Straight to God's Ear
Dogs howling at the moon. I roll over and from bed I look up to eighteen thousand feet of snow-covered peaks, shimmering in the moonlight. Shit, I gotta catch a plane! I throw on my clothes and race down the stairs, grab my last pair of underwear off the clothes line, stuff them in my pocket, throw my bag on my head, stumble through the turnip patch and onto the trail. I drink in the vista one last time. Fields of blooming mustard greens tint the valley a hazy yellow, tall poplar trees line the paths, and every little house sports a well tended vegetable garden.
The stream that winds its way through Leh and past the giant prayer wheel nurtures it all. In this remotest corner of India, one spin of the wheel and your prayers go straight into Gods ear. Beyond the village, as the stream peters out, the view is a vast barren moonscape of chocolate mountains, where not so much as a blade of grass grows. In the distance on all sides, the biggest platinum mountains I’ve ever seen. I lope through the village at dawn, past the monastery and the stark grey palace carved out of the hillside in the center of town. The air is thin, the bag is heavy and I’m out of breath. I flash a smile at my taxi driver and he waits while I duck into the bakery to grab a cup of Ladakhi tea, brewed from toasted barley and fermented yak butter. Its hot and salty, and it feels good on my dry lips.
Last weekend I did one of those things that’s really not fair to do to
your boyfriend. I told him I wanted to do something extra fun and that
I wanted him to plan it. I do this to him a lot and we often end up
happily watching a movie and eating take-out instead, so I didn’t think
anything of it when I canceled on him last-minute. He waited until I
got home from dinner to tell me that he had actually come up with a
plan, “What is it??” “It’s no big deal.” “What is it??” “We can do it
another night.” “What is it?!” So he told me that he was going to ask
me if I didn’t mind not sleeping at either of our houses. Where would
we have slept?…A fancy hotel in Santa Barbara? …His parents’ beach
house in Ventura? …Paris??,
Last week, when Saveur Magazine arrived, I immediately started reading the many articles on "greatest meals ever" with great curiosity, all the while thinking what would be my greatest meal? A meal of a life time. What makes a great meal different from all the other wonderful meals that you have eaten?
Have you ever tasted Limburger cheese? So you think you're eating a pair of regular socks. Then you realize you're eating your brother's socks. 