Not Kashmir Again!

Previously on Welcome to Kashmir, I had left Srinagar in a huff, for Leh, the Buddhist city in the Ladakh region of Jammu & Kashmir. Two week later, instead of heading on to Manali, as would be logical, I was back in Srinagar. No, I am not a glutton for punishment. In my haste to leave, I didn't get a chance to return the sim card that my friend Arshad had lent me.

Because of terrorism or the threat of terrorism in the state of Jammu & Kashmir, prepaid sim cards from outside the sate will not work inside the state and vice versa. My sim card from Bangalore, was useless. And Arshad's sim card did not even work in the Ladakh region.

Now, Arshad is a good guy, really, he is...I think... But he did want to take me on a week long shikara ride for the discounted price of 30,000 Rs, about $600. This was something he had planned and was looking forward to ever since we met in Varkala Beach. He and his boss were a bit disappointed when I told them that at more than $80 a day, this was way outside my budget, and I would not do it.

From Arshad's perspective, he thought this was something I would want to do; something we could do together; and it just happened to be what he does for a living in the summer, and he could charge me less than any other shikara operator. From my perspective, I saw a seven-month sales strategy for an activity, which I'm not sure I would want to do even if the price was right. But I would have done it, if it was reasonably close to my budget.

So anyway, I took the overnight bus from Leh back to Srinagar. When I arrived at the bus station, Shabir was there hustling for guests, so I decided to stay at his place again, rather than haggle with someone else over price. He suggested that I might want to stay in his houseboat instead, so I went to take a look at it. It was a creaky little thing, access to which was through a barbed wire maze and a police check post. I preferred to stay in the guest house, even though they had not yet fixed the sewer problem in the alley.

It was Friday, and my plan for the day was to visit Jamia Masjid to see a little of Islam-in-action, i.e. violence after the midday prayers. When I told Shabir that I wanted to visit the mosque, he said “No! Don't go into the old city, not on a Friday.” I said that I wanted to go because it was Friday. He said “It will be dangerous for you. They will be throwing stones.” I said I knew. That was why I wanted to go.

He was literally begging me not to go. Eventually, he conceded that he could not stop me from going, but he suggested that I dress like them and let everyone know my name is Jamile. (Jamile is a Muslim name, usually spelled Jamil, Jameel or جميل in the Arabic.)

I did not go. It was already nearly midday, and I was really tired, as I did not get any sleep on the bus. I went to bed instead. Having missed my chance to visit the mosque on a Friday, and with nothing more of particular interest to me, I left the next morning for Jammu. At the entrance to the tunnel, it says, “Thank you. Please visit the Kashmir valley again.” I smiled and thought, “not likely.”

To be fair, there are better guest houses and houseboats in Srinagar, but they tend to move out of the budget category. Indeed, Indian tourist go to Srinagar and spend lots of money to live in luxury on a houseboat for a day or two. Also there are other places I did not particularly like, and I don't say anything about them. But because Kashmir is touted as this amazing paradise, I thought I'd let you know, it didn't seem like it to me.

Welcome to Kashmir

I had decided to breakup the trip from the city of Jammu to Srinagar, the main city in Kashmir, with a stop in Patnitop. Patnitop is a nice green hill station, in the Jammu region, with some nice hikes. When I arrived I went in search of the tourist office for information about hiking trails. On the way, I met a guy from Kashmir. He could not believe that I was from America, because, as he said, people from the US are usually beautiful, but I am black. He claimed it was a slip, that he meant to say “white”. But that did nothing to improve my increasingly negative view of people from Kashmir.

You see, there is no such thing as friendship with someone from Kashmir. You think you have a friend. He thinks he has a customer. His underlying goal is to sell you a product or a service. And that is what he calls friendship. When I first met people from Kashmir, in Varkala, I thought they were the nicest people in the world. But as I met more and more of them throughout India, my opinion changed. I never did get any information about hiking trails, so I continued my journey into Kashmir the next day.

For several months, I had been hearing the non-stop praise about how beautiful Kashmir is (usually from people from Kashmir trying to sell a package tour to Kashmir). And while I had reservations about the people, I was expecting to be wowed when the bus exited the 3km tunnel from Jammu into the Kashmir Valley. I almost took out my video camera for this moment. What I saw instead was an overwhelming military presence. It seemed that every 100 meters, there was a military post. Not quite what I was expecting.

About one hour before Srinagar, the bus stopped for a break. There I was met by a guy who was offering rooms in a guest house or a houseboat in Srinagar. He wanted to get onto the bus and go with me to Srinagar to show me the rooms. I told him, I would prefer to wait until I arrive in Srinagar to start looking for a room. I took his card, with his and his brother's numbers.

I had forgotten all about him, when I arrived in Srinagar and was greeted by his brother, Shabir. Ok, why not? I'll go see the guest house. At the same time, there was another guy telling me that I needed to first register with the tourist police. There was an argument back and forth about this. But Srinagar has a very heavy military presence, complete with lots of razor wire, so if someone tells me I need to go register, I go register.

I thought everything was going fine, until I was asked where I would be staying. I told them that I met a guy at the bus station, and I was going to take a look at his guest house. This was obviously the wrong thing to say. Suddenly, the room was full, and they were all standing around me in an agitated state. Then an officer, who seemed to be the senior officer, came in. He asked me why I came here. I thought he wanted to know why I came to Srinagar, but to my surprise, he wanted to know why I came to office of the tourist police!

He sat down at the desk and went through a battery of questions. In answer to the question of where I would be staying, I told him that I didn't know as yet, but I would look at a guest house, and the owner, Shabir, was standing just outside the door. In a raised and more agitated voice, he asked “How did you come to know this person?” I explained about meeting the two brothers and gave him the card.

Next thing, he was yelling at me. “Why do you trust this person? You do not know him! Why did you take his card?” I responded, “What am I supposed to do when people approach me? Push them aside and tell them not to speak to me? And how am I to find a place to stay, if I can't speak with the people who have guest houses?”

“You verify first! Do not go with someone you don't know who they are!” “And how do I verify his identity? Is there a list of approved guest houses?” “You come here to verify...” “Well, this is the first place I've come to after getting off the bus! And why are you yelling at me?” “I am not yelling at you!” “Yes, you are yelling at me.”

All this time, Shabir was standing in the doorway shaking his head with disbelief. Then the officer must have decided that he had satisfactorily exercised his authority, and said “He is a good guy. You can go with him.” And it was all over.

I went with Shabir to his guest house, down a narrow sewer filled alley. The guest house was nice enough, and for just 200 Rs, I wouldn't complain. I did mention the alley to Shabir, a few days later. He admitted that he loses a lot of potential business because of it. Shabir was a nice guy. As long as I had no illusions of friendship, but kept in mind that he was the guest house owner, and I was a paying guest, things were fine.

While I was there, two girls had been raped and killed, and the people accused the military of the crimes. As a result, there was a general strike, with all the businesses closed. If you were to ask the people of Kashmir, they would tell you that there are no terrorists in Kashmir; there are no problems with the people of Kashmir; it is the news media and the government who makeup stories about problems in Kashmir. But they are very willing to believe in any report about police violence against the people.

I never came to like Srinagar and eventually left after I got fed up. One day, after hiking 1.5 hours, without eating, up the hill to Shankaracharya Mandi, a temple that predates the invasion of Islam by 1000 years, I was not allowed to visit the temple, because I had cameras and other electronic devices, which were prohibited. That was the last straw for me. I left the next day.

As a visitor to Kashmir, I was constantly asked the questions, “How do you like Kashmir? How long are you staying? a month? a year? forever?” It was as though they needed external verification and assurance that Kashmir was the most beautiful place in the world. My usual answer was that I had just arrived or had not been there long enough to form an opinion. As I was walking toward the bus station, a guy, who obviously knew who I was, stopped to ask where I was going, how I liked Kashmir, and if I would come back. This time my answers were, “I didn't really like it,” and “no, I probably won't come back.”

The Great Himalayan Hoax

I am not much into conspiracy theories, although some are fun to read. But here is one that I believed. The great snow capped Himalayan mountain ranges do not exist. It is a big hoax, and millions of people are in on it, fooling the rest of us who have not gone there to see for ourselves. Now, how could I of all people come to such a conclusion? Because I went there to see for myself.

My first foray into “Himalayas” was to Darjeeling, a hill station in West Bengal, India. According to my guide book, Darjeeling is “backed by a splendid Himalayan panorama” and “the skyline is dominated by Khangchendzonga,...the world's third-highest mountain.” Yeah, uh-huh. It was so foggy, I could hardly see down the street, let alone at some panorama. If it was not for the nauseating jeep ride up to Darjeeling, (at one point I had to stop the jeep so I wouldn't throw up) I could think I was still back in Kolkata. Well, not quite. The people looked more like Tibetan, and it was cold. They said that January was not the best time to visit. So I went back to Kolkata.

Later, I went to Rishikesh, yoga capital of the world, located in the Himalayan foothills, in the Indian state Uttarakhand. From here you can't see anything beyond the immediate foothills. So I decided I would take the 12 hour mountain bus ride to Gangotri, then the 3 day hike to the Gaumukh Glacier. This glacier is the first source of the Ganga River. I wanted to drink from the river, although technically, it is called the Bhagirathi at the point, not the Ganga. But they told me, oh no, you can't go there now. The roads are closed until April. There is no bus. I asked about the villages and the people who live there. They said that those people leave during the winter. Yeah, uh-huh. What was I to do?

I went to Nepal, to Pokhara. Pokhara is in a valley, at less than 1000m, and according to the photographs, has a spectacular backdrop of over 20 snowcapped mountain peaks. I arrived in Pokhara at about 3am, got a couple hours sleep and got up really excited about seeing the Himalayas. I should know better. There were no mountains. Just haze. I looked the amazing photographs, then up in the direction the photos were taken....nothing.

They told me there had been no rain for 5 months, so there are dust particles in the air. If only it would rain, then you will see the mountains. It rained that night. I got up early the next morning, hopeful...nothing. But if you go trekking in the mountains, they you'll definitely see the mountains. The sky is clear up there. Uh-huh... I went to Kathmandu and saw nothing but haze on the way there and back.

I had been in Nepal for two weeks already, still no proof that the highest mountains in the world existed. After much internal debate, I finally decided to go on a 5 to 7-day trek in the Annapurna Sanctuary, without a guide or porter, despite the warnings that you should never go trekking alone. I figured that every few hours, there are a few guest houses and restaurants, so it is not as scary as it sounds. The highlight of the trip would be an early morning hike to Poon Hill for a clear view of the alleged mountains.

On the first day, I was not expecting anything on the trail from Birethanti to Ghandruk, and I wasn't disappointed. It was like a tourist highway, with so many trekkers. Nothing to see, just dried crops. It was a rough trek up the very long stone steps to Ghandruk. They just went on and on, from 1200m to 2000m. I spent the night in Ghandruk and saw photos of what they said I would see in the morning. I wasn't getting my hopes up.

The guest house was typical of buildings in the mountains. The walls are made of stone, about 18 inches thick. It was finished on the inside with mud, probably mixed with dung, and painted. It looked nice. I was on the 2nd floor. It had wood plank flooring and simple woven bamboo ceiling. I could see some daylight thru the stone shingles. Although the temperature dropped at night, and there was no heat, I was warm and slept well.

On the morning of the second day, I woke up early....cloudy. I went back to bed for a couple hours. Later, I got up, packed my bag, ordered breakfast, photographed the flowers around the building and sat down to eat. I looked up. But wait, that's not all clouds. Some of that is snow. And it is like right there. If the clouds went away, it would be really impressive. But that was as good as it got. Time to move on.

The trek from Ghandruk to Jhinu Danda was much different. There were no other tourists and only a few local people. Apparently, I took the road less traveled. I one point I lost my way in a barley field. Some women pointed me in the right direction. I was really exhausted when I arrived in Jhinu Danda because there were no restaurants on the trail I took, and I ran out of water. So I decided to stay there, even though it was only 1:30.

Near to Jhinu Danda, there is a hot spring, with two bathing pools. It is a 20 minute hike down and 40 minutes back up. At least that's how long it took me, on average. I saw on average, because I went four times. I stayed in Jhinu Danda for two nights, because I kept going back to the hot springs. The water was not very hot, but it was relaxing. I especially liked taking a dip in the Modi Khola, the river that flows directly from the South Annapurna glacier, then dip back in the hot pool. This could be the highlight of my trip.

On the morning of the third day, the sky was clear. The first day with clear skies in Nepal, but Jhinu Danda is not the place to be if you want a good view of the mountains. My first real proof that the snowcapped mountains exist, and it is not a very good view.

On the morning of the fourth day, I left Jhinu Danda and headed up the very steep trail toward Chhomrong. They said it would take 2 hours, but I did it in 1 hour and 10 minutes and felt great! So I kept going on my way toward Tadapani. But I went one village too far without eating and without drinking enough water. When I stopped in Chuile, I had a massive headache. I stopped there and rested in bed all afternoon and night and drank 2 liters of water. The boiled water, provided by the guest house, tasted like whatever they happened to be cooking at the time. As late as 3am, I still had a headache.

On the morning of the fifth day, I awoke without a headache, but it was cloudy. I, very slowly, cautiously and drinking much water, made my way to Tadapani. Many people passed me on the way, but I had learned my lesson. In Tadapani, I rested for 1 hour before moving on. I would eat lunch in Ban Thanti, then proceed to Deurali. If I arrive in Deurali before 3pm, I would continue to Ghorapani, so I could go to Poon Hill in the morning. If I arrive in Deurali after 3 pm, I would stay.

On the way to Deurali, I had the pleasure, really the pleasure, of following a group of yaks up the trail. Their pace was perfect for me. When they walked, I walked. When they stopped to catch their breath. I stopped also. We were made for each other. I did almost get run over by one, though. When I first came up to them, they were just standing in the trail. I stopped at a distance to see what they would do. I didn't realize that they were waiting for one more, who was coming at full speed down the little trail to my left. Had I been standing a few feet forward, he might have run me over before I realized he was coming.

I arrived in Deurali at 3pm. What should I do? A storm came. I decided to stay. The storm passed. I decided to go. The trail from Deurali to Ghorapani was really beautiful and a tad bid scary. It is mostly jungle, and there are tigers and other big cats in these mountains. That is one of the reasons you should not go trekking alone. A group of people makes noise, and the cat runs away as you approach. A solitary person makes no noise and gets attacked because he surprises the cat. And there were large mosses that looked like cats hanging on the tree branches. I was singing out loud, mostly about whether or not I had lost my mind.

I got to a clearing on a ridge at about 3000 m, but I was met with another storm, a hail storm. I took shelter in a lone shack, with two guys who were selling water and other refreshments. They had a fire inside, and they invited me to warm up near the fire. The storm passed just when one of the guys started to roll a joint. They told me it was just one half hour to Ghorapani. It took me one hour, but I arrived before sunset.

All my hopes were now pinned on Poon Hill in the morning. When I was in Pokhara, everyone said I would definitely see the mountains from Poon Hill. But now, I was being told, if I'm lucky and the sky is clear, then I'll see the mountains. The owner of the guest house told me if I could see the stars before sunrise, the views will be good. If I can't see the stars, go back to bed. I decided I would not get up for sunrise. If the sky is clear, it would be clear all morning.

On the morning of the sixth day, as I lay in bed, I could hear others starting their trek up to Poon Hill in the dark. I took a quick peek at the sky. I could see the stars. Yes! I went back to bed. I got up later and started my trek when it was bright enough that a flashlight was not needed. Finally Annapurna South came into view, and with each step up, more was revealed.

At the top of Poon Hill (3200m), I could finally see a Himalayan panorama. Spectacular. The Great Himalayan Hoax debunked. Was it worth hiking for six days? I don't know, but after everyone else left, I stayed on Poon Hill for a couple hours and enjoyed the view all by myself. It is strange that even after looking at the mountains for hours, I still don't have the words to describe them. I slowly walked down the hill, savoring every moment that I could see the mountains.

The trail down from Ghorapani to Tikhedhungga started out beautifully, but became torturous once I came to the stone steps after Ban Thanti (different place from yesterday). You know you're getting old when going down steps makes your legs wobbly. And when you're going down steps for a couple hours, it is not fun.

On the morning of the seventh day, I left Tikhedhungga. I was a little sad because I knew I would not see the mountains again, at least not on this trip. And I would not see pristine rivers again, at least not in India. Near Birethanti, I stopped at a waterfall and swam for half an hour. Swimming in a mountain stream is one of the most refreshing things you can do.

I rode back to Pokhara on the top of a bus and spent the next few days recuperating. The last two days in Pokhara, early in the morning, I could see a very faint outline of Annapurna South and Machhapuchhre. Nothing like the photographs. It was almost as if I was imagining it. If I did not have the photos from Poon Hill, which I took myself, I would still think it was a hoax, and I had dreamed about the views from Poon Hill.

Barefoot in Kathmandu

I went to Kathmandu for one reason only – to get a new Indian visa. I thought I would just pop over to Kathmandu for a couple days, get my visa and pop back over to Pokhara to go trekking in the Annapurna Sanctuary.

I had been told, by a taxi driver, that I must go to the embassy for 5:00 in the morning, or the line would be too long, and I would have to return the next day. But I had ATM issues and did not arrive at the embassy until 10:00.

The Indian embassy is surrounded by a wall, as are all embassies. You enter the gates and get checked for weapons. Then you are issued a ticket with a number, based on why you're visiting and if this was your first, second or third time. From there you proceed to a building with no definite front, but which has windows on the side and an exterior waiting area with a shed roof. I got my ticket and waited for my number to be called.

And I waited. Eventually, I learned that I needed to fill out a Telex form, a fax form, with my name, address & passport number. Apparently, they would fax this form to the Indian embassy in Chicago to get an ok to issue a visa. At 11:55, I noticed a sign that said they did not accept Telex forms after 12:00. I stood in front of the window waving my Telex form and ticket. It was no use. After 12:00, they would initial your ticket, and when you return the next day, you would be served first.

At 12:05, my number was called. They took my Telex form, sent me to the next window, where I paid 300 rupees and was told to come back in 6 days? What? Wait, wait... When do I fill out the visa application form? When you come back. And when do I get the visa? On the same day – if we get approval from the embassy in your country.

So I had to stay in Kathmandu for a week. I had no interest in see anymore temples. I would go white water rafting. I inquired about the cost of rafting trips at an adventure company. The guy told me $65 for a 1-day trip. And I don't remember how much he said for the 2-day trip, because I knew I would not pay that much. After getting all the details of what's included and what's not included, I told him I would pay $45 for a 2-day trip. He quickly said ok. Whoa...wait, I should have said $25. He laughed.

I packed really lightly for this trip. During the day, I'd wear a shirt, a pair of shorts and flip flops. At night, sweat pants and a fleece top. Add my cameras, and that's all. I got picked up from my hotel and joined a boisterous group of Nepalese, who were probably all in their 20's. Interestingly, they all had to lie to their parents about where they were going. In their culture, even when you are an adult, you must ask your parents for permission to do anything. It is just respect. But rafting is considered a dangerous activity, so their parents would not approve.

For me, rafting is most fun when the raft flips over or when I fall out of the raft in a rapid. Now I do not deliberately jump out of the raft into a rapid, but oftentimes the rapid reaches in and pulls me out of the raft. This day was like that. Suddenly I found myself gasping for breath, as I was being swept down the Trishuli River.

I was quickly rescued, no damage done, but I had lost my flip flops in the river. We continued on, and I managed to stay in the raft. Another guy in my raft fell out in another rapid and lost his glasses. Somehow I managed to save my glasses. Previously, I never raft with my glasses. But for some reason I did today. A few others fell out of their rafts. We all had a good time, and no one was hurt.

After everyone had left, it was just me and the guys from the company. They asked if I enjoyed it. Yes, I did. Then they told me I would be rafting the same section of river again the next day. What? I am supposed to raft a different section, specifically because that's where I was told the big rapids are. Yes, but it is not possible with just one person.

We made a phone call to the guy who signed me up in Kathmandu. He insisted that I was to raft a new section the next day. The guys who actually do the rafting said it could not be done. I set up camp on the banks of the river and went to sleep.

In the morning, they gave me the choice of a new section with just me and the guide, or the same section with a new group of people. But they now insisted that the new section did not have any rapids and is very boring. I asked who would be the guide. One of the grumpy ones, who was insisting that I should do the same section of the river. Which would be better? Rafting a new section of the river with a guide, who does not want to do it? Or rafting the same section with a new group of people? I chose to do the same section.

After breakfast, the guide told me that actually, they don't have any people coming today, and they can't do it with just one person. So he turns me over to another company and disappears. While waiting for the other people to arrive, the new guide informs me that today's rafting will be shorter than yesterday's. Why? Because it would be too late to catch a bus back to Kathmandu. What do you mean, catch a bus? You're supposed to drop me back at my hotel. No, we just pay for your bus ticket. But that would mean I have to pay another 200 rupees for a taxi to take me to my hotel. That's just the way it is for everyone.... This is not going to end well.

I was joined by an English couple and an Iranian couple. I learned an interesting thing about the Iranian people's view of their leader, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. His name means “of the people of Ahmad.” But if you pronounce it a little differently, and I could not hear the difference, it means “of the people of stupid.” That's what they call him in Iran. Anyway, they insisted that Iran is a great place to visit, and I would have no problems visiting as an American. These were obviously very liberal Iranians.

We had a good time rafting and the rapids kept their hands out of the raft. They put me on a bus, and I was headed back to Kathmandu. Up to this point, the fact that I was barefoot was not an issue. When the bus arrived to Ring Rd, I asked about a city bus to Thamel, the area where my hotel was located, rather than taking a taxi. I was told to just get off here and take one of those buses.

I got off and carefully walked to the first bus. Does this bus go to Thamel? No. I went to the second bus. Does this bus go to Thamel? Yes. I got on. To be sure, I showed the guy, who was sitting next to me, the hotel card, with map, and asked if this bus went to Thamel. He said yes. After a while, he got off the bus. And the bus kept going and going. It was now dark.

I went back to the ticket guy and asked, does this bus go to Thamel? No. But you told me it did. Then I realized that he does not speak English. And I had forgotten that the standard response when you do not understand someone, is yes. I could have asked him if the bus was made of cheese, and he would have said yes.

Soon the bus stopped, and everyone got off, so I got off too. So there I was walking up and down Ring Rd., at night, barefoot, trying not to step in poop or on broken glass, looking for a bus that would take me to Thamel. Eventually, I found someone who told me if took this bus to a certain corner, then I could catch a mini van to Thamel. So I got there, then walked about half a kilometer back to my hotel. It was now about 9:00pm. On the way to the hotel, I decided to stop and have dinner at a restaurant where I usually ate. The guys there are really nice. They lent me a pair of slippers. I was so embarrassed.

I went back to the Indian embassy and got my visa without any problems. On a side note, US citizens are charged 1000 rupees more than other nationals. I was now ready to go back to Pokhara and start my trekking.