I've just arrived in Dharamsala, a day earlier than I'd planned, mainly to be sure I could figure out the bus connections (I also realized that an extra night of rest before beginning my volunteer duties wouldn't hurt a bit). I needn't have worried about the buses. Everywhere, people helped me to find the buses I needed and to know when to get off each bus.

And what spectacular rides I've had since leaving Shimla three days ago! First I traveled from Shimla to the town of Mandi, then yesterday up to the town of Rewalsar and back, and then, today, from Mandi to Dharamsala. Much of the way, the buses travel on narrow roads high up on the slopes of huge hills, now and then dropping down to cross a valley or river--we crossed the huge, dark blue Sutlej River soon after leaving Shimla, which I remember being mentioned in various mountaineers' accounts. Views in all directions are superb, the whole way along. On one side, you can see someone herding goats, children heading to school in their crisp uniforms, or farmers in their terraced fields, while on another side, you can see hills rising higher and higher up to the huge, white peaks in the distance. Every moment of these bus trips has been entrancing.

I could say that these bus rides aren't for the timid, because the buses move briskly along on narrow roads edged by huge precipices in many places. Large vehicles pass and overtake each other frequently with literally inches to spare. Generally, I'm a bit unnerved by heights when I'm a passenger in a vehicle (though not when I'm on foot), but for whatever reason--perhaps just too distracted by the beauty, perhaps because the drivers seem very skillful--I have calmly enjoyed these rides.

Yesterday was an especially enchanting day, among the many enchanting experiences that India has offered to me on this trip. I had arrived at the town of Mandi the evening before, via a government bus from Shimla. From Mandi, Lonely Planet advised me, it's easy to catch a local bus to Rewalsar, from where one can visit its holy lake as well as the cave where Padmasambhava, the founder of Tibetan Buddhism, had meditated before leaving India to travel to Tibet. And Lonely Planet was right. Early in the morning, I walked to Mandi's bus stand and just asked around: "Rewalsar bus stop, kaha hey [where is it]?" (English would have worked just fine, but I like to use my little bit of Hindi.) Soon I was taken to the correct bus, and we climbed up the winding road to Rewalsar.

Rewalsar is a small town that apparently exists mainly to support pilgrims visiting the lake and cave. The lake is holy to various faiths, as my Calcutta friend P pointed out in a comment on my last post (he also noted that in this dry region, essentially all water is holy--I love this idea). Once I arrived, I did what everyone does: walk around the lake in a clockwise direction. I already knew that this is always the right direction to circumnavigate any Buddhist stupa or holy place. Other holy places, too, I gather: a few weeks ago, a guide at the Jain temples at Jaisalmer had explained to us that walking clockwise encourages peacefulness, while walking counterclockwise creates disturbance and disharmony.

I wasn't the only walker: many locals and visitors, including Hindu holy men and Tibetan monks and nuns (and a few other Westerners), were circumnavigating the lake as well. At various locations around the lake, people had stopped to offer prayers or to feed the probably quite overfed fish. Buddhist monasteries and Hindu temples (I think Sikh gurdwalas, too, but am not sure) overhang the lake on all sides. It was a peaceful, companionable scene.

After a few circumnavigations, I turned to the task of finding the trail up the hillside to Padmasambhava's cave. Lonely Planet had alerted me that the trail begins from the lakeshore, but I didn't see an evident trailhead. So I started asking: "Padmasambhava, kaha hey?" Someone understood me but gave me Hindi directions I couldn't follow; others didn't understand what I was asking, and I couldn't elaborate.

I eventually found a likely trail, and headed up it. It wound up through open woodlands, then broke out into terraced farm fields and past small farmsteads before it took me up to a dirt road leading further uphill. I decided to continue up the road. After a few bends, I encountered the owner of a small drinks stand, who confirmed that the road was taking me to the cave. How far?, I asked. Five kilometers, he replied; three if you take the shortcut. I later learned that the real trail to the cave leads straight up the steep hillside via a long staircase of stone steps. I'm so glad I didn't find it! My road took me gradually, painlessly up and over a ridgetop to expansive views out towards the white mountains and through more terraced fields and farmsteads, then back around to the lake side of the ridge. What a joy to be out walking in beautiful, open country on a sunny day! I stopped to watch people working in the fields and chat with goatherds before my road eventually intersected with the stone trail not far below the cave. I huffed up that trail, happy to have had a less steep alternate route for most of my way.

At the parking lot just below the cave, long strings of Tibetan prayer flags were flying in the winds blowing towards the high peaks in the north. A drinks stand owner explained to me that if I liked, I could buy a set of prayer flags (there are a couple of stands there), write the names of my loved ones on them, then string them up, in which case the flags would send prayers and blessings to those named people and the world at large. As it turned out, he explained, yesterday was a very auspicious day to do that, and there was a special puja (blessing ceremony) going on in the temple by the cave. So I bought flags, and wrote on them the names of family, friends, the people of Japan as a whole, as well as President Obama (reasoning that he surely needs all the help we can give him). Then the drinks stand owner helped me to string them up. He took a picture of me with my flags, and then I enjoyed watching them streaming out their prayers and blessings far out towards the white peaks.

After hanging my flags, it was time to climb up to the cave. Earlier in this blog, I've talked about feeling the spiritual power of a place. I find it hard to describe just what I mean by this--it's essentially as though it exerts a steady gravity-like pull on my heart and body, gently extracting negative emotions and calming my mind. As I neared the cave, I felt its power, which strengthened when I entered it. Another pilgrim explained that it's OK to sit for a while in the cave, so I did so, first in its innermost recess, and then in a larger grotto where a huge statue of Padmasambhava, its base covered with offered katas (silk scarfs) looms over the pilgrims gathered below it.

As I sat quietly before the statue, I reflected on what Padmasambhava's experience might have been like. It came to me that we had in common the experience of being solitary travelers in a strange land, and that he, like me and all who travel alone, must have felt uncertainty and confusion, and sometimes fear, loneliness, and doubt. Before I entered the cave, I had been able to see the country he had had to cross to reach Tibet. It's so rugged, with the hills and ridges so high and the distances so vast, that it would have been a great endeavor just to cross it. Yet after that journey, he had only come to the beginning of his main task of bringing the Buddha's teachings to a new land.

As I sat below the statue, in the space where he had meditated to ready himself for his journey, I felt great gratitude for Padmasambhava and all the other arahants (enlightened people) who had been willing to spend the rest of their lives traveling alone (as the Buddha had directed his first crop of arahants to do: "No two of you together..."") to spread the Buddha's teachings to the world. Had they not done this difficult task, those teachings would surely have been lost.

As I was reflecting in this way, a small stone dislodged from the roof of the cave high above me (it's a very tall, narrow cave), fell, and struck me on my breast directly over my heart before landing on the cave floor. People gasped and began to talk; one person quickly grabbed the stone, which she'll surely cherish as a holy relic. Though I felt the impact clearly, it hadn't hurt at all (perhaps thanks to the folds of my trusty dupatta scarf). Of course, I don't know why the stone fell just then and as it did, or why it wasn't a larger stone that might have broken a rib or worse. But the truth is that in that moment, it felt like a blessing.

Afterwards, I left the cave and walked down the long stone staircase, winding down through hamlets and terraces where new wheat, mustard, forage grass, and fruit trees were growing, down and down to the shore of the lake, where I made one more circumnavigation for good measure, then caught the bus back to Mandi.

This morning, guided by various bystanders, I caught a series of two buses and then a taxi to McLeod Gang (upper Dharamsala, home of His Holiness the Dalai Lama), and checked into a guesthouse. It's a stunningly beautiful place--winding narrow alleys filled with interesting shops, restaurants and guesthouses, with the complexes containing His Holiness' residence and the Tibetan government-in-exile offices below. It's located high on a steep hillside, with higher white peaks visible above. And I can see intriguing foot trails winding out in various directions and up onto the ridges. I'm hoping to explore them soon.