Peshawar, Pakistan: The cemetery on the outskirt of town is ornamented with huge, green trees. They are the first honest-to-God trees I have seen since leaving Africa. Greetings, old friends!
The old British part of town is a neat military compound; the rest is a jumble.
In the bus depot I meet a French traveler who has been through here several times and knows the country. He suggests a good bus connection to India that will leave this evening. I decide to move right along on the India-bound bus since I am feeling too sick and weak to carry my backpack around town looking for a place to stay.
We have a couple of hours to kill before his bus leaves. It’s raining so we sit in a café; drink tea and talk
This Frenchman is into a “Wisdom of the East” trip. He is on his way to see the Dalai Lama in India. He says I could also visit the Dalai Lama “who will see anybody”, but it is better to prepare for such momentous meetings like he (the Frenchman) has. He is a fruititarian, subsisting on a diet of fruit and honey. He also fasts frequently. He has very bright eyes and, though thin, seems outrageously healthy—especially when compared to me now! For the last few years he has spent his life working in France and traveling in India.
He gives me some tips for traveling in India and says that most Indians are “degenerate” but that one occasionally meets a healthy and high one—especially in the north—which make the country worth visiting.
The Frenchman boards his bus at eight and at nine in the evening I am on another bus bound for the Indian border.
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