Sikhs & Potatoes

I wish I could mention cheesecake in a 3rd consecutive email, but unfortunately my luck has run dry. Or more to the point the cheesecake has run dry. The last one I had was nasty and as gelatinous as ever. Yuck!

I finally got the hell out of Delhi. My intentions to return to Pakistan were temporarily grounded due to bad weather, as much of western India and Pakistan were drowning in monsoon rains, so I stopped by McDonald’s for one last Maharaja Mac and a McAloo Tikki burger and then headed for higher ground, namely Himachal Pradesh. And thank God I did, what a beautiful place! It was a great stop on my never-ending quest for natural beauty. An overnight train dropped me in Kalka, where you must switch to a narrow gauge ‘toy train’ to make the rest of the journey up to Shimla. I hadn’t pre-booked the second leg of the train which left me in cattle class, and fighting in line for a ticket so I could get on the train and get a seat. Some ruthless families decided to take unnecessary advantage of the ‘women’s queue’, which when there isn’t a separate women’s queue involves them walking to the front and demanding to be served immediately… nevermind the line of 100 people waiting for tickets. Chaos ensued, but thankfully I jumped into one of the last seats and on my way I was.

I don’t love Shimla, I was here a few years ago on my first trip to India. It’s an ok place, beautiful setting and all, but filled with ugly hotels and hundreds of Indian tourists. And shop after shop after restaurant after shop. Most unfortunate was my untimely arrival on the Indian Independence Day, meaning that Shimla was completely full, and prices had sky-rocketed beyond their already ridiculous ‘normal’ rates. Meaning I paid Rs 800 for a room that anywhere else in India would cost about Rs200. Yes, this still amounts to only around $18 or so, but this is India for fuck’s sake. Out of Shimla was the name of the game, so on a bus I found myself the next morning, speeding towards Kinnaur Valley to the east.

First stop was Sarahan, with only one real reason to come… the Bhima Kali temple. It’s about 800 years old, with gorgeous traditional Himachal architecture. A new temple was constructed in the 1920’s, thankfully in a complimentary style, but it’s seriously threatened by the old temple which is standing only 5 feet away and is leaning seriously towards it. Across the courtyard and where I was staying is another small temple where up until 200 years ago humans were sacrificed to Kali – now the honor is reserved for animals only. Sarahan is a lovely small village – certainly not untouched by travelers, but hardly overrun like Shimla, which seems to exist solely for their purpose.

There’s something nice about arriving in a place like Sarahan, where you can casually step off the bus and collect yourself without being besieged by taxi drivers and hotel touts, and standers-by will point you in the direction of the temple with a smile. Indeed I would be addicted to the move and the arrivals if they were all so pleasant.

And if my ass could handle another bus ride – I’m not so sure what to do, I think something may be broken. I wish I could just walk between towns, but I don’t have the stamina. Or skateboard, but I left mine at home and the roads here often suck anyway. A car would be nice. I used to think that I would prefer public transport because then you’re in closer contact with the local population and it makes for a more interesting journey. But I sometimes find it increasingly hard to sit through the same shallow dead-end conversation. Indeed it’s been a while since a bus ride has yielded a new and exciting experience. I would love to be taking the road at my own (safer) pace in a pimped out Cadillac, stopping when I want to and offering rides when I’m capable of conversation.

Occasionally someone refreshingly breaks the mould and tells you something you never knew you needed to know but are nonetheless happy to now have something new to ponder – like my new friend Hassan who, after the requisite 20 questions told me that the two most common things that could be found in every country in the world are Sikhs and potatoes. And now that he mentions it… But in the same 7 hour bus ride I also told at least 10 people (individually) my good name, age, qualification (schooling), country, and marital status (what? 29 and single, gasp!). American and you didn’t attend college?! But I thought you all lived perfect rich dream lives!!! I miss the days when I would have launched into a passionate monologue about the grass always being greener, how I want what you ‘have’ and you want what I ‘have’, but I just don’t seem to care anymore. So maybe it’s better that I just don’t speak.

There’s something about the length and effort involved in a journey that let’s you assume it will have a great payoff… Sangla isn’t such a place. The entire village is a construction site… new bridges, new hotels, etc etc etc… we spent ½ hour looking for a hotel that WASN’T near a construction site or under construction itself. ‘Us’ is me and the 2 Israeli girls that I met en route to Sarahan. We’re traveling together now – not much choice in this narrow string of valleys where there’s only really one trail to be followed. Everyone’s either heading east or west.

The route from Sarahan to Sangla involved a bus and 2 jeeps. While waiting for the 2nd jeep to depart and take us up the narrow winding track barely clinging to the side of the mountains (and often blasted out of the side of the mountain) two boys, about 13 or so, took turns jumping into the driver’s seat, and seemed to be arguing over which would be driving us up to Sangla. I was determined that it would be neither! Fortunately and overly friendly man in his 20’s and an awesome hat finally jumped in and made it clear that HE would be driving. Unfortunately no sooner did we embark then he pulled out a large bottle of Kingfisher (the local beer) and began chugging it and passing it around the front seat. He was the happiest man I’ve seen in weeks, and stopped to chat to everything we passed – vehicles, pedestrians – either because he knew them or wanted to. When another jeep eventually caught up to us he refused to let it pass and continued at his already established leisurely pace. He responded to neverending horn blasts by turning on the radio full volume to a soaring and ridiculous Bollywood musical number and smiling all the wider. We arrived safely if slightly shaken, stopping only once when we came to a tiny drive-thru temple built into the rock on the roadside. He honked the horn and a short dreadlocked baba came running out to offer us rock candy and place red smudges on our foreheads and wished us well.

The one positive note about Sangla was that decent accommodation was to be had for $2/night surrounded by apple orchids and wild dahlias. And some ok food. But then there was Chhitkul!!! So glad I wasted no more time and got up here with my 2 Israeli girlfriends. Sitting at 3500 meters it’s the last point along this (closed) ancient trade route to Tibet. The road was equally precarious to the Sangla road, and we did it in a 4wd jeep since buses are infrequent and at the moment non-existent due to a washed-out bridge. It’s only about 25km or so above Sangla but takes 45 minutes or so to slowly climb up around the bends and across the rocky and bridgeless streams, the scenery growing more stunning with each minute.

Chhitkul is an interesting combination of barren rockiness, pine forests, occasional waterfalls, a lush valley floor currently covered in yellow and pink flowers, and a river snaking through the center – combined with the beautiful traditional architecture it looks straight out of a mountain-set fairytale. We stayed in a lovely home stay where the family cooked for us.

We walked as high as we could (legally) towards Tibet which involved about 7km roundtrip, and a precarious cable with a one-seater basket attached used to cross the river by pulling yourself along with a rope, and an even more precarious foot bridge near the top made of 2 logs and some twigs – wet, a little slippery, fairly wobbly, and lacking in handrails. On the other side I scrambled up a very steep hill, and on the way back down, as it started to drizzle, I got stuck somewhere in the middle, couldn’t figure out which way to go, and without anything much to hold on to encountered near-death experience number 649 or something. I lost count a little while back.

From here I broke up with my Israeli girlfriends - they headed back towards Shimla, and I kept heading east to Kalpa. I wasn’t thrilled with the place, it’s a nice little village with some great mountain views, but lacked some of the magic of Chhitkul. I did, however, meet my new group of friends there whom I spent the next couple of weeks with. Erez, our wonderful Jewish grandmother, Joris from Amsterdam and Zak and Sarah from U.S. and Australia but not necessarily in that order. As I said before, in these valleys you get stuck with whoever is going in your general direction, and so it was. Kidding, I love you guys! Really, I mean it!

Anyhoo, we headed up and around to Spiti Valley, not so far away physically but another world in most other ways. A landslide washed away a good chunk of road a while back, so you have to take a bus to the landslide, then walk up and over a large steep hill to catch an onward bus, which we did, and stopped in Nako Lake… a fantastic village set around a holy lake and surrounded by gorgeous mountains. The village itself looks 1,000 years old and feels like a movie set. Not many travelers stop here, partly because it’s in the permit-only zone and most people think you can’t. Indeed you can, and I highly recommend it. We got up early and climbed up and around the mountains through endless chortens and prayer flags, and sat for a while looking out over and reflecting on Tibet, which at this point is only about 15km away. Stunning view. We kept walking around the mountains, not wanting to backtrack, and hoping that we would see another break in the mountains to cut back through, and climbing up to a ridge that would hopefully be the last just to get there and find another even higher ridge… eventually the day turned in to a marathon that I wasn’t quite in the shape for running. But I’m thankful still to Joris and Erez that they drug me along, believe it or not I feel in much better shape since that day and have continued to have to do hard walks after leaving you guys!

After a couple of nice days there we headed out towards Tabo on what turned out to be the bus from hell. Our driver was a cocky asshole with a lead foot, and seem to think it was fun to take the bus to it’s limits on a tiny narrow road clinging to a steep mountain side. I’ll spare you all of the details, but Erez and I asked him to slow down to which he smirked, and brought half the bus to near hysterics. Just so you know, when people are upset, laughing at them doesn’t really help. I feel sorry for the locals that have to take his bus regularly and see his behavior as normal! Like 3 buses or so fell off the cliff in Kinnaur valley the week before this. But something in there heads doesn’t seem to connect that they could be next when they have a driver like that. I’m a believer in ‘what will be will be’ but you still gotta be reasonable. Oh well, we survived. Although half way through the trip we drove through a rockslide and had rocks pounding the roof of the bus, which was interesting. They didn’t laugh so much at that.

Tabo was interesting enough, a monastery town set along a river and crammed between some mountains… imagine that! That describes about every village within 100 miles. We stayed at the monastery and were up in time to see the 6am prayers and have tea with the monks. They were fairly loose here, half of the monks wandered in leisurely mid-way through the prayers, and one of them was wearing a Pistons jersey beneath his robe. Tabo was the first real stop in Spiti Valley, and there were noticeably more travelers… a lot more make it to Spiti than Kinnaur, and the occasional wafts of hash smoke and throngs of Israelis at the ‘Third Eye’ restaurant were the first signs of it. They do an okay pizza though.

Next stop was Dhankar, a very old monastery set into incredibly dramatic cliff rock formations. It was stunningly beautiful, and the village was completely deserted and eerie as we walked through it wondering where the hell everyone was. In the evening we watched as a massive group of sheep and goats were herded down the mountain and then scattered down every lane of the village and found their ways home with amazing precision. It was liking watching a river run down hill and find it’s multiple paths and streams darting off in every direction.

Lalung was next, another high up village that we for some reason decided to walk to. Some hidden force is driving me to get into shape. It took us hours in the hot sun, but we were rewarded by arriving to Tashi and his warm and friendly guesthouse, and the best momos we’d ever had. We got to talk to him a little about Ki Monastery, our next intended stop, where the Dalai Lama visited a few years back. Tashi said that while it’s a great honor to have the Dalai Lama visit your town, it’s an incredible burden as well… it will costs each family in the village about Rs 10,000 to host him and his entourage.

Anyway, on to Ki Monastery, we’re getting higher and higher here. It’s beautifully set above a river in a gorgeous location. We slept in dorm rooms in the monastery (Rs 50 full board! That’s a little over $1), and the monks cooked us dinner and breakfast. In the morning we attended a 2 hour prayer and chanting service which was held in a dark and incredibly atmospheric room… an awesome experience. The only exception was the French tourist next to me who waited no time at all to pull out his video camera and treat it like he was watching a parade. Some people can be really tacky I say. The monks fed us tsampa and butter tea and it was otherwise an awesome morning.

Higher up the mountain we came to Kibber, supposedly the highest inhabited village in the world with electricity and a road. It’s set at 4200 meters (about 13,000 feet or so) and I really began feeling the effects of altitude here… I got winded while doing my laundry! The landscape in the Spiti Valley is stark and dramatic… while the Kinnaur valley was green and lush Spiti is a high altitude desert… high brown snow-capped mountains set against impossibly bright blue sky with white puffy clouds. It’s hot and scorchy when the sun is out but cools off significantly once the clouds move in. We stayed at a friendly guesthouse here with an overworked owner who is doing everything from the cooking to the cleaning and the laundry, and running the little shop as well. One morning I went in to order my breakfast and as he was talking to me he passed out and fell to floor, and his leg fell into the fire he was boiling water on. Had I not been there to pull his leg out he would have had quite a serious burn. I’m not sure why he doesn’t hire more help, maybe he was saving as much money as he could for the coming winter. In any case he’s alright. Slightly embarrassed, and still refused to come outside for fresh air, but alright.

From here we decided on Chandratal lake, which was a little out of the way and involved yet more hours of walking, but at this point I was getting used to it and slowly gaining stamina. It’s high up in the mountains at 4300 meters, and the walk and the setting of the lake are absolutely spectacular. You wind through the high desert mountains with snow-capped peaks, and feel like you’re walking on another planet. Chandra means moon which makes sense. The lake is a deep turquoise color and stunningly beautiful. We stayed in a tent on the lakeside and woke to a totally calm lake with amazing reflections… see the pictures folks… On the way to the lake we went through the Kunzum La pass which is definitely the highest I’ve ever been to date… 4551 meters! That’s over ½ way to the top of Everest! We met a huge group of motorcyclists at the top… would be a fun way to see this landscape, but I don’t know if I would want to do it with 30 other cyclists!

Basically from here we headed back into a little more normal version of India and ended up in Manali, which is fairly uninteresting but has a stunningly good Italian restaurant with the best pizza I’ve had in India (Pizza Olive in Old Manali). And then moved on to Dharamsala for a couple days for more leisurely strolls and some delicious Japanese food. We all went separate ways from here… I carried on with Sarah and Zak to Amritsar for my 4th visit (!!!) to the Golden Temple, possibly my favorite place in India!!! What an amazing feeling to it. I wanna, like, live inside of the temple. Maybe if I ever get really good at tabla I’ll convert to Sikhism and get a job with the musicians that sit in there all day. That would be heaven. Actually heaven would be that if I also had an assistant who delivered me amazing cheesecake a couple times a day inside of the temple. My future is finally becoming clear!

I crossed into Pakistan once again to Lahore, which was as filthy as ever. I do like it but it once again, for the third time, made me sick. There’s something about it that gives me explosive diarrhea. Obviously I don’t know exactly what it is or I would avoid it. But Jesus Christ, how can a city be so cruel? Not to mention the somewhat cold reception at the guesthouse there. What’s up everyone’s asses? There seems to be some sort of hard-core travelers contest going on there. Notches on the belt include: dressing like a ‘local’ in a salwar kameez, drinking the local water, longest ponytail, boredest facial expression, lack of need for a guidebook (or burying it deep enough that nobody will see it in your bag), etc… lighten up people. I can already hear the sensational stories they’ll be telling their buddies back home about how hardcore they were traveling in Pakistan. Well the secrets out… Pakistan is a normal, friendly, and relatively safe place to travel. But if it makes you feel good to sell yourself as GI Joe, then by all means…

Oh, backing up to the border for a second, I crossed with 2 Indians who have been living in Germany for 30 years or something. They were hilarious. It took over an hour to get our passports stamped, and the guy was having none of it. We’re back to ‘God’s time’ he said. First there was no electricity so they couldn’t process our passports, then it came back on just as the call to prayer rang out, so they locked the doors and ran across the road to the mosque. They returned only to be reemed by the Indian man. “I was in Dubai yesterday, and it only took them 10 seconds to stamp my passport! What kind of an operation do you have going here, what happens when you get busy!? I know there’s no airport here, but suppose there was and a big jumbo jet pulled up and 300 passengers filed out and lined up, at this rate it would take you a week to process all of their passports! Get your act together!”

Anyway, enough of my rambling frustrations. I’m back in Islamabad, and am working on finishing up a short documentary that was filmed on us last year during the earthquake relief, and will be heading up to explore the Pakistani side of the Himalayas, hopefully more scenery at least as gorgeous as what I just saw. The last few weeks have been so incredibly beautiful, I should have written about it sooner so that I could paint a better picture in your heads, but hey, look at the real pictures, it will give you an idea.

Speaking of pictures, Andrew’s first photography book is finally coming out after so much hard work and a lifetime of photography… check it out here! All proceeds are going to EIF Women’s Cancer Research Fund.

http://www.amazon.com/Two-Million-Miles-Andrew-Macpherson/dp/3832791604/sr=8-1/qid=1158005823/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-1193700-5351143?ie=UTF8&s=books

Ok, that’s my news… I hope all of you are alive and well!

Much love… Wes