"Excuse me. . ."

Not a single pair of legs slowed. Not a single voice died.

I tried again, a little louder: "Excuse me."

Again, nothing.

"Excuse me! Please, everyone. . . hey. . . EXCUSE ME!"

A handful of them stopped and turned. I kept yelling. "STOP! EVERYONE JUST STOP AND LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN!"

More of the them stilled. Eventually, the better half of the room stood watching me, and, slowly, the rest followed.

A tiny flicker of encouragement shone in the back of my mind. I puffed out my chest and raised my chin, squirming behind my best rickety expression of confidence. As soon as the room had become completely silent, I addressed the group.

"OK, um. . . I know we don't do this very often, but. . ."

Bullets of sweat began rolling down my temples. I choked on my own breath, and picked up on a softer note.

"I'm going to need you all to. . . leave for a while."

The words dropped like sparks into gunpowder. At once the crowd surged forward and shook the room with their bellowing.

"Leave! Who do you think you are?"

"We'll never leave!"

"Get down from that stool! We'll do whatever we want!"

"You leave!"

"NO!" I yelled back, with so much force I startled even myself. "Sit down and shut yourselves up! We're all going to clear out of here for a bit, OK? Boss's orders."

"Boss's orders?" one of them cried indignantly. "But. . . but. . ."

"That's right," I said. "Boss's orders."

The crowd's mood immediately shifted from rage to childish grumpiness, and I smiled for my victory. One by one, they began to whine.

"But I can't leave now, I just can't! I was on my way to meet up with Childhood Memory #2,563 and head on over to visit Nostalgic Feeling #490."

"And I was going over there to chat with Anxious State #4, Mental List #45,528, and Vague Sense of Dissatisfaction #12. I want to talk to them. I have to!"

"Who cares about that! We three were in line with a meeting for Creative Impulse #108. We're Inspiration C, Assorted Holiday Reminiscences #6 and Reasoning Skillset #1,890. And, you see, we need--we simply need--to speak with him as soon as--"

I cut him off: "No. Alright? You don't need to speak to anyone right now. Just sit down and be quiet. This will all be over in about forty-five minutes. . ."

With that I began my long and tiring sentry over the room and its crowd, squirming where they sat, for the longest three-quarters of an hour I've ever known. And each time one of them opened his mouth to speak, I silenced him harshly, wondering if the rippling crowd would actually hold, or if they would finally boil over, erupt once more, and swallow me whole.

Majnu ka Tillah (Delhi)/Amritsar (the Golden Temple):
EWWWW! Trying not to breath through my nose to avoid pungent odour of river behind guest house; running around wearing plastic animal masks shouting "HAPPY HALLOWEEN" to bewildered Tibetans; Truth is God - thought provoking visit to the Gandhi museum; rocked to sleep on overnight train and woken up by biting cold and calls of 'Chai! Chai-ye'; continuous chanting coming from Bose speakers placed all around the Golden temple; feeling of cleansed wet feet on cool marble; crushed in the masses of people lining up for chappati, channa masala, dal and delicious rice pudding, shelling mounds of peas; "BHARAT MATAJI!" profound sense of patriotism for India of which I was not aware a Wagha border.
Tushita Meditation retreat centre:
stoic 5:30 am yoga classes; religious experiences = hot bread rolls and homemade peanut butter; staggering into the daylight after inhalation of toxic chemical combination from toilet cleaning - the best job EVER!; endless experimentation of ways of sitting comfortably on the cushions then giving up because face it - your behind is going to hurt; moments of hilarious silence; is truth permanent? a question to tear your brain apart BEWARE.
McLeod Ganj (Week 1):
"TASHI DELEK!" my greeting to the older inhabitants of Dharamsala as I cheerfully pass them and various cows on my morning Kora walk; the Hindi teacher incapacitated by a coughing fit as I mistakenly say the F word instead of 'fourteen'; 'King Kahn' the 24 hour Bollywood movie fest celebrating Shah Rukh Kahn, relished every evening with a bowl of thukpa, my sponge brain soaking up as much information about Tibetan culture, religion and politics as it can hold from any source: the woman selling momos on the street, the Tibetan Women's association, the Karmappa...; an initial sigh of pleasure as I take my first shower of the week which quickly turns to wild howling as the water becomes COLD COLD COLD COLD COLD; rooftop yoga;getting kicked out of the Tibetan Refugee centre for asking questions 'without authorisation', nutella.

Ok that's enough for now. I need to keep some things unsaid and unknown otherwise there will be no motivation to pick me up from the airport and welcome me back into your house... :-)

It is a beautiful, cloudless November day here in McLeod Ganj. From the street one can hear the resonant and unmistakable voice of His Holiness the Dalai Lama echoing from his temple at the heart of the city, where he has been giving public teachings for the past three days. The outer environment seems to be in perfect accord with the joyful quality this holiday inspires within us, a group of Americans far away from home on Thanksgiving Day.

Tonight, we will all share a Thanksgiving dinner together. This day is doubly auspicious, for it is also the anniversary of the Mumbai attacks, which shook the core of Indian society one year ago today. Over a menu of pumpkin soup, vegetable quiche, mashed potatoes and apple pie, we will come together to celebrate and give thanks for our multitude of blessings.

The celebration of Thanksgiving is particularly poignant here, in the midst of a refugee community - indeed, our freedom and privilege are felt strongly on a day like this. With this in mind, we raise our glasses to all of you, our family and friends abroad - we miss you and wish we could all celebrate together. Thank you for all of your love and support, and from the bottom of our hearts, Happy Thanksgiving!

We are all still quite sorry for the early departure of two of our group's members, and we agree that nothing feels the same without them. But even though it's a different trip in their absence, we're trying our best to remain present and enjoy the crazy, beautiful city of Varanasi.

We are staying in a guest house along Assi Ghat, and have already explored a number of delicious restaurants, visited a bizarre armor/carriage/fabric museum, sucked some fumes during an impromptu block printing workshop, and strolled along the hazy ghats. And we've only just begun.

Most of us cannot believe that the trip is finally winding down. Personally, I am at this point constantly steeped in a bittersweet soup of joy, sadness, confusion, frustration, anticipation, nostalgia, and, most of all, absurd, tragicomic bliss. And things roll on. . .

A Story of Hope: Dorje Rinchen

By Andrew Weaver

In my eighteen short years on this earth, I have never been shot, tortured, or beaten. I have never watched any of my friends die. I have never tasted the cold fear of death, or the bitter uncertainty of exile. I have never been forcibly separated from my home or family, and have never worried that I might not see either again for the rest of my life. I have never known true pain. I have never known true suffering. And until quite recently I imagined, through the frosted-glass distortion of my comfortable, Western upbringing, that my inexperience with these horrors was not uncommon. Safety was simply a norm for me, and I never thought to consider it any kind of treasure, any kind of privilege. After all, I told myself, I live an average life, don’t I? And most other kids like me live average lives, too. Real torment didn’t befall any but the very few and very unlucky. I was narrowed within my own head, blissful and blind, my brain bubble-wrapped by all the things I took for granted. But on November 17, 2009, when the curious machinations of life happened to lead me to McLeod Ganj, India, I found myself suddenly stripped of every comforting delusion, every shadow of every lie. The mirrors in my mind were shattered, and for the best and the worst, I saw the truth.

As for the here and now, my mind does still not fully comprehend that we are no longer together, nor in India. I wake up, at times, expecting to experience the familiar cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells that were constant Indian companions as much as the group. And in realizing again that I am now in Wisconsin, can't escape a small feeling of loneliness. But as such, I try to fill my days with as much activity as possible--there are too many things to do here (and in one's mind), and precious little time. So, as we have said before: go and live! Take advantage of all these offerings and opportunities that your lives are rich with. You are all at an amazing point in your lives where you have the freedom to experience as much of life as you want. Do it!

And let us know how you are doing! We would love it. If you ever want to chat, feel free to shoot me an email or give me a call (608-784-9760). As of right now, the only things I'm busy with are watching a few movies and reading a few books--interruptions are highly appreciated.

One more thing. I did a quick search online for reentry material, and these are several of the best ones that came up. Perhaps they can help shed some light on a new world:
http://www.worldlearning.org/OurWorld_documents/SITStudyAbroadReentryToolkit.pdf
http://www.transitionsabroad.com/publications/magazine/0507/coming_home_from_study_abroad.shtml
http://international.missouri.edu/studyabroad/after/cominghome.shtml
http://www.travelabroad.com/alumni/reentry.html
http://www.middlebury.edu/academics/ump/sap/reentry/cominghome.htm

And if anyone is thinking about writing about their experience, there are quite a few opportunities for publication and to win small awards through competitions. This is just one of them:
http://www.abroadview.org/webzine/index.htm

Phir Milenge
Kai

Nate, Raul, Hannah, Annie, and Nora in Tibetan class with our language teacher Nimala