiti. The whole way up my stomach was gurgling and I knew it was only a matter of time. India has taught me to always keep a roll of toilet paper in my bag. When the grumbling became unbearable I squirted at the outhouse in front of the cafe, said my goodbyes and sauntered back down towards town with my sphincter held tight.
I was feeling better in the afternoon and took a break from tending to my case of yucky belly to scope out some thankas. I wanted to get a wheel of life for myself. Unfortunately the first shop I went to had the best ones in town and was, of course, the most expensive. I have no poker face whatsoever so it was obvious I was going to buy something there eventually so there was no break in the price for me. I took note of which pieces I liked and checked out the other shops.
I picked out a Wheel of Life thanka from a Kashmeri who was very much the archetype Kashmiri salesman. I'll tell you more about them in a later post. He was a nice guy but didn't really know all that much about the pieces other than what comes printed on a small, and not fully accurate, blurb handed out to customers. When I asked who painted it he said a Tibetan. Marlene would tell me details about the particular monk who painted each piece, his family, background and inspirations. I decided to sleep on it and make my decisions in the morning. Too many choices, I hate deciding.
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