On the road up to Dharamsala, I noticed a road safety sign: "Life is short. Accidents make it even shorter." Right then, I seriously contemplated my decision-making skills: had choosen to ascend into the Himalayas with a random Punjabi family in a small car while I might be struck dead by some dreaded disease. Tried to calm my hypochondriac self.

When I arrived, I went straight to the Loseeling Guest House and crashed out. I slept for 14 hours. I was really sick and needed it, though. This morning I had an Aryuvedic massage and got some antibiotics. By afternoon I was feeling much better.

Dharamsala is the home to his holiness the Dalai Lama, as well as to many Tibetan refugees. Buddhist monks in colorful clothing are everywhere. The town sits at the foothills of the Himalayan mountains and is perhaps one of the most spectacular places I have ever seen.

The town itself is fascinating: a mixutre of gentle Tibetans with soft eyes and simple smiles, poor Indians begging for food, and ganja-loving European hippies. Have to admite that the latter group is the most irritating: dread-locked towheads with sandal-wrapped feet dressed in Tibetan garb, ready to ascend the path to "enlightenment." I know I should be less critical, but it annoys the hell out of me that they have taken something intrinsically pure - buddhism - and used it as a guise to be lazy and use drugs. Have been offered hashish and opium many times already! It's easy to find inner peace and to develop a kind heart when that is your sole undertaking in the world and you're blitzing your brain cells in the process. The difficult part is maintaining this clarity when you re-enter the real world. These people don't live in the "real world." I wonder where they get their money. Granted, my meals here cost under $1 and the guest house is $3 a night.

This morning I went to the main temple and was completely amazed. It was carved into the side of the mountains...elderly women with leathery skin were clasping prayer beads and genuflecting to icons...buddhist monks spinning prayer wheels clockwise and chanting ritualistic prayers. It was blissfully peaceful.

Next I took a trek up the mountain to the upper town - Bhagsunag and stumbled upon Hindus and monks bathing in pools and waterfalls. I was speechless and dazed the entire time. I got caught in the most violent thunderstorm when I reached the top of the hill - sought shelter in this stony alcove, only to be kicked out of it by 6 goats!

Letting the goats win the battle, I left the alcove and got completely soaked before ending up in a little mountainside afe with a whole bunch of Punjabi people. I stood there, squishing around in my sneakers, water dripping from my eyelashes, blinking as the thunder boomed and the low clouds hugged the mountain tops.

So I fled to this shelter and got stuck with several Punjabi families who treated me like I was a circus act and asked me the three golden questions: "Where are you from? How old are you? Married or unmarried?" My unmarried status was rejoiced upon as the little Sikh boys edged closer and the men outside were called to have a look at me. After a merry picture-taking session and a glass of Pepsi, I fled from them before I ended up wed to a strange Sikh man!

I don't feel alone. I feel alive. I don't want to go home. I've been reading a lot of Buddhism and it really resonates with me. In the book I'm reading now, the Dalai Lama says, "With regard to meeting people, the more your mind is closed, the greater the possibility of developing fear or feeling uncomfortable. The more open you are, the less uncomfortable you will feel. The most important thing is to smile and to show a genuine human face." My sentiments exactly. I've always felt this way. Maybe this place will turn me into a non-bathing, non-shaving, hash-smoking hippie child yet. Or not!

~Hope