After a truckload (that’s what I think) of meshed potatoes and a huge pitcher of Tuborg, it certainly seemed like a break from work. The cheesiness (no pun intended) of potatoes and the sparkling cold of beer has me back from the angry, young woman mood for a change. Here, I think I need to add a word or two about McLlo, the food joint at McLeodganj – soul stirring – well, that’s not how you describe food.
But I can’t think of anything that’s more apt than that.
And yes, it had a Christmas tree, or maybe, a pine, branching right through the place, as we sat supping at its terrace floor.
Can we call it terrace floor? We might, on our own blogs at least.
Trudging down the road to our hotel, I greeted a cheerful, beautifully plump lady with a huge grin, one that visits me only when I travel. She smiled back. A point won.
It was magic, flying thick in the air, as I sat in the balcony at 12 in the night.
With the beautiful moon watching me right in the eye and thousands of colourful bulbs lighting up the little, sleepy town of Dharamsala down in the valley, it looked like Peter Pan’s land.
Prayer flags seemed to be fluttering somewhere in the distance, or was it the mountain air (might be beer too)?
Prayer flags or not, there was a flutter – of pines rubbing against pines, of snow rubbing against the mountain slopes, and may be fairies rubbing shoulders, dancing to the tunes of nature somewhere in the mountains.