My days in Dharamsala have been some of the most peaceful, rest-filled and pleasant in my 10 months of traveling. My days go something like this...

Wake up around 9. Read a chapter of my current book, The Dice Man. Dance around my small L-shaped room for an hour to trance or breaks emitted from my teeny tiny tinny speakers that seem to be missing an entire crucial bass line. Hang out with the wonderfully warm Indian family that runs my guesthouse. Play with their 3-week old baby goat and watch her torment the baby cow. Hike 30 minutes along a mountain ridge to Shiva Cafe by the waterfall for a breakfast of chai and the Western menu fixture, meusli with fruit and yogurt. Hike back to Bhagsu along the river. Visit friends, play cards, talk, shop, hike again, eat dinner. Bathe with a bucket of hot water. Sleep.

I met up with the Delhi boys for booze night, which turned out to be less boozing and more me plying them with questions on my favorite subject, arranged vs. love marriages. Despite my initial repulsion to the idea of arranged marriages and my lingering doubt regarding whether anyone who has their spouse chosen for them by their parents will ever know true love, I find my views on the matter are shifting. Most Indians I've talked to have strong opinions about marriage in the West, particularly criticism of the atronomical divorce rate. Some claim that by getting to know their spouses *after* the wedding, they learn how to make marriage work through compromise since the easy exit hatch so easily afforded us in the West is, for them, not really an option. They've even gone so far as to accuse Westerners of being too choosy. Could they be right?

Indian tourists flooded Bhagsu over the weekend. On Saturday, my Delhi buddies and I hiked to Shiva Cafe and then to the waterfall where three of them stripped down to their underwear and had a shower in the thin cascade, shampoo and all. I photographed them Sports Illustrated Swimsuit style doing tree pose up against the slippery rocks.

Returning to Bhagsu from the waterfall, we walked in the river gorge along the series of cold pools where I'd sat with the Punjabi family the day before. Every one of the dozen or so pools was full to the brim with local Tibetans bathing or doing laundry and hundreds of Indian tourist families having picnics. As we neared Bhagsu, the unmistakable bassline of trance bounced and echoed around the gorge. I scrambled along the rocks determined to locate the source; an outdoor rave on a big terraced lawn just above the river. In a true East meets West moment, hordes of turbanned and saried Indian tourists stopped on the trail across the river to gawk at the madness of a bunch of crazy hippies flailing and bouncing around in front of giant speakers.

This place is a haven for travellers burnt out from India's sensual-onslaught and many people stay months at a time as temporary residents, taking courses or working on pet projects. I ran into Mark from the trek, who's now living here for a year writing a book about tantra, and Matt from Hampi, Goa, and Kathmandu who has been here for two months working 12-hour days developing a card game a friend of his invented. This morning I met two English lads making a documentary about spiritual and physical healing in Dharamsala. I'm feeling a bit lazy watching these guys in action and have been daydreaming about having a focus of my own.

Aside from the gorgeous and strenuous 10-mile hike I did today, I'll be leaving Dharamsala without dabbling in any of the things that piqued my interest; yoga, meditation, Indian cooking, jewelry making, poi twirling, belly dancing or volunteering at a monastery or nunnery. All in another life I suppose. I'm leaving before I'm ready, but for good reason. Tomorrow night I'll head to the town of Manali to swing through and pick up my lost ATM card, and then it's on to meet Chris in Ladakh, part of the northernmost state of Kashmir. The town of Leh where we will meet is a place that has been described by more than a few people as the most beautiful place they've been in their lives. The journey from Manali to Leh is a killer; two full days on busses over terrible roads passing over the highest motorable pass in the world at 18640 feet. Cool! More from Kashmir.