The women and children sit apart from the men in organised rows - think long tables with white tabelcloths and chairs and then take away the long tables with white tablecloths and chairs and there you have it. Charles took this beautiful shot from the house where we were treated as honoured guests at a 'hills' wedding in Chamba. Trekked for under an hour to get here. We were given loads of food which we were obliged to eat and I thought I'd be brave and chomp on a green chilli which blew my head off.
Friday 25 September 2009
10 Not Out - Dalhouise, Khajjar, Chamba
Hello all,
Its been a while since we have written and a lot has happened since then. So settle in, this might be a long one.
Its about 11:30am here and I am sitting on a balcony looking out over the Chamba valley, across an alpine river and up along mountain peaks to the horizon. There is a light breeze and the weather is pleasant compared to the rest of India, which is, from what we have been told, unbearably hot. Today has been the first ‘free’ day since we arrived, so I am nice and relaxed except for the wasp patrolling from time to time.
When we last wrote, I think we were about to leave Dharamasala and my clothes were pink. That night we ate at a Tibetan restaurant. I ordered ‘momos’, which are steamed dumpling-like things. They are a lot like Gyozas, in fact I’m not sure what the difference between gyozas and momos are. Either way, they are delicious and come in huge servings.
At eight the next morning, we took the local bus to Dalhousie, north and west of Dharamasala, very close to the border with Kashmir. Technically, Dalhousie is not that far from Dharamasala, but between the narrow mountain passes , steaming trucks coming the other way and the innumerable bus-stops, it took us 7 hours to reach our destination. On this trip we sat towards the front of the bus. Kate and I, for most of the trip, shared a seat for three people (like one of the STA bus seats at home). Kate sat near the window, and I sat near the aisle. For good portions of the trip, however, we would squish over and share the seat with someone else. Three-people seats are not made for three people. Once three people are one the seat, so begins a silent and unacknowledged war for bottom-space. Being on the aisle, in this journey I was on the front line. We shared the seat with a couple of well-proportioned women at a number of points on the journey. At first there is the squish and wiggle, and being polite westerners, I probably gave up too much space too early. But every bump or favorable corner is opportunity to reinforce your position or acquire more territory. By the end of our bus-journey, I had realized this was not a game of niceties, squish or be squished. In all this was a long and exhausting journey. I hadn’t minded the previous bus, break-downs and landslides kept us entertained. This bus journey was just cramped and hot.
Dalhousie is a small town high in the mountains, about 2400m above sea level. Like many of the places in the hills, it hosts spectacular views and is a popular tourist destination for locals. After the worst cheese sandwich of my life (at the hotel) we walked around Dalhousie. First, we checked out a local Tibetan market, and I bought four shirts for the princely sum of $10 to replace the pink ones. Actually, one of the shirts is okay, its pink, but the green stripes on it make it appear as though it was meant to be pink. I am keeping that one, the rest are gone to me.
We visited two churches, a protestant one and a spooky catholic church further up the road. When we visited the catholic church it was getting to late afternoon and the clouds were thick and moving quickly through the streets. The church rises out of the promenade on a hill. The building is over a century old and made of sandstone that has darkened and decayed over time. It is enveloped by dense woods shilloutted against the fog. We strolled around the church grounds, past some ducks and hens and a very well manicured garden. We met the rector of the church pacing up and down a path near some red and yellow flowers. He was a tall, but elderly man with a paunch and glasses that made his already goggly eyes bulge further. ‘I have to be out here every morning from 4am and every afternoon from 5pm to ward off the monkeys’. He pointed us over to a gun resting aganst a pillar. ‘You need to fire it more than once to scare them off’ he said. He then directed us to his painted corrugated iron roof. ‘I keep it well-maintained to provoke those layabouts down there [the locals] into doing something. Look at them, they can’t even be bothered to paint their roof’.
After leaving the church, we walked back down the promenade towards the Tibetan market. We passed some Tibetan rock paintings (quite recent) and we tried to explain to Shakti the difference between graffiti and public art.
We had dinner at a restaurant called ‘Napoli’, which did serve some pizzas and Italian food. I had the mixed vegetables, but we all shared food. The food is still fantastic. Even the simplest of dishes are tasty. I am getting a bit of a reputation as the person cleaning up what other people can’t finish. You get surprisingly large servings of food. We are eating well.
Our hotel in dalhouise was pretty average. We were beginning our trek early the next day and ordered our breakfast the night before to ensure it was ready at eight. They forgot mine, so I ate what everybody else couldn’t.
We left by car to the ridge (around 2400m) where we would begin our trek. We met our guide, Manu, who is a quiet guy with long, black hair and a beard. We found out later he is also an excellent cook and has trekked for years to some of the most remote areas of Northern India.
The first 3km of the trek was flat and on a wide road. For the next 5km it was steep downhill through a black bear sanctuary, although apparently poachers have significantly lowered the probability of ever encountering one. We descended past a village nestled into the side of the mountain and to the river in the bottom of the valley. These villages practice ‘step’ agriculture, where a ‘step’ is cut into the mountain and crops are grown on the flat part. They grow corn and rice, and herd goats and buffalo. We passed through much of the village, exchanging ‘namaste’’s (hello) as we did. At the bottom of the valley, beside the river, we stopped for a lunch of fried rice. Kate managed to fall in and drenched her shoes, socks and pants. She wasn’t hurt, and we had a spare pair of socks.
The 3km walk the other side of the mountain was hard. It was getting very hot and humid and the ascent required a number of pauses along the way to catch our breath and take on some water.
At around 3pm, and after a short, flat walk along the road from the ridge of the mountain, we entered Khajjar – our stop for the night. Khajjar calls itself mini-switzerland. There is a sign in town pointing north-west that says 6194km to Switzerland. Khajjar is a very small – little more than a communal area and some hotels. In the middle, there is a wide grassy area populated by tourists, people selling drinks and horse-rides, cows, goats and sheep. We have no idea who owns the cows. However, there are apparently bovine retirement villages and orphanages from which the residents roam freely in the day. This patch of grass is the centre of town and a dot on the vast, rising and falling pine forests.
Kate and I thought we would spend a quiet afternoon sitting on the grass, watching the afternoon pass by. No such thing in India. Within 5 minutes we had been offered two horse-riding tours, some drinks, a song, and were having numerous photos with some friendly real-estate agents from Delhi. We got talking with the guys for quite a while, mostly about cricket (“Cricket is our religion and Sachin Tendulkar is our god”, “Ricky Ponting, we love ricky ponting”), but also about the recent assaults of Indian students in Australia. It is big news here, and seems to have been a real blight on perceptions of Australia. Anyway, we had good fun and hopefully changed some opinions.
There is an India-Pakistan match coming up on September 26th – the day we are in Amritsar. Everyone is gearing up for it. The rivalry between India and Pakistan is venomous. Many of the people we have spoken to share an intense disdain for Pakistan and a similarly intense nationalism. Many can recite the key battles in previous wars.
I’ll take a bit of a tangent, but so much of modern India is linked to the 1947 partition. Its not just the india-Pakistan rivalry. I am reading a book at the moment by William Dalrymple called “The City of Djinns: A year in Delhi”. Before 1947, Delhi was a fairly run-down, but still vibrant capital city, home to a mix of Sikhs, Muslims and Hindus. In 1947, however, the majority non-Muslims attacked and pushed out the Moselms of Delhi and they were forced to flee to Pakistan. In Pakistan, the Sikhs and Hindus of the Punjab region (of Pakistan, there is one in India and one in Pakistan) were attacked by the Muslims and many fled to Delhi. In many cases, people effectively traded houses. People fled with from Pakistan with little more than what they could carry, and took up residence in a home where people had been forced to flee to Pakistan with little more than they could carry. The great paradox of Delhi is, according to this author, that it is one of the oldest capitals in history, yet its inhabitants are relatively new.
Anyway, I am looking forwards to watching this cricket game.
The hotel in Khajjar was comparatively nice. It had a table-tennis and billiard table. I am undefeated in my three most recent international table-tennis tournaments. Dad will remember well the humiliation of Grajagan, and Shakti will remember the humiliation of Khajjar. I am also undefeated in two billiards outings.
The next morning we trekked from Khajjar to Chamba. Although it was a shorter distance, the heat made it feel much longer than the previous day’s walking. Again we walked through corn fields and rural villages. We walked through one village where a throng of schoolchildren must have heard us coming. They surrounded us, shaking our hand saying ‘good afternoon, good afternoon!”. Two dogs followed us all the way from Khajjar to Chamba as we discussed religion, the Indian political system and Pakistan. Shakti is the last child of three, so we also got onto discussing how organized the last child seems to be (Anna!), I theorized that it may be because the rules for the last child are a little more lax, so they make their own rules, impose their own order on situations? I don’t know, just a theory. Perhaps the rules for Anna weren’t more lax, I don’t know. I mean no offence by any of those ramblings.
We also got talking about fighting. Shaki could not believe that I had never been in a fight, and described how he has a reputation for fighting, but hadn’t been in one for four years. In india (or Rajastan perhaps) fighting isn’t what we might imagine it to be. Fighting begins with an open handed slap, and then usually defuses before more drastic measures are taken. If it does not end with the slap, punches are employed, and its gloves off from there.
We arrived in Chamba at around 1:30. Much of Himachal Pradesh was ruled form Chamba and the centerpiece of the town is the king’s palace – decked out in bright green. Chamba sits at the bottom of the Chamba valley, on the banks of the Ravi river, the most rapid we have seen yet. We didn’t spend long in Chamba, but it had a nice vibe. We stopped and watched a local cricket game for 15 minutes or so before getting on a local bus and riding for an hour to the base of the ‘hill’ we are staying on. All in the party (except Manu) were exhausted. It was getting late in the afternoon, but we had another km uphill to do. We trudged up to the place we are staying –orchard hut – to be greeted with some decked out chairs, cold water (its clean, from a spring here) , some chai, a fez-like hat and another red dot.
As a piece of trivia, the red dot in the middle of the forehead is a traditional welcome. It just means, welcome to our country, or welcome to our territory, or welcome home. Apparently after a long day at work, the person at home will greet their spouse with one of these red dots. There are other reasons why some people wear them, like as a symbol of marriage, but the main purpose we are aware of is as a welcome.
This place we are staying is amazing. From our balcony we look out over the mountains and the river. The garden is manicured, there is no rubbish, the rooms are simple, but cleaned and maintained, it is very quiet, the food is all home-cooked and unlike anything I have tasted. If we were satying any longer than three nights, I would be a balloon. The air is clean and I am no longer pulling balls of black snot out of my nose.
I went for an early morning swim before a breakfast of ‘pooris’, thin pieces of deep-fried Indian bread that are extremely addictive, bananas, yoghurt and chai.
Normally today there is an orientation walk to the village further up the hill, but, today, the cook at the place we were staying was getting married, so we were invited to come up and join in the lunch festivities. We walked up the hill, again past cornfields and extraordinary views to the village-house at the top of the mountain. Mostly it was a mutual staring competition, particularly with the kids who stand two feet in front of you and gaze. We felt a little like we were intruding, but the hospitality was great. For lunch we sat on the ground and at rice with a local kidney bean based dish (it really is amazing, it takes 4 solid hours of attention to cook and you can’t get it anywhere else), some dahl and two sweet-potato-based dishes, one lemon, one much sweeter. One guy there was very very drunk (it happens at weddings everywhere!).
It was an arranged marriage, and we briefly met the bride and groom. The groom was polite and happy, wearing a suit under a vest studded with tinsel and adorned with 10 rupee notes. It was a sparkling money vest and we had seen them on sale before in Mandi. The bride looked very young. I’m not sure how old, but probably no older than 16 and possible younger. She was short and small and covered in a red, hooded outfit with gold lining and sequins all over it. From under the hood, she wore a gold ring through her nose, half the size of her face. She looked terrified.
We swam again after descending the hill (but not after having a eye-off with some massive buffalo coming up the track). Kate and I relaxed for the afternoon and watched the sunset from our balcony.
Dinner once again was superb, we had a capsicum and paneer (cottage cheese) dish, and many others that I can remember now. Its all haze of culinary ecstasy. Breakfast lunch or dinner.
After dinner we watched our first bollywood movie – ‘lagan’ – a story about how a group of villagers in Rajastan stave off oppressive British taxation by winning a cricket game against all the odds. There is so much more to say about this, but I am completely out of writing stamina and am going for a last swim.
Briefly, today we have been relaxing. We had breakfast, then read in bed for a while, watched a cooking demonstration, had lunch and I have been writing the bulk of this post since then. The last three days have been very relaxing, very quiet, beautiful and serene. Tomorrow we embark for Amritsar and from here on in, it’s the bustle of India’s big cities. I wonder how much we will miss this.
I hope you are all well. Thankyou everyone for sending us messages and photos, we love hearing from you.
Love Kate and Charles.
Its been a while since we have written and a lot has happened since then. So settle in, this might be a long one.
Its about 11:30am here and I am sitting on a balcony looking out over the Chamba valley, across an alpine river and up along mountain peaks to the horizon. There is a light breeze and the weather is pleasant compared to the rest of India, which is, from what we have been told, unbearably hot. Today has been the first ‘free’ day since we arrived, so I am nice and relaxed except for the wasp patrolling from time to time.
When we last wrote, I think we were about to leave Dharamasala and my clothes were pink. That night we ate at a Tibetan restaurant. I ordered ‘momos’, which are steamed dumpling-like things. They are a lot like Gyozas, in fact I’m not sure what the difference between gyozas and momos are. Either way, they are delicious and come in huge servings.
At eight the next morning, we took the local bus to Dalhousie, north and west of Dharamasala, very close to the border with Kashmir. Technically, Dalhousie is not that far from Dharamasala, but between the narrow mountain passes , steaming trucks coming the other way and the innumerable bus-stops, it took us 7 hours to reach our destination. On this trip we sat towards the front of the bus. Kate and I, for most of the trip, shared a seat for three people (like one of the STA bus seats at home). Kate sat near the window, and I sat near the aisle. For good portions of the trip, however, we would squish over and share the seat with someone else. Three-people seats are not made for three people. Once three people are one the seat, so begins a silent and unacknowledged war for bottom-space. Being on the aisle, in this journey I was on the front line. We shared the seat with a couple of well-proportioned women at a number of points on the journey. At first there is the squish and wiggle, and being polite westerners, I probably gave up too much space too early. But every bump or favorable corner is opportunity to reinforce your position or acquire more territory. By the end of our bus-journey, I had realized this was not a game of niceties, squish or be squished. In all this was a long and exhausting journey. I hadn’t minded the previous bus, break-downs and landslides kept us entertained. This bus journey was just cramped and hot.
Dalhousie is a small town high in the mountains, about 2400m above sea level. Like many of the places in the hills, it hosts spectacular views and is a popular tourist destination for locals. After the worst cheese sandwich of my life (at the hotel) we walked around Dalhousie. First, we checked out a local Tibetan market, and I bought four shirts for the princely sum of $10 to replace the pink ones. Actually, one of the shirts is okay, its pink, but the green stripes on it make it appear as though it was meant to be pink. I am keeping that one, the rest are gone to me.
We visited two churches, a protestant one and a spooky catholic church further up the road. When we visited the catholic church it was getting to late afternoon and the clouds were thick and moving quickly through the streets. The church rises out of the promenade on a hill. The building is over a century old and made of sandstone that has darkened and decayed over time. It is enveloped by dense woods shilloutted against the fog. We strolled around the church grounds, past some ducks and hens and a very well manicured garden. We met the rector of the church pacing up and down a path near some red and yellow flowers. He was a tall, but elderly man with a paunch and glasses that made his already goggly eyes bulge further. ‘I have to be out here every morning from 4am and every afternoon from 5pm to ward off the monkeys’. He pointed us over to a gun resting aganst a pillar. ‘You need to fire it more than once to scare them off’ he said. He then directed us to his painted corrugated iron roof. ‘I keep it well-maintained to provoke those layabouts down there [the locals] into doing something. Look at them, they can’t even be bothered to paint their roof’.
After leaving the church, we walked back down the promenade towards the Tibetan market. We passed some Tibetan rock paintings (quite recent) and we tried to explain to Shakti the difference between graffiti and public art.
We had dinner at a restaurant called ‘Napoli’, which did serve some pizzas and Italian food. I had the mixed vegetables, but we all shared food. The food is still fantastic. Even the simplest of dishes are tasty. I am getting a bit of a reputation as the person cleaning up what other people can’t finish. You get surprisingly large servings of food. We are eating well.
Our hotel in dalhouise was pretty average. We were beginning our trek early the next day and ordered our breakfast the night before to ensure it was ready at eight. They forgot mine, so I ate what everybody else couldn’t.
We left by car to the ridge (around 2400m) where we would begin our trek. We met our guide, Manu, who is a quiet guy with long, black hair and a beard. We found out later he is also an excellent cook and has trekked for years to some of the most remote areas of Northern India.
The first 3km of the trek was flat and on a wide road. For the next 5km it was steep downhill through a black bear sanctuary, although apparently poachers have significantly lowered the probability of ever encountering one. We descended past a village nestled into the side of the mountain and to the river in the bottom of the valley. These villages practice ‘step’ agriculture, where a ‘step’ is cut into the mountain and crops are grown on the flat part. They grow corn and rice, and herd goats and buffalo. We passed through much of the village, exchanging ‘namaste’’s (hello) as we did. At the bottom of the valley, beside the river, we stopped for a lunch of fried rice. Kate managed to fall in and drenched her shoes, socks and pants. She wasn’t hurt, and we had a spare pair of socks.
The 3km walk the other side of the mountain was hard. It was getting very hot and humid and the ascent required a number of pauses along the way to catch our breath and take on some water.
At around 3pm, and after a short, flat walk along the road from the ridge of the mountain, we entered Khajjar – our stop for the night. Khajjar calls itself mini-switzerland. There is a sign in town pointing north-west that says 6194km to Switzerland. Khajjar is a very small – little more than a communal area and some hotels. In the middle, there is a wide grassy area populated by tourists, people selling drinks and horse-rides, cows, goats and sheep. We have no idea who owns the cows. However, there are apparently bovine retirement villages and orphanages from which the residents roam freely in the day. This patch of grass is the centre of town and a dot on the vast, rising and falling pine forests.
Kate and I thought we would spend a quiet afternoon sitting on the grass, watching the afternoon pass by. No such thing in India. Within 5 minutes we had been offered two horse-riding tours, some drinks, a song, and were having numerous photos with some friendly real-estate agents from Delhi. We got talking with the guys for quite a while, mostly about cricket (“Cricket is our religion and Sachin Tendulkar is our god”, “Ricky Ponting, we love ricky ponting”), but also about the recent assaults of Indian students in Australia. It is big news here, and seems to have been a real blight on perceptions of Australia. Anyway, we had good fun and hopefully changed some opinions.
There is an India-Pakistan match coming up on September 26th – the day we are in Amritsar. Everyone is gearing up for it. The rivalry between India and Pakistan is venomous. Many of the people we have spoken to share an intense disdain for Pakistan and a similarly intense nationalism. Many can recite the key battles in previous wars.
I’ll take a bit of a tangent, but so much of modern India is linked to the 1947 partition. Its not just the india-Pakistan rivalry. I am reading a book at the moment by William Dalrymple called “The City of Djinns: A year in Delhi”. Before 1947, Delhi was a fairly run-down, but still vibrant capital city, home to a mix of Sikhs, Muslims and Hindus. In 1947, however, the majority non-Muslims attacked and pushed out the Moselms of Delhi and they were forced to flee to Pakistan. In Pakistan, the Sikhs and Hindus of the Punjab region (of Pakistan, there is one in India and one in Pakistan) were attacked by the Muslims and many fled to Delhi. In many cases, people effectively traded houses. People fled with from Pakistan with little more than what they could carry, and took up residence in a home where people had been forced to flee to Pakistan with little more than they could carry. The great paradox of Delhi is, according to this author, that it is one of the oldest capitals in history, yet its inhabitants are relatively new.
Anyway, I am looking forwards to watching this cricket game.
The hotel in Khajjar was comparatively nice. It had a table-tennis and billiard table. I am undefeated in my three most recent international table-tennis tournaments. Dad will remember well the humiliation of Grajagan, and Shakti will remember the humiliation of Khajjar. I am also undefeated in two billiards outings.
The next morning we trekked from Khajjar to Chamba. Although it was a shorter distance, the heat made it feel much longer than the previous day’s walking. Again we walked through corn fields and rural villages. We walked through one village where a throng of schoolchildren must have heard us coming. They surrounded us, shaking our hand saying ‘good afternoon, good afternoon!”. Two dogs followed us all the way from Khajjar to Chamba as we discussed religion, the Indian political system and Pakistan. Shakti is the last child of three, so we also got onto discussing how organized the last child seems to be (Anna!), I theorized that it may be because the rules for the last child are a little more lax, so they make their own rules, impose their own order on situations? I don’t know, just a theory. Perhaps the rules for Anna weren’t more lax, I don’t know. I mean no offence by any of those ramblings.
We also got talking about fighting. Shaki could not believe that I had never been in a fight, and described how he has a reputation for fighting, but hadn’t been in one for four years. In india (or Rajastan perhaps) fighting isn’t what we might imagine it to be. Fighting begins with an open handed slap, and then usually defuses before more drastic measures are taken. If it does not end with the slap, punches are employed, and its gloves off from there.
We arrived in Chamba at around 1:30. Much of Himachal Pradesh was ruled form Chamba and the centerpiece of the town is the king’s palace – decked out in bright green. Chamba sits at the bottom of the Chamba valley, on the banks of the Ravi river, the most rapid we have seen yet. We didn’t spend long in Chamba, but it had a nice vibe. We stopped and watched a local cricket game for 15 minutes or so before getting on a local bus and riding for an hour to the base of the ‘hill’ we are staying on. All in the party (except Manu) were exhausted. It was getting late in the afternoon, but we had another km uphill to do. We trudged up to the place we are staying –orchard hut – to be greeted with some decked out chairs, cold water (its clean, from a spring here) , some chai, a fez-like hat and another red dot.
As a piece of trivia, the red dot in the middle of the forehead is a traditional welcome. It just means, welcome to our country, or welcome to our territory, or welcome home. Apparently after a long day at work, the person at home will greet their spouse with one of these red dots. There are other reasons why some people wear them, like as a symbol of marriage, but the main purpose we are aware of is as a welcome.
This place we are staying is amazing. From our balcony we look out over the mountains and the river. The garden is manicured, there is no rubbish, the rooms are simple, but cleaned and maintained, it is very quiet, the food is all home-cooked and unlike anything I have tasted. If we were satying any longer than three nights, I would be a balloon. The air is clean and I am no longer pulling balls of black snot out of my nose.
I went for an early morning swim before a breakfast of ‘pooris’, thin pieces of deep-fried Indian bread that are extremely addictive, bananas, yoghurt and chai.
Normally today there is an orientation walk to the village further up the hill, but, today, the cook at the place we were staying was getting married, so we were invited to come up and join in the lunch festivities. We walked up the hill, again past cornfields and extraordinary views to the village-house at the top of the mountain. Mostly it was a mutual staring competition, particularly with the kids who stand two feet in front of you and gaze. We felt a little like we were intruding, but the hospitality was great. For lunch we sat on the ground and at rice with a local kidney bean based dish (it really is amazing, it takes 4 solid hours of attention to cook and you can’t get it anywhere else), some dahl and two sweet-potato-based dishes, one lemon, one much sweeter. One guy there was very very drunk (it happens at weddings everywhere!).
It was an arranged marriage, and we briefly met the bride and groom. The groom was polite and happy, wearing a suit under a vest studded with tinsel and adorned with 10 rupee notes. It was a sparkling money vest and we had seen them on sale before in Mandi. The bride looked very young. I’m not sure how old, but probably no older than 16 and possible younger. She was short and small and covered in a red, hooded outfit with gold lining and sequins all over it. From under the hood, she wore a gold ring through her nose, half the size of her face. She looked terrified.
We swam again after descending the hill (but not after having a eye-off with some massive buffalo coming up the track). Kate and I relaxed for the afternoon and watched the sunset from our balcony.
Dinner once again was superb, we had a capsicum and paneer (cottage cheese) dish, and many others that I can remember now. Its all haze of culinary ecstasy. Breakfast lunch or dinner.
After dinner we watched our first bollywood movie – ‘lagan’ – a story about how a group of villagers in Rajastan stave off oppressive British taxation by winning a cricket game against all the odds. There is so much more to say about this, but I am completely out of writing stamina and am going for a last swim.
Briefly, today we have been relaxing. We had breakfast, then read in bed for a while, watched a cooking demonstration, had lunch and I have been writing the bulk of this post since then. The last three days have been very relaxing, very quiet, beautiful and serene. Tomorrow we embark for Amritsar and from here on in, it’s the bustle of India’s big cities. I wonder how much we will miss this.
I hope you are all well. Thankyou everyone for sending us messages and photos, we love hearing from you.
Love Kate and Charles.
Sunday 20 September 2009
A little bit more
In addition to the last post:
We leave Dharamasla tomorrow morning on a public bus for Dalhouise - our northernmost point.
The two folling days are spent trekking and then we have three nights in Chamba. There won;t be much available when we are trekking and I'm not sure what's available in Chamba. So if we don't post in a few days, that is why.
I hope everything is well at home.
Speak to you soon.
We leave Dharamasla tomorrow morning on a public bus for Dalhouise - our northernmost point.
The two folling days are spent trekking and then we have three nights in Chamba. There won;t be much available when we are trekking and I'm not sure what's available in Chamba. So if we don't post in a few days, that is why.
I hope everything is well at home.
Speak to you soon.
7 Not Out - Dharamasala
Hi All,
Its been a week. We are still in Dharamasala, which, if I didn't mention it, is a town in the Himalayas filled with Israelis, Tibetans, and Marajuana. I can see clouds passing down the middle of the street. A guy in a gorrilla suit just arrived at the door of the internet cafe. No Idea.
We are staying about 2km further up the hills in a place called Bhasu, which is packed with 'German Bakeries' that sell Indian and Israeli food. I had an Israeli breakfast this morning of eggs, cucumber salad and 'pita bread ' (which is not pita bread, rather a white bread roll), it was quite nice.
Anyway, I think I finished the last post just after we had arrived in Dharamasala. First thing the next morning, I put my laundry in at the hotel. We then took a walk along the mountainside to the waterfall (I think Kate is posting photos on the other computer, so you can check out those). Shakti and I decided to push on further up the mountain while Kate and Kristine (the other lady on out tour) hung out further down. The water was clear and cold and the views are impressive. I didn't get quite to the top of this particualr 'hill' (Indians seem to call mountains 'hills', but they are mountains) but we are going out again this afternoon to try and conquer the peak. By the time I was drenched in sweat. Even though the walk is not super-hard, doing it at altitude really gives you a workout.
After the walk we took a taxi down to an insitute where Tibetan refugees do handicrafts of various kinds. Everyone in the car was very polite, but I knew I smelt discraceful, even for here. The institute was a quiet place replete with the colourful monestaries and prayer flags common to Bhuddism. I do not understand a lot about Bhuddism, although I did notice that much of the iconography is a mix of Chinese and (Indian) Hinduism. There are textbook chinese dragons alongside androdgenous Hindu-like dieties. I guess it makes sense, Tibet sits right between the two.
In the afternoon we visited the house of the Dalai Lama and the temple around there. There was a 'service' (I'm not sure what you call them) going on and the place was packed. There has been some controversy here lately as the Dalai Lama took a trip to Ahandra Pradesh (I think) and the Chinese did not want him to. People were handing out food from big metal drums. A lady from Delhi wanted a photo with Kate while we were waiting for it all to calm down. In Shimla a funny old man (who was, as he claimed, a world class, comedian, musician, author and journalist) came up to me and asked if Kate was the tallest woman in India.
We went back to the hotel and I asked to collect my laundry. It was pink. Bright, vibrant pink. Socks, T-shirts, the lot. I'm just not that into thai-dying so, in my best gruff tone I advised the reception man that this was not acceptable. He said he would take them to the dry-cleaner. I am supposed to have them back this afternoon. We'll see...
We spent the night at one of the German Bakeries. Shakti left early and the three of us sat around for a few hours drinking tea and talking. It was a relaxing night.
Kate and I have turned on the TV on from time to time when we go to bed. You can switch from half-naked gurus surrounded in peacock feathers shouting at the camera to hip-hoppers in turbans dancing with girls in bangled bikinis to an advertisment for skin-whitener all in a minute.
This morning Kate and I walked down to the local church. The building was constructed 150 years ago and sits right in the middle of the forest. There is a cemetery on site and moss crawling over the gravestones and walls of the church. From the outside it looks abandoned. We attended the 10am service in English. There were no musical instruments and hymns are just sung. There were a lot of things that were very different, but I will leave those until later. We are due back at the hotel to embark on our walk up the hill.
Our love to you all.
Feel free to comment (thanks colin!) we love hearing from you.
Kate and Charles.
Its been a week. We are still in Dharamasala, which, if I didn't mention it, is a town in the Himalayas filled with Israelis, Tibetans, and Marajuana. I can see clouds passing down the middle of the street. A guy in a gorrilla suit just arrived at the door of the internet cafe. No Idea.
We are staying about 2km further up the hills in a place called Bhasu, which is packed with 'German Bakeries' that sell Indian and Israeli food. I had an Israeli breakfast this morning of eggs, cucumber salad and 'pita bread ' (which is not pita bread, rather a white bread roll), it was quite nice.
Anyway, I think I finished the last post just after we had arrived in Dharamasala. First thing the next morning, I put my laundry in at the hotel. We then took a walk along the mountainside to the waterfall (I think Kate is posting photos on the other computer, so you can check out those). Shakti and I decided to push on further up the mountain while Kate and Kristine (the other lady on out tour) hung out further down. The water was clear and cold and the views are impressive. I didn't get quite to the top of this particualr 'hill' (Indians seem to call mountains 'hills', but they are mountains) but we are going out again this afternoon to try and conquer the peak. By the time I was drenched in sweat. Even though the walk is not super-hard, doing it at altitude really gives you a workout.
After the walk we took a taxi down to an insitute where Tibetan refugees do handicrafts of various kinds. Everyone in the car was very polite, but I knew I smelt discraceful, even for here. The institute was a quiet place replete with the colourful monestaries and prayer flags common to Bhuddism. I do not understand a lot about Bhuddism, although I did notice that much of the iconography is a mix of Chinese and (Indian) Hinduism. There are textbook chinese dragons alongside androdgenous Hindu-like dieties. I guess it makes sense, Tibet sits right between the two.
In the afternoon we visited the house of the Dalai Lama and the temple around there. There was a 'service' (I'm not sure what you call them) going on and the place was packed. There has been some controversy here lately as the Dalai Lama took a trip to Ahandra Pradesh (I think) and the Chinese did not want him to. People were handing out food from big metal drums. A lady from Delhi wanted a photo with Kate while we were waiting for it all to calm down. In Shimla a funny old man (who was, as he claimed, a world class, comedian, musician, author and journalist) came up to me and asked if Kate was the tallest woman in India.
We went back to the hotel and I asked to collect my laundry. It was pink. Bright, vibrant pink. Socks, T-shirts, the lot. I'm just not that into thai-dying so, in my best gruff tone I advised the reception man that this was not acceptable. He said he would take them to the dry-cleaner. I am supposed to have them back this afternoon. We'll see...
We spent the night at one of the German Bakeries. Shakti left early and the three of us sat around for a few hours drinking tea and talking. It was a relaxing night.
Kate and I have turned on the TV on from time to time when we go to bed. You can switch from half-naked gurus surrounded in peacock feathers shouting at the camera to hip-hoppers in turbans dancing with girls in bangled bikinis to an advertisment for skin-whitener all in a minute.
This morning Kate and I walked down to the local church. The building was constructed 150 years ago and sits right in the middle of the forest. There is a cemetery on site and moss crawling over the gravestones and walls of the church. From the outside it looks abandoned. We attended the 10am service in English. There were no musical instruments and hymns are just sung. There were a lot of things that were very different, but I will leave those until later. We are due back at the hotel to embark on our walk up the hill.
Our love to you all.
Feel free to comment (thanks colin!) we love hearing from you.
Kate and Charles.
Friday 18 September 2009
6 Not Out - Shimla, Mandi, Dharamasala
A couple more notes about Shimla. Shimla is the capital of Himachal Pradesh and hosts the high court, amoung other government buildings. At 10am each morning, an air raid siren blares over the valley. This is not a signal to duck and cover - it is the alarm to remind all the lawyers to go work. Another one goes off again at around 4. We probably need an air raid siren in Sydney to get all the lawyers to go home.
Shimla is also really clean. There is a law in Shimla against spitting and littering. It will cost you 500Rs - a little over $10 - if you are caught. Consequently, Shimla is in great shape, unlike many of the other cities we have been to.
We left Shimla on Wednesday morning for a place called Mandi. Although we were heading further north into the Himalayas, we were actually descending - down to about 750m above sea level. As a result it was much hotter. We travelled there in a fairly luxurious van-taxi, which made the trip pleasant. Mandi is a small town on a river in a valley. After we arrived, we checked in at the "Raj Mahal" hotel, which was a former residence for British officials and the british nominated ruler of Mandi. It had old WW1 guns and colonial era-swords on the walls. We had a 'dressing room' attached to our hotel room.
We headed out into Mandi proper, checked out some very old Hindu temples that are being restored and the river. We also strolled down a local cloth market which, as you would expect, was alive with colour. By the late afternoon, Kate and I were exhausted, sweaty and dirty, so we retreated to the central park for a sit down and later to the garden sitting area in our hotel for a relaxing Kingfisher - India's premium beer. Interestingly, our tour-guide's favourite brew is Coopers Green - his Dad gets it from Dubai.
The odds of Sarah Miflin reading this are low, but, Becca, or Colin, you can let her know that our first-aid training came in handy while we were sitting in the beer garden. A family was walking back into the hotel and one guy started having an Asthma attack. He was okay, but the 4*4*4 was helpful.
We ate that night with the father of the owner of the hotel - an eighty year old man who used to work for the Indian foreign service in London. We were entertained for hours with his seemingly endless well of jokes and riddles, all of which were apprently on the exam to enter the foreign service. The next morning, Kate gave him the puzze where the mirror image of the 1 2 3 and 4 are drawn on a piece of paper and you have to guess the next symbol in the pattern. He kept exclaiming 'impossible, impossible... oh its too hard, too hard'. He was a funny guy.
We had a hindi - the language - spot quiz after dinner that night. I failed. As a punishment I had to spend 4 minutes dong my best bollywood moves to the latest Indian chartbuster. Apparently there is another quiz tonight. I have been studying all day.
We left Mandi early - after having breakfast witht the owner's father again - in a rickshaw. We drove to the bus-stop and boarded a local bus to Dharamasala. Local buses are an expereince. Most of the way is climbing up and around moutain traverses on pretty thin roads, just big enough for two trucks if one pulls over. The bus drivers are maniacs, but skilled ones. They burn around these corners that plunge away off a prescipice and then slam on the breaks and pull-over if a truck is coming the other way - which is a very common occurance.
About a quater of the way through the eight hour journey, the bus broke down. Our driver was able to pull out some magyver moves and fix whatever had broken with a roll of electrical tape. Further along the journey we were held up by a recent landslide that was being cleared with a backho. We arrived in the proximity of Dharamasala about the time school knocks off. People poured onto the buses until you couldn't move a muscle. By this time we were all aching from sitting prostrate for 7 hours or so, but it was fun.
Dharamasala is the home to thousands of Tibetan refugees. Its located very high in the mountains - around 2000m - and is built on the side of a plunging gorge with a waterfall at the top and a river running down the middle. There are a lot of westerners here, and it appears, a lot of Israelis. I think a people come here to 'find themselves'. Dharamasala has a nice, relaxed vibe though and is a welcome relief from the exciting, but intense parts of India we have visited.
I have to leave it there, we are about to go and have some Tibetan food. I have no idea what that is. Kate is calling me a 'blog hog' on facebook, so i'd really better go.
Love to you all and I hope Harry is going well (e-mail us some pictures of you can!
Speak again soon
Shimla is also really clean. There is a law in Shimla against spitting and littering. It will cost you 500Rs - a little over $10 - if you are caught. Consequently, Shimla is in great shape, unlike many of the other cities we have been to.
We left Shimla on Wednesday morning for a place called Mandi. Although we were heading further north into the Himalayas, we were actually descending - down to about 750m above sea level. As a result it was much hotter. We travelled there in a fairly luxurious van-taxi, which made the trip pleasant. Mandi is a small town on a river in a valley. After we arrived, we checked in at the "Raj Mahal" hotel, which was a former residence for British officials and the british nominated ruler of Mandi. It had old WW1 guns and colonial era-swords on the walls. We had a 'dressing room' attached to our hotel room.
We headed out into Mandi proper, checked out some very old Hindu temples that are being restored and the river. We also strolled down a local cloth market which, as you would expect, was alive with colour. By the late afternoon, Kate and I were exhausted, sweaty and dirty, so we retreated to the central park for a sit down and later to the garden sitting area in our hotel for a relaxing Kingfisher - India's premium beer. Interestingly, our tour-guide's favourite brew is Coopers Green - his Dad gets it from Dubai.
The odds of Sarah Miflin reading this are low, but, Becca, or Colin, you can let her know that our first-aid training came in handy while we were sitting in the beer garden. A family was walking back into the hotel and one guy started having an Asthma attack. He was okay, but the 4*4*4 was helpful.
We ate that night with the father of the owner of the hotel - an eighty year old man who used to work for the Indian foreign service in London. We were entertained for hours with his seemingly endless well of jokes and riddles, all of which were apprently on the exam to enter the foreign service. The next morning, Kate gave him the puzze where the mirror image of the 1 2 3 and 4 are drawn on a piece of paper and you have to guess the next symbol in the pattern. He kept exclaiming 'impossible, impossible... oh its too hard, too hard'. He was a funny guy.
We had a hindi - the language - spot quiz after dinner that night. I failed. As a punishment I had to spend 4 minutes dong my best bollywood moves to the latest Indian chartbuster. Apparently there is another quiz tonight. I have been studying all day.
We left Mandi early - after having breakfast witht the owner's father again - in a rickshaw. We drove to the bus-stop and boarded a local bus to Dharamasala. Local buses are an expereince. Most of the way is climbing up and around moutain traverses on pretty thin roads, just big enough for two trucks if one pulls over. The bus drivers are maniacs, but skilled ones. They burn around these corners that plunge away off a prescipice and then slam on the breaks and pull-over if a truck is coming the other way - which is a very common occurance.
About a quater of the way through the eight hour journey, the bus broke down. Our driver was able to pull out some magyver moves and fix whatever had broken with a roll of electrical tape. Further along the journey we were held up by a recent landslide that was being cleared with a backho. We arrived in the proximity of Dharamasala about the time school knocks off. People poured onto the buses until you couldn't move a muscle. By this time we were all aching from sitting prostrate for 7 hours or so, but it was fun.
Dharamasala is the home to thousands of Tibetan refugees. Its located very high in the mountains - around 2000m - and is built on the side of a plunging gorge with a waterfall at the top and a river running down the middle. There are a lot of westerners here, and it appears, a lot of Israelis. I think a people come here to 'find themselves'. Dharamasala has a nice, relaxed vibe though and is a welcome relief from the exciting, but intense parts of India we have visited.
I have to leave it there, we are about to go and have some Tibetan food. I have no idea what that is. Kate is calling me a 'blog hog' on facebook, so i'd really better go.
Love to you all and I hope Harry is going well (e-mail us some pictures of you can!
Speak again soon
Wednesday 16 September 2009
3 Not Out
It was a shaky start to the innings, but we seem to have settled in and are off the mark. Delhi is a crazy dirty, poor, opressive and hot city. Wherever your look there is rubbish or rubble, its like the whole place is under construction. (Actually, there is some truth to that, there is a lot of construction going on before the commonwealth games are hosted there in 2010). I managed to buy a pre-paid ticket for the taxi once we arrived att he airport. Finding a taxi was another story. We eneded up getting directed to the taxi rank 10 meters away buy a man who demanded 10 rupees (20c) for his services. In hindsight, not a bad 20c spent. We got into a taxi with a couple of nice guys. Kate struck up a conversation with one of the drivers who entertained us with his selection of hindi music, played from his moblie phone. The only problem was that these guys didn't know where out hotel was. We drove around Delhi for an hour in the middle of night looking for our hotel 'the hotel good palace'. Winding through streets packed with people and rubbish in the gutter. All the buildings are run down and the air is thick with heat and smog. I keep having to pick blak balls of snot out of my nose. We eventually found the place after visiting a 'tourist office' which I was immediately sceptical of as there are many 'tourist offices' in Delhi, not all of which are reputable establishments. The hotel was clean and air conditioned, but I had not idea where we were. That would have to wait until the morning.
We were meeting our tour leader at 12pm, but we had to do a couple of things first. We had to find some breakfast, get a moblie phone and possible find some lunch. It sounds simple, but when you have no idea where you are, no idea where to go, in a place as foreign as could possibly be imagined, this is more difficult than its sounds.
The first step outside the hotel in Delhi is like a punch in the face. Its so hot, and before you have taken a step there is a little girl holding a baby with make-up on her eyes asking you for money. Those first moments are intimidating. You are at the absolute height of your senses. We manged to find a shop selling phones and an ATM and got some breakfast at the hotel. After a while its not so bad, most people are just going about their days and its not too hard to get into the rythym. You get hassled from time to time to by a belt or a 2 metre map of India, but that is manageable.
We met our tour guide at 12pm. He's a fantastic guy from Rajastan named Shakti. He lives in Delhi. Our tour group is small, just me, kate, Shakti and a girl from Denmark named Kristine. After the group meeting where we got aquainted, went through some do's and don'ts (particualy with regard to beggars (kate has already broken the rules) we headed out for an orientation walk around Delhi.
'New Delhi' and "Old Dehli" are worlds apart. New Delhi is quite spacious and middle class with shopping malls and big parks. Old Delhi is a scrum.
We spent the afternoon in Old Delhi being led by Shakti through the streets. It was nice to have a purpose (even though I wasn't quite sure what it was). Instead of paniking about where we were going and how we were goign to get there, I could walk and take in the streets. We walked through spice markets where emaciated men carry loads triple their size on their backs. We visited an enormous red mosque with four towers 200ft in the air that you can walk up and see Delhi's sprawl. We saw a Sikh temple, travelled on the Delhi metro and hung off the side of a public bus. Exhausting, depressing, fascinating , smelly, unjust, absolutely unforgettable.
Kate wasn't feeling well that night and didn't come out to dinner. I went out with he group at 'crossraods' a popular restuarant not far from the hotel. The intrepid India's properties manager came out to dinner too, and he said he might be able to find us a nice place to stay in Naimital.
I am loving the food. I have spicy curry-like things for breakfast lunch and dinner. Maybe ask me again in a month and i'll think differently.Kate hasn't eaten dinner in three nights, she says the smell makes her want to vomit. She's rapacious in the days though.
I am running out of time, but we woke early to get a train from Delhi to Kaktal (which was very spacious and sir conditioned, they served a South Indian breakfast). At Kaktal we transferred to the toy train traveeling to Shimla. The toy train journey was about 6 hours of winding up the himalayas. Even though we spent 12 hours travelling it was a realxing day. We are staying at a hotel that looks over the town of Shimla, the capital of Himchal Pradesh built on the faces of the himalyan foothills. Its a truly spectacular place.
Today we walked around Shimla to a monkey temple (on the top of a mountain)where we had a dot painted on our head and 'drank' some suspicious water and were given crunchy lollies. Some people that went in before us had their lollies stolen by the monkeys. Kate swung on a swing. We then walked back down the mountain, past the local Anglican church (there is a Diocese of Amritsar!) and down to the house of the viceroy durign the british raj. They drafted the India-Pakistan partition here in 1947. The whole of India was ruled from this house during the summers. We've just walked back through 'mall street' and am sitting at an internet cafe.
Shimla is an amazing place. It is laid-back, and not too crowded. Shimla is in many ways middle-class. There are coffee shops and brand-labels with expensive (i.e Australian priced) items. Many Indian people come here for their holidays. Whatever it is, it is a welcome relief from Delhi. The weather is pleasant, still warm, but cool in the nights. A lot like Sydney actually.
I wish I could say more, but I think I have said enough. There are really interesting things to tel you about the caste system and India-Pakistan relations, but I will come to them later. We wil also have pictures next time. I left the cable at home but we have managed to source another one.
We'll write again soon. We travel to Mandi tommorrow.
Love Kate and Charles.
We were meeting our tour leader at 12pm, but we had to do a couple of things first. We had to find some breakfast, get a moblie phone and possible find some lunch. It sounds simple, but when you have no idea where you are, no idea where to go, in a place as foreign as could possibly be imagined, this is more difficult than its sounds.
The first step outside the hotel in Delhi is like a punch in the face. Its so hot, and before you have taken a step there is a little girl holding a baby with make-up on her eyes asking you for money. Those first moments are intimidating. You are at the absolute height of your senses. We manged to find a shop selling phones and an ATM and got some breakfast at the hotel. After a while its not so bad, most people are just going about their days and its not too hard to get into the rythym. You get hassled from time to time to by a belt or a 2 metre map of India, but that is manageable.
We met our tour guide at 12pm. He's a fantastic guy from Rajastan named Shakti. He lives in Delhi. Our tour group is small, just me, kate, Shakti and a girl from Denmark named Kristine. After the group meeting where we got aquainted, went through some do's and don'ts (particualy with regard to beggars (kate has already broken the rules) we headed out for an orientation walk around Delhi.
'New Delhi' and "Old Dehli" are worlds apart. New Delhi is quite spacious and middle class with shopping malls and big parks. Old Delhi is a scrum.
We spent the afternoon in Old Delhi being led by Shakti through the streets. It was nice to have a purpose (even though I wasn't quite sure what it was). Instead of paniking about where we were going and how we were goign to get there, I could walk and take in the streets. We walked through spice markets where emaciated men carry loads triple their size on their backs. We visited an enormous red mosque with four towers 200ft in the air that you can walk up and see Delhi's sprawl. We saw a Sikh temple, travelled on the Delhi metro and hung off the side of a public bus. Exhausting, depressing, fascinating , smelly, unjust, absolutely unforgettable.
Kate wasn't feeling well that night and didn't come out to dinner. I went out with he group at 'crossraods' a popular restuarant not far from the hotel. The intrepid India's properties manager came out to dinner too, and he said he might be able to find us a nice place to stay in Naimital.
I am loving the food. I have spicy curry-like things for breakfast lunch and dinner. Maybe ask me again in a month and i'll think differently.Kate hasn't eaten dinner in three nights, she says the smell makes her want to vomit. She's rapacious in the days though.
I am running out of time, but we woke early to get a train from Delhi to Kaktal (which was very spacious and sir conditioned, they served a South Indian breakfast). At Kaktal we transferred to the toy train traveeling to Shimla. The toy train journey was about 6 hours of winding up the himalayas. Even though we spent 12 hours travelling it was a realxing day. We are staying at a hotel that looks over the town of Shimla, the capital of Himchal Pradesh built on the faces of the himalyan foothills. Its a truly spectacular place.
Today we walked around Shimla to a monkey temple (on the top of a mountain)where we had a dot painted on our head and 'drank' some suspicious water and were given crunchy lollies. Some people that went in before us had their lollies stolen by the monkeys. Kate swung on a swing. We then walked back down the mountain, past the local Anglican church (there is a Diocese of Amritsar!) and down to the house of the viceroy durign the british raj. They drafted the India-Pakistan partition here in 1947. The whole of India was ruled from this house during the summers. We've just walked back through 'mall street' and am sitting at an internet cafe.
Shimla is an amazing place. It is laid-back, and not too crowded. Shimla is in many ways middle-class. There are coffee shops and brand-labels with expensive (i.e Australian priced) items. Many Indian people come here for their holidays. Whatever it is, it is a welcome relief from Delhi. The weather is pleasant, still warm, but cool in the nights. A lot like Sydney actually.
I wish I could say more, but I think I have said enough. There are really interesting things to tel you about the caste system and India-Pakistan relations, but I will come to them later. We wil also have pictures next time. I left the cable at home but we have managed to source another one.
We'll write again soon. We travel to Mandi tommorrow.
Love Kate and Charles.
Saturday 12 September 2009
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