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Ins and Outs of Dharamsala

There are crowds of mostly men, busses coming and going through what seems like impossibly narrow passages. It is hard to tell who is traveling, and who is just hanging out at the Delhi bus terminal. People are everywhere and strange glares linger on female foreigners as they walk in. After what seems like hours of waiting, I board my bus for the 12 hour ride to Dharamsala.
It is a new bus, with cushy seats, clean curtains and a large flat-screen TV. As soon as we leave, the Bollywood movies begin to blare. Thankfully, my lack of sleep the night before means that I pass out easily. Along the way, we stop. I open my eyes to the small glows of a kiosk or two, a crowd gathered at the counter.  In the back of the dirt lot, you can see a line of men with their backs to the street, facing a wall. Ah, yes, the men’s “restroom.”  I fall back to sleep.


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