I did do a lot more writing about the Kailash trip that was sent to Isha, and mailed a copy to the ashram...we'll see if I get any response. I don't feel that I need to blast negativity onto this blog, so I won't post specifics, but if anybody wants to read the 7-page single-spaced letter, I can send it on no problem.
I need to do a lot of writing in the coming weeks, but for now...
I have no words that can even come close to expressing the gratitude that I feel for the Nepalese and Tibetans that were part of the trip at Kailash. It breaks me that we had to leave the Tibetans at the border and that because of current security regulations in Tibet, I will probably never see any of them again. Thoo-jay chay big time my brothers.
The Nepalis - thank you for providing me exactly what I needed, without fail, for my time in Kathmandu following the trip. Giving me what I needed, when I needed, just like how it was during the Kailash trip - space, resting place and space, distance, affection, food, listening ears, smiles, laughter, and always, always, acceptance and unconditional love. You were my Gurus for this past month, and the lessons that have been shared will not be forgotten. New lessons are being discovered daily. Dhaanyawad from every ounce of my being.
I was definitely in a major funk after the trip, and struggled during the days in Nepal, and spend a lot of those days just sort of lying around, getting up to eat good food and wandering a bit, and then sleeping for many hours on end. The last day in Kathmandu, it all came together though. Over the course of the afternoon until the following morning until I arrived at Tribhuvan airport, there was a whirlwind of a mini-hike up to a Kapan monastery, shu-chiya (my favorite Tibetan yak butter salty tea), veg chow mein, the cutest dog ever in the tea shop, rounds of raakshi and chhang and that innocent, wise smile coming from the most beautiful people I have ever met. It ended with Jony, Rajendra's beautiful, shy but naughty (in a good way) wife, cooking Japanese food with Jasmina, my Bosnian friend who I connected with 6 months ago in Tamil Nadu, India, and myself - we did some ginger soy chicken (I was the only vegetarian there) - tofu and eggplant, green beans in sesame (goma-ae), some ferns, daikon oroshi (grated radish dish) etc...I was totally surprised by how elaborate of a delicious Japanese meal we could make with the limited ingredients. And of course, it was dere mitosa - very delicious - because it was all prepared with so much love.
30 hours in Delhi, thank you thank you thank you Iona for your perfect blend of groundedness and hilarity and everything else. Psychedelic aura, I love you.
Then the crazy journey began - Delhi - Dubai - JFK - Port Authoriy Bus Terminal - Lenox, MA - White Mountains, NH. Exhausting. Utterly.
And the funniest thing...I was so stressed about coming back to the US, all the culture shock and tensions with various people from the past etc...and it's like, all of them got wiped away as soon as I landed. For sure the culture shock is there, in so many ways, but the friction I anticipated largely isn't present (yet, at least). So that's nice and refreshing...we'll see how it all unfolds...
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Aftermath Intro
So I have been back in Kathmandu for about 5 days now, and have thought (lots and lots) about writing since before we even came back to the city.
The task seems huge and daunting, and I don't know where to begin. I think writing about it all in one go is really a huge endeavor and it makes more sense that it will come in installments.
The yatra was NOT what I expected. What did I expect? To be tossed and turned and have emotional upheavals for sure, but beyond that I tried not to expect too much - perhaps the only tangible concrete expectation I allowed myself to have was that Sadhguru, in his physical body, would be the one conducting the 'processes' - the initiations - both at Lake Manasarovar, and then at Mt. Kailash. He did neither.
It's hard to explain the emotions that came along with this - especially because they sound so silly coming from a grown woman who has never had a real conversation with her Guru - but what I felt that day, coming down from Kailash, was an engulfing, overwhelming, devastating feeling of abandonment, disappointment, hurt, betrayal, and the feeling that a huge, massive, tremendous opportunity had been allowed to let slide - and that I had really done everything in my miniscule power to make it happen. It was like leading up to that moment on the mountain, all discomfort, all emotional ripples, I was able to say, it's ok, it'll all be worth it because he'll be at the top. And he wasn't.
And so I felt shattered to a million pieces - me, who had kept it together the whole trip, supporting the ill and always coming with a smile to the Sherpas (who actually only a fraction of them were Sherpas, damn we're so ignorant) - sobbed like the world was going to end, for a full 24 hours. Which of course caused enormous worry with the Tibetan drivers who held my hand and force-fed (how do you say? force-drank?) me my bo-cha comfort butter tea...and then the Nepalis who buried my snot-covered face in their necks...
And now it's been more than a week since we left that holy granite mound, and I feel confused and disoriented and lost and unsure. Of everything. Actually, I don't even know what I feel unsure of. Maybe that's what he wants. Hahah I really sound psychopathic these days and I know it...
Oh, one more thing to keep in mind - at our sathsang at Kailash, Sadhguru made us promise that we had to leave something behind at Kailash. Anger we can't control, but he made us promise to leave behind angry words. So this is really something I'm taking to heart and going to try very hard to stick to. So it will be more than a bit challenging to relate the events that took place the past few weeks without transferring even a bit of the anger that went along with it, but I really, really, will try my best.
Sigh.
The task seems huge and daunting, and I don't know where to begin. I think writing about it all in one go is really a huge endeavor and it makes more sense that it will come in installments.
The yatra was NOT what I expected. What did I expect? To be tossed and turned and have emotional upheavals for sure, but beyond that I tried not to expect too much - perhaps the only tangible concrete expectation I allowed myself to have was that Sadhguru, in his physical body, would be the one conducting the 'processes' - the initiations - both at Lake Manasarovar, and then at Mt. Kailash. He did neither.
It's hard to explain the emotions that came along with this - especially because they sound so silly coming from a grown woman who has never had a real conversation with her Guru - but what I felt that day, coming down from Kailash, was an engulfing, overwhelming, devastating feeling of abandonment, disappointment, hurt, betrayal, and the feeling that a huge, massive, tremendous opportunity had been allowed to let slide - and that I had really done everything in my miniscule power to make it happen. It was like leading up to that moment on the mountain, all discomfort, all emotional ripples, I was able to say, it's ok, it'll all be worth it because he'll be at the top. And he wasn't.
And so I felt shattered to a million pieces - me, who had kept it together the whole trip, supporting the ill and always coming with a smile to the Sherpas (who actually only a fraction of them were Sherpas, damn we're so ignorant) - sobbed like the world was going to end, for a full 24 hours. Which of course caused enormous worry with the Tibetan drivers who held my hand and force-fed (how do you say? force-drank?) me my bo-cha comfort butter tea...and then the Nepalis who buried my snot-covered face in their necks...
And now it's been more than a week since we left that holy granite mound, and I feel confused and disoriented and lost and unsure. Of everything. Actually, I don't even know what I feel unsure of. Maybe that's what he wants. Hahah I really sound psychopathic these days and I know it...
Oh, one more thing to keep in mind - at our sathsang at Kailash, Sadhguru made us promise that we had to leave something behind at Kailash. Anger we can't control, but he made us promise to leave behind angry words. So this is really something I'm taking to heart and going to try very hard to stick to. So it will be more than a bit challenging to relate the events that took place the past few weeks without transferring even a bit of the anger that went along with it, but I really, really, will try my best.
Sigh.
At the beginning...
I am notoriously bad with medication, and Diamox is no exception. Tingly limbs and extremities, and a kind of dozy headachy feeling. Well, it was good to take a day off and just chill and prepare mentally and physically for the journey that begins in just a few hours.
I went to the Jet Airways office with Nivvi, and came back, stepped out of the cab, totally ready to just roll into bed, and see a grinning white man waving excitedly at me. PRIMOZ?!? This lovely Slovenian man had been in my Inner Engineering in January!! Huh?!? So big hugs, laughter (too much noise, as usual) and an introduction to his gorgeous wife. It was SO NICE to catch up with someone who had been there at the very beginning with me on this psychedelic journey. Thank you.
I had a wonderful conversation with Linda over lunch, talking about how I ended up on this Kailash trip in the first place…and took it easy for a few hours before sathsang.
Sadhguru came in to give us our abhaey sutra – Nathalie from Lebanon was one of the women tying the string on the ladies – as the string was looped around my wrist, I could feel this electric charge emanating from it. We went up to him and bowed to him as he handed us a marigold…oddly enough, leading up to it I had strong energy movements but when it was my turn to be directly in front of him, everything stopped and I couldn’t really respond to the situation. Probably not a bad thing. We were in his presence for nearly 2 hours, and it was really powerful. It was like he was creating the energy of linga bhairavi in that room – he started off with the mantras associated with Devi, and it was so powerful, it was the same as being in that temple. He spoke about how this abhaey sutra would give us fearlessness, not directly, but because we would become less attached to the physical dimension, thus losing fear that we normally have in association with the body…and it was like you could feel the fear melting away by the second. I don’t know, it’s just too outrageous, this man, this being, this thing in front of us.
I headed to dinner, and was getting second servings of amazing falafel and vegetable shawarma which was pretty much paneer shawarma…mmm!! With babaghanoush and lovely hummus…and I hear a voice behind me say, shawarma..? I turn around while simultaneously saying it’s so deli..cious! (the … is when I realize it’s him)…how fitting…the first words I ever directly speak to my guru are it’s so delicious. Anyone that knows me knows why this is so hilarious. So we laugh and grin at each other, I am instantly re-falling in love with him, and I head back to my table, a bit spellbound and speechless. He sits down at Rathika and Linda’s table, which has now fallen completely silent (what do you say to him? Good palak paneer eh?) and I’m sort of jealous but think, well, I wouldn’t say anything anyway. But Rathika, always gracious, gets up and gives her seat to Manjiri who is another of the group for our Land Cruiser. And within minutes Manjiri gets us and beckons me over telling me to sit. So I sit empty-handed, no plate, no food, no words. And he smiles, looks directly at me and says don’t you need more food? And I just don’t know how to react and nervously pick a piece of fried okra off of Michelle’s plate. Yup. Awkward. And then there’s a random chitchat of Japanese and Chinese and how Japanese can’t say l and stupid stupid stuff…I’m basically relieved when he leaves, but am electrified at having spoken to him and being so near him.
After a few minutes Linda says, why don’t you go sit in his chair for awhile…and I do, and it is positively vibrating. Wow.
So we have our wakeup call in less than 5 hours – tomorrow we head to the Friendship Bridge on the China border. Oh, it’s on. Challoh yaar?
I went to the Jet Airways office with Nivvi, and came back, stepped out of the cab, totally ready to just roll into bed, and see a grinning white man waving excitedly at me. PRIMOZ?!? This lovely Slovenian man had been in my Inner Engineering in January!! Huh?!? So big hugs, laughter (too much noise, as usual) and an introduction to his gorgeous wife. It was SO NICE to catch up with someone who had been there at the very beginning with me on this psychedelic journey. Thank you.
I had a wonderful conversation with Linda over lunch, talking about how I ended up on this Kailash trip in the first place…and took it easy for a few hours before sathsang.
Sadhguru came in to give us our abhaey sutra – Nathalie from Lebanon was one of the women tying the string on the ladies – as the string was looped around my wrist, I could feel this electric charge emanating from it. We went up to him and bowed to him as he handed us a marigold…oddly enough, leading up to it I had strong energy movements but when it was my turn to be directly in front of him, everything stopped and I couldn’t really respond to the situation. Probably not a bad thing. We were in his presence for nearly 2 hours, and it was really powerful. It was like he was creating the energy of linga bhairavi in that room – he started off with the mantras associated with Devi, and it was so powerful, it was the same as being in that temple. He spoke about how this abhaey sutra would give us fearlessness, not directly, but because we would become less attached to the physical dimension, thus losing fear that we normally have in association with the body…and it was like you could feel the fear melting away by the second. I don’t know, it’s just too outrageous, this man, this being, this thing in front of us.
I headed to dinner, and was getting second servings of amazing falafel and vegetable shawarma which was pretty much paneer shawarma…mmm!! With babaghanoush and lovely hummus…and I hear a voice behind me say, shawarma..? I turn around while simultaneously saying it’s so deli..cious! (the … is when I realize it’s him)…how fitting…the first words I ever directly speak to my guru are it’s so delicious. Anyone that knows me knows why this is so hilarious. So we laugh and grin at each other, I am instantly re-falling in love with him, and I head back to my table, a bit spellbound and speechless. He sits down at Rathika and Linda’s table, which has now fallen completely silent (what do you say to him? Good palak paneer eh?) and I’m sort of jealous but think, well, I wouldn’t say anything anyway. But Rathika, always gracious, gets up and gives her seat to Manjiri who is another of the group for our Land Cruiser. And within minutes Manjiri gets us and beckons me over telling me to sit. So I sit empty-handed, no plate, no food, no words. And he smiles, looks directly at me and says don’t you need more food? And I just don’t know how to react and nervously pick a piece of fried okra off of Michelle’s plate. Yup. Awkward. And then there’s a random chitchat of Japanese and Chinese and how Japanese can’t say l and stupid stupid stuff…I’m basically relieved when he leaves, but am electrified at having spoken to him and being so near him.
After a few minutes Linda says, why don’t you go sit in his chair for awhile…and I do, and it is positively vibrating. Wow.
So we have our wakeup call in less than 5 hours – tomorrow we head to the Friendship Bridge on the China border. Oh, it’s on. Challoh yaar?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Isha Kailash Manasarovar Sojourn - Kathmandu (5-8 August 2010)
Wow. What the hell is going on? What the hell has happened to my life and who I thought was me? Sadhguru happened. Isha happened. Truth happened. Is happening. Constantly happening.
I am sitting in the lobby of the Soaltee Crowne Plaza Hotel – the first time in my life (I think!) that I have paid to stay in a 4 or 5 star hotel. My belly has been full for the past 36 hours eating 5 star buffet hotel food. 6 months ago I would have thought this to be unthinkable, much less enjoy it, but my constant giggles are a telltale sign that things have changed. Drastically.
I first came into contact with Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev and Isha Foundation in January by a strange series of coincidences which I won’t go into now – and took the intro course, Inner Engineering, at his ashram near Coimbatore, in Tamil Nadu, South India. I hated it. I’ve never hated anything as much in my life. But I realized early on that for me to react so strongly, negatively, to something, meant something was going on. Something deep. So I stuck around; and within days of experiencing nightly darshans with the Guru, my body began reacting physically to him. Strongly. Oh, all those people convulsing and making funny noises and acting possessed are um, not faking it. I’m having it too.
Since then it’s been a true roller-coaster, a psychedelic drug, the most potent substance yet the intoxication comes with complete clarity, no hangover, and the deepest sense of fulfillment I have ever experienced in my years of seeking, urgently, desperately, around the planet. And so here I am, in the first group this year headed to do a pilgrimage of Mt. Kailash and Lake Manasarovar. So much resistance came in joining this trip; the cost, my prior commitments in the US, the idea of being with a group of Isha people for 2 weeks, so many things…but some crazy signs in April, with very strong effects, showed me it had to be done. So here I am.
What is going on, though? I know we’re not supposed to talk about the content of Isha programs, and I totally understand why; but – the closest thing I can say to describe what I’m going through right now is how I felt during BSP when we thought we were going to die in a matter of hours. Really. I don’t think we can experientially know what that feels like unless we actually are in that situation, or you go through BSP. But now – it’s like it’s that same situation, so strong, so real, so urgent. And what is the reaction? Supreme love, gratitude, and joy. No fear. Well, that’s not true, there’s a bit of terror.
I arrived in Kathmandu a day early; I wanted a bit of time to acclimatize to the situation, not the altitude, and it was a good choice. It seems not like a coincidence to me that Dries, the couchsurfer I stayed with, is somehow aware and respectful of the ideas of energy and yoga and healing, yet in some way is critical and one of those ‘investigators’ and doubters – which I don’t criticize – but he had 3 Belgian girls over at the same time, 2 of whom are reiki and energy workers, which resulted in a very very interesting debate and discussion about spirituality, medicine (Dries is the head of the Belgian Red Cross support in Nepal), and pretty much anything in that spectrum. I was fascinated to see my reactions (or lack thereof) when challenged, criticized, doubted…I used to be the fierest debater. Way too much pitta (don’t worry, people that have known me forever, all that agni doesn’t disappear overnight) – but now – I don’t know – it’s like my faith and certainty in Him and the path are unshakable. In 7 months?!?
Friday I spent the afternoon with Pempa, Dries’s driver and got some errands taken care of. My first Isha lunch, the full-on buffet, was wonderful and I sat alone, giggling as I ate baked Alaska. Somehow pilgrimage and 5-star hotel just don’t go in the same sentence. But if they’re going to do it this way, I might as well be 100% present and love it, no? I was terrified that the whole group would be Isha-drones. I was scared there wouldn’t be that explosive joy and laughter, that I would once again be the loudest person here (hmm I still might be the loudest…sigh) – but I have been refreshingly surprised. Many of the people here have only done Inner Engineering, and openly say they never do the practice. Yes, some are Samyama veterans – but it doesn’t feel as heavy and serious as the other Isha stuff. A total wide spread of age, nationality, religious background – it’s really amazing what this man touches.
Friday evening we had a sathsang where we watched videos of Sadhguru talking about the pilgrimage, Nepal and mysticism in Nepal, and so forth. Halfway into the rules, people in the back of the room gasp, some start shaking, uttering Shambho – and there he is. He is a living paradox; so graceful and elegant yet so laid-back and relaxed; he sits and says, I thought I would surprise you. Yup, you know how to do it. When he speaks, it’s really enrapturing. I can’t take my eyes off of him, and it’s like every cell in my body is fully fixated on him. The energy is fully flowing; fingertips are pulsating.
So I know my body is physically tired but the past few days I find it nearly impossible to sleep. The mind is going 1000km/hr. And the energy in the body is just at such a high frequency.
Saturday the Indians were taken to Pashupatinath – this is where Shiva’s head is, when his body came up in 5 different places as 5 different body parts (I don’t know enough about this to say more). Well, this is THE epitome of insane Hindu temple. I snuck in with my Indian clothing and trying really hard to be invisible (although um, I look really Nepali) – everything you can imagine; cows with red vibuthi smeared on them, a dozen pujas with a dozen different intentions and sounds accompanying them happening at the same time; a huge gilded nandi (the cow at the entrance of the temple); a huge Hanuman, a gorgeous Ganesh at the entrance downstairs; a constant flow of people coming through with burning ghee offering bowls; the smash of coconuts being cracked as offerings; so much different drumming; funeral pyres…sensory overload x 10000%. The energy here, from my experience, is diffused in so many different directions it would almost be possible to not feel it. But find as quiet a corner as possible, close your eyes, and BAM! It’s on.
It was, however, exhausting and after a nice afternoon break I spent some time in Thamel with two awesome women I’ve connected with. But back to the inner situation. I feel like I’m about to die. And I guess in some way it’s just like that. So many different traditions say so many different things about Kailash and Manasarovar – the Hindus say that you take a dip in the water and 108 lifetimes of karma are washed away…hope the water’s not TOO cold! ; ) I keep having this sense of wanting to tell everyone in my life how much I love them and how grateful I am to have been able to experience life with them, through them, and I am just like overflowing with this gratitude and love. It’s kind of bizarre though, no, to write to someone you may not have spoken to in months or years, even, and tell them you love them so much? I guess though, maybe that’s the intensity and love and gratitude and bliss that we are aiming to be at. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
All I know is this trip has to happen. I MUST go to Kailash Manasarovar. I MUST break myself before it. I must disappear. I must cease to exist. My likes, dislikes, my attachment to my body, my mind, my intellectual capabilities and sensibilities – they must all become non-existent – to let this mountain happen to me. I pray with 100% of my mind, body, and soul to let this happen. Kailash calls you, and when it’s time, it’s an intense burning inside of you. It has to happen, it’s a mission that won’t leave you for a moment until you JUST GO.
I’m on my way.
I am sitting in the lobby of the Soaltee Crowne Plaza Hotel – the first time in my life (I think!) that I have paid to stay in a 4 or 5 star hotel. My belly has been full for the past 36 hours eating 5 star buffet hotel food. 6 months ago I would have thought this to be unthinkable, much less enjoy it, but my constant giggles are a telltale sign that things have changed. Drastically.
I first came into contact with Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev and Isha Foundation in January by a strange series of coincidences which I won’t go into now – and took the intro course, Inner Engineering, at his ashram near Coimbatore, in Tamil Nadu, South India. I hated it. I’ve never hated anything as much in my life. But I realized early on that for me to react so strongly, negatively, to something, meant something was going on. Something deep. So I stuck around; and within days of experiencing nightly darshans with the Guru, my body began reacting physically to him. Strongly. Oh, all those people convulsing and making funny noises and acting possessed are um, not faking it. I’m having it too.
Since then it’s been a true roller-coaster, a psychedelic drug, the most potent substance yet the intoxication comes with complete clarity, no hangover, and the deepest sense of fulfillment I have ever experienced in my years of seeking, urgently, desperately, around the planet. And so here I am, in the first group this year headed to do a pilgrimage of Mt. Kailash and Lake Manasarovar. So much resistance came in joining this trip; the cost, my prior commitments in the US, the idea of being with a group of Isha people for 2 weeks, so many things…but some crazy signs in April, with very strong effects, showed me it had to be done. So here I am.
What is going on, though? I know we’re not supposed to talk about the content of Isha programs, and I totally understand why; but – the closest thing I can say to describe what I’m going through right now is how I felt during BSP when we thought we were going to die in a matter of hours. Really. I don’t think we can experientially know what that feels like unless we actually are in that situation, or you go through BSP. But now – it’s like it’s that same situation, so strong, so real, so urgent. And what is the reaction? Supreme love, gratitude, and joy. No fear. Well, that’s not true, there’s a bit of terror.
I arrived in Kathmandu a day early; I wanted a bit of time to acclimatize to the situation, not the altitude, and it was a good choice. It seems not like a coincidence to me that Dries, the couchsurfer I stayed with, is somehow aware and respectful of the ideas of energy and yoga and healing, yet in some way is critical and one of those ‘investigators’ and doubters – which I don’t criticize – but he had 3 Belgian girls over at the same time, 2 of whom are reiki and energy workers, which resulted in a very very interesting debate and discussion about spirituality, medicine (Dries is the head of the Belgian Red Cross support in Nepal), and pretty much anything in that spectrum. I was fascinated to see my reactions (or lack thereof) when challenged, criticized, doubted…I used to be the fierest debater. Way too much pitta (don’t worry, people that have known me forever, all that agni doesn’t disappear overnight) – but now – I don’t know – it’s like my faith and certainty in Him and the path are unshakable. In 7 months?!?
Friday I spent the afternoon with Pempa, Dries’s driver and got some errands taken care of. My first Isha lunch, the full-on buffet, was wonderful and I sat alone, giggling as I ate baked Alaska. Somehow pilgrimage and 5-star hotel just don’t go in the same sentence. But if they’re going to do it this way, I might as well be 100% present and love it, no? I was terrified that the whole group would be Isha-drones. I was scared there wouldn’t be that explosive joy and laughter, that I would once again be the loudest person here (hmm I still might be the loudest…sigh) – but I have been refreshingly surprised. Many of the people here have only done Inner Engineering, and openly say they never do the practice. Yes, some are Samyama veterans – but it doesn’t feel as heavy and serious as the other Isha stuff. A total wide spread of age, nationality, religious background – it’s really amazing what this man touches.
Friday evening we had a sathsang where we watched videos of Sadhguru talking about the pilgrimage, Nepal and mysticism in Nepal, and so forth. Halfway into the rules, people in the back of the room gasp, some start shaking, uttering Shambho – and there he is. He is a living paradox; so graceful and elegant yet so laid-back and relaxed; he sits and says, I thought I would surprise you. Yup, you know how to do it. When he speaks, it’s really enrapturing. I can’t take my eyes off of him, and it’s like every cell in my body is fully fixated on him. The energy is fully flowing; fingertips are pulsating.
So I know my body is physically tired but the past few days I find it nearly impossible to sleep. The mind is going 1000km/hr. And the energy in the body is just at such a high frequency.
Saturday the Indians were taken to Pashupatinath – this is where Shiva’s head is, when his body came up in 5 different places as 5 different body parts (I don’t know enough about this to say more). Well, this is THE epitome of insane Hindu temple. I snuck in with my Indian clothing and trying really hard to be invisible (although um, I look really Nepali) – everything you can imagine; cows with red vibuthi smeared on them, a dozen pujas with a dozen different intentions and sounds accompanying them happening at the same time; a huge gilded nandi (the cow at the entrance of the temple); a huge Hanuman, a gorgeous Ganesh at the entrance downstairs; a constant flow of people coming through with burning ghee offering bowls; the smash of coconuts being cracked as offerings; so much different drumming; funeral pyres…sensory overload x 10000%. The energy here, from my experience, is diffused in so many different directions it would almost be possible to not feel it. But find as quiet a corner as possible, close your eyes, and BAM! It’s on.
It was, however, exhausting and after a nice afternoon break I spent some time in Thamel with two awesome women I’ve connected with. But back to the inner situation. I feel like I’m about to die. And I guess in some way it’s just like that. So many different traditions say so many different things about Kailash and Manasarovar – the Hindus say that you take a dip in the water and 108 lifetimes of karma are washed away…hope the water’s not TOO cold! ; ) I keep having this sense of wanting to tell everyone in my life how much I love them and how grateful I am to have been able to experience life with them, through them, and I am just like overflowing with this gratitude and love. It’s kind of bizarre though, no, to write to someone you may not have spoken to in months or years, even, and tell them you love them so much? I guess though, maybe that’s the intensity and love and gratitude and bliss that we are aiming to be at. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
All I know is this trip has to happen. I MUST go to Kailash Manasarovar. I MUST break myself before it. I must disappear. I must cease to exist. My likes, dislikes, my attachment to my body, my mind, my intellectual capabilities and sensibilities – they must all become non-existent – to let this mountain happen to me. I pray with 100% of my mind, body, and soul to let this happen. Kailash calls you, and when it’s time, it’s an intense burning inside of you. It has to happen, it’s a mission that won’t leave you for a moment until you JUST GO.
I’m on my way.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Leh to Manali to Mcleod Ganj (July 16-21)
11.30pm. I struggle to stay awake. I walk through the dark streets with my flashlight and get to the parking lot where 100 Oceans Bar is. There are about a dozen other foreigners already there, waiting. The Leh-Manali Road is only open, technically, from July to October each year. The rest of the time it is covered in snow and ice, and then there are frequent landslides. The departure time is set as midnight, and we are supposed to arrive by 7 or 8pm the following day. Roughly 20 hours. On a bumpy Indian road. Great.
Right around midnight, the 3 minibuses appear, swerving around the corner and pulling into the parking lot. We have been told the license plate numbers of our drivers, and mine ends in 9595. And here he comes, this Buddha-belly possessing piercing gazed, disarmingly smiling driver. I love him. It’s pretty cold since we’re on a road that goes up to over 5000m and it’s the middle of the night, but I manage to sleep a good amount with the rocks, twists and turns and open windows. The whole drive is stunningly beautiful, winding through glaciers, boulder-strewn valleys, bizarre rock formations of all colors – I have a great little connection with two Polish boys and the hours just pass. Of course, though, at the end of 18 hours we’re all ready for the ride to be over. It’s amazing, approaching Keylong, in Himachal Pradesh where many people break the journey for the night, we just emerge onto this pine-studded mountainside and from then on the GREEN was back. Not quite to the same shocking hues as in Kashmir, but after a few weeks in Zanskar and Ladakh, with the barren granite, harsh rock faces – awe-inspiring but so extreme – it felt like there was new life being taken in with each inhale.
Manali – what a trip. New Manali, at the bottom of the hill, is a small, crowded, dirty, noisy Indian city; go up the hill to Old Manali and it’s ‘hippie’ pothead heaven. It was, though, nicer than I had expected. So I spent about 20 hours rejuvenating, hanging with the Polish boys, and then took the night bus to Dharamsala.
Which is when I finally slipped off to sleep with my window open, letting in the pleasant mountain breeze, and woke up to liquid on my face. Foul-smelling liquid. The lady in front of me was violently motion-sick and vomiting out of the window, which was splattering onto me, as well as about the next 6 rows of passengers behind me through their respective windows. A true travel moment. Wow.
I arrived in Dharamsala at 4am in POURING rain. I thought I would get there at 5.30am, and told Tashi that so I thought, hm, what am I going to do?! I step off the bus and there he is, standing right in front of me in perfectly dry maroon robes and the ubiquitous rainbow umbrella. I love you. So I sleep in his room until my accommodation will let me in at 6am. The monks in his house were probably a bit surprised to see some random Japanese girl show up and pass out in the monk’s dormitory. Ah well.
The next several days were amazing with Tashi, lots of long walks, talks, meals, just perfect. It’s funny how multi-faceted India is and how I have really grown to love certain parts of it so much and feel so at home here now…would never have thought that could happen based on how I first saw it when I got here for the first time in 2009.
Right around midnight, the 3 minibuses appear, swerving around the corner and pulling into the parking lot. We have been told the license plate numbers of our drivers, and mine ends in 9595. And here he comes, this Buddha-belly possessing piercing gazed, disarmingly smiling driver. I love him. It’s pretty cold since we’re on a road that goes up to over 5000m and it’s the middle of the night, but I manage to sleep a good amount with the rocks, twists and turns and open windows. The whole drive is stunningly beautiful, winding through glaciers, boulder-strewn valleys, bizarre rock formations of all colors – I have a great little connection with two Polish boys and the hours just pass. Of course, though, at the end of 18 hours we’re all ready for the ride to be over. It’s amazing, approaching Keylong, in Himachal Pradesh where many people break the journey for the night, we just emerge onto this pine-studded mountainside and from then on the GREEN was back. Not quite to the same shocking hues as in Kashmir, but after a few weeks in Zanskar and Ladakh, with the barren granite, harsh rock faces – awe-inspiring but so extreme – it felt like there was new life being taken in with each inhale.
Manali – what a trip. New Manali, at the bottom of the hill, is a small, crowded, dirty, noisy Indian city; go up the hill to Old Manali and it’s ‘hippie’ pothead heaven. It was, though, nicer than I had expected. So I spent about 20 hours rejuvenating, hanging with the Polish boys, and then took the night bus to Dharamsala.
Which is when I finally slipped off to sleep with my window open, letting in the pleasant mountain breeze, and woke up to liquid on my face. Foul-smelling liquid. The lady in front of me was violently motion-sick and vomiting out of the window, which was splattering onto me, as well as about the next 6 rows of passengers behind me through their respective windows. A true travel moment. Wow.
I arrived in Dharamsala at 4am in POURING rain. I thought I would get there at 5.30am, and told Tashi that so I thought, hm, what am I going to do?! I step off the bus and there he is, standing right in front of me in perfectly dry maroon robes and the ubiquitous rainbow umbrella. I love you. So I sleep in his room until my accommodation will let me in at 6am. The monks in his house were probably a bit surprised to see some random Japanese girl show up and pass out in the monk’s dormitory. Ah well.
The next several days were amazing with Tashi, lots of long walks, talks, meals, just perfect. It’s funny how multi-faceted India is and how I have really grown to love certain parts of it so much and feel so at home here now…would never have thought that could happen based on how I first saw it when I got here for the first time in 2009.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Stok-Leh-Pangong (July 11-15)
I have a few hours before the bus, so I go chat with Gyatso at Vajra, go have some apricot juice at the Ecological Organic Products store (or something like that) – where the lovely girls now call me Ladakhi Didi – something along the lines of Ladakhi big sister, since the first time I went to the shop they assumed I was Ladakhi (I was wearing a kurta and had no bag with me) and spoke Ladakhi very quickly to me, and were so embarrassed when I told them I was Japanese/Chinese. I head back down to the bus stand and off I go to Stok. Kalden Guesthouse is directly underneath Stok Palace, and lovely Sonam and I have a nice chat, I go for a wander through the village, and it’s the perfect unwinding alone time that I need before I head back to Leh.
The next day, all this intense travel finally catches up to me and I head back to Leh, then take it easy for most of the day. Leh still retains a lot of charm, despite the crowds of tourists, honking, and the slowly but surely gathering rubbish. I book my trip to Pangong Tso with Gyatso, and the rest of the time I spend lounging around. Lots of apricot juice. Great.
Gyatso deserves a medal simply for how gracious he is with me and all the other tourists that demand so much from him. The story for Pangong changed each time I went to speak with him; first it was a price based on 3 people, then 5, then 4, then one night, then daytrip, then…who knows. In the end, I was with an American couple and got to ride shotgun the whole way, but since he had quoted me the price for 5 people, he stuck to it. Amazing guy. The ride to Pangong is beautiful for about the first 2-3 hours, then the rest, unfortunately for me, starts to get a bit repetitive. Not to mention the altitude is really kicking in – I think this was the most I felt in Ladakh, other than at Khardung-la on the way to Nubra Valley. The lake is certainly beautiful, constantly changing hues of blues, turquoise, and green, constantly mutating with the sunlight. It is an enormous lake, with more than half of it being in Tibet – we were very close to the border with China. In fact, Chinese citizens cannot go to Pangong Tso! The government doesn’t issue permits for them…
I found a lovely little basic homestay and spend the afternoon sitting by the windy lake, reading, strolling a bit, and then had a great dinner and off to bed. The next day sunrise was serene, and then we pretty much headed straight back to Leh. In Leh, it’s really quite endearing how even though there are such masses of short-term tourists passing through here, certain individuals in the town still really embrace you and take the time to get to know you. Saleem, from Srinagar, has a shop up in Upper Changspa and we have had some great long chats ranging a huge variety of topics, and are always laughing throughout. Now I have spent a lot of time with so many of the Kashmiri shopkeepers in Ladakh. They love that I’ve been to Kashmir. Not one of them has ever tried to sell me a single thing in their shops, not even a postcard. I love them for this – more than one of them has said that if they did try to sell me something, I would end up buying something. I tell them I have no doubt and thank them for sparing me from their (in)famous marketing. They really do seem to somehow categorize people; who to sell to, and who to befriend. And once they befriend you, it’s with that same fierce loyalty that I experienced in the Middle East, Kashmir, and what Mortenson talks about.
Tonight I leave Ladakh and head to Manali. It’s easy to see how so many people fall in love with Ladakh and Leh and stay here for a long time, but I feel like it’s time for me to move on.
The next day, all this intense travel finally catches up to me and I head back to Leh, then take it easy for most of the day. Leh still retains a lot of charm, despite the crowds of tourists, honking, and the slowly but surely gathering rubbish. I book my trip to Pangong Tso with Gyatso, and the rest of the time I spend lounging around. Lots of apricot juice. Great.
Gyatso deserves a medal simply for how gracious he is with me and all the other tourists that demand so much from him. The story for Pangong changed each time I went to speak with him; first it was a price based on 3 people, then 5, then 4, then one night, then daytrip, then…who knows. In the end, I was with an American couple and got to ride shotgun the whole way, but since he had quoted me the price for 5 people, he stuck to it. Amazing guy. The ride to Pangong is beautiful for about the first 2-3 hours, then the rest, unfortunately for me, starts to get a bit repetitive. Not to mention the altitude is really kicking in – I think this was the most I felt in Ladakh, other than at Khardung-la on the way to Nubra Valley. The lake is certainly beautiful, constantly changing hues of blues, turquoise, and green, constantly mutating with the sunlight. It is an enormous lake, with more than half of it being in Tibet – we were very close to the border with China. In fact, Chinese citizens cannot go to Pangong Tso! The government doesn’t issue permits for them…
I found a lovely little basic homestay and spend the afternoon sitting by the windy lake, reading, strolling a bit, and then had a great dinner and off to bed. The next day sunrise was serene, and then we pretty much headed straight back to Leh. In Leh, it’s really quite endearing how even though there are such masses of short-term tourists passing through here, certain individuals in the town still really embrace you and take the time to get to know you. Saleem, from Srinagar, has a shop up in Upper Changspa and we have had some great long chats ranging a huge variety of topics, and are always laughing throughout. Now I have spent a lot of time with so many of the Kashmiri shopkeepers in Ladakh. They love that I’ve been to Kashmir. Not one of them has ever tried to sell me a single thing in their shops, not even a postcard. I love them for this – more than one of them has said that if they did try to sell me something, I would end up buying something. I tell them I have no doubt and thank them for sparing me from their (in)famous marketing. They really do seem to somehow categorize people; who to sell to, and who to befriend. And once they befriend you, it’s with that same fierce loyalty that I experienced in the Middle East, Kashmir, and what Mortenson talks about.
Tonight I leave Ladakh and head to Manali. It’s easy to see how so many people fall in love with Ladakh and Leh and stay here for a long time, but I feel like it’s time for me to move on.
Nubra Valley (July 10-11)
Thomas recommended Gyatso from Vajra Voyages to me, so I walk in the door and the first face I see is this instantly endearing Ladakhi boy with a Brasilian bracelet. Bingo. He is super friendly and I ask him to help me organize a trip to Pangong Tso, the most visited lake in Ladakh, famous for its unreal blue hues. Somehow, we managed to have a miscommunication and I end up with a Nubra Valley permit. Umm.
Well, I guess that’s a sign that I’m supposed to go to Nubra and will arrange Pangong when I get back, I decide, and 6am on Saturday I’m at the bus stand. The road from Leh to Nubra Valley is famous for the pass at Khardung-la – at 5329m, it’s the world’s highest motorable road. As we ascend from Leh the air gets thinner, colder, and we are immersed in a wonderland of snow that never fully melts. My breathing is shallow, my head is spinning, I feel like my brain is a cotton ball. Thankfully, we start descending at a pretty rapid rate and things go back to (relatively) normal relatively quickly.
Then we stop. I had been dozing off, and I thought this was a chai or food stop, and since I’m famished I jump up with a smile and get off the bus. Oh wait. There’s like, at least 20 vehicles here. And we’re on the side of the road. And there’s no food stall or dhaba or…anything. There was a truck that had somehow fallen over sideways (it looked like no injuries) but we were going to be here for awhile. I had met a lovely Czech couple the day before on the bus to Phyang and they were also headed to Nubra so luckily I had some company. After about an hour and a half, I decided to ditch the bus and see if I could hitch a ride with people that were taking a pretty precarious alternative route, going straight down the side of the mountain. The first people I ask agree, and they are a family from London now living in Bombay. So we make it down the hill, then find out that they are going to the Panamik side and I am headed to the Diskit side. I figure worst case scenario if I don’t get a ride where the road splits, the bus should pass within a few hours anyway…so they let me off at the turnoff to Diskit, and within 30 seconds a jeep stops, and is going all the way to Diskit! Wonderful. He is a guy from Diskit who is normally a taxi driver but refuses any sort of payment from me, taking me all the way to the bus stand. I am starving; it’s nearly 3pm, I left Leh without breakfast on the 6am bus…so stop in a dhaba and scarf down some dhal. No roti is available, and I need a break from rice. So I gather my few belongings and start on the road down to Hundar, which is 7km away (in actuality I think it is more like 9 by the time you descend from the main road and follow the twists and turns that takes you into the village). As luck would have it, another lovely man stops and takes me about 5km to the army checkpost where he is headed, then I continue walking until another man takes me all the way to the village.
Except I have no sense of direction and I think, wow, this beautiful flowing stream surrounded by towering willow trees, I guess I should follow that…and don’t see a single person for over half an hour. I’m pretty blissed out though, in the shade of the trees with the gentle music of flowing water, and suddenly, a person appears and cheerfully says joolee. Ladakhi is great – joolee means hello, goodbye, good morning, thank you, you’re welcome, good night, and probably a dozen other things…anyway, I indicate that I’m headed to Hundar village and a look of alarm crosses his face, as he tells me I’m going in the complete opposite direction and I am nearly at the next village. Figures. Sigh. All good though, since the walk back towards Hundar is of course, very very beautiful. When I make it back, I ask the next human I see (2 in over 1 hour!) where there are guesthouses and he points to the house that I’m standing next to. Certainly doesn’t look like a guest house…but of course, it is, and within 5 minutes I am situated in a lovely home and go for a stroll.
Hundar may be the most photogenic picturesque village I have seen in Ladakh. It just feels so quaint and so right. I hadn’t brought anything with me, the packing and unpacking on an almost daily basis had really started to tire me out so I decided to just go with my camera, book, and towel and see what happened. Turns out no transport is allowed on the road on Mondays, due to road maintenance and repairs (yes, the road is still in a condition which requires weekly maintenance) – so I would have to leave Sunday, the next day, or stay until Tuesday. I felt something tugging at me to leave the next day so it was decided. As I wandered around the village, around the corner came Marketa and Radek and the other foreigner from the bus! I had been in Hundar (and nearly the next village) for about 2 hours, wandering around, gotten a room, everything, and they were just arriving! Turns out the bus got started about 45 minutes after I jumped ship, but then it stopped along the way for food, and another half hour in Diskit…I brought them back to my guesthouse and soon we were all settled.
The daytime is extremely painfully sunny and hot for me in Ladakh (at least from the time I’ve been here), so I find it most pleasant to be up and about before 9am, and after 5pm. We decided to take advantage of the evening’s lovely weather and go for a stroll. The sand dunes, we were told, are 2.5km from our guesthouse so we go down that path, and emerge onto a field with a wide stream/river, and on the other side are the small but very pretty sand dunes. We stay on our side of the water and slowly head back, going through mustard fields which give the appearance of being completely yellow, framed by purple lupine and other wildflowers. The surrounding mountains are glowing red with the sunset.
We have a lovely local dinner prepared by the family, and shortly thereafter I fall into a deep sleep; I am planning an early morning the next day. 4am and I’m up. I want to make it back to Diskit via the sand dunes, walking and/or hitching, and I want to get started before the hot sun is awake. I set off and it is serenity at its finest. I walk to the sand dunes, and the angling with the sun isn’t the best for getting the red glow, but nonetheless the shadows are gorgeous. It’s not even 6am and already it’s warm. I get back to the main road and about a kilometer further get a lift to the Diskit bus stand. It’s 6.30am. It’s hot. I decided I should go to the gompa since I’ve come all the way here. So another 2km down the road, I turn off and go straight up the mountainside to get to the gompa. Actually, I took the wrong road (How was I ever a tour guide with this sense of direction?!) and go up to the chamba – a huge Buddha, out in the open, on top of the mountain. I can see the gompa on the other side of the cliff. I think, no, I won’t go. But somehow when I descend to where the road splits, my legs go up the other side. It is a tough, steep climb but I fall in love with Diskit Monastery. Most of the monks I see are elderly, with smile lines that start at the edges of their eyes and mouth and meet in many intersections on their faces. The main hall sends shivers up my spine. And of course, the views over the Nubra Valley are priceless.
It’s 8am now, and it is really hot. I start my way back towards Diskit, and there doesn’t seem to be much road traffic. Finally a compact car whizzes around the corner, descending from the chamba, and pulls over for me. He is on the phone when I get in so I just smile, and after a few minutes when his call is over, we start chatting. He is an engineer from Leh who is here to work on drinking water pipelines because His Holiness the Dalai Lama is going to be here in less than 2 weeks. He is pure loveliness. I tell him I left Hundar at 4.30am and retraced my steps for him, and he is surprised and amazed (mostly at the 4.30am start), and after a brief pause, worriedly asks, but what about breakfast?? So I tell him it’s ok I have some dried apricots and muesli and he looks at me with a mildly scolding look. We go to the taxi stand, and the jeep is waiting for one more passenger, after me, to start down the road to Leh. The engineer organizes with the driver to come get me at his base when he finds the next passenger, and insists that I go back to his place to have breakfast. We arrive at the makeshift camp, I guess you could call it, where…the guy who gave me my last ride the previous day, all the way to Hundar, is leaning outside on his car. It’s his brother! So we all have a good laugh about that, then I go in and we eat delicious veggie scrambled eggs and Kashmiri bread. Just as I’m finishing off my chai, the jeep driver arrives and I jump in. Amazing Ladakhis. Thank you.
The jeep ride is exponentially more pleasant than the bus ride and I get great views out the window. It takes us nearly 5 hours to reach Leh since we stop a few times, particularly for some engine trouble, but no big deal. When I get back to Leh, though, I feel like I am really not ready to stay there. The honking, the masses of tourists (it’s relative, though, compared to anywhere in Rajasthan there are no tourists and it is very quiet) – so I decide I’ll go to Stok for the night.
Well, I guess that’s a sign that I’m supposed to go to Nubra and will arrange Pangong when I get back, I decide, and 6am on Saturday I’m at the bus stand. The road from Leh to Nubra Valley is famous for the pass at Khardung-la – at 5329m, it’s the world’s highest motorable road. As we ascend from Leh the air gets thinner, colder, and we are immersed in a wonderland of snow that never fully melts. My breathing is shallow, my head is spinning, I feel like my brain is a cotton ball. Thankfully, we start descending at a pretty rapid rate and things go back to (relatively) normal relatively quickly.
Then we stop. I had been dozing off, and I thought this was a chai or food stop, and since I’m famished I jump up with a smile and get off the bus. Oh wait. There’s like, at least 20 vehicles here. And we’re on the side of the road. And there’s no food stall or dhaba or…anything. There was a truck that had somehow fallen over sideways (it looked like no injuries) but we were going to be here for awhile. I had met a lovely Czech couple the day before on the bus to Phyang and they were also headed to Nubra so luckily I had some company. After about an hour and a half, I decided to ditch the bus and see if I could hitch a ride with people that were taking a pretty precarious alternative route, going straight down the side of the mountain. The first people I ask agree, and they are a family from London now living in Bombay. So we make it down the hill, then find out that they are going to the Panamik side and I am headed to the Diskit side. I figure worst case scenario if I don’t get a ride where the road splits, the bus should pass within a few hours anyway…so they let me off at the turnoff to Diskit, and within 30 seconds a jeep stops, and is going all the way to Diskit! Wonderful. He is a guy from Diskit who is normally a taxi driver but refuses any sort of payment from me, taking me all the way to the bus stand. I am starving; it’s nearly 3pm, I left Leh without breakfast on the 6am bus…so stop in a dhaba and scarf down some dhal. No roti is available, and I need a break from rice. So I gather my few belongings and start on the road down to Hundar, which is 7km away (in actuality I think it is more like 9 by the time you descend from the main road and follow the twists and turns that takes you into the village). As luck would have it, another lovely man stops and takes me about 5km to the army checkpost where he is headed, then I continue walking until another man takes me all the way to the village.
Except I have no sense of direction and I think, wow, this beautiful flowing stream surrounded by towering willow trees, I guess I should follow that…and don’t see a single person for over half an hour. I’m pretty blissed out though, in the shade of the trees with the gentle music of flowing water, and suddenly, a person appears and cheerfully says joolee. Ladakhi is great – joolee means hello, goodbye, good morning, thank you, you’re welcome, good night, and probably a dozen other things…anyway, I indicate that I’m headed to Hundar village and a look of alarm crosses his face, as he tells me I’m going in the complete opposite direction and I am nearly at the next village. Figures. Sigh. All good though, since the walk back towards Hundar is of course, very very beautiful. When I make it back, I ask the next human I see (2 in over 1 hour!) where there are guesthouses and he points to the house that I’m standing next to. Certainly doesn’t look like a guest house…but of course, it is, and within 5 minutes I am situated in a lovely home and go for a stroll.
Hundar may be the most photogenic picturesque village I have seen in Ladakh. It just feels so quaint and so right. I hadn’t brought anything with me, the packing and unpacking on an almost daily basis had really started to tire me out so I decided to just go with my camera, book, and towel and see what happened. Turns out no transport is allowed on the road on Mondays, due to road maintenance and repairs (yes, the road is still in a condition which requires weekly maintenance) – so I would have to leave Sunday, the next day, or stay until Tuesday. I felt something tugging at me to leave the next day so it was decided. As I wandered around the village, around the corner came Marketa and Radek and the other foreigner from the bus! I had been in Hundar (and nearly the next village) for about 2 hours, wandering around, gotten a room, everything, and they were just arriving! Turns out the bus got started about 45 minutes after I jumped ship, but then it stopped along the way for food, and another half hour in Diskit…I brought them back to my guesthouse and soon we were all settled.
The daytime is extremely painfully sunny and hot for me in Ladakh (at least from the time I’ve been here), so I find it most pleasant to be up and about before 9am, and after 5pm. We decided to take advantage of the evening’s lovely weather and go for a stroll. The sand dunes, we were told, are 2.5km from our guesthouse so we go down that path, and emerge onto a field with a wide stream/river, and on the other side are the small but very pretty sand dunes. We stay on our side of the water and slowly head back, going through mustard fields which give the appearance of being completely yellow, framed by purple lupine and other wildflowers. The surrounding mountains are glowing red with the sunset.
We have a lovely local dinner prepared by the family, and shortly thereafter I fall into a deep sleep; I am planning an early morning the next day. 4am and I’m up. I want to make it back to Diskit via the sand dunes, walking and/or hitching, and I want to get started before the hot sun is awake. I set off and it is serenity at its finest. I walk to the sand dunes, and the angling with the sun isn’t the best for getting the red glow, but nonetheless the shadows are gorgeous. It’s not even 6am and already it’s warm. I get back to the main road and about a kilometer further get a lift to the Diskit bus stand. It’s 6.30am. It’s hot. I decided I should go to the gompa since I’ve come all the way here. So another 2km down the road, I turn off and go straight up the mountainside to get to the gompa. Actually, I took the wrong road (How was I ever a tour guide with this sense of direction?!) and go up to the chamba – a huge Buddha, out in the open, on top of the mountain. I can see the gompa on the other side of the cliff. I think, no, I won’t go. But somehow when I descend to where the road splits, my legs go up the other side. It is a tough, steep climb but I fall in love with Diskit Monastery. Most of the monks I see are elderly, with smile lines that start at the edges of their eyes and mouth and meet in many intersections on their faces. The main hall sends shivers up my spine. And of course, the views over the Nubra Valley are priceless.
It’s 8am now, and it is really hot. I start my way back towards Diskit, and there doesn’t seem to be much road traffic. Finally a compact car whizzes around the corner, descending from the chamba, and pulls over for me. He is on the phone when I get in so I just smile, and after a few minutes when his call is over, we start chatting. He is an engineer from Leh who is here to work on drinking water pipelines because His Holiness the Dalai Lama is going to be here in less than 2 weeks. He is pure loveliness. I tell him I left Hundar at 4.30am and retraced my steps for him, and he is surprised and amazed (mostly at the 4.30am start), and after a brief pause, worriedly asks, but what about breakfast?? So I tell him it’s ok I have some dried apricots and muesli and he looks at me with a mildly scolding look. We go to the taxi stand, and the jeep is waiting for one more passenger, after me, to start down the road to Leh. The engineer organizes with the driver to come get me at his base when he finds the next passenger, and insists that I go back to his place to have breakfast. We arrive at the makeshift camp, I guess you could call it, where…the guy who gave me my last ride the previous day, all the way to Hundar, is leaning outside on his car. It’s his brother! So we all have a good laugh about that, then I go in and we eat delicious veggie scrambled eggs and Kashmiri bread. Just as I’m finishing off my chai, the jeep driver arrives and I jump in. Amazing Ladakhis. Thank you.
The jeep ride is exponentially more pleasant than the bus ride and I get great views out the window. It takes us nearly 5 hours to reach Leh since we stop a few times, particularly for some engine trouble, but no big deal. When I get back to Leh, though, I feel like I am really not ready to stay there. The honking, the masses of tourists (it’s relative, though, compared to anywhere in Rajasthan there are no tourists and it is very quiet) – so I decide I’ll go to Stok for the night.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Kargil – Leh; Phyang, Thikse, and Shay (July 8-9)
4am. It’s dark. Standing in a bus lot, no clue which bus is mine. But as always some friendly local comes and helps me onto the right bus and then I’m fast asleep. The journey from Kargil to Leh goes through some beautiful landscapes of geological wonders, particularly near Lamayuru, and then once we are within 3 hours or so of Leh, we start passing through meticulously organized green Buddhist villages. AH, so this is what Leh Valley is all about.
I arrive in Leh at nearly 5pm since our bus broke down, and it is certainly a world away from Zanskar. Western tourists are wandering around in shorts and tank tops. Signs for pizza, falafel, internet, and dozens of tour companies line the streets. It takes me about an hour to find a place that has a room available – yes, it’s that full – but I am satisfied with my choice. I go for my first non-local meal in a month – since I left Dharamsala – and oh my oh my I do love pizza.
Leh and the surrounding area feels very much like Tibet, except with a whole lot more tourists than I encountered in Tibet. I have to remind myself I went to Tibet in the dead of winter before the railroad connecting Lhasa to mainland China was completed, and it possibly has the same amount of tourism as Leh does now. Ladakhi people are beautiful, and are renowned for their ecological awareness and lifestyle truly harmonizing with nature. The fragile balance of the harsh climate they live in, and how they manage it and respect it, are an example that can certainly be learned from.
The next morning I head off to Phyang where Phayang Tsedub is happening – an annual festival where Tibetan masked dances take place. The bus stand in Leh is a bustling mass of confusion for me, but I make it on the right bus and 40 minutes later we arrive at the monastery. Phyang village itself is very beautiful, with neatly squared off barley fields and the irrigation channels just wide enough to hop over. The dances are interesting; it’s the first time I’ve ever seen these masked dances, and a lot of other tourists are there to spectate as well. I don’t stay too long, and head back to Leh.
In the afternoon I go to Thikse and Shay, which are very close to Leh. Thikse is the largest monastery in the Leh area and it is huge, built into the mountainside and very very well maintained. The main hall is an explosion of color, and there is a huge Buddha statue as well. Shay was the former capital of the Leh kingdom and we visit the palace ruins which affords wonderful views over the valley.
Leh as a city (town) certainly serves its purpose. Wonderful food, compact enough to get around, with little organic hotspots and it seems to have a nice market although I generally steer clear of markets. A great little base, and it’s nice to be back and connected.
I arrive in Leh at nearly 5pm since our bus broke down, and it is certainly a world away from Zanskar. Western tourists are wandering around in shorts and tank tops. Signs for pizza, falafel, internet, and dozens of tour companies line the streets. It takes me about an hour to find a place that has a room available – yes, it’s that full – but I am satisfied with my choice. I go for my first non-local meal in a month – since I left Dharamsala – and oh my oh my I do love pizza.
Leh and the surrounding area feels very much like Tibet, except with a whole lot more tourists than I encountered in Tibet. I have to remind myself I went to Tibet in the dead of winter before the railroad connecting Lhasa to mainland China was completed, and it possibly has the same amount of tourism as Leh does now. Ladakhi people are beautiful, and are renowned for their ecological awareness and lifestyle truly harmonizing with nature. The fragile balance of the harsh climate they live in, and how they manage it and respect it, are an example that can certainly be learned from.
The next morning I head off to Phyang where Phayang Tsedub is happening – an annual festival where Tibetan masked dances take place. The bus stand in Leh is a bustling mass of confusion for me, but I make it on the right bus and 40 minutes later we arrive at the monastery. Phyang village itself is very beautiful, with neatly squared off barley fields and the irrigation channels just wide enough to hop over. The dances are interesting; it’s the first time I’ve ever seen these masked dances, and a lot of other tourists are there to spectate as well. I don’t stay too long, and head back to Leh.
In the afternoon I go to Thikse and Shay, which are very close to Leh. Thikse is the largest monastery in the Leh area and it is huge, built into the mountainside and very very well maintained. The main hall is an explosion of color, and there is a huge Buddha statue as well. Shay was the former capital of the Leh kingdom and we visit the palace ruins which affords wonderful views over the valley.
Leh as a city (town) certainly serves its purpose. Wonderful food, compact enough to get around, with little organic hotspots and it seems to have a nice market although I generally steer clear of markets. A great little base, and it’s nice to be back and connected.
Bye bye Zanskar (July 6-7)
We were supposed to leave at 6am, but our driver didn’t show, then we went for breakfast, then he went to the hotel, but then left…huh? Oh India. So we were on the road at about 7am. Namgyal is from Padum, and is super thin. Shy but kind, you can see in the eyes. I love the people here. We do a quick stop in Sani Gompa, and then it’s pretty much straight through til Rangdum Gompa. Beautiful monastery, which I had visited when we passed through Rangdum on the way to Padum, but I hadn’t seen the main hall. It was a long travel day and finally we arrived in Parkachik at around 4.30pm and decided to stop here for the night rather than continuing to Panikhar as originally planned.
Parkachik is a Muslim village, as is a lot (or most?) of the Suru Valley, and the 2 mosques are visible from most places in the vicinity. The patchwork green fields have tiny footpaths threading through them, with wildflowers bursting up wherever they can push through between the crops. The scale here is amazing – I have to carry my macro lens to capture the detail and beauty of the miniscule flowers, the normal lens to illustrate the scene in its entirety, and the zoom to try to show the detail on the icy giants.
The next morning, it looks cloudy but we are determined to go on a hike, and even more determined to try and get some good Nun views. This is a famous mountain above 7000m – I’m not usually one to go crazy for views and icons, but I join in. The chowkidar, or caretaker, of our tourist bungalow is Habib, and he is a GEM of a person. A 43 year old, I didn’t realize what he was saying at first when he was telling me he was Balti. I thought Bhakti? That’s strange coming from a Muslim in the Himalayas…when it did sink in, though, I got chills, as it coincided with reading Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson.
Anyway off we went on our hike. Oh wait, Habib is a very experienced local which means we were going where there was no path, walking essentially STRAIGHT UPHILL. At well above 3500m. The climbing up was actually not so bad, and within 2 hours we reached our destination, Parkachik La where we got phenomenal views of Nun, Parkachik Glacier, and the surrounding mountain scenery. Phenomenal. Habib had assured us that we would be going on a path for our descent, except…he couldn’t find it. So, um, we were going straight down a mountain with no path and I am absolutely horrible at going downhill to begin with. So I whimpered along as Habib held my hand and literally walked me down the mountain. Shukriya shukriya shukriya Habib.
In the afternoon we headed back to Kargil…and that was the end of our Zanskar adventure! Definitely memorable with some outstanding scenery, but even more so, the warmth and genuine hospitality of the people in a very inhospitable climate deeply impressed me.
Parkachik is a Muslim village, as is a lot (or most?) of the Suru Valley, and the 2 mosques are visible from most places in the vicinity. The patchwork green fields have tiny footpaths threading through them, with wildflowers bursting up wherever they can push through between the crops. The scale here is amazing – I have to carry my macro lens to capture the detail and beauty of the miniscule flowers, the normal lens to illustrate the scene in its entirety, and the zoom to try to show the detail on the icy giants.
The next morning, it looks cloudy but we are determined to go on a hike, and even more determined to try and get some good Nun views. This is a famous mountain above 7000m – I’m not usually one to go crazy for views and icons, but I join in. The chowkidar, or caretaker, of our tourist bungalow is Habib, and he is a GEM of a person. A 43 year old, I didn’t realize what he was saying at first when he was telling me he was Balti. I thought Bhakti? That’s strange coming from a Muslim in the Himalayas…when it did sink in, though, I got chills, as it coincided with reading Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson.
Anyway off we went on our hike. Oh wait, Habib is a very experienced local which means we were going where there was no path, walking essentially STRAIGHT UPHILL. At well above 3500m. The climbing up was actually not so bad, and within 2 hours we reached our destination, Parkachik La where we got phenomenal views of Nun, Parkachik Glacier, and the surrounding mountain scenery. Phenomenal. Habib had assured us that we would be going on a path for our descent, except…he couldn’t find it. So, um, we were going straight down a mountain with no path and I am absolutely horrible at going downhill to begin with. So I whimpered along as Habib held my hand and literally walked me down the mountain. Shukriya shukriya shukriya Habib.
In the afternoon we headed back to Kargil…and that was the end of our Zanskar adventure! Definitely memorable with some outstanding scenery, but even more so, the warmth and genuine hospitality of the people in a very inhospitable climate deeply impressed me.
Zangla and Stong-de, Zonkhul and Karsha (July 4-5)
Breakfast in the dhaba. A makeshift brilliant chapatti machine attaches a gas canister to an iron dome, creating soft chewy chapattis that go perfectly with the chana – chickpeas – or sabzi – mixed vegetables, in this case green beans and potatoes.
We meet our driver, a local from a nearby village, Salapi, and he is friendly, super considerate, and has great energy. He tells us he was a former national ski champion and went to compete in China and Korea, where he failed miserably, but at least he was in front of Pakistan…
We head off to Zangla, a small village with an old fort and a Buddhist nunnery. When we arrive at the nunnery, a few of the nuns are up on the roof making their version of cheese. As far as I understand, they take curd (yogurt), add salt to it, and I think ghee as well, and then they dry it in the intensely strong Ladakhi sun. They spread the mixture with their fingers so the cheese is in strips that have the smearing of fingers left on them. We meet an elderly nun who was absolutely adorable, who said she didn’t want to be photographed because she wasn’t young and pretty anymore, but we did anyway.
Afterwards we went back on the road towards Padum and went to Stong-de Gompa. This was a gorgeous monastery set on top of the hill – the monastery locations in Zanskar are superb – and as we arrived there were lots of young monks running around. The interior of the gompa was breathtaking, with wall paintings dating back hundreds of years, with brilliant bright colors. We were invited to have lunch at the monastery and we had a great meal of rice, dal, and potatoes and aubergine. Really tasty. The youngest monks had the duty of serving the others and they came around carrying big buckets, just like at the Isha ashram, and served us.
The next morning, we headed off to Zonkhul. This monastery is not written about in Lonely Planet, and I think there are less visitors to this location that screams isolation. As we approached, we saw that the roads were blocked by large sheets of ice, which groups of workers were meticulously chipping away at. So we got out maybe about 500 m before the monastery and walked up the jutting rocks coming out of the Cliffside. There is currently one monk residing at Zonkhul. He told us there were 24 but they were in different places at the moment. Solitude. Big black birds circling overhead. We were taken to the cave where Naropa supposedly meditated. The other rooms of the monastery were gorgeous, so many beautiful Tibetan artifacts, clearly being used on a daily basis, were placed around the room. Butter lamp bowls, mandalas, drums, scrolls and scriptures…
On the way towards Karsha from Zonkhul, we stopped at our driver’s sister’s house for lunch. This was the epitome of idyllic – she had a small grove of trees behind her house, had a few dzos – cow and yak hybrid – and two beautiful children who were not shy at all. The interior of her house was clean and well-lit, with great window light. Her view was of snowcapped mountains and green fields. Our meal was phenomenal, spinach and tomato in a mustard (I think) sauce, aubergine and potato and tomato, and rice.
Karsha has the largest monastery in Zanskar, and it seems to occupy the entire Cliffside which it is precariously built upon. You go up, up, up, on windy staircases and each room and structure of the monastery structure unfolds in front of you in a labyrinthine structure. The views of the lush green fields below, beneath the snowy Himalayan giants, framed by prayer flags and prayer wheels…wow. We had a hilarious time, as we think the younger monks were sent to literally pose for us, and they did so with varying willingness and hilarity, some patiently performing tasks with 5 tourists jamming cameras in their faces, while others cracked up laughing and ran into their quarters and engaged in hide and seek with us, giggling the whole time. The monastery was simply stunning, with patches of gardens alongside the paths, with blooming purple wildflowers…
A full day of sightseeing finished, we did a quick stop at Pibiting, just 2km from Padum, and ended in Padum, where Lenny and I set off on our adventure to try to use the internet. Electricity is irregular at best in Padum, and supposedly comes on at 5pm for the entire evening but for the 3 nights we were there, it never lasted for more than an hour at a time (perhaps after midnight, but we were fast asleep…) Anyway, our internet fiasco involved 2 days of asking around for the owner to use her generator, which turned out to be broken, when she was finally located, and a whole other slew of dramas which was finally resolved our final evening when we were able to get connected for a few minutes.
What Padum and the trip to Zanskar did for me was really appreciate a lot of the things that I take for granted. Electricity; hot water; internet; access to things to do and activities; I guess what I’m trying to get as is I saw just how much my internal situation is related to my external situation. This is what I’ve been trying to work on for the past 6 months since I arrived at Isha, but this was a good reality check. On the afternoon that we got back from Stong-de, it was very windy, overcast, and chilly, and I saw just how quickly my spirits began to sank. A bit of bad weather and I get depressed and unhappy?? Doesn’t sound like internal peace and stability…anyway, it was really good to experience this. Lenny and I had great chats at night about our thoughts and feelings about our personal experiences in India and the region, in particular regarding Kashmir, and of course, Zanskar. We shared a lot of the same insight regarding both Kashmir and Zanskar, including that of the internal situations that came up for both of us in Zanskar, and I was extremely grateful to have met him and have him along with us in Zanskar. I think the way Kashmir struck a chord very deeply in me is something that may be difficult for people who haven’t seen the magical land and the disarming people to understand, and it was great to experience Zanskar together. Thank you Lenny.
We meet our driver, a local from a nearby village, Salapi, and he is friendly, super considerate, and has great energy. He tells us he was a former national ski champion and went to compete in China and Korea, where he failed miserably, but at least he was in front of Pakistan…
We head off to Zangla, a small village with an old fort and a Buddhist nunnery. When we arrive at the nunnery, a few of the nuns are up on the roof making their version of cheese. As far as I understand, they take curd (yogurt), add salt to it, and I think ghee as well, and then they dry it in the intensely strong Ladakhi sun. They spread the mixture with their fingers so the cheese is in strips that have the smearing of fingers left on them. We meet an elderly nun who was absolutely adorable, who said she didn’t want to be photographed because she wasn’t young and pretty anymore, but we did anyway.
Afterwards we went back on the road towards Padum and went to Stong-de Gompa. This was a gorgeous monastery set on top of the hill – the monastery locations in Zanskar are superb – and as we arrived there were lots of young monks running around. The interior of the gompa was breathtaking, with wall paintings dating back hundreds of years, with brilliant bright colors. We were invited to have lunch at the monastery and we had a great meal of rice, dal, and potatoes and aubergine. Really tasty. The youngest monks had the duty of serving the others and they came around carrying big buckets, just like at the Isha ashram, and served us.
The next morning, we headed off to Zonkhul. This monastery is not written about in Lonely Planet, and I think there are less visitors to this location that screams isolation. As we approached, we saw that the roads were blocked by large sheets of ice, which groups of workers were meticulously chipping away at. So we got out maybe about 500 m before the monastery and walked up the jutting rocks coming out of the Cliffside. There is currently one monk residing at Zonkhul. He told us there were 24 but they were in different places at the moment. Solitude. Big black birds circling overhead. We were taken to the cave where Naropa supposedly meditated. The other rooms of the monastery were gorgeous, so many beautiful Tibetan artifacts, clearly being used on a daily basis, were placed around the room. Butter lamp bowls, mandalas, drums, scrolls and scriptures…
On the way towards Karsha from Zonkhul, we stopped at our driver’s sister’s house for lunch. This was the epitome of idyllic – she had a small grove of trees behind her house, had a few dzos – cow and yak hybrid – and two beautiful children who were not shy at all. The interior of her house was clean and well-lit, with great window light. Her view was of snowcapped mountains and green fields. Our meal was phenomenal, spinach and tomato in a mustard (I think) sauce, aubergine and potato and tomato, and rice.
Karsha has the largest monastery in Zanskar, and it seems to occupy the entire Cliffside which it is precariously built upon. You go up, up, up, on windy staircases and each room and structure of the monastery structure unfolds in front of you in a labyrinthine structure. The views of the lush green fields below, beneath the snowy Himalayan giants, framed by prayer flags and prayer wheels…wow. We had a hilarious time, as we think the younger monks were sent to literally pose for us, and they did so with varying willingness and hilarity, some patiently performing tasks with 5 tourists jamming cameras in their faces, while others cracked up laughing and ran into their quarters and engaged in hide and seek with us, giggling the whole time. The monastery was simply stunning, with patches of gardens alongside the paths, with blooming purple wildflowers…
A full day of sightseeing finished, we did a quick stop at Pibiting, just 2km from Padum, and ended in Padum, where Lenny and I set off on our adventure to try to use the internet. Electricity is irregular at best in Padum, and supposedly comes on at 5pm for the entire evening but for the 3 nights we were there, it never lasted for more than an hour at a time (perhaps after midnight, but we were fast asleep…) Anyway, our internet fiasco involved 2 days of asking around for the owner to use her generator, which turned out to be broken, when she was finally located, and a whole other slew of dramas which was finally resolved our final evening when we were able to get connected for a few minutes.
What Padum and the trip to Zanskar did for me was really appreciate a lot of the things that I take for granted. Electricity; hot water; internet; access to things to do and activities; I guess what I’m trying to get as is I saw just how much my internal situation is related to my external situation. This is what I’ve been trying to work on for the past 6 months since I arrived at Isha, but this was a good reality check. On the afternoon that we got back from Stong-de, it was very windy, overcast, and chilly, and I saw just how quickly my spirits began to sank. A bit of bad weather and I get depressed and unhappy?? Doesn’t sound like internal peace and stability…anyway, it was really good to experience this. Lenny and I had great chats at night about our thoughts and feelings about our personal experiences in India and the region, in particular regarding Kashmir, and of course, Zanskar. We shared a lot of the same insight regarding both Kashmir and Zanskar, including that of the internal situations that came up for both of us in Zanskar, and I was extremely grateful to have met him and have him along with us in Zanskar. I think the way Kashmir struck a chord very deeply in me is something that may be difficult for people who haven’t seen the magical land and the disarming people to understand, and it was great to experience Zanskar together. Thank you Lenny.
On the road to Zanskar (July 1-3)
The next morning in Mulbekh we climb up to the gompa and have stunning views of the valley. I walk down to Wakha village, passing friendly locals along the way, and in the afternoon I rest until the Ghosh’s turn up. We had decided they would spend the night in Mulbekh but the plan got changed again and we ended up going all the way to Kargil. Uneventful evening while logistics got sorted out, and the next morning, off we were!
Zanskar is known for its isolation, the less visited part of Ladakh, and it really inspires awe, loneliness, and well, makes you feel like an insignificant nothing. Not necessarily a bad thing. The journey to Padum would be broken over 2 full days of travel. The first morning we left Kargil at 7am, reaching Sankoo by 9am where we had breakfast where I had eaten on my daytrip there, and off we went. Up until about Panikhar the scenery of the Suru Valley remains similar, with green patches of land at the bottom of the valley with wide mountains spreading up, framed by snowcapped peaks. Nearing Panikhar we got some good views of the Kun mountain range. Continuing on past Parkachik, we seemed to arrive in the home of the giants, with enormous mountains, many with glaciers explosively tumbling down from them, everywhere you could see. Finally, around 2pm we arrived in the tiny village of Rangdum, where we would spend the first night.
Rangdum has 280 inhabitants, and the village is essentially at the convergence of 3 enormous valleys, and the scene is breathtaking. We set ourselves up in a homestay and after a delicious lunch I decided to head off to the monastery, Rangdum Gompa. Rangdum is considered the first place going from Kargil to Zanskar that it really becomes Buddhist territory, and from Rangdum onwards the landscape is dotted with ancient monasteries and stupas. I knew I would be pushing it for time but I figured if I didn’t go, the whole day would basically have been just spent on travel and I wanted to go explore. They told me there was no shortcut, that I should just follow the road. Well, idiot me decided it looked straightforward enough and there would just be tiny streams to hop over so I would make a straight line for the monastery rather than heed the advice of locals (like I said, idiot me).
Turns out I had to take my shoes off and wade across some pretty freezing stream areas, which is fresh snowmelt so exceedingly cold, and although the water I crossed was pretty much always below the knee, it was flowing with such ferocity that I often was getting pushed down several meters and struggling to stay standing. Oh well. I arrived at the monastery, chatted with the Muslim schoolteachers who were drinking tea with the Buddhist monks, and told them I should head back before dark. So off I went, and again had some stupid ideas to cross the plain, in a different angle this time, which ended up resulting in even more water crossing. I arrived in Rangdum village as it was getting dark and it was nice to get inside and warm up.
Dinner was fabulous momos which Remi helped to make, these Tibetan style dumplings, some filled with potato, some with spinach and onion…the next morning, we woke up as the sun was brilliantly illuminating the mountains. As is often the case in high altitude settings, I was shocked to discover that behind all those mountains that you think are the roof of the world, there was a whole other range that we couldn’t see the previous day due to clouds. Phenomenal views, and splendid solitude as the only company I had were a few dzos (a breed of cow mixed with yak, very very strange looking animal).
After our breakfast of omelette and chapatti we headed off again, towards the famed Penzi-la Pass, which reaches 14,000 feet. The scenery from Rangdum headed towards the pass simply kept getting better. Around each bend we would see a new set of snow-covered mountains, ice overflowing, blindingly white. The Penzi-la Pass is one of the most beautiful mountain passes I have ever seen, and near it we wandered around a few half-frozen lakes, reflecting the majestic mountains inside their still waters. Just after the pass, we could see the Drang Drung Glacier spilling down the land, and we also saw a large lake that was turquoise blue, as high-altitude glacial lakes often are. Brilliant.
The descent to the Zanskar Valley afterwards gave a great idea as to the scale and enormity of the place. There were still snow-capped mountains all around, and the land resembled the American Southwest canyonlands, with dry rocks of all different colors forming the sides, and patches of green agricultural land in the bottom of the valley. It’s amazing to think that there is almost no rainfall in these areas, yet they are remarkably self-sufficient; in the short growing season they successfully irrigate all the melting glaciers and snow to water their crops, and then store them to survive the long, hard winters. Amazing.
We arrived in Padum at around 3pm, got settled, and then I headed to the nearby village with a beautiful little monastery and wandered through the fields. Zanskar definitely is a different place, and you are totally aware that there have not been hordes of tourists where you are. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here, but I’m certainly grateful for having made the trip here.
Zanskar is known for its isolation, the less visited part of Ladakh, and it really inspires awe, loneliness, and well, makes you feel like an insignificant nothing. Not necessarily a bad thing. The journey to Padum would be broken over 2 full days of travel. The first morning we left Kargil at 7am, reaching Sankoo by 9am where we had breakfast where I had eaten on my daytrip there, and off we went. Up until about Panikhar the scenery of the Suru Valley remains similar, with green patches of land at the bottom of the valley with wide mountains spreading up, framed by snowcapped peaks. Nearing Panikhar we got some good views of the Kun mountain range. Continuing on past Parkachik, we seemed to arrive in the home of the giants, with enormous mountains, many with glaciers explosively tumbling down from them, everywhere you could see. Finally, around 2pm we arrived in the tiny village of Rangdum, where we would spend the first night.
Rangdum has 280 inhabitants, and the village is essentially at the convergence of 3 enormous valleys, and the scene is breathtaking. We set ourselves up in a homestay and after a delicious lunch I decided to head off to the monastery, Rangdum Gompa. Rangdum is considered the first place going from Kargil to Zanskar that it really becomes Buddhist territory, and from Rangdum onwards the landscape is dotted with ancient monasteries and stupas. I knew I would be pushing it for time but I figured if I didn’t go, the whole day would basically have been just spent on travel and I wanted to go explore. They told me there was no shortcut, that I should just follow the road. Well, idiot me decided it looked straightforward enough and there would just be tiny streams to hop over so I would make a straight line for the monastery rather than heed the advice of locals (like I said, idiot me).
Turns out I had to take my shoes off and wade across some pretty freezing stream areas, which is fresh snowmelt so exceedingly cold, and although the water I crossed was pretty much always below the knee, it was flowing with such ferocity that I often was getting pushed down several meters and struggling to stay standing. Oh well. I arrived at the monastery, chatted with the Muslim schoolteachers who were drinking tea with the Buddhist monks, and told them I should head back before dark. So off I went, and again had some stupid ideas to cross the plain, in a different angle this time, which ended up resulting in even more water crossing. I arrived in Rangdum village as it was getting dark and it was nice to get inside and warm up.
Dinner was fabulous momos which Remi helped to make, these Tibetan style dumplings, some filled with potato, some with spinach and onion…the next morning, we woke up as the sun was brilliantly illuminating the mountains. As is often the case in high altitude settings, I was shocked to discover that behind all those mountains that you think are the roof of the world, there was a whole other range that we couldn’t see the previous day due to clouds. Phenomenal views, and splendid solitude as the only company I had were a few dzos (a breed of cow mixed with yak, very very strange looking animal).
After our breakfast of omelette and chapatti we headed off again, towards the famed Penzi-la Pass, which reaches 14,000 feet. The scenery from Rangdum headed towards the pass simply kept getting better. Around each bend we would see a new set of snow-covered mountains, ice overflowing, blindingly white. The Penzi-la Pass is one of the most beautiful mountain passes I have ever seen, and near it we wandered around a few half-frozen lakes, reflecting the majestic mountains inside their still waters. Just after the pass, we could see the Drang Drung Glacier spilling down the land, and we also saw a large lake that was turquoise blue, as high-altitude glacial lakes often are. Brilliant.
The descent to the Zanskar Valley afterwards gave a great idea as to the scale and enormity of the place. There were still snow-capped mountains all around, and the land resembled the American Southwest canyonlands, with dry rocks of all different colors forming the sides, and patches of green agricultural land in the bottom of the valley. It’s amazing to think that there is almost no rainfall in these areas, yet they are remarkably self-sufficient; in the short growing season they successfully irrigate all the melting glaciers and snow to water their crops, and then store them to survive the long, hard winters. Amazing.
We arrived in Padum at around 3pm, got settled, and then I headed to the nearby village with a beautiful little monastery and wandered through the fields. Zanskar definitely is a different place, and you are totally aware that there have not been hordes of tourists where you are. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here, but I’m certainly grateful for having made the trip here.
Monday, July 5, 2010
On the road to Zanskar (July 1-3)
The next morning in Mulbekh we climb up to the gompa and have stunning views of the valley. I walk down to Wakha village, passing friendly locals along the way, and in the afternoon I rest until the Ghosh’s turn up. We had decided they would spend the night in Mulbekh but the plan got changed again and we ended up going all the way to Kargil. Uneventful evening while logistics got sorted out, and the next morning, off we were!
Zanskar is known for its isolation, the less visited part of Ladakh, and it really inspires awe, loneliness, and well, makes you feel like an insignificant nothing. Not necessarily a bad thing. The journey to Padum would be broken over 2 full days of travel. The first morning we left Kargil at 7am, reaching Sankoo by 9am where we had breakfast where I had eaten on my daytrip there, and off we went. Up until about Panikhar the scenery of the Suru Valley remains similar, with green patches of land at the bottom of the valley with wide mountains spreading up, framed by snowcapped peaks. Nearing Panikhar we got some good views of the Kun mountain range. Continuing on past Parkachik, we seemed to arrive in the home of the giants, with enormous mountains, many with glaciers explosively tumbling down from them, everywhere you could see. Finally, around 2pm we arrived in the tiny village of Rangdum, where we would spend the first night.
Rangdum has 280 inhabitants, and the village is essentially at the convergence of 3 enormous valleys, and the scene is breathtaking. We set ourselves up in a homestay and after a delicious lunch I decided to head off to the monastery, Rangdum Gompa. Rangdum is considered the first place going from Kargil to Zanskar that it really becomes Buddhist territory, and from Rangdum onwards the landscape is dotted with ancient monasteries and stupas. I knew I would be pushing it for time but I figured if I didn’t go, the whole day would basically have been just spent on travel and I wanted to go explore. They told me there was no shortcut, that I should just follow the road. Well, idiot me decided it looked straightforward enough and there would just be tiny streams to hop over so I would make a straight line for the monastery rather than heed the advice of locals (like I said, idiot me).
Turns out I had to take my shoes off and wade across some pretty freezing stream areas, which is fresh snowmelt so exceedingly cold, and although the water I crossed was pretty much always below the knee, it was flowing with such ferocity that I often was getting pushed down several meters and struggling to stay standing. Oh well. I arrived at the monastery, chatted with the Muslim schoolteachers who were drinking tea with the Buddhist monks, and told them I should head back before dark. So off I went, and again had some stupid ideas to cross the plain, in a different angle this time, which ended up resulting in even more water crossing. I arrived in Rangdum village as it was getting dark and it was nice to get inside and warm up.
Dinner was fabulous momos which Remi helped to make, these Tibetan style dumplings, some filled with potato, some with spinach and onion…the next morning, we woke up as the sun was brilliantly illuminating the mountains. As is often the case in high altitude settings, I was shocked to discover that behind all those mountains that you think are the roof of the world, there was a whole other range that we couldn’t see the previous day due to clouds. Phenomenal views, and splendid solitude as the only company I had were a few dzos (a breed of cow mixed with yak, very very strange looking animal).
After our breakfast of omelette and chapatti we headed off again, towards the famed Penzi-la Pass, which reaches 14,000 feet. The scenery from Rangdum headed towards the pass simply kept getting better. Around each bend we would see a new set of snow-covered mountains, ice overflowing, blindingly white. The Penzi-la Pass is one of the most beautiful mountain passes I have ever seen, and near it we wandered around a few half-frozen lakes, reflecting the majestic mountains inside their still waters. Just after the pass, we could see the Drang Drung Glacier spilling down the land, and we also saw a large lake that was turquoise blue, as high-altitude glacial lakes often are. Brilliant.
The descent to the Zanskar Valley afterwards gave a great idea as to the scale and enormity of the place. There were still snow-capped mountains all around, and the land resembled the American Southwest canyonlands, with dry rocks of all different colors forming the sides, and patches of green agricultural land in the bottom of the valley. It’s amazing to think that there is almost no rainfall in these areas, yet they are remarkably self-sufficient; in the short growing season they successfully irrigate all the melting glaciers and snow to water their crops, and then store them to survive the long, hard winters. Amazing.
We arrived in Padum at around 3pm, got settled, and then I headed to the nearby village with a beautiful little monastery and wandered through the fields. Zanskar definitely is a different place, and you are totally aware that there have not been hordes of tourists where you are. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here, but I’m certainly grateful for having made the trip here.
Zanskar is known for its isolation, the less visited part of Ladakh, and it really inspires awe, loneliness, and well, makes you feel like an insignificant nothing. Not necessarily a bad thing. The journey to Padum would be broken over 2 full days of travel. The first morning we left Kargil at 7am, reaching Sankoo by 9am where we had breakfast where I had eaten on my daytrip there, and off we went. Up until about Panikhar the scenery of the Suru Valley remains similar, with green patches of land at the bottom of the valley with wide mountains spreading up, framed by snowcapped peaks. Nearing Panikhar we got some good views of the Kun mountain range. Continuing on past Parkachik, we seemed to arrive in the home of the giants, with enormous mountains, many with glaciers explosively tumbling down from them, everywhere you could see. Finally, around 2pm we arrived in the tiny village of Rangdum, where we would spend the first night.
Rangdum has 280 inhabitants, and the village is essentially at the convergence of 3 enormous valleys, and the scene is breathtaking. We set ourselves up in a homestay and after a delicious lunch I decided to head off to the monastery, Rangdum Gompa. Rangdum is considered the first place going from Kargil to Zanskar that it really becomes Buddhist territory, and from Rangdum onwards the landscape is dotted with ancient monasteries and stupas. I knew I would be pushing it for time but I figured if I didn’t go, the whole day would basically have been just spent on travel and I wanted to go explore. They told me there was no shortcut, that I should just follow the road. Well, idiot me decided it looked straightforward enough and there would just be tiny streams to hop over so I would make a straight line for the monastery rather than heed the advice of locals (like I said, idiot me).
Turns out I had to take my shoes off and wade across some pretty freezing stream areas, which is fresh snowmelt so exceedingly cold, and although the water I crossed was pretty much always below the knee, it was flowing with such ferocity that I often was getting pushed down several meters and struggling to stay standing. Oh well. I arrived at the monastery, chatted with the Muslim schoolteachers who were drinking tea with the Buddhist monks, and told them I should head back before dark. So off I went, and again had some stupid ideas to cross the plain, in a different angle this time, which ended up resulting in even more water crossing. I arrived in Rangdum village as it was getting dark and it was nice to get inside and warm up.
Dinner was fabulous momos which Remi helped to make, these Tibetan style dumplings, some filled with potato, some with spinach and onion…the next morning, we woke up as the sun was brilliantly illuminating the mountains. As is often the case in high altitude settings, I was shocked to discover that behind all those mountains that you think are the roof of the world, there was a whole other range that we couldn’t see the previous day due to clouds. Phenomenal views, and splendid solitude as the only company I had were a few dzos (a breed of cow mixed with yak, very very strange looking animal).
After our breakfast of omelette and chapatti we headed off again, towards the famed Penzi-la Pass, which reaches 14,000 feet. The scenery from Rangdum headed towards the pass simply kept getting better. Around each bend we would see a new set of snow-covered mountains, ice overflowing, blindingly white. The Penzi-la Pass is one of the most beautiful mountain passes I have ever seen, and near it we wandered around a few half-frozen lakes, reflecting the majestic mountains inside their still waters. Just after the pass, we could see the Drang Drung Glacier spilling down the land, and we also saw a large lake that was turquoise blue, as high-altitude glacial lakes often are. Brilliant.
The descent to the Zanskar Valley afterwards gave a great idea as to the scale and enormity of the place. There were still snow-capped mountains all around, and the land resembled the American Southwest canyonlands, with dry rocks of all different colors forming the sides, and patches of green agricultural land in the bottom of the valley. It’s amazing to think that there is almost no rainfall in these areas, yet they are remarkably self-sufficient; in the short growing season they successfully irrigate all the melting glaciers and snow to water their crops, and then store them to survive the long, hard winters. Amazing.
We arrived in Padum at around 3pm, got settled, and then I headed to the nearby village with a beautiful little monastery and wandered through the fields. Zanskar definitely is a different place, and you are totally aware that there have not been hordes of tourists where you are. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here, but I’m certainly grateful for having made the trip here.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Mulbekh (June 30)
Mulbekh is about 2 hours by bus from Kargil. I ended up on a bus that was going to Shargol, which meant that I would be dropped off at the turnoff 9km before Mulbekh. Ok. Sure. Hitchhiking in India is certainly not what I envisioned, considering the status of women in most of India, but here I was. In less than 20 minutes a Sikh man with a HUGE smile (see? What did I tell you about Sikhs??) stopped and helped me lift my bags in. He offered to take me all the way to Leh but I said I wanted to stay in Mulbekh and he said ok no problem. So I was dropped off right in front of Karzoo Guesthouse – which is directly below Mulbekh Gompa. These two Gompas are built on top of a cliff, that seems absolutely impossible to climb.
I meet the lovely family in the guesthouse, tell them I’m hungry, they say wait 30 minutes, and so I say ok and that I’ll go wander around for a few minutes. Which is when I run into Lennie. Total crazy coincidence, on a rainy day in Bharmour when Tashi and I were headed to our dhaba I ran into Lennie on the street with a German couple; they had just arrived and were looking for a place to stay so we gave them a few tips. Anyway, here he is again. He is headed to Shargol Gompa, and I say I would love to go if he doesn’t mind waiting for me to eat first. He agrees, and I head back up.
This guesthouse is like staying in some old-style Tibetan building (I guess it’s also considered Ladakhi, but my reference is Tibetan, apologies…) I have been put in the family room, I think, or guest dining room, which has beautiful Tibetan paintings on the walls, the beams, the carpets are colorful with dragons and Tibetan designs, and there are 5 low tables, perfect height for me to type on ; ) , all painted with that deep Tibetan red. It is a slice of heaven.
So is breakfast – 5 chapattis – 5!!!, an omelette, sautéed spinach and onions in a bit of soy sauce, and perfectly sweetened and milked chai. Yum. So totally refreshed and rejuvenated, I am finishing up my meal when I head Lennie coming up the path, saying there is a ride waiting for us. I gather my things and sprint down to the road, and I jump in the truck…which is driven by an elderly Sikh (again!) man with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. They are from Jammu, and not with approval when I tell them I had recently climbed Vaishno Devi. They asked if I went by horse, and when I said I had walked the whole way, I received more nods of approval. They’re so funny.
We got dropped off near the turnoff to Shargol, and off we went down the dusty path. The climb up to Shargol Gompa looks much more treacherous before you’re on it, and we reach the top quickly. It’s locked, but the views are stupendous. We slowly work our way down and decide to wander through villages until we reach Mulbekh. Thus our adventure through tiny villages and fields where wildflowers burst open and little streams and curious children began. A few hours later we make it to Mulbekh and relax into the quiet that envelops this tiny village.
I meet the lovely family in the guesthouse, tell them I’m hungry, they say wait 30 minutes, and so I say ok and that I’ll go wander around for a few minutes. Which is when I run into Lennie. Total crazy coincidence, on a rainy day in Bharmour when Tashi and I were headed to our dhaba I ran into Lennie on the street with a German couple; they had just arrived and were looking for a place to stay so we gave them a few tips. Anyway, here he is again. He is headed to Shargol Gompa, and I say I would love to go if he doesn’t mind waiting for me to eat first. He agrees, and I head back up.
This guesthouse is like staying in some old-style Tibetan building (I guess it’s also considered Ladakhi, but my reference is Tibetan, apologies…) I have been put in the family room, I think, or guest dining room, which has beautiful Tibetan paintings on the walls, the beams, the carpets are colorful with dragons and Tibetan designs, and there are 5 low tables, perfect height for me to type on ; ) , all painted with that deep Tibetan red. It is a slice of heaven.
So is breakfast – 5 chapattis – 5!!!, an omelette, sautéed spinach and onions in a bit of soy sauce, and perfectly sweetened and milked chai. Yum. So totally refreshed and rejuvenated, I am finishing up my meal when I head Lennie coming up the path, saying there is a ride waiting for us. I gather my things and sprint down to the road, and I jump in the truck…which is driven by an elderly Sikh (again!) man with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. They are from Jammu, and not with approval when I tell them I had recently climbed Vaishno Devi. They asked if I went by horse, and when I said I had walked the whole way, I received more nods of approval. They’re so funny.
We got dropped off near the turnoff to Shargol, and off we went down the dusty path. The climb up to Shargol Gompa looks much more treacherous before you’re on it, and we reach the top quickly. It’s locked, but the views are stupendous. We slowly work our way down and decide to wander through villages until we reach Mulbekh. Thus our adventure through tiny villages and fields where wildflowers burst open and little streams and curious children began. A few hours later we make it to Mulbekh and relax into the quiet that envelops this tiny village.
Sanku/Sankoo/Sanko (June 29)
Sanku/Sankoo/Sanko – you can see it spelled any of these ways, and there are probably even more ways to spell it, like many many places and things in India. 42 km from Kargil, on a bumpy two hour bus ride, I arrived in this village. First thing – breakfast. WOW delicious bread. Soft and doughy on the inside, crunchy on the outside, dipped in a really flavorful carrot, potato, and cabbage sabji…20 rupees. Yes please.
The main attraction for people visiting here, considered the start of the Suru Valley, and the gateway to Zanskar, is the Chamba Buddha. Located a 5km walk from the village, this 7m tall statue is said to have been there for more than 1000 years. The walk is easy, mostly flat on a paved road which winds through schools, fields full of wheat, barley, and bursting with wildflowers. Like in the California desert, it seems that flowers that manage to survive in unsympathetic climates are even more explosive than their tame counterparts who have it easy in supportive environments. Chinga-tus-ojos pinks, purples, fuchsia, magenta, yellow, white, forming multi-story carpets alongside the healthiest green crops you have ever seen. The Suru River flows powerfully and majestically beneath and alongside all of this. The mountains are arid here, and as in other high-altitude dry landscapes, the rock is a splash of rainbow colors, the greens, purples, ochres, and reds blending together like a divine watercolor.
I got some time to sit on a rock on the side of the river and read, and just be in silence which was absolutely precious. Kashmir was intense, full of joy and love but also full of tragedy and sadness, and it was good to just let all the things flow through me. In the evening I headed back to Kargil and made the next plan of attack – Mulbekh.
The main attraction for people visiting here, considered the start of the Suru Valley, and the gateway to Zanskar, is the Chamba Buddha. Located a 5km walk from the village, this 7m tall statue is said to have been there for more than 1000 years. The walk is easy, mostly flat on a paved road which winds through schools, fields full of wheat, barley, and bursting with wildflowers. Like in the California desert, it seems that flowers that manage to survive in unsympathetic climates are even more explosive than their tame counterparts who have it easy in supportive environments. Chinga-tus-ojos pinks, purples, fuchsia, magenta, yellow, white, forming multi-story carpets alongside the healthiest green crops you have ever seen. The Suru River flows powerfully and majestically beneath and alongside all of this. The mountains are arid here, and as in other high-altitude dry landscapes, the rock is a splash of rainbow colors, the greens, purples, ochres, and reds blending together like a divine watercolor.
I got some time to sit on a rock on the side of the river and read, and just be in silence which was absolutely precious. Kashmir was intense, full of joy and love but also full of tragedy and sadness, and it was good to just let all the things flow through me. In the evening I headed back to Kargil and made the next plan of attack – Mulbekh.
Sonmarg to Kargil – via Baltal (June 28)
The next morning I bid farewell to Papa-ji and I was off in a sumo to Baltal. At the police checkpoint at the entry, the military asked sternly (I think I understood the Hindi, just by the cognates and tone…) – if there were any pilgrims. Driver said no, only locals (Wow, I really do pass for Ladakhi huh?) and off we went. But there was another police checkpoint, and this time they spotted me and questioned me, and said no, I couldn’t climb. So I sighed and the super kind driver said wait a bit and we would go back to Sonmarg. So just over an hour after I left Sonmarg, back I was with Papa-ji who told me I should stick with my sumo driver who would help me find a ride to Kargil. There was yet again another strike and no government buses would be going from Srinagar to Kargil. Sigh.
My lovely driver secured me a ride with an Indian family and off I was. This ride is beyond words. At times you are literally bisecting glaciers, with ice above you and below you, the melting water flowing strong beneath your wheels; there are herds of sheep and goat traversing endless snow and ice; the mountaintops seem to encircle you from every angle and you realize just how small you are. This is one of the most beautiful road journeys I have ever done in my life, if not the most. Wow.
We made a few photo stops along the way, but before 3pm I was in Kargil. I made my way to the Sikh Punjabi hotel (yes, there is a trend here, I have no idea how/why it got started but I’ve decided, and so far I haven’t been failed, that Sikhs are sort of the noble caring protective figures in India, for me at least). Kargil is, um, noisy and unattractive. But wow, Ladakhi people. It’s like, what on earth happened to the genetic mixtures of ethnicities to produce the people here? I don’t mean this in any negative way, but the features of these people mix such contrasting ethnic traits that it really epitomizes the melting pot that is India. You can see distinct features of Muslims, appearing like Kashmiris or even further west, perhaps Pakistanis or Central Asian nations, combined with the Mongoloid Tibetan, Mongolian, and perhaps even Chinese influence, and then throw in a splash of Hindu Indian blood…it’s quite striking. Within a block of people you can see almost every nose, hair, eye, cheekbone, and jawline feature you can imagine.
The rest of the afternoon I managed to escape Kargil town in both directions and wander through gorgeous farmland and small villages where very friendly people came to greet me. I was pretty exhausted from the almost continuous consecutive days of travel on bumpy roads, combined with high altitude walks, so passed out early.
My lovely driver secured me a ride with an Indian family and off I was. This ride is beyond words. At times you are literally bisecting glaciers, with ice above you and below you, the melting water flowing strong beneath your wheels; there are herds of sheep and goat traversing endless snow and ice; the mountaintops seem to encircle you from every angle and you realize just how small you are. This is one of the most beautiful road journeys I have ever done in my life, if not the most. Wow.
We made a few photo stops along the way, but before 3pm I was in Kargil. I made my way to the Sikh Punjabi hotel (yes, there is a trend here, I have no idea how/why it got started but I’ve decided, and so far I haven’t been failed, that Sikhs are sort of the noble caring protective figures in India, for me at least). Kargil is, um, noisy and unattractive. But wow, Ladakhi people. It’s like, what on earth happened to the genetic mixtures of ethnicities to produce the people here? I don’t mean this in any negative way, but the features of these people mix such contrasting ethnic traits that it really epitomizes the melting pot that is India. You can see distinct features of Muslims, appearing like Kashmiris or even further west, perhaps Pakistanis or Central Asian nations, combined with the Mongoloid Tibetan, Mongolian, and perhaps even Chinese influence, and then throw in a splash of Hindu Indian blood…it’s quite striking. Within a block of people you can see almost every nose, hair, eye, cheekbone, and jawline feature you can imagine.
The rest of the afternoon I managed to escape Kargil town in both directions and wander through gorgeous farmland and small villages where very friendly people came to greet me. I was pretty exhausted from the almost continuous consecutive days of travel on bumpy roads, combined with high altitude walks, so passed out early.
Sonmarg (June 27)
The ride to Sonmarg (or Sonamarg, I’ve seen both) – is ridiculously beautiful. I’ll stop talking about Kashmiri scenery since no words are sufficient. I switched sumos in Kangan, waited less than 5 minutes, and arrived at around 12.30pm at the strip settlement that is Sonmarg.
Thomas had recommended the Sikh Punjabi hotel, and what do you know, it was bang smack in front of me. Checked in and after scarfing down some delicious rajma I was on my way. Papa-ji instructed me to return well before dark. Thajjwas Glacier is only 5km walk from the town. Many Indians ride ponies there, and there is also an alternative paved road which cars can take, but somehow (I think Tashi and Krishnan are rubbing off on me) I ended up on a teensy bit perilous mountainside ‘shortcut’. Breathtaking views, though, and not a single other tourist, just occasionally passing shepherds and a few women chopping wood. The beauty of Kashmir exists here as well, the explosive neon green grass, the endless shades of browns and greens, with the fast-moving clouds hovering over the snow-capped peaks. Approaching the glacier, you see the frozen river that seems so solid and permanent, yet we know that it is moving, ever so slowly, every day, continuously. I decided to head up the glacier a bit, and then my overwhelming fear of heights, combined with ice, and rocks, overtook me for awhile. But the Kashmiri men chuckled and cheered me on and soon I was standing on the ever-frozen river.
I wandered back slowly to town, and the rest of the afternoon was spent inquiring and receiving dozens of different answers about bus times to Kargil, Baltal, whether or not sumos existed to the destinations, if I would be allowed to climb Amarnath etc etc. Information seems to be endlessly inconsistent and my strategy is just to ask as many people as possible and figure out what the majority says…and it seems to have worked decently so far. I was told by everybody that I would not be allowed to climb Amarnath since the military wasn’t fully arming (protecting – this is all debatable terminology as we have to wonder why they are there in the first place and why there is the possibility of danger/attack in the first place…) the yatra – pilgrimage – until July 1st. But for some reason this Shiva linga which gets encrusted with ice had been calling to me since I first read about it in May. So…I wanted to try anyway.
Thomas had recommended the Sikh Punjabi hotel, and what do you know, it was bang smack in front of me. Checked in and after scarfing down some delicious rajma I was on my way. Papa-ji instructed me to return well before dark. Thajjwas Glacier is only 5km walk from the town. Many Indians ride ponies there, and there is also an alternative paved road which cars can take, but somehow (I think Tashi and Krishnan are rubbing off on me) I ended up on a teensy bit perilous mountainside ‘shortcut’. Breathtaking views, though, and not a single other tourist, just occasionally passing shepherds and a few women chopping wood. The beauty of Kashmir exists here as well, the explosive neon green grass, the endless shades of browns and greens, with the fast-moving clouds hovering over the snow-capped peaks. Approaching the glacier, you see the frozen river that seems so solid and permanent, yet we know that it is moving, ever so slowly, every day, continuously. I decided to head up the glacier a bit, and then my overwhelming fear of heights, combined with ice, and rocks, overtook me for awhile. But the Kashmiri men chuckled and cheered me on and soon I was standing on the ever-frozen river.
I wandered back slowly to town, and the rest of the afternoon was spent inquiring and receiving dozens of different answers about bus times to Kargil, Baltal, whether or not sumos existed to the destinations, if I would be allowed to climb Amarnath etc etc. Information seems to be endlessly inconsistent and my strategy is just to ask as many people as possible and figure out what the majority says…and it seems to have worked decently so far. I was told by everybody that I would not be allowed to climb Amarnath since the military wasn’t fully arming (protecting – this is all debatable terminology as we have to wonder why they are there in the first place and why there is the possibility of danger/attack in the first place…) the yatra – pilgrimage – until July 1st. But for some reason this Shiva linga which gets encrusted with ice had been calling to me since I first read about it in May. So…I wanted to try anyway.
Doodhpathri and Gulmarg – and Srinagar – again! (June 25-26)
The following morning was pretty chilled out, and I got to spend a bit of quiet time with Raja which I’m grateful for. I can’t really put into words his presence, which is something like a deep wisdom but a childlike curiosity and innocence but with a hint of experience. Right after lunch I was headed to Doodhpathri with Sami, and the one hour drive from Srinagar through the countryside to get there was breathtaking. Kashmir’s scenery is 360 degrees stunning, from beneath your feet up to the sky, with exquisite lighting. Unbelievable.
We passed through tiny villages where children ran around in their traditional clothes, playing cricket with makeshift pieces of plywood. I wandered through walnut fields in the afternoon, passing the happiest looking cows and horses I’ve ever seen. An evening without electricity with a blazing fireplace…wonderful. The next morning, I decided I wanted to head to Gulmarg since I was so close already, and managed to get transport although strikes were pretty much shutting down the city.
Gulmarg is THE major ski destination in India, and there is a cable car/gondola that is (they claim) the highest gondola in the world. But it was similar to Japanese prices, and I was there to walk, so I headed up the muddy trail to Phase 1. I was planning to take the gondola from Phase 1 to Phase 2, and joined the line at Kongdori. It was chock full of Indian tourists, and the queue was reminiscent of a crowded railway station in any Indian city. As in, it was total chaos. People yelling all over the place, and the line was barely moving. I had no idea what was going on; was there some complicated form to fill out? After about 45 minutes I was at the window, handed over my cash, said ‘Ek’ – one – and my ticket was given to me…in about .5 seconds. So, umm…Oh India.
But then I got in the line for the cable car. And then it was like the stereotypical pushing and shoving and disorderliness that is associated with Indian cities. 1.5 hours later, I was in my Chaco sandals on snow. It really was beautiful at the top. The snowy peaks melted into the clouds, and at parts you couldn’t differentiate between sky and earth. Gorgeous. Getting down the cable car was much more straightforward, and then from Kongdori I met a family from Lucknow who was walking down to Gulmarg and invited me to join them. Lovely people, no common language but no shortage of kindness. Just the eldest son, Shivam, spoke a bit of English.
While I had been at the top, something told me I didn’t want to stay in Gulmarg that night, that I wanted to go back to Srinagar to stay with Raja’s family. I had already said my goodbyes, but…I don’t know. So I called when I got back to Gulmarg, and was told of course come if you want, you are welcome, and then the drama started. Three tourist policemen saw me walking with the family from Lucknow and started questioning both Shivam and me. It turned out that Shivam’s family was headed back to Srinagar and might be able to take me, but this damn policeman was interrogating me, Shivam, and Shivam’s driver so much that the driver who originally said Challoh (Let’s go!) – suddenly said they didn’t have enough space. I went back to the bus stand and decided I would backtrack the way I had come, which meant taking a shared jeep to Tangmarg, and then another one to Srinagar. I had gotten my luggage out of the hotel, gotten in the jeep, and then the SAME policeman stopped the jeep as we were already headed out of Gulmarg to tell me that I would have big problems getting transport from Tangmarg to Srinagar – major strikes and protests had taken place that day, not to mention two boys had been killed in Sopore. Hmm. So he tells me he is going to help me and get me a ride back to Srinagar with some tourists or something and he was so persistent and insistent that I had no choice but to get out of the jeep.
In the end it worked out, as a family from Delhi took me back, and I arrived yet again at the Khan residence. This time it really did feel like the real farewell, and Raja, Jana, their cousin Wahid, and I stayed up til nearly midnight just chatting and laughing…they are so lovely I can feel the locks breaking when I’m with them.
Sunday morning was goodbye. Take 3, like filming a movie, huh? Raja, Jana, and both Wahids walked me out to the street…I felt so much protection and love from these 4 gorgeous Kashmiri men…shukriya shukriya shukriya very much. Inshallah I’ll be back very soon.
We passed through tiny villages where children ran around in their traditional clothes, playing cricket with makeshift pieces of plywood. I wandered through walnut fields in the afternoon, passing the happiest looking cows and horses I’ve ever seen. An evening without electricity with a blazing fireplace…wonderful. The next morning, I decided I wanted to head to Gulmarg since I was so close already, and managed to get transport although strikes were pretty much shutting down the city.
Gulmarg is THE major ski destination in India, and there is a cable car/gondola that is (they claim) the highest gondola in the world. But it was similar to Japanese prices, and I was there to walk, so I headed up the muddy trail to Phase 1. I was planning to take the gondola from Phase 1 to Phase 2, and joined the line at Kongdori. It was chock full of Indian tourists, and the queue was reminiscent of a crowded railway station in any Indian city. As in, it was total chaos. People yelling all over the place, and the line was barely moving. I had no idea what was going on; was there some complicated form to fill out? After about 45 minutes I was at the window, handed over my cash, said ‘Ek’ – one – and my ticket was given to me…in about .5 seconds. So, umm…Oh India.
But then I got in the line for the cable car. And then it was like the stereotypical pushing and shoving and disorderliness that is associated with Indian cities. 1.5 hours later, I was in my Chaco sandals on snow. It really was beautiful at the top. The snowy peaks melted into the clouds, and at parts you couldn’t differentiate between sky and earth. Gorgeous. Getting down the cable car was much more straightforward, and then from Kongdori I met a family from Lucknow who was walking down to Gulmarg and invited me to join them. Lovely people, no common language but no shortage of kindness. Just the eldest son, Shivam, spoke a bit of English.
While I had been at the top, something told me I didn’t want to stay in Gulmarg that night, that I wanted to go back to Srinagar to stay with Raja’s family. I had already said my goodbyes, but…I don’t know. So I called when I got back to Gulmarg, and was told of course come if you want, you are welcome, and then the drama started. Three tourist policemen saw me walking with the family from Lucknow and started questioning both Shivam and me. It turned out that Shivam’s family was headed back to Srinagar and might be able to take me, but this damn policeman was interrogating me, Shivam, and Shivam’s driver so much that the driver who originally said Challoh (Let’s go!) – suddenly said they didn’t have enough space. I went back to the bus stand and decided I would backtrack the way I had come, which meant taking a shared jeep to Tangmarg, and then another one to Srinagar. I had gotten my luggage out of the hotel, gotten in the jeep, and then the SAME policeman stopped the jeep as we were already headed out of Gulmarg to tell me that I would have big problems getting transport from Tangmarg to Srinagar – major strikes and protests had taken place that day, not to mention two boys had been killed in Sopore. Hmm. So he tells me he is going to help me and get me a ride back to Srinagar with some tourists or something and he was so persistent and insistent that I had no choice but to get out of the jeep.
In the end it worked out, as a family from Delhi took me back, and I arrived yet again at the Khan residence. This time it really did feel like the real farewell, and Raja, Jana, their cousin Wahid, and I stayed up til nearly midnight just chatting and laughing…they are so lovely I can feel the locks breaking when I’m with them.
Sunday morning was goodbye. Take 3, like filming a movie, huh? Raja, Jana, and both Wahids walked me out to the street…I felt so much protection and love from these 4 gorgeous Kashmiri men…shukriya shukriya shukriya very much. Inshallah I’ll be back very soon.
Srinagar – Dal Lake, Old City (June 24)
Dal Lake is the most iconic symbol of Srinagar, and probably Kashmir itself. The lake has more than a thousand houseboats that tourists love, there are shops selling everything you can imagine floating in the water, there are gardens that have been made in the water using nets to keep them afloat…it’s quite an interesting self-contained self-sustaining system.
We head out at 4am on the shikara that Bilal has arranged for us – shikaras are sort of like gondolas in Venice – many are beautifully decorated, and have one driver in the back with one oar paddling the whole boat across the water. It is dark when we head out, and the light from the sun is just coming into view as we reach the vegetable market. The farmers living on the lake gather here to sell their homegrown veggies, and the people buying them go into the city to sell in the city markets. So, this is arguably the cheapest place to stock up on veggies in Srinagar. The weather isn’t great that day, so it is apparently quieter than usual – nonetheless, I am impressed by the sight of about 50 boats, all with one man sitting at the very front of the boat, paddling past each other, usually quietly negotiating their deals. Occasionally a disagreement ensues and there is some animated chatter, but always with a smile. It is the season for cucumbers, cauliflower, and other green vegetables that I don’t recognize.
After having our khawa (saffron tea) and fresh baked bread, we continue on and pass through the Old City on the way home. I head back to bed, and after getting refreshed, head to Shalimar Bagh, one of the famous Mughal Gardens of Kashmir. Burhan who I had corresponded with via email came, along with a few others. The garden is beautiful – terraced with many neatly organized rows of colorful flowers. The Khans had told me that the gardens were so famous for decades, but Raja and his siblings only visited the gardens for the first time when they were 18 or 19 – until then, the security situation was such that traversing the 15 or so kilometers between Chanapora and Shalimar was too treacherous – and this is no joke.
Burhan and I took a long, beautiful walk, going along the river, witnessing workers in rice fields, people rowing their boats across their lake, passing tiny gardens and parks…we went all the way to Hazratbal, the beginning of downtown from the north side. I was intent on visiting Rozabal. Thomas first told me of this shrine, which is supposedly the tomb of Jesus Christ. I am not at all familiar with all the history and controversy surrounding this, but it seems to be widely believed that Jesus spent time in India as a youth, and many believe that he was an accomplished yogi. Which would lend to the theory that when he was crucified, he actually didn’t die, and afterwards, left to India…and died in Srinagar. Whoa. I have no idea what I believe, but I did get very strong energy flow as we approached the tiny shrine which was locked, and photography strictly prohibited, even from outside.
The Old City in Srinagar was full of hustle and bustle, and afterwards we went to see the copper works, which was fascinating – Kashmiris use copper for pretty much all drinking and eating utensils – and it’s all beautifully crafted. I was exhausted and headed back to Chanapora, back to the family I’d fallen in love with.
We head out at 4am on the shikara that Bilal has arranged for us – shikaras are sort of like gondolas in Venice – many are beautifully decorated, and have one driver in the back with one oar paddling the whole boat across the water. It is dark when we head out, and the light from the sun is just coming into view as we reach the vegetable market. The farmers living on the lake gather here to sell their homegrown veggies, and the people buying them go into the city to sell in the city markets. So, this is arguably the cheapest place to stock up on veggies in Srinagar. The weather isn’t great that day, so it is apparently quieter than usual – nonetheless, I am impressed by the sight of about 50 boats, all with one man sitting at the very front of the boat, paddling past each other, usually quietly negotiating their deals. Occasionally a disagreement ensues and there is some animated chatter, but always with a smile. It is the season for cucumbers, cauliflower, and other green vegetables that I don’t recognize.
After having our khawa (saffron tea) and fresh baked bread, we continue on and pass through the Old City on the way home. I head back to bed, and after getting refreshed, head to Shalimar Bagh, one of the famous Mughal Gardens of Kashmir. Burhan who I had corresponded with via email came, along with a few others. The garden is beautiful – terraced with many neatly organized rows of colorful flowers. The Khans had told me that the gardens were so famous for decades, but Raja and his siblings only visited the gardens for the first time when they were 18 or 19 – until then, the security situation was such that traversing the 15 or so kilometers between Chanapora and Shalimar was too treacherous – and this is no joke.
Burhan and I took a long, beautiful walk, going along the river, witnessing workers in rice fields, people rowing their boats across their lake, passing tiny gardens and parks…we went all the way to Hazratbal, the beginning of downtown from the north side. I was intent on visiting Rozabal. Thomas first told me of this shrine, which is supposedly the tomb of Jesus Christ. I am not at all familiar with all the history and controversy surrounding this, but it seems to be widely believed that Jesus spent time in India as a youth, and many believe that he was an accomplished yogi. Which would lend to the theory that when he was crucified, he actually didn’t die, and afterwards, left to India…and died in Srinagar. Whoa. I have no idea what I believe, but I did get very strong energy flow as we approached the tiny shrine which was locked, and photography strictly prohibited, even from outside.
The Old City in Srinagar was full of hustle and bustle, and afterwards we went to see the copper works, which was fascinating – Kashmiris use copper for pretty much all drinking and eating utensils – and it’s all beautifully crafted. I was exhausted and headed back to Chanapora, back to the family I’d fallen in love with.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Pahalgam – Aru – Dal Lake (June 23)
I head out early the next morning to walk around the village where we are staying. The houses I find beautiful, carefully constructed with stones and wood and aluminum roofs…children are wandering about, shyly smiling at me. We get our breakfast and head up to Aru, which is 12km from Pahalgam.
The scene at Aru is mind-blowing. Photos can’t do justice to the nature here, which is 360 degrees stunning, from the grass below your feet to the mountains soaring miles into the sky. We go on a little trek, going down to the river, laying about in the fields, chatting with the nomads who cross our path…one of Wahid’s friends is Rujlan, who is one of those bubbly extroverted clown types, who instantly sets in and asks me all sorts of questions and professes his love for me and how impressed he is by my beauty etc etc – Kashmiri men really are the best talkers and you just have to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, which they are more than happy to join you in giggling about. Nothing like bonding over some chuckles. Rujlan tells me everything in Kashmir is beautiful – the nature, and of course the people. And it’s true. The beauty of these people; their intense way of living, their whole giving nature, their love of affection and smiling and laughter, their dignity, their wisdom…it can only win you over.
I decide that I would prefer to walk back to Pahalgam from Aru rather than go in the car so I start on my way, stopping about every 20m for photos…I put my camera away, and around the next bend in the road I end up taking it back out. The few people I encounter on the road are local shepherds who are extremely friendly. Ominous thunder starts about 5km into my walk, and by 7km, there is sprinkling. At this point every vehicle passing me is offering a ride, and finally as the raindrops become the size of golfballs I jump in a car. I meet the boys in town, have lunch, and back we go towards Srinagar.
I had decided to stay with Bilal and his family who live in Saida Kadil, which is (I think) where Dal Lake meets Niggin Lake. A completely different experience to Chanapora – but wonderful as well. I get dropped off by the boys at a transport area on the highway, go to Dalgate, and then jump in another auto to Saida Kadil where Bilal awaits me. He almost looks Nepali – and he actually did grow up there. We walk through the dark lanes, water all around us, to get to his house. A large, plain concrete structure, where windows on the ground floor have plastic sheets in the place of glass, still. They have just finished building it less than 2 years ago and little by little are working on it. As soon as we walk in the door, the electricity goes off. They have a large gas burner with a flame on top which sort of surprisingly lights up the whole room. Two other guests are there, a girl from Scotland and a girl from England, and they are comfortably chatting away with Riyaz, Bilal’s father. Both these men emanate so much joy and kindness from their eyes and smiles. They are so beautiful. I join the people sitting on the floor and khawa is served. Khawa is saffron tea that is used for special occasions such as weddings – cardamom and other spices may also be added – and I think the khawa I have had over the past week has mostly been without saffron. Who knows. Anyway, it’s delicious and my favorite tea available in Kashmir. So we sit and chat, have a wonderful vegetarian dinner – Bilal is the first and probably only Kashmiri vegetarian I will ever meet! And off we go to bed because we have decided to go on a sunrise shikara trip to see the floating vegetable market.
The scene at Aru is mind-blowing. Photos can’t do justice to the nature here, which is 360 degrees stunning, from the grass below your feet to the mountains soaring miles into the sky. We go on a little trek, going down to the river, laying about in the fields, chatting with the nomads who cross our path…one of Wahid’s friends is Rujlan, who is one of those bubbly extroverted clown types, who instantly sets in and asks me all sorts of questions and professes his love for me and how impressed he is by my beauty etc etc – Kashmiri men really are the best talkers and you just have to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, which they are more than happy to join you in giggling about. Nothing like bonding over some chuckles. Rujlan tells me everything in Kashmir is beautiful – the nature, and of course the people. And it’s true. The beauty of these people; their intense way of living, their whole giving nature, their love of affection and smiling and laughter, their dignity, their wisdom…it can only win you over.
I decide that I would prefer to walk back to Pahalgam from Aru rather than go in the car so I start on my way, stopping about every 20m for photos…I put my camera away, and around the next bend in the road I end up taking it back out. The few people I encounter on the road are local shepherds who are extremely friendly. Ominous thunder starts about 5km into my walk, and by 7km, there is sprinkling. At this point every vehicle passing me is offering a ride, and finally as the raindrops become the size of golfballs I jump in a car. I meet the boys in town, have lunch, and back we go towards Srinagar.
I had decided to stay with Bilal and his family who live in Saida Kadil, which is (I think) where Dal Lake meets Niggin Lake. A completely different experience to Chanapora – but wonderful as well. I get dropped off by the boys at a transport area on the highway, go to Dalgate, and then jump in another auto to Saida Kadil where Bilal awaits me. He almost looks Nepali – and he actually did grow up there. We walk through the dark lanes, water all around us, to get to his house. A large, plain concrete structure, where windows on the ground floor have plastic sheets in the place of glass, still. They have just finished building it less than 2 years ago and little by little are working on it. As soon as we walk in the door, the electricity goes off. They have a large gas burner with a flame on top which sort of surprisingly lights up the whole room. Two other guests are there, a girl from Scotland and a girl from England, and they are comfortably chatting away with Riyaz, Bilal’s father. Both these men emanate so much joy and kindness from their eyes and smiles. They are so beautiful. I join the people sitting on the floor and khawa is served. Khawa is saffron tea that is used for special occasions such as weddings – cardamom and other spices may also be added – and I think the khawa I have had over the past week has mostly been without saffron. Who knows. Anyway, it’s delicious and my favorite tea available in Kashmir. So we sit and chat, have a wonderful vegetarian dinner – Bilal is the first and probably only Kashmiri vegetarian I will ever meet! And off we go to bed because we have decided to go on a sunrise shikara trip to see the floating vegetable market.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Srinagar to Pahalgam (June 21-22)
The day after the wedding, I woke up feeling awful. Don’t think I will ever figure out what the cause was, but I vomited, and actually fainted in the house. I was in very good hands, a doctor was called, and I had a 101 degree fever. I slept almost the whole day with just a few minutes of wakefulness. Turns out the whole day was a strike in the city.
Kashmir has been plagued with strikes and curfews consistently since 1989. Just in this past week that I have been here, Monday, Tuesday, and now it has been announced that Friday will also be a full strike. What this means – banks, offices, shops, and schools are closed. Public transport is shut down. Newspapers casually write that when people come out of their homes, if it is a curfew that has been imposed by the Indian government, the police are waiting there to beat them.
So by Monday evening I was feeling much better, and geared up to continue my Kashmir exploration on Tuesday. But then it was announced that it would be a strike on Tuesday…hrmph. I woke up on Tuesday, wondering if there was some way I could get to either Pahalgam or Gulmarg, and was told no. The Khan family has been and is incredibly gracious with me – we spoke about how over the past 20 years people have learned to keep rations in their house to survive for extended periods of time in the event of long curfews or strikes. Currently, this household could survive for 2-3 months without setting foot outside of the gate. Obviously, this kind of lifestyle is unthinkable for me. They tell me with sad smiles that I am stuck with them another day, and we settle into the day…and then we find out that Wahid, one of Raja’s cousins, is headed to Pahalgam with his friends. Turns out that if you’ve got your own vehicle, you can move around and there is relatively little security risk. So Raja asks if I can go with them and they say they are going in a truck – no open roof or anything – what you call in India a ‘Goods Carrier’ – but if I am ok with that, I am welcome to join. So I rush to pack my bag and get all ready to go…and then the whole plan changes.
Within minutes of heated discussion, it is decided that Raja, Roma, Ruhi, Jana, and probably all sorts of other relatives will also go for a daytrip to Pahalgam. There is something pleasant and exciting about this, but it is bittersweet – that they are able to do this on a Tuesday when in reality they probably wish they could be at their jobs, and not live in this volatile uncertainty that is Kashmir.
But we put all that aside for the time being – somehow I have woken up thinking I wouldn’t leave the house gate, and all of a sudden we’re on a family road trip! We go to the wedding house to get the newlyweds and off we go! The ride is supremely gorgeous – I am in the car with the newlyweds and Wahid (a different Wahid) – my favorite of Raja’s cousins…and we pass ricefields, saffron fields (season for this is in October), and finally we come to the gushing Lidder River near Anantnag. Powerful explosive green water is coming straight down from the snow-capped mountains…majestic. We stop to stock up on junk food goodies which they never have in their homes and we continue on.
Pahalgam is given the slogan heaven on earth. I have travelled in dozens of countries and been to places that claim to be the most beautiful this, the most impressive that, the most blah blah blah. To me, Pahalgam lives up to this claim. Every possible shade of green that you can imagine is there. The meadows and fields are neatly manicured by the rotating livestock – mostly sheep and some cows – and are so bright you could almost call it neon. Willows with their pale muted silvery green, all different deciduous trees with all the spectrum of their bright greens, move further up and you’ve got deep dark green conifers, and then – black granite mountains with glaciers galore, and peaks that never lose their snowy icing. It is breathtaking and overpowering.
We have a great lunch at a fancy hotel, and continue to Betab Valley, named as such since a film of the same name was filmed there. More dramatic beautiful mountain scenery. It is packed with tourists and locals alike – but I don’t see a single other foreigner. After this, Raja and the family are ready to head home but I decide to stay the night in the village with Wahid (the first Wahid who originally decided to go to Pahalgam with his friends). So I wander around the village, we head to dinner; they are wanting to have their mutton so I head to a pure vegetarian dhaba run by Sikhs (Kashmir has a small population of Sikhs, still – most of the Hindus left after the political instability began) – and I am so content to have my palak paneer and chapatti.
I head to bed early that night…
Kashmir has been plagued with strikes and curfews consistently since 1989. Just in this past week that I have been here, Monday, Tuesday, and now it has been announced that Friday will also be a full strike. What this means – banks, offices, shops, and schools are closed. Public transport is shut down. Newspapers casually write that when people come out of their homes, if it is a curfew that has been imposed by the Indian government, the police are waiting there to beat them.
So by Monday evening I was feeling much better, and geared up to continue my Kashmir exploration on Tuesday. But then it was announced that it would be a strike on Tuesday…hrmph. I woke up on Tuesday, wondering if there was some way I could get to either Pahalgam or Gulmarg, and was told no. The Khan family has been and is incredibly gracious with me – we spoke about how over the past 20 years people have learned to keep rations in their house to survive for extended periods of time in the event of long curfews or strikes. Currently, this household could survive for 2-3 months without setting foot outside of the gate. Obviously, this kind of lifestyle is unthinkable for me. They tell me with sad smiles that I am stuck with them another day, and we settle into the day…and then we find out that Wahid, one of Raja’s cousins, is headed to Pahalgam with his friends. Turns out that if you’ve got your own vehicle, you can move around and there is relatively little security risk. So Raja asks if I can go with them and they say they are going in a truck – no open roof or anything – what you call in India a ‘Goods Carrier’ – but if I am ok with that, I am welcome to join. So I rush to pack my bag and get all ready to go…and then the whole plan changes.
Within minutes of heated discussion, it is decided that Raja, Roma, Ruhi, Jana, and probably all sorts of other relatives will also go for a daytrip to Pahalgam. There is something pleasant and exciting about this, but it is bittersweet – that they are able to do this on a Tuesday when in reality they probably wish they could be at their jobs, and not live in this volatile uncertainty that is Kashmir.
But we put all that aside for the time being – somehow I have woken up thinking I wouldn’t leave the house gate, and all of a sudden we’re on a family road trip! We go to the wedding house to get the newlyweds and off we go! The ride is supremely gorgeous – I am in the car with the newlyweds and Wahid (a different Wahid) – my favorite of Raja’s cousins…and we pass ricefields, saffron fields (season for this is in October), and finally we come to the gushing Lidder River near Anantnag. Powerful explosive green water is coming straight down from the snow-capped mountains…majestic. We stop to stock up on junk food goodies which they never have in their homes and we continue on.
Pahalgam is given the slogan heaven on earth. I have travelled in dozens of countries and been to places that claim to be the most beautiful this, the most impressive that, the most blah blah blah. To me, Pahalgam lives up to this claim. Every possible shade of green that you can imagine is there. The meadows and fields are neatly manicured by the rotating livestock – mostly sheep and some cows – and are so bright you could almost call it neon. Willows with their pale muted silvery green, all different deciduous trees with all the spectrum of their bright greens, move further up and you’ve got deep dark green conifers, and then – black granite mountains with glaciers galore, and peaks that never lose their snowy icing. It is breathtaking and overpowering.
We have a great lunch at a fancy hotel, and continue to Betab Valley, named as such since a film of the same name was filmed there. More dramatic beautiful mountain scenery. It is packed with tourists and locals alike – but I don’t see a single other foreigner. After this, Raja and the family are ready to head home but I decide to stay the night in the village with Wahid (the first Wahid who originally decided to go to Pahalgam with his friends). So I wander around the village, we head to dinner; they are wanting to have their mutton so I head to a pure vegetarian dhaba run by Sikhs (Kashmir has a small population of Sikhs, still – most of the Hindus left after the political instability began) – and I am so content to have my palak paneer and chapatti.
I head to bed early that night…
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Kashmir – Srinagar, June 18-21
The road from Jammu to Srinagar is gorgeous, with plenty of green rice fields, pine forests, mountain views, and gushing rivers. It is a plentiful land, and the road is full of trucks and buses going back and forth. My sumo – jeep – was full of Kashmiris, and I was in the front seat with a Kashmiri woman. I was exhausted from the previous 2 days, and as I was dozing off she literally held me in her arms for most of the journey. At breaks and meals, she, along with a Sikh woman and a guy from Jammu, invited me along with them and although communication was a problem we had a great time giggling the whole day.
As you head up the valley, the military presence increases. To me, it seems like an awful lot of police and army forces. To locals, this is far less security forces than there has been over the past few decades. Once you cross the big tunnel and enter the Kashmir Valley, the temperature drops dramatically, and there is an unmistakable sense that you have entered a different land. The rhythm seems different…is it the Muslim presence? The mountains? I have no idea what it is, but it is very palpably different.
I arrive in Srinagar and Raja and his cousin Wahid pick me up and take me home, where I shower and am immediately taken to the house of another cousin who is getting married in two days. So many cousins and relatives, all so alive and smiling and full of joy. What strikes me most, perhaps, over the past several days is that the people in Kashmir are peace-loving people and this is so apparent in the family structure and their daily life – and the irony that exists with the conflict situation…I don’t know how to put this in words.
Raja has a beautiful brother, Jana, and a gorgeous sister, Rohi, and his newlywed wife, Roma, who all immediately treat me with the utmost kindness. Their formalities and sort of initial distance to me last about 20 minutes, particularly in the case of Roma, who within a day is leaning on me, holding my hand and shoulder very casually…this is a culture where within gender boundaries, physical affection sees no limits. It’s a bit strange to get your head around if you’re not used to it, but it’s very endearing.
So Kashmiri people…previously, my only contact with Kashmiris are the salesmen who are really the only ones in India that can make me part with my money…they are oh-so-charming, so beautiful, they befriend you with no hesitation and they get you before you know what hit you. A great example is at Delhi Haat, a marketplace in Delhi where there are craftsmen from all over the country…I had not intended to purchase anything…yet at the end of the day, opening my bags, it was hilarious to realize that every single thing I had bought was Kashmiri.
Well, here in Kashmir I haven’t had anyone try to sell me anything yet. I’ve successfully avoided going anywhere where I can spend too much money…but that kind, humorous insistence definitely pervades. Kashmiri hospitality is directly linked to how much they can feed you, and everyday I have several dozen offers for tea and food. Oh, by the way, they drink salty tea. Think Indian masala chai, but instead of sugar, put salt in it. Yeah. Weird. Not totally against it but definitely not my cup of tea.
And, they are majorly carnivorous. Especially around wedding time. 15 sheep were slaughtered for this wedding, and the meals were prepared over two days by a team of about 15 men, stopping for salty tea and hookah breaks.
The first evening is spent at the wedding house, where I am welcomed into the female drum circle and I am just getting used to the size of the houses – since the family structure is such that when the sons of a family get married, their brides move in, and when the daughters get married, they move to the groom’s residence, homes are spacious and often have nice wide open lawns. The Khan residence is no exception, and I love watching Raja’s father water the beautiful roses and variety of flowers, and the garden which is primarily chillis (they dry them, powder them, and then they’ve got enough chili for a year! And believe you me, Kashmiri food is spicy…)
The next day we head over to the wedding house in the morning, but my camera is having some problems so I decide to go into the city to have the camera looked at. We stop at home so I can get my map etc, and am duly intercepted by Rohi who insists that it only makes logical sense for me to have lunch first before I go into town. Given no option to say no, I eat, then I go. After having my camera looked at with no success, I meet Sami, a corporate lawyer who fulfills the Kashmiri role and offers me food and drink. I get Kashmiri cherries, after being told with a sorrowful look that this year, heavy rains have led to a poor harvest so please excuse the cherries that are not as delicious as usual. No problem, they were quite tasty.
Sami’s friend Mukhtar took me around Dal Lake, the once pristine lake in Srinagar that has made the city acquire its famous fantasy nearly mythical status…and we discuss a bit about the political situation and the amazing nature of Kashmir. It’s undeniably beautiful here, and speaking in terms of natural resources, extremely wealthy.
In the evening I head home, and almost immediately after arriving at the Khan residence, we head back to the wedding house. The dinner is delicious – a few people, including Raja, have gone to some trouble to get me an individual plate of as-vegetarian-friendly-as-possible food. The paneer in tomato sauce is mouthwatering. Haak is a very common leafy green vegetable here, almost like a combination of spinach and kale. In Kashmiri weddings and celebrations, people use very large plates and 4 people eat from each dish. There is a huge serving of rice, and on top of that is piled the dishes – usually mutton – and then the cooks come around, one dish at a time, and put it in the middle of the dish. 8-10 varieties of mutton are served in this wedding. Looks delicious.
There are a few Kashmiri things that I really love…the custom of washing your right hand before you eat – this is done with a copper pitcher, plated with nickel, and poured into a bowl…somebody else will pour the water for you…and at the wedding, the gigantic teapot, with two compartments, one for coal to keep the chai warm…these communal aspects of life are what I love about this place.
The wedding day – I dutifully did as I was told and put on the salwar kameez that Roma chose for me from her wardrobe, didn’t move a muscle as she did my makeup, and off we went! So much joy, so much singing, so much food, so much love…wow.
As you head up the valley, the military presence increases. To me, it seems like an awful lot of police and army forces. To locals, this is far less security forces than there has been over the past few decades. Once you cross the big tunnel and enter the Kashmir Valley, the temperature drops dramatically, and there is an unmistakable sense that you have entered a different land. The rhythm seems different…is it the Muslim presence? The mountains? I have no idea what it is, but it is very palpably different.
I arrive in Srinagar and Raja and his cousin Wahid pick me up and take me home, where I shower and am immediately taken to the house of another cousin who is getting married in two days. So many cousins and relatives, all so alive and smiling and full of joy. What strikes me most, perhaps, over the past several days is that the people in Kashmir are peace-loving people and this is so apparent in the family structure and their daily life – and the irony that exists with the conflict situation…I don’t know how to put this in words.
Raja has a beautiful brother, Jana, and a gorgeous sister, Rohi, and his newlywed wife, Roma, who all immediately treat me with the utmost kindness. Their formalities and sort of initial distance to me last about 20 minutes, particularly in the case of Roma, who within a day is leaning on me, holding my hand and shoulder very casually…this is a culture where within gender boundaries, physical affection sees no limits. It’s a bit strange to get your head around if you’re not used to it, but it’s very endearing.
So Kashmiri people…previously, my only contact with Kashmiris are the salesmen who are really the only ones in India that can make me part with my money…they are oh-so-charming, so beautiful, they befriend you with no hesitation and they get you before you know what hit you. A great example is at Delhi Haat, a marketplace in Delhi where there are craftsmen from all over the country…I had not intended to purchase anything…yet at the end of the day, opening my bags, it was hilarious to realize that every single thing I had bought was Kashmiri.
Well, here in Kashmir I haven’t had anyone try to sell me anything yet. I’ve successfully avoided going anywhere where I can spend too much money…but that kind, humorous insistence definitely pervades. Kashmiri hospitality is directly linked to how much they can feed you, and everyday I have several dozen offers for tea and food. Oh, by the way, they drink salty tea. Think Indian masala chai, but instead of sugar, put salt in it. Yeah. Weird. Not totally against it but definitely not my cup of tea.
And, they are majorly carnivorous. Especially around wedding time. 15 sheep were slaughtered for this wedding, and the meals were prepared over two days by a team of about 15 men, stopping for salty tea and hookah breaks.
The first evening is spent at the wedding house, where I am welcomed into the female drum circle and I am just getting used to the size of the houses – since the family structure is such that when the sons of a family get married, their brides move in, and when the daughters get married, they move to the groom’s residence, homes are spacious and often have nice wide open lawns. The Khan residence is no exception, and I love watching Raja’s father water the beautiful roses and variety of flowers, and the garden which is primarily chillis (they dry them, powder them, and then they’ve got enough chili for a year! And believe you me, Kashmiri food is spicy…)
The next day we head over to the wedding house in the morning, but my camera is having some problems so I decide to go into the city to have the camera looked at. We stop at home so I can get my map etc, and am duly intercepted by Rohi who insists that it only makes logical sense for me to have lunch first before I go into town. Given no option to say no, I eat, then I go. After having my camera looked at with no success, I meet Sami, a corporate lawyer who fulfills the Kashmiri role and offers me food and drink. I get Kashmiri cherries, after being told with a sorrowful look that this year, heavy rains have led to a poor harvest so please excuse the cherries that are not as delicious as usual. No problem, they were quite tasty.
Sami’s friend Mukhtar took me around Dal Lake, the once pristine lake in Srinagar that has made the city acquire its famous fantasy nearly mythical status…and we discuss a bit about the political situation and the amazing nature of Kashmir. It’s undeniably beautiful here, and speaking in terms of natural resources, extremely wealthy.
In the evening I head home, and almost immediately after arriving at the Khan residence, we head back to the wedding house. The dinner is delicious – a few people, including Raja, have gone to some trouble to get me an individual plate of as-vegetarian-friendly-as-possible food. The paneer in tomato sauce is mouthwatering. Haak is a very common leafy green vegetable here, almost like a combination of spinach and kale. In Kashmiri weddings and celebrations, people use very large plates and 4 people eat from each dish. There is a huge serving of rice, and on top of that is piled the dishes – usually mutton – and then the cooks come around, one dish at a time, and put it in the middle of the dish. 8-10 varieties of mutton are served in this wedding. Looks delicious.
There are a few Kashmiri things that I really love…the custom of washing your right hand before you eat – this is done with a copper pitcher, plated with nickel, and poured into a bowl…somebody else will pour the water for you…and at the wedding, the gigantic teapot, with two compartments, one for coal to keep the chai warm…these communal aspects of life are what I love about this place.
The wedding day – I dutifully did as I was told and put on the salwar kameez that Roma chose for me from her wardrobe, didn’t move a muscle as she did my makeup, and off we went! So much joy, so much singing, so much food, so much love…wow.
Bharmour to Jammu, 16 June 2010
I originally planned to go from Bharmour to Manali to Leh to meet the Ghosh’s, who are arriving in Leh on June 27. But, Manali and Leh have been having heavy snowfall (2.5 feet!! In one night!) and I am not appropriately dressed for this…and the Manali-Leh road is closed…
So I decided to go to Kashmir. What do people imagine when they hear the word Kashmir? Majorly contrasting things…some may think of kashmiri shawls and scarves, some may think of Hindu Kush marijuana, others may think of the political violence that has shattered the region for 21 years…
Well, it’s all that and more.
My journey from Bharmour was utterly flawless. I had no idea how connections would go, I just knew I was headed in the direction of Kashmir. I arrived in Chamba and there was a bus 20 minutes later to Pathankot, a major transport hub in Punjab. I arrived in Pathankot at 8.50pm, suspecting I might need to spend the night there, but a Sikh guard came over and immediately offered to help me, directing me to the bus on the other side that would leave in 10 minutes for Jammu. Wow! Oh wait – Jammu – do I want to arrive there at…midnight? Alone? Hmm...oh well.
So I jump on the bus, I’m almost the only woman on the bus, men shuffle around yelling at each other instructing me to sit…a man named Raj is next to me, speaks good English, is from Delhi, and is very friendly. I discover that this bus, after stopping in Jammu, will continue to Katra. This is the site of the Vaishno Devi pilgrimage. Indian tourists come to the state of Jammu and Kashmir for 2 major pilgrimage reasons…Vaishno Devi, and Amarnath Cave. The boys on the bus get all worked up and tell me it’s some sort of divine sign (umm I doubt this ; ) that I have ended up on this bus and say I MUST go to Katra with them, they’ll take care of me and I should do the pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi before continuing to Kashmir. A once in a lifetime opportunity etc etc. So we arrive, 1.30am, my body is shattered, and we wander around the streets of Katra until we find a place to stay.
Vaishno Devi is a 14km walk each way, a very well-paved path leading up the mountain where people are chanting Jai Mata Di, and various other mantras associated with the goddesss(es) residing there. It’s true Indian style – lots of kitschy souvenirs on the way, drinks stalls every few hundred meters – this is how Indians holiday. Combine nature, religion, and entertainment. Why not?
The walk was scorching and I was exhausted much more from the heat than from the
physical demands of the hike…but sunset from the top was amazing. And the energy emanating from the temple where we receive Darshan from the goddess…pulsating.
We finally made it back down to the bottom almost at midnight, exhausted, had some dinner, and slept a few hours before I continued on my way up to Kashmir.
So I decided to go to Kashmir. What do people imagine when they hear the word Kashmir? Majorly contrasting things…some may think of kashmiri shawls and scarves, some may think of Hindu Kush marijuana, others may think of the political violence that has shattered the region for 21 years…
Well, it’s all that and more.
My journey from Bharmour was utterly flawless. I had no idea how connections would go, I just knew I was headed in the direction of Kashmir. I arrived in Chamba and there was a bus 20 minutes later to Pathankot, a major transport hub in Punjab. I arrived in Pathankot at 8.50pm, suspecting I might need to spend the night there, but a Sikh guard came over and immediately offered to help me, directing me to the bus on the other side that would leave in 10 minutes for Jammu. Wow! Oh wait – Jammu – do I want to arrive there at…midnight? Alone? Hmm...oh well.
So I jump on the bus, I’m almost the only woman on the bus, men shuffle around yelling at each other instructing me to sit…a man named Raj is next to me, speaks good English, is from Delhi, and is very friendly. I discover that this bus, after stopping in Jammu, will continue to Katra. This is the site of the Vaishno Devi pilgrimage. Indian tourists come to the state of Jammu and Kashmir for 2 major pilgrimage reasons…Vaishno Devi, and Amarnath Cave. The boys on the bus get all worked up and tell me it’s some sort of divine sign (umm I doubt this ; ) that I have ended up on this bus and say I MUST go to Katra with them, they’ll take care of me and I should do the pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi before continuing to Kashmir. A once in a lifetime opportunity etc etc. So we arrive, 1.30am, my body is shattered, and we wander around the streets of Katra until we find a place to stay.
Vaishno Devi is a 14km walk each way, a very well-paved path leading up the mountain where people are chanting Jai Mata Di, and various other mantras associated with the goddesss(es) residing there. It’s true Indian style – lots of kitschy souvenirs on the way, drinks stalls every few hundred meters – this is how Indians holiday. Combine nature, religion, and entertainment. Why not?
The walk was scorching and I was exhausted much more from the heat than from the
physical demands of the hike…but sunset from the top was amazing. And the energy emanating from the temple where we receive Darshan from the goddess…pulsating.
We finally made it back down to the bottom almost at midnight, exhausted, had some dinner, and slept a few hours before I continued on my way up to Kashmir.
Manimahesh “Pilgrimage” and Grimar (June 14-15)
Manimahesh is one of the many imposing, breathtaking mountains you can see from anywhere in Bharmour. It is the site of a major pilgrimage in the month of August when roughly 80,000 people come from all over India to go to Shiva’s home. We decided to head up to see as far as we could get on a daytrip in mid-June ; )
So 7am, we pack our gourmet food from Swarna – paranthas and scrambled eggs with mixed homegrown veggies – and off we go to Hadsar. It was raining when we left Bharmour and we joked about how we were taking enough food for 2 days with us, and we would get there, be stuck in rain, and turn right back around. But miraculously, the weather cleared up as we arrived in Hadsar. Perfect walking weather. A bit cloudy but dry, and that fresh scent of the earth just after the rains…
We had the mountain entirely to ourselves, practically. We came across 4 Chinese/Singaporean trekkers who were pretty hardcore, bouncing ahead…and lots of nomads who live in these hills, who ebb and flow with the snow, rockslides, glaciers, and divine spirits that reside here.
It was breathtaking, at times no peak views above us so we were gladly forced to focus on the wildflowers bursting at eye level – yellows, purples, pinks, and blues…the tastiest wild strawberries I’ve ever had in my life; Tashi collecting them by the hundreds, his pockets bursting with them and insisting that we eat – joking that he had nearly 1kg and we could sell them in Bharmour…
We came into close contact with several glaciers, massive structures of permanent ice that feed the rivers that eventually become the delicious water bursting from pipes all over Bharmour…
The nomads here are friendly, content, at peace within themselves and their universe, and very very beautiful. They were happy to be photographed and we made very faulty attempts at communicating in Hindi with them, but so many smiles and laughs were exchanged.
We decided to turn back at around 1pm, when the rainclouds were gathering, we were reaching the cloud line, and the temperature was dropping dramatically. Tashi has a tendency to try out new roads and explore, and I am happy to follow…but this time…oh this time…
We had seen a path winding up across the way from a cluster of nomad tents we had passed around 2.5 hours up from the bottom. It looked well-maintained, and we saw a few nomads speedily going up the path. So when we came to it on our way down, Tashi and Krishnan agreed it would be a good option to try to go down that way. I obliged.
Turns out it was a road that is currently being built. How the mechanical equipment to pave it has arrived up there, I have no understanding of. So, there were huge sharp rocks that we were walking on – thank goodness I had my good shoes on – but Tashi and Krishnan were both in sandals. No worries. Then we came to what has got to be the scariest path I have walked on in my life – maybe 8-12 inches across, teetering at the edge of a drop that goes straight down into the valley. Magnified by the fact that there is a gushing river with lots of white spray shooting up just asking to be fed. Ahh!! So I tried really hard to go down it, after awhile Tashi grabbed my hand and I was leaning against the mountain with the other arm, after awhile I reached that point of being frozen, one of the nomads tried to get me to go with him, I freaked out. Then they decided it would be much safer and faster and easier to…get a piggyback ride. Yup, 26 year old grown girl carried down the mountainside by a Tibetan monk. Hilarious. As I was about to jump on his back, we erupted in a fit of giggles and he said, “Please, Yuri, you can’t make me laugh (giggle, giggle).” “Ok (giggle), I’ll try not to.”
But when I did get on his back, we were both silent, and I shut my eyes. The feeling of being terrified beyond words, holding on so tightly to someone that it was like we were one being, and feeling so intensely the erratic drops and curves of the path…exhilarating. I have no idea how far he carried me; it can’t have been very long – maybe 150-200m? But it felt like lifetimes. When he put me down, we both rolled over laughing and laughing like insane people…ahh I love this team…
The rest of the walk was comparatively a breeze, more wild strawberries, Tashi teaching me a beautiful Tibetan song after much refusal due to his childlike shyness (which of course makes me just tease him more since I’m evil like that ; )…wonderful.
We effortlessly got a ride back to Bharmour, rested, and had another amazing meal at home.
Tashi asked permission to come with us to Bharmour and his monk leader said no. Then he asked his friend to cover for him for a few days and he escaped and joined us. But it really was getting to be time for him to head back. We thought he would take the night bus the following evening…
But I woke up the next morning and he said he was leaving at 8am. I was shocked. A surge of sadness came up so strongly from deep inside of me…this idyllic perfect holiday where we had become like what we idealize as family was coming to an end. So we took him down to the bus stop, waited with him, and it was like…I don’t know what. Tashi, thank you so much for sharing yourself so fully and openly with us this week. Thank you for being a mirror in the best way possible so that we can see what possibility lies within us.
Krishnan and I decided to do the easy hike to Grimar, a village 7km away from Bharmour. As is typical of us – “It’s the journey not the destination” - Krishnan and I took 2 detours before arriving. The first one led up up up through gorgeous pine forest until we realized that we were in fact on the jeep road for Bharmani Mata…and then we went up up up into a village that we thought was Grimar until a beautiful elderly lady told us this was not the right village, we could refill our water if we wanted, and Grimar was further on…
So lots of giggles later, we did arrive in Grimar. From this village you get gorgeous views of 3 valleys, including one that is on the other side from where Bharmour faces so it was our first time seeing this. An elderly man invited us to come into his home. Himachali homes are elegantly, carefully constructed using a combination of bricks, stones that are in their natural form, and carved rocks. We sat, smiling, totally unable to communicate but just being. He sent his granddaughter to milk his goat for us (we heard the goat…) and we had fresh goat milk chai. Out-of-this-world.
We wandered around a bit more before heading back down to Bharmour and making our obligatory dhaba stop…relaxed in the afternoon and our last dinner with Shiva and Swarna…I would leave the next day for Kashmir.
The next morning we had breakfast at home, hung around the temples a bit and finally headed down to the bus stand. My bus left at noon…the week in Bharmour with these lovely people was like a rejuvenation, restoration, inspiration, and refreshing beyond belief. Breathing the clean mountain air, being in the Gods’ home, eating homegrown organic vegetarian food cooked with so much love, getting up early and walking 15-20km a day…there’s nothing this can’t do ; )
Thank you…
So 7am, we pack our gourmet food from Swarna – paranthas and scrambled eggs with mixed homegrown veggies – and off we go to Hadsar. It was raining when we left Bharmour and we joked about how we were taking enough food for 2 days with us, and we would get there, be stuck in rain, and turn right back around. But miraculously, the weather cleared up as we arrived in Hadsar. Perfect walking weather. A bit cloudy but dry, and that fresh scent of the earth just after the rains…
We had the mountain entirely to ourselves, practically. We came across 4 Chinese/Singaporean trekkers who were pretty hardcore, bouncing ahead…and lots of nomads who live in these hills, who ebb and flow with the snow, rockslides, glaciers, and divine spirits that reside here.
It was breathtaking, at times no peak views above us so we were gladly forced to focus on the wildflowers bursting at eye level – yellows, purples, pinks, and blues…the tastiest wild strawberries I’ve ever had in my life; Tashi collecting them by the hundreds, his pockets bursting with them and insisting that we eat – joking that he had nearly 1kg and we could sell them in Bharmour…
We came into close contact with several glaciers, massive structures of permanent ice that feed the rivers that eventually become the delicious water bursting from pipes all over Bharmour…
The nomads here are friendly, content, at peace within themselves and their universe, and very very beautiful. They were happy to be photographed and we made very faulty attempts at communicating in Hindi with them, but so many smiles and laughs were exchanged.
We decided to turn back at around 1pm, when the rainclouds were gathering, we were reaching the cloud line, and the temperature was dropping dramatically. Tashi has a tendency to try out new roads and explore, and I am happy to follow…but this time…oh this time…
We had seen a path winding up across the way from a cluster of nomad tents we had passed around 2.5 hours up from the bottom. It looked well-maintained, and we saw a few nomads speedily going up the path. So when we came to it on our way down, Tashi and Krishnan agreed it would be a good option to try to go down that way. I obliged.
Turns out it was a road that is currently being built. How the mechanical equipment to pave it has arrived up there, I have no understanding of. So, there were huge sharp rocks that we were walking on – thank goodness I had my good shoes on – but Tashi and Krishnan were both in sandals. No worries. Then we came to what has got to be the scariest path I have walked on in my life – maybe 8-12 inches across, teetering at the edge of a drop that goes straight down into the valley. Magnified by the fact that there is a gushing river with lots of white spray shooting up just asking to be fed. Ahh!! So I tried really hard to go down it, after awhile Tashi grabbed my hand and I was leaning against the mountain with the other arm, after awhile I reached that point of being frozen, one of the nomads tried to get me to go with him, I freaked out. Then they decided it would be much safer and faster and easier to…get a piggyback ride. Yup, 26 year old grown girl carried down the mountainside by a Tibetan monk. Hilarious. As I was about to jump on his back, we erupted in a fit of giggles and he said, “Please, Yuri, you can’t make me laugh (giggle, giggle).” “Ok (giggle), I’ll try not to.”
But when I did get on his back, we were both silent, and I shut my eyes. The feeling of being terrified beyond words, holding on so tightly to someone that it was like we were one being, and feeling so intensely the erratic drops and curves of the path…exhilarating. I have no idea how far he carried me; it can’t have been very long – maybe 150-200m? But it felt like lifetimes. When he put me down, we both rolled over laughing and laughing like insane people…ahh I love this team…
The rest of the walk was comparatively a breeze, more wild strawberries, Tashi teaching me a beautiful Tibetan song after much refusal due to his childlike shyness (which of course makes me just tease him more since I’m evil like that ; )…wonderful.
We effortlessly got a ride back to Bharmour, rested, and had another amazing meal at home.
Tashi asked permission to come with us to Bharmour and his monk leader said no. Then he asked his friend to cover for him for a few days and he escaped and joined us. But it really was getting to be time for him to head back. We thought he would take the night bus the following evening…
But I woke up the next morning and he said he was leaving at 8am. I was shocked. A surge of sadness came up so strongly from deep inside of me…this idyllic perfect holiday where we had become like what we idealize as family was coming to an end. So we took him down to the bus stop, waited with him, and it was like…I don’t know what. Tashi, thank you so much for sharing yourself so fully and openly with us this week. Thank you for being a mirror in the best way possible so that we can see what possibility lies within us.
Krishnan and I decided to do the easy hike to Grimar, a village 7km away from Bharmour. As is typical of us – “It’s the journey not the destination” - Krishnan and I took 2 detours before arriving. The first one led up up up through gorgeous pine forest until we realized that we were in fact on the jeep road for Bharmani Mata…and then we went up up up into a village that we thought was Grimar until a beautiful elderly lady told us this was not the right village, we could refill our water if we wanted, and Grimar was further on…
So lots of giggles later, we did arrive in Grimar. From this village you get gorgeous views of 3 valleys, including one that is on the other side from where Bharmour faces so it was our first time seeing this. An elderly man invited us to come into his home. Himachali homes are elegantly, carefully constructed using a combination of bricks, stones that are in their natural form, and carved rocks. We sat, smiling, totally unable to communicate but just being. He sent his granddaughter to milk his goat for us (we heard the goat…) and we had fresh goat milk chai. Out-of-this-world.
We wandered around a bit more before heading back down to Bharmour and making our obligatory dhaba stop…relaxed in the afternoon and our last dinner with Shiva and Swarna…I would leave the next day for Kashmir.
The next morning we had breakfast at home, hung around the temples a bit and finally headed down to the bus stand. My bus left at noon…the week in Bharmour with these lovely people was like a rejuvenation, restoration, inspiration, and refreshing beyond belief. Breathing the clean mountain air, being in the Gods’ home, eating homegrown organic vegetarian food cooked with so much love, getting up early and walking 15-20km a day…there’s nothing this can’t do ; )
Thank you…
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