Earlier this summer, on a drive from Florida to Tennessee, I stopped for a couple hours in Atlanta to retrieve the contents of my safety deposit box (which I hadn’t opened in several years).  To those who regularly read this column it will come as no surprise that there were no precious jewels or property deeds inside.  Instead, the box contained nearly 20 of my journals spanning the years 1986 to 2004.

By far the most detailed entries were made in 2003-4, when I was traveling across Asia to write a book.  For this week’s column I’ve decided to excerpt an entry written exactly five years ago today.  I was in India at the time, having just spent several days in the heat and crush of Delhi.  When September 17, 2004 began, I was on a bus bound from Delhi to Dharamsala, a town nine hours to the north that is home to the Dalai Lama and a large Tibetan exile community:

Having better health and rest than I did on the 8th, the overnight trip [from Delhi to Dharamsala] was much better.  But still pretty miserable because of no legroom and a very rough road.  During a break at 5:15am I got out of the bus to buy a chai.  One moment there were many stars in the sky; five minutes later they were all gone with the dawn.

I slept most of the way to Dharamsala but in those moments when I could open my eyes I loved the view.  From Dharamsala to McLeod Ganj 9km away I was wide awake and feeling alive at what I saw.  As the bus groaned ever uphill and the windows were fogged by the cold, I saw Tibetans going to school, going to work, drinking tea.  I saw Tibetan script, a vast plain spread out beyond the mountains, a church and its British cemetery.

I checked into a simple room at the Green Hotel for RS60 [less than US$1.50].  I would have looked at other paces but my stomach suddenly took a dive and time was not on my side.  I made it to the toilet just in time.  All morning I had a glow about me.  The sun hitting green trees, the non-crap/trash smell to the air, the cool warmth, the people.  The streets are not so crowded and people aren’t yelling in my ear.  And I’m struck by how beautiful many of the Tibetan women are.  In Tibet I do not remember such beauty, so is it that there is less poverty here and thus better looks?  Or is it my mood?  Is it that I’ve found so few Indians attractive?  Whatever it is, I think there is an objective element to my perception today.  I wish I had much more time in Dharamsala.  I’d do a long trek.  I’d spend days at a meditation course or take classes in Buddhism to understand it better.

I had a well-cooked breakfast and filtered coffee at the hotel.  I took a nap at noon for almost three hours.  The weather had fogged and cooled by then and I headed down the road not knowing where it led.  I ended up in Bhagsu, at a waterfall.  Met Ayalet, a 29-year-old Israeli lady, and a German man named Dirk.  We walked back to McLeod Ganj together.  Then the German and myself had chicken schnitzel for dinner at 6pm.  Fantastic!  At 8pm I had a second dinner (Italian) with Ayalet and an Israeli fellow.  Then at 10pm I met up with the German again and two other Israelis for hot chocolate.  At the table next to us was a Lebanese man.  He is here searching for a female relative who vanished in May.  Probably murdered.

In rereading some of my journal this week, I’m reminded that a journey isn’t just made and lived in the moment.  It carries on into the future.  And with the aid of a journal, it will carry forward with more detail and mood.

Joel Carillet, chief editor of Wandering Educators, is a freelance writer and photographer based in Tennessee. He is the author of 30 Reasons to Travel: Photographs and Reflections from Southeast Asia. To learn more about him, follow his weekly photoblog, or purchase prints, visit www.joelcarillet.com.