Category: Asia

It changed. Away from the flatlands, the India I knew and accepted, loved at times, endured during others, transformed before my eyes. In all my visits to India I have always spent my times a way's south of the Himalayas. As I wrote in my last Indian post a hectic welcome was guaranteed immersing you in overpowering sights, smells and sounds. But this time things changed. It started when I flew into New Delhi which had become infested with flies since I had last left 6 weeks ago. Strange. After Delhi I headed north by train to the relatively nearby religious cities of Haridwar and Rishikesh. Foreign tourists come here for courses in yoga and meditation (Rishikesh is famous for these). Indian pilgrims, just as with the city of Varanasi, come here to bathe in the holy river Ganges. I came here for reasons I am not sure. With the winding roads leading into the foothills of the Himalayas came a change of pace. The sounds of horns became more occasional, the throngs of people dissipated so that space became the norm rather than the exception. Life became more relaxed, smiles on peoples faces more common. At the time I was going to write this blog under the heading labeled 'Weird Cities of India' but since my thoughts have changed.

For those that know me yoga, meditation and being a vegan just isn't on my resumé. Going to a restaurant and ordering a chicken shish kebab (as per the menu) and receiving skewered tofu that has the consistency of days old custard didn't impress me one bit. The cows and pigs around (and in) town seemed happy. Even the monkeys were in abundance. Finding meat dishes (with actual meat in them) in these towns was like going on a pilgrimage. The holy grail was out there somewhere but finding it was another matter. Look, I have eaten so many vegetarian dishes on this trip and have (and still do) enjoy them so very much but...they come with the proviso that if I want a meat meal (other than the sacrilegious eating of beef and pork) it is just a matter of ordering it. In these religious towns of Haridwar and Rishikesh this personal contract was broken, so I left. Besides, it just wasn't that exciting.

During these times my travels were mainly on a whim. Not knowing where I would go next, directionless. I was waiting on a Pakistani visa that would give me the direction and zest that was sorely needed. I ended up in a city called Chandigarh only because it was the most convenient way out of those previously mentioned towns and was in the direction of Pakistan. It was here that my weird Indian cities headline nearly entrenched itself. Here, India being the India I knew stopped. A city of wide open boulevards where horns are rare and traffic is organised. Where trees line the roads and shade is abundant. Shop fronts look modern, westernised and are multi-storied. Makes a change from roofs of corrugated iron with a ton of rubbish on top to hold them down. A modern well planned out city (with a great microbrewery that served cold, delicious, cheap beer and wonderful Thai food...with meat). I saw bike lanes! Weird indeed. I spent a couple days here, visited a huge rock garden that was originally (decades ago) a hobby of a local, on squatted land, before the council decided to reclaim the land and thus demolish his work. Instead they saw the worth in his project and gave him a team to continue his work. As rock gardens go, taking into account that my rock garden assessment skills are quite rocky, I thought this is up there with the best rock gardens I have seen. Admittedly I can't think of another rock garden I've ever seen. Not that great an advert to visit but if you are in town it is surely worth a peek.

Next up I traveled to what I perceived as my last weird city (before I decided instead that it was not weird at all in these areas). The city's name is Shimla. Fortunately I really liked this town as it was here the Pakistani government decided that I was not worthy of a visa to visit my favorite country in the world. Gutted doesn't cover my feelings at the time. Down but not out, Shimla at least was cooler with a bit of altitude, had a great walking mall and enough 'exploring' lane ways (all without motorbikes) to keep things interesting and pleasant. Getting fitter came standard with the town as it was perched on some pretty steep slopes and with temples perched on top of the mountain it made for some good exercise. But still, I had a feeling of emptiness, lack of knowing what to do next. That is, until I read about a few places that got the juices flowing once more.

There is a road trip that due to the views and valleys, the high altitude, wonderfully perched monasteries and precarious drops, makes it, from what I have read, one of the best drives in Asia. So I headed towards Spiti Valley to experience it for myself. Sort of didn't make it but this will come out in the story. My first stop on the way was Parvati Valley. In this valley I stayed in two towns, Jari/Matuera & Kasol, that although were set in a lush green mountain settings with raging river running by were mostly your nondescript tourist places. Not much to talk about then. The real reason I visited this valley was the town of Malana. Many years ago I visited 3 valleys in Pakistan close to the Afghan border called the Kalasha valleys. In Malana, just like in these valleys, there are inhabitants that are suspected to be descendants of deserters from when Alexander the Great passed these ways. Both areas were quite secluded and over time developed their own separate customs and religions. In Malana, these customs brought the belief that their race is superior and all other races are unclean. So, as I would ironically stroll along the muddy paths within the village the locals once alerted to my presence would move aside, allowing me through as to ensure no physical contact with the unclean one. This unclean contact was extended to the touching of any of their belongings. Breaking these rules would invoke penalties. Touching a religious building came with a 3,500rps fine (US$50). I never was fined for any misdemeanors but if I was to pay I would of needed to first place the money on the ground, let go of the money where upon the recipient would then feel free to take the cash. The same principal applied in the few shops in the village. You were never allowed to enter the premises but could point out what you needed. Goods would be placed on the ground as would the money to purchase them. There could never be a conduit of contact between the clean and unclean other than the ground we walked on. The town's main economic lifeline is the supposedly world famous Malana Cream. This is hashish made from the many marijuana crops spread out around town. Although the 3 days I spent here the only foreigners I met were 3 Israelis that were passing through (you have about an hour hike to get to the village) there must have been many tourists in the past as the price for this hash was definitely not set at an Indian level. With this branding as an unclean and all these unsociable rules you'd expect the locals to be unfriendly. They definitely weren't overly receptive but instead generally amicable. That is except for the drunk bloke who took offence at me while I was being told of some of the rules. I stood up for myself which caused a bit of angst with some other locals but hey, I'm not in a pot getting stewed so all ended well. True friendliness definitely existed in the guesthouse I stayed in. It was run by a family that followed some of the village's customs but allowed outsiders to freely do as they wished within their walls. Evenings I mixed with the family, many who were visiting due to a festival and ate some pretty mean Indian food (vegetarian of course). I even got to share some whisky that one of the relatives brought with him. Nice.

Heading north next town was called Manali. The town is separated into two parts with old Manali up the hill filled with hotels, restaurants and tourists. The lower part is more the commercial side of things. Not too much to do here, went on a nice long walk through the wooded mountains but my aim was to move on out as soon as possible. Unfortunately due to heavy rain that had to wait as landslides cut the town off from going north, my intended direction. In the north the road splits either towards my initial destination Spiti valley to the east, or to the capital of Ladakh, Leh, to the north. Both sides became accessible at the same time but in one of those why not moments I decided to take the Leh route instead thinking Spiti valley could wait. Most tourists fly to Leh and after fifteen and a half hours in a jeep, over some pretty washed out bumpy roads, I understood why. Still character building stuff it was. Think I got about an hour's sleep and since we left at around 5pm I was very happy to finally arrive.

I really enjoyed Leh and the surrounding areas. I took off for 10 days on a motorbike (see my previous blog) which was the highlight but the town itself had enough to keep you interested. From the many good (but cheap) restaurants scattered throughout town to the Buddhist temples perched on the nearby mountain, Tibetan prayer wheels and the walking mall (now considered by me as normal). The people were friendly even with the influx of tourists and I even got to witness a Buddhist festival (low key but good). Although this was all very nice there was also the dark side to Leh. A sinister shadow that only came out at night. During the day there was an abundance of peaceful dogs that would be asleep around the town. Even in the heavily walked area of the mall they ignored and slept through all those boots plodding next to their noses. But at night, once the humans left the streets, these previously docile bundles of fur went into a full-on war mode. Of course during my travels I have experienced angry dogs from too close and annoying barking dogs while lying in bed. But this was different. The conflicts seemed to last all night. The barking would so very often transform into screaming yelps of pain as I assume one of the dogs would stray into enemy territory. The front line was quite close to my hotel but after arriving back from my motorbike trip one of the sides must of made gains as it had shifted further away. But be assured and not fooled, this bloody battle is still far from over, even if the world press continues to ignore it.

Overall I stayed in Ladakh for quite awhile and when leaving had to decide on my initial plan of Spiti valley (another very long 20hr taxi ride to what I thought would be to a similar landscape) or a 40 minute flight back to my rock garden city of Chandigarh. I must be getting old. Back in Chandigarh I bussed back and retrieved my backpack in Shimla then had to decide on where to go next. I had a flight in about 7 days so I headed for Delhi before getting straight on an overnight train to Bhopal where I would spend the morning at a mosque, the Taj-ul-Masajid. A beautiful mosque and friendly muslim students made the visit worthwhile. From here I would spend the next days heading north back to Delhi. The misses on the trip back were the tiny town of Sanchi with it's overpriced, although very old, Buddhist Stupas that historians or pilgrims might enjoy (I am neither) and Gwalior which had its moments with a long mountaintop fort but overall I didn't rate highly. These letdowns were offset by two very special places. The town of Orchha had a myriad of Buddhist religious buildings and forts. Exploring these were a joy with hidden corridors and stairs leading upwards to great views of the river and surrounding woods. In one of these enclosed passageways I had trouble with bats swooping around my by now crouched body, in another that ended abruptly falling distance up the side of a building's exterior, a dog sat singing (ok, really howling) at the sound of Buddhist ceremonial music coming from a distant temple. I really enjoyed this place and the lack of any real number of tourists added to the experience. The other special place I didn't have any trouble finding hoards of tourists. The city of Agra houses the Taj Mahal. This is my third visit here so I decided to bypass the visit inside and instead concentrate on the areas surrounding the complex. It is such a wonderful place to visit and fully deserves it's reputation. I found a great hostel where I could wake in the morning and open my curtains and welcome the new day with views of this great and beautiful structure. I always find it hard to say goodbye to famous landmarks, usually always attempting an additional glance back before forcing myself to leave, but new experiences awaited and it was time to leave India.

Hello Central Asia.

There are not many things that bring out a sense of freedom more than driving along a open highway on a motorbike. It's an unique feeling to crank open the throttle and experience that sudden rush of acceleration as the oncoming wind increasingly pushes you back. Adrenaline courses through your body as your senses are on edge for any upcoming dangers. There really is nothing comparable that gives you the ability to control, to exhilarate, to feel alive. So when I arrived in Leh, Northern India and found a tourist who owned a bike and then another who had rented a bike previously to explore the surrounding sights my mind started to wander. I hadn't been on a bike for, I reckon, at least 15 years. I don't have a motorbike licence. I am definitely not a great motorbike rider, average may even be pushing the boundaries. But I thought...I wanted to see many of the surrounds and being crammed in a jeep with other tourists usually meant delays and was expensive and restrictive. On the other hand there were the downsides. I had been told that the roads were of varying conditions, that there would be isolated stretches where in an accident if I got injured there could be an undesirable outcome, if I had a puncture or mechanical fault this could lead to long delays and expensive repairs, petrol stations were like snow leopards (rare and hard to find), and that some of the roads would be difficult to cross at certain times of the day as water runoff from the mountains above created fast flowing streams with uneven rocky riverbeds underneath. But in the final analysis I thought, hey if you worry about everything in life you would never be in Northern India, just take it easy and go with the flow. With that mind set I went about finding a bike. I ended up with a Royal Enfield Classic 350. With the luggage racks option I paid 1100 rupees a day, about US$15. Not bad. The other thing you need to get to visit these areas along the borders of Pakistan and China are permits that you photocopy and then give to police checkpoints along the way. You can get the original permits from travel agencies (or possibly the bike rental place) but unfortunately you need to be in a group of 2 or more to receive such permits. So, it was fortunate that Manuel and Fabian also wanted permits the same day I needed them. I never traveled with them and in fact never met them, and as far as the police were concerned I told them that one of the two had been sick and the other had stayed with him (nice considerate fella I guess). With all the groundwork done it was sayonara. And so off I went.

Derek, an Irishman who was the owner of the bike I mentioned above had decided to ride west towards the Pakistani border to a town he had previously been to a year before (most of the year he lives in Thailand but every year comes for a few months to India). The roads are some of the best in India and so I thought it would be a good place to start in honing my rusty skills. This part of my ride would be a 3 day journey and then I would continue on alone for another 7 days. Good plan. The first day (after the mandatory see a petrol station fill up) went west along the main road to Srinagar. The first thing you notice on the roads is the number of military bases scattered along the way. India has issues with both Pakistan and China and while the police make sure all permits are in place, military checkpoints closer to the borders take over and make sure tourists don't get too close to action areas where skirmishes have taken place in the past. The first day's ride was all about getting used to riding a bike again. In Leh, as we left, with all the cars, bikes and trucks buzzing around it was a survival thing. But once on the open road my focus shifted to gears, clutch and brakes and making these all automatic in my brain once again.

All of the riding on this trip took place over 3300m above sea level that removed many horsepower from the bike. The decrease in power was especially noticeable as you climbed a mountain pass of which I had 3 main ones, all above 5000m. The highest, Khardung La (4th day), being over 5600m. On 2 of these passes the roads towards the top became rocky, bumpy affairs. The pass called Chang La (Day 7, 5360m) was a killer with the front wheel of the bike jumping around and the steepness of the slope meaning momentum was a friend that needed to be looked after. Stalling would not have been good as slipping back down the gravel and rock road backwards could of ended disastrously. The upside of completing these passes was not only the relief at making it over the top with the views that came with it, but, after the easier rocky trail down the road would turn to back to asphalt ('black top' as the Indians say) and then the joy of being on a bike would come rushing back. On all of these passes the asphalt roads up to the pass on both sides were well maintained so the way down was so much fun. Left and right turns repeatedly flowing downhill. Bike leaning left, then right with a quick swing back to the left again. You get the drift. All the way down the mountains. On blind corners the mandatory horn blow occurred but, although necessary, the traffic was quite minimal. It was a lot of fast, great fun.

At the end of the day finding a place to stay was never difficult. From a very nice hotel with great views in Lamayuru to a luxury tent with bathroom attached at Pangong Lake. The people were always friendly and in the vast majority of places meals could either be bought or were included in the price. Sometimes (nearly always) a bit of bartering would be necessary to get the price down but between 600 rupees (US$8.50) and 1000rps (US$14) would always get the job done. My favorite places to stay were the homestays which as the name suggests are people's homes where they rent out rooms and provide local food as part of the price. One of the homestays, in Keshar, was so very traditional with the very large living room that was used for sleeping and the first floor toilet was a room with dirt floor with a hole in the middle of the room leading to what I thought would be called the ground floor shit room. It was in this homestay the lovely hosts continually fed me with tea and biscuits before providing a local Tibetan treat called momo's for dinner. Also in Nepal, momo's are dumplings, usually steamed but can be deep fried, that are generally filled with vegetables. Very tasty grub. In most places I stayed electricity was only turned on by the local government between 7pm and 11pm. Internet didn't exist. It usually made for earlier nights but after those long rides that really wasn't an issue.

During the days the scenery was outstanding. When not going over a pass the roads would usually follow a valley with mountains hugging you along the way, often accompanied by a river. Nearly always the river was the Indus, one of my favorites in the world, due to my memories associated with Pakistan. Sometimes the valley would spread out allowing cloud shadows to be seen over a multi-colored mountain range creating great photogenic moments (Hanley, day 9). Sunsets were special especially at the two lakes, Lakes Pangong and Moriri, which both sit at over 4,000m high. In the evening with the wind abating and the sun setting in the far corner of the lake, the doubling effect on reflections was brilliant at Lake Moriri. I went to a couple villages not often frequented by tourists. Tyaksi which sits only 10km from Pakistan is the last village on the road foreigners can visit along the Nubra valley. Most tourists will stop 10km before at Turtuk. I did get quizzical looks and was asked what I was doing there by an english speaking local. Perched high above the valley, it was a quaint village where they had channeled a stream to run through the village giving it a relaxing ambience with the sound of running water and a lot of shade from overhanging apricot trees. The other out of the way village I visited was Waris, again not far from Pakistan on a road that branched from the first. Going here was a split second decision as I wasn't sure how long the trip would take with mid-afternoon approaching. After a lot of rough roads and quite a lot of altitude gain I was glad to have made the effort. With Pakistani mountains in the distance, looking down on the village from the army checkpoint with the yellow fields of barley, ready to be harvested, contrasting with the green of adjacent fields is a fond memory I hope to keep. I liked the place so much I tried to stay the night but alas no hotels or guesthouses existed. Shame. There was a third remote village going north from Pangong lake towards China but I only made it part way up before the police caught up to me with a jeep and sent me back. Shame, should of rode faster.

Not everything was ideal on the trip though. Soft dust on some gravel tracks made going tough as your front wheel could catch and twist. Same with the stretches where sand drifts were blown onto the road (there were places with sand dunes here in the mountains). Slowing down and driving straight remedied the situation. While potholes were sometimes a concern you could usually tell if they may be around by the road condition. Not so easy were the dips they made in the road to accommodate water from the mountains above. Although made from concrete, quite often they would be hidden from view right up until the last moment and then it would take some heavy braking and changing down the gears to slow down in time. Sometimes slowing down in time was a bit late. There were no problems with speed when you were stuck behind one of the army trucks that were common in some areas. While the dust thrown up was always an issue (I always had to choose whether to put my baseball cap on to save my face from sunburn or save my lungs by putting the visor on the helmet down) the main issue here was them hogging the road when the asphalt was narrow or, if they were going uphill, the plumes of diesel that they extinguished from their exhaust. So many gulp fills of smoke this trip! Still I can't complain too much about the army. On my last day I woke knowing my fuel was very low (used my only two spare 5 liter containers the day before) and the nearest petrol station was over 120km's away. Being in a few house town (Keshar) meant I needed to go around 30km's through the mountains to the next town and hope I could sort something. The day before I had bought some petrol off a local and I hoped for a repeat. But...things got worse when not far from my start point a man came running down the hill to flag me down. When I found out that all he wanted was a lift all I could think of was that the additional weight would use more of my precious petrol. But being of the persuasive type he jumped on the back and away we went (first hitch on a bike for maybe 20 years, he was brave). We got to the town of Kiari and to my disappointment all that existed were army barracks. I gave my 'friend' the old heave ho explaining I could go no further without running out of juice. I then set about trying to find some petrol. After initial failures I came to an army supply depot and the guard after first saying no told me to wait. Over an hour later a jeep of a high ranking army officer (a lot of saluting going down) arrived and asked about my problem. Explaining he again told me to wait where I was. After another jeep arrived 3/4 of an hour later and took one of my petrol containers I knew everything should be sorted. 5 liters of petrol in my tank later I offered to pay but was politely refused. I like to think karma played a part in getting me petrol by giving that guy an initial ride. Of course, it was also the Indian army. Thanks! My last issue is ongoing. The last few days of riding involved some pretty rough and fast rippled tracks. For days after I finished I had no power between thumb and forefinger. Brushing your teeth with the wrong hand is tremendously difficult and not being able to cut your food with your knife is extremely frustrating. Even now my left hand is helping out doing things like squeezing the shampoo bottle. Oh well, it was worth it.

Oh yeah, last thing, the road signs by the road constructor (aptly named BRO) placed along the road. I don't know who thinks of them (probably a man) as a few are politically incorrect and sexist. What I would like to know is where are all he feminists in India? Where are the complaints? I am sure in the future the time will come when they will be removed but for now, rightly or wrongly, I perversely enjoyed them as they did offer some type of entertainment as to what may be written on the next one.