Inward singing

Non stop rocking. Three nights ago a bizarre party emerged at a snooker hall in town. A pair of Tibetan b-boy brothers had a birthday knees up. Bonza. It was grand. We've amassed quite a friendship group over the last week, and we sat around a snooker table watching the intriguing sight of Tibetan ganstas getting rowdy.

Well, they tried. They drank as much as their (if they're honest) peace-loving Tibetan souls could manage. They played their 50 Cent as loud as Tibetanly possible. I recall witnessing aggression from a few of the key players. Some pushing, a dribble of testosterone. It was like watching Bill Hicks' impression of stoned people fighting,

"Hey buddy."
"Hey what?"
"Hey."

Two nights ago (Saturday) was more notable. Some of the crew had rented a guesthouse out in a remote part, further up the mountain and had arranged a soundsystem, 100 momos (Tibetan snacks), fried bread, some rum and many girls to be present. It was a good party. I know this because I am an English man and I know I've had fun when the following day is a total right off.

I was able to dance at this party. Man I miss dancing. Not so much that I'm willing to go to the trouble of learning to do it properly or anything - I've seen what can happen, Billy Elliott. No, I just like throwing myself around in front of other similarly throwingy types. And girls, I've noticed, tend to like dancing too. And there were many girls I was happy to rub my cock against (to coin a phrase).

I did eventually manage a fumble with a nice Israeli girl who laughed in the appropriate places to things I said. This, I've decided, is important. Nothing too significant happened with her but it was nice. Kiss and tell is weird when your parents are looking.

At the end of the night I discovered there weren't enough beds and I was too late to secure one and I ended up having to sleep on the party-room floor with Dominique for company. I was fucking freezing. Oh well, a written-off day and a failed attempt to leave Dharamsala later and I feel just fine.

Yes, I tried to leave yesterday. I had previously agreed to get a ticket for the same bus as the Israeli girl and a rather attractive but over-talkative American girl who seems to have taken a shine to me. She was visibly distressed when I changed my mind. I just did a few quick sums in my head. Leaving yesterday would have involved, in total, about five kilometres of walking with a heavy rucksack, time spent messing around trying to pack up all my stuff; I would have had to have left a note for Dom, guessed how much money I owed the guesthouse (no one was in) and then spent fourteen hours sitting next to a keen loudmouth on an overnight bumpy bus with a hangover and no bed - just a seat.

So all things considered, I thought no, I will stick with Dom for a while. Along with Benjamin we will attack Rishikesh more slowly taking in some smaller places along the way. Shorter bus rides etc. Besides, Dom is fun to travel with. Beards bring people. My own beard is how you would expect.. Mostly neck-based. Random. Unruly. Disappointing.

Still, it perseveres.