We explored the hill town from top to bottom, taking in the wide variety of Tibetan culture. The Indian faces faded away and were replaced by the sharper faces of Tibet. Their smooth, sun-tanned shells showed the happy persistence that you come to see in all the himalayan folk, but unlike their brethren across the mountains, these were a people without a place to call home and their transience reflected in their sad eyes.

But there was good news for all the people in Dharamsala: The Dalai Lama himself would be teaching in the next few days. We signed ourselves up for a security pass, and awaited his audience.

Over the next days we widened our circle of exploration. We climbed to Triund Hill, the highest point that a tourist can climb in the region in one day, argued about the relevance of fine art in today’s pop cultured society, watched Kundun: Martin Scorsese take on the Dalai Lama’s escape from Tibet. We reminded fellow neighbours at the hostel about the joys of a decent sleep, and both got a vicious stomach bug from what we believe to be a poorly washed salad. Unfortunately, this meant that when we finally went to see the happiest man alive, I was unable to even sit up; only glimpsing his smiling face for a few seconds, then crying with joy and nearly passing out. Sadly, we left early.

Seeing as we weren’t allowed to take any electronics into the centre other than a FM/AM radio. Perhaps, you’re wondering what his audience was like in a little more detail. We arrived reasonably early in the morning, his teaching didn’t start till 8:30, but we were there at an hour and a half early. There was already a reasonable line, foreigners and locals were separated and men and women were again given their own lines. I assume this is because the search process is more thorough for women, being the devious creatures that they are. I chose to wait with Richelle, to the approval of many older women around me; all the while my stomach was having an epic battle with the parasite within. We finally got into the centre, an inside outside space with vast canopies like the peaks of circus tents and looked for a place to sit down. Feeling like a blended piece of meat, I had to leave the centre to find a toilet, they were all locked. So I found a radio (to listen to the English translation) instead. A shiny red thing from the early 90s that looked more like a tamagotchi. I went back inside and Richelle led me upstairs, away from the giant plasma screens towards where the DL would be sitting and teaching. We found a spot amongst the crammed in Tibetan school students and I layed down till his holiness arrived. He arrived with a procession of young girls chanting. His smile was ear to ear as his trusted assistant led him along. Even from afar you could feel his happiness, making his age fade. I couldn’t help thinking of my grandpa. Tears sprung at my eyes and I wasn’t sure if it was happiness from the Dalai Lama or sadness from the loss of my grandpa. I believe it was both. His holinesses happiness reminded me of the fleeting act of life and how our own personal happiness is not something that we can work on after death. I was pretty much spent of energy at this point and thanks to our shitty radio it wasn’t hard to convince Richelle to leave early.

Back in the apartment we hid from the world as we swapped roles of doctor and patient, until finally the storms of our bellies passed. We managed to time our recovery perfectly with our leaving on a bus for Manali, where we were to meet old and new friends for a completely different adventure.