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.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
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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