Kashmir pics

I’m back from my three days trekking in the Kashmir valley, back snug as a bug on my little houseboat. This time there’s no music, there’s only the baying of the minarets calling the faithful to prayer.

The three days was good fun. Unfortunately the weather didn’t really play along and it lashed down for days two and three, leaving me only the afternoon of day one for actual trekking. (Your correspondent doesn’t like getting wet). But our tent was sturdy and comfy. It kept us dry despite the driving rain and we had a little harem-type set up inside, with loads of cushions and blankets. There were three of us. Babloo, son of the houseboat owner, playboy of the Eastern World and general money-spinner, was the brains behind the operation. He was the guy I met in Delhi, who insisted I put his number in my phone just in case I made it up to Kashmir. His friend, the aptly named Omelette, also accompanied us as general handyman. I say aptly-named, as the quantity of charas he smokes seemed to mix him up a little. His eyes looked like someone coated them with varnish and his speech was a concoction of random interjections. Nice enough guy though, when he could scrape together cohesion.

The scenery was pretty awesome though. I was expecting to see similar sights to the Karakoram Highway, which isn’t too far away on the other side of the line of control. (BTW, while I’m writing this I have Babloo’s uncle chatting away to me… he speaks excellent English but he’s as barmy as the bathroom door and makes absolute zero sense. The family try to shoo him away from me, but he’s a happy man and I’ve taken to reciprocating his nonsense with some of my own and generally giggling with him… ok, back to the scenery). But it was quite different here. First of all, we were able to drive quite high (dunno how high) and our lift dropped us off only twenty minutes away from our campsite. You have rolling hilltops in the shadow of larger, jagged, snowcapped mountains. This time of year, the snow is melting and the valleys below (one of which we were camped in) have roaring rivers, fed by innumerable streams and cascades coming down from the glaciers and peaks. Fir trees line the valleys sides, soaring up to the tree line beyond which are high-level grassy fields awaiting their release from a snowy burden.

The first evening was spent chowing down on some good chicken and aloo gobi, followed by several bottles of whiskey in preparation for the next days walk. Some of Babloo’s friends were camped beside us with another tourist, a French guy, and we all sat around the fire chatting and singing. A supposed bear sighting freaked the shit out of the Kashmiri guys and they were too scared to go back to their own (fireless) camp. Only upon my discovery of a stray dog while pissing could they be coerced into departure.

The second day was spent sitting in the (admittedly very comfortable and warm) tent, while the heavens opened outside. I read the first few chapters of Midnights Children, a book by the Kashmiri-born Salmon Rushdie set (by absolute chance timing) in around Dal Lake where I am staying. The guys caught a few trout which we chomped down for dinner, along with some mutton and leftovers from the day before.

Having not been economic with the previous nights fuel supplies, we were left high and dry and eventually fell asleep without the aid of booze. When I woke up this morning, it was still raining so we decided to use a short break in the downpour to pack up camp and head home, back to H.B. Raja’s Palace, my current aquatic abode.

I’ve become accustomed here to introducing myself to people as Khana, which is the Kashmiri word for food. It helps people easily memorise how to imitate an anglosized word and it’s close enough to my actual name to keep me in my comfort zone. (Considering ‘Conard’ in French means asshole, it ain’t too bad!).

The family I’m staying with here are “luvly” altogether. Babloo’s sister’s name is Frieda and chats away to her hearts content. His brother, Tariq, has the biggest smile this side of the Indus and is without doubt the Kashmiri equivalent of Mrs. Doyle; he plies with me more tea than my kidneys can handle.

Oh dear Jesus Christ… you’ll have to excuse me! I simply can’t believe that I’ve written this long a post without mentioning the military here. From what I can gather, every ten metres squared has it’s own army-man, and I mean not only in the city, but in the country as well. I think I saw twelve men today guarding a hayfield no bigger than my back garden at home…(although not quite as beautiful ;-). Eh, OK, so it’s not quite that bad, that was a liberal sprinkling of hyperbola… but there are a lot of guns being pointed around up here!

Kashmir was a princely state under the British Raj. It enjoyed special privileges which other Indian states didn’t at the time. From what I gather, the royalty of Kashmir kept full control of land, but paid tithes to the British for that achievement. Anyway, somewhere along the line (click here for details of that line), Kashmir somehow found itself in a strategically quite important geographic position when it came to Partition, and drawing a line between an India and a Pakistan ‘to-be’. Both sides grabbed for it and haven’t let go since. (Actually, China jumped in on the show as well according to certain stories). The border between Pakistan administered Kashmir and India administered Kashmir, the infamous Line of Control, must be one of the worlds most disputed boundaries (although I admit, now I’m just musing… maybe I should click on that link myself ;-). Anyhow, long-story short, when I see a man standing in a field beside a road, up to his ankles in rice paddies, with a gun slung over his shoulder, looking immensely bored, then I think that surely this cannot be productive use of a mans time. I wonder to myself about the families who have been honored because their sons have to gone to the military… and stood in fields getting sunburned!

Right, that’s enough now… I’m getting sleepy and I have to get up at 4am (weather permitting) to go to a floating vegetable market (or some such malarkey). I booked a flight (yes… that’s right, you heard me correct… I booked a flight) from Srinagar to Delhi for Wednesday. I know that its cheating on the whole overland thing, but then again, so was flying home for Christmas so let’s not kid ourselves on this one. I’m invited to a wedding in Delhi, but I want to ensure that I spend maximum time in Kashmir (and minimum time on a crappy bus), so on Wednesday, I’m arriving in at 1pm and the wedding starts at 8pm.

I really honestly believe that when you go to bed tonight, you will have the sweetest dreams and wake up in the morning feeling better than you ever have. I wish this for you… and all the happiness that life can bring.

-The Kashmiri Way

Ur Correspondent on the Subcontinent (UCotS)

C

Post-Ed: Back in Delhi now... please marvel at Kashmir pics below ;-)