Floating on a cloud

I wish I could transfer to you some kind of appreciation of how beautiful it is here. I’m in a place called Srinagar, it’s the capital city of Indian Kashmir. I’m sitting on the back terrace of a houseboat called “Raja’s Palace”. Behind me, the terrace is decorated with carved walnut wood and the curtains are blowing gently in a light afternoon breeze that kisses your skin. To my fore, I have the vista of Dal Lake and its houseboats, with the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas stretching out into the distance beyond that. I’m listening to George Benson and sipping on cardamom and ginger tea. In an attempt to overcome the limits of sensory transmission, a small pic has been included below, but believe me, it just don’t do it justice.


Getting here however, was not quite as tranquil an experience: From Dharmshala, I jumped on an eight hour local bus to Jammu on Wednesday morning. Jammu was hot and unpleasant. My usual knack of good timing had my departure for Kashmir coincide with elections here, and for those of you who know a little about Kashmir, you’ll recognize that election time here is not considered a time of guaranteed stability. There was a curfew in place in the Kashmir valley, so all buses had stopped running from Jammu. Luckily I managed to squeeze into a jeep with eight other people, all heading for Srinagar, and they told me it would take 12 hours. The local shepherds however, had other plans for me.

The shepherd community sought to take advantage of the election and the curfew, and in the assumption that not many people would be traveling into the valley on that count, they had decided that they would use that night to monopolise the infrastructure to move all their livestock to higher ground. When I say all their livestock, I mean at least two or three hundred herds of cattle, goats, sheep and horses. The 3km long tunnel, which links the valley with the rest of Kashmir, was therefore closed to traffic with this mass migration of animals making an assortment of general farm noises (the pig, being a notable exception).

Having left Jammu at 8pm, we arrived at the tail-end of the tunnel at 3am the next morning. The tunnel was packed with fluffy sheep and other such livestock though, so we had to sleep in the jeep until 11am the next day. I eventually arrived into Srinagar at 3pm that afternoon, a good thirty hours after I had left Dharmshala, and absolutely fookin’ knackerooed.

But it was all worth it, this had got to one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. It would be unbelievably romantic place but unfortunately, I’m here on my tod. However, I do I know the owners nephew from Delhi, and he’s taking me around, showing me the sights with his friends, so all is good. I’m taking it easy today, but have arranged to go trekking with him tomorrow for three days. Having been in Pakistani Kashmir six months ago, I know that I won’t be disappointed by the mountains here.

The Kashmiri’s have a bad reputation in India. They’re Muslim and separatist, neither quality endearing them to the general Indian public. The Kashmiri region acts as a stage for ever-deteriorating Indo-Pakistani relations. The people here have a reputation for doing ‘business’ and not always in a fair manner. However, I’ve been lucky here so far. I’ve fallen into the bosom of a local family in whose house boat I live. They live just behind me and all speak good English. I’m hanging around with the guys in the family; I lent the daughter some face moisturizer for her sunburn and had dinner with the father last night, where we came pretty close to finding the meaning of life. It’s very pleasant altogether.

Also, the people in Kashmir are beautiful… I mean, really, really beautiful… both the guys and the girls. They are fair (in a dark way ;-), with brown or black hair and they all have fantastic faces with deep blue eyes. The guys have high cheekbones combined with quasi middle-eastern features and the girls have an elegant rotundity to their faces. I guess it’s something about where they’re located. In the northwest of the subcontinent, the gene pool has North Asian, Middle Eastern and Eastern European elements to it.

I’m listening to John Coltrane now. I have to get off this jazz buzz, it doesn’t make for very amusing writing. I promise I’ll listen to Abba next time.

Signing off for your correspondent on the Indian side of the LOC (line of control – the de facto, albeit disputed, border between Pakistani and Indian Kashmir)