When I tell you that the Dalai Lama exhaled into my water bottle, you may ask, “Cambria, are you being metaphorical?”

To which I will respond, “No, concerned hypothetical friend, I am not speaking in metaphors.”

And I can prove it. Currently on my bedside table, I literally, non-figuratively have a small water bottle into which the Dalai Lama has blown some good ‘ole carbon dioxide into.

I have been instructed to keep it there for good luck.

It is time to explain now, I believe.

In June, Sarthak, Manjeet and I headed out for Leh, a stunningly isolated high-altitude desert in the Ladakh region of northern India.

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This ancient Buddhist city is flanked in all directions by barren mountains ringed with pastel shades of soil and rock. The city itself is a little oasis of intentionally-planted trees, ancient Buddhist gompas, palaces, monasteries, a few mosques, endless prayer flags and a bustling center market street.

The three of us are in Leh for an exploratory trek to the peak of Kang Yatse II, a monstrous semi-technical is mountain towering over the head of Markha Valley at an altitude of over 20,000ft a few-days’ trek away from Leh.

We might need some gear for that one.

We begin our search for guides, mules, gear and ration, and end up having to wait a few extra days (at least we weren’t stuck in the desert again for 5 days baking banana bread) for our guide’s schedule to open up enough to join us.

Cue shenanigans.

Excited to hear that my Swedish friend Lottis, who I had met last year while volunteer-teaching English in a small Himalayan village called Sainji, had just arrived in Leh, I go to meet her for a girls’ night.

While sipping kava tea (a sweet, yellow tea with saffron and almonds swirled in) on the rooftop terrace overlooking the palace and market street, she tells me something that makes me nearly choke on my mouthful of tea.

“The Dalai Lama is coming to Leh for his birthday tomorrow, would you like to come?” She asks.

In my head I sincerely wonder what kind of human would say no to this question.

So we go to the Dalai Lama’s birthday party.

I can’t believe I can factually type that sentence. It still hasn’t sunk in that we saw him in person.

The birthday party is taking place in a small nearby village where he apparently sometimes stays, and we sprint to catch one of the only taxis left heading that direction.

Apparently the rest of the population of Leh has already arrived- the place is absolutely packed.

We grab our seats, somehow miraculously close to the front, and that’s when I hear it.

A Texas twang.

That “cowgirl drawl.”

In a sea of Tibetan and North Indian religious devotees in a remote, mountainous desert, I have somehow managed to end up five feet away from another woman from Texas.

I forget that she’s still technically a stranger and proceed to freak out.

Luckily, she’s also excited, and thirty seconds after meeting, we hug and start taking selfies, as you do.

Sarthak and Manjeet are just looking at us like we have become aliens.

Her name is Alana, and she says y’all just like me. We talk about Texas things like queso (if you’ve never had it, go re-evaluate your life decisions), two-stepping and other stereotypical country shit.

It’s awesome.

She tells me she’s been traveling India solo for months, and that this is one of her final stops before heading back to the States via Delhi.

She says she doesn’t know where she’ll stay in Delhi yet.

I tell her she’s welcome to crash at my place.

Ninety seconds in to meeting each other, and we have decided to have a sleepover.

My inner country hick fully awakened, I go back to sit with Manjeet and Sarthak as we wait for the Dalai Lama to enter.

We can see him from a distance arriving in parade fashion, with traditionally-dressed Ladakhi and Tibetan dancers performing all around.

I sprint to the sidelines of the parade.

Suddenly, I am struck by the magnitude of this person in front of me, this leader of one of the world’s major religions, an icon that I’ve read stories of and been taught about in class for years.

He’s right in front of me. In his yellow and burgundy robes, walking slowly with a wrinkled smile on his face. I look right at him, we lock eyes and I wave.

HE WAVES BACK.

THE DALAI LAMA WAVED AT ME.

Everyone around me seems to be a lot more blasé about this, looking off in another direction, but I am freaking pumped. He seems so nice. My day is made. I can’t wait to tell Sarthak and Manjeet.

Breathlessly, I run back to our shade-less spot on the ground and proceed to freak out. I show them the picture of him approaching that I had taken and tell them how special it was in that moment to have this silent mutual greeting.

Manjeet starts laughing uncontrollably.

I’m rather irked, I feel like he doesn’t get how poignant this was for me.

“Cam,” he starts, before losing it again.

Sarthak picks up where he left off, “Cam, that’s not the Dalai Lama. This guy is another monk.”

I ignore him. He is messing with me I’m sure.

I grab the phone back and cross reference the picture of my new monk friend with the posters all around of the Dalai Lama’s smiling face on them.

They look almost identical. Almost.

Oh crap.

I did not, in fact, wave at the Dalai Lama.

That monk was probably so confused as to why this random girl was so stoked to see him.

Or maybe he knew I was an idiot who thought he was the Dalai Lama and gave me a pity wave.

Whatever the reality, I now look up, blushing heavily to face Manjeet and Sarthak’s heavily sarcastic smirks.

I don’t hear the end of it for weeks.

Meanwhile, the actual Dalai Lama comes on stage and the birthday party begins. Hours of traditional song and dance performances for him begin and women hand out sweet rice and salted cheese curds to the thousands of devotees in the audience.

We nibble, and then we see it. The Dalai Lama’s birthday cake.

The thing is freaking huge, multi-layered and is more or less the size of a small car. We, three fully grown adults stare wide-eyed at this massive confection, willing them to cut it and bring it our direction.

They do.

We have our cake and eat it too.

The Dalai Lama then gives a speech completely in Tibetan which I’m sure was very deep and meaningful.

The guy next to us translates and says that he’s mostly talking about how anyone who truly wants to understand Buddhism needs to learn the Tibetan language.

We find this slightly ironic that the only people understanding this message are also coincidentally the same individuals who do not need it.

That night before sleeping I still really am not fully comprehending the fact that we attended the Dalai Lama’s birthday party that day.

Does this stuff actually happen?

The next week and a half of trekking to Kang Yatse test us mentally and physically, and I return to Delhi exhausted, proud and ready for a shower.

I have a new message request on Facebook.

Alana. Who’s Alana?

I audibly inhale as I remember she’s my new Texas friend from our day of cake and accidentally waving at Dalai Lama look-alikes.

She comes to stay with me for two days, her last two before heading home to Texas.

Turns out, she actually went the next day to the Dalai Lama’s home after the birthday party and met him in person.

I show her my favorite dosa restaurant in Delhi, and we chat for hours about more Texas things, our life stories and how our adventures in India have been for each of us.

She’s awesome.

She’s also thinking about moving to Austin, where I grew up and my family is, when she gets back.

I give her my calm, impartial, unbiased opinion.

“DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!”

I do also give some useful information about the city and atmosphere. She laughs and says she’s not sure yet, but it’s looking promising.

I’m so happy to have found this new friend who is so kind and also gives me a piece of home.

Two Texas girls in India.

As she’s packing her suitcase in my room (which I have since been evicted from, but that’s another story) to head to the airport, she pulls a small water bottle out of her suitcase full of months-worth of memories and hands it to me.

“The Dalai Lama breathes into this water bottle,” she tells me, grinning. “They said it’s a blessing.”

I feel like I’ve already had my blessing though.

Randomly attending the Dalai Lama’s birthday party, an unforgettable mountain adventure, yummy cake and a wonderful new friend- I feel very blessed indeed.

We part with a bear hug at her metro station stop and as the doors to the train close, vow to have another girls’ date back in Texas when I visit over the holidays.

So at the end of the day, the Dalai Lama may not have waved at me, but he blew into this water bottle that now reminds me of some truly remarkable memories and people.

I’d say that’s a good trade.

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