Manali

Manali Another road trip took us from Shimla to Manali, where we are nestled at the foot of the mountains. The 10 hour journey turned out to be seven and a half so that was a blessing. I don’t think my butt will ever be the same again after all these long bumpy rides. Carol just tells me to put some more beef to the butt; however, that’s not my idea of solving the problem. We did the Shimla shuffle for the first three hours, knowing that whenever we turned left, we would immediately be turning back right and vice versa. Passing one of the numerous trucks on semi-blind corners simply meant that there would be another one just around the next corner. I have no clue what all the trucks are doing up here in these areas, but we passed (in both directions) literally hundreds of them. Luckily, they are slow moving and can be passed without too much difficulty particularly on the uphill sections. Since we go up, then down, then back up again, it is a continual struggle to make decent time with all the traffic on the curvy roads, and they are curvy. Very few stretches where there is more than 100 feet before making a left or right hand bend. There are literally hundreds of little hamlets/towns along the way which also slow down the progress….on the upside, there isn’t any speed limit in these towns, on the downside, they don’t really need one because your progress is severely impacted by trucks stopping in the middle of the narrow main (only) street to take on cargo or discharge the same, buses making stops to pick up anybody who even twitches as a sign they want a ride, cars making u-turns in the middle of the street which require several back and forths, which stops traffic in both directions, all kinds of four-footed animals sitting, sleeping, meandering on/down the street – cows, dogs, donkeys, oxen, monkeys, goats all stake their place and maintain it. They all have amazing street sense because cars/trucks/buses whiz by them without even deserving a heads-up to see what’s going on. Slow downs occur as road work is a constantly continuing process in Northern India. The harsh winters and rough wear from the thousands of trucks that pass each day take their toll. But road work here means several day workers, men and women, doing hand work. It’s very labor intensive and usually without machinery. A pile of sand, gravel and cement will be mixed by hand on the side of the road where women with padding on their heads will lower their baskets to be filled. With help, the baskets will be hoisted upon their heads and they will carry the “load” to the actual place where the patchwork is being completed. They will dump the basket onto the ground where men will use hand tools to scoop, pour, and slap the mortar onto the surface to harden and seal. We saw this several times so that we knew it wasn’t an anomaly. As we got away from the constant switch-backs of Shimla area, we flattened out and followed a river into the mountains. This was a vast improvement since we made better time and the scenery was what we came to see. Waterfalls cascading down, a river wild enough to have rafting, albeit a tame one, I think, and the Himalayas poking their heads over the foothills to show us where we are headed and what we have to look forward to seeing. We’re in Buddhist territory now. Prayer flags drape from bridges, fly from one window to another and billow from long poles. They parade the blue and white, red, green, yellow in that order. They represent the five pure lights: Blue for sky and space, white for air and wind, red for fire, green for water and yellow for earth. Called blessings on the wind, the wind tatters and shreds them, but the shredding is not considered destructive; rather it fits in with the Buddhist concept of impermanence. The shredded strands of the flags scatter and blow the blessings across the earth.

Of course it’s still India so Hinduism prevails and several temples reflect the long history of that religion in the area. Temples date from the 15th century and are revered as being indicative of the power of the gods. Anook told us that one temple was to a god who was “Very powerful.” Of course, I guess if you’re a god, that goes without saying. So here we are in Manali where we are freezing our buns off…I know, I know, my butt is getting a lot pf press here and it’s not a pleasant thought. But, it’s still cold up here and they had snow forecast for the day before we arrived. The rooms are not heated and so we’ve had to ask for a space heater in both Shimla and Manali and an extra blanket as well. The space heater does help, but mostly it just takes the nippiness out of the air. We do have hot water which is a plus since Carol had to heat water in the electric water heater used to heat water for tea/coffee. There are buckets in the bathrooms used for cleaning, I guess, but she filled it up with hot water and was able to wash her hair. I did manage a time when the water was hot and reveled in the cascading shower of water which warmed me thoroughly so I could tough out the rest of the evening. Manali is one of the main centers for Vacationing Indians to escape the heat of the summer. So much so that they are building a four lane “express” route from Delhi to here to cut down on the 10 hour drive. Right now it is still early in the season so the number of pasty-faced westerners visiting are minimal and the hotel we are staying in feels a little like the hotel from “The Shining.” A large expanse of emptiness without heat. Even the dining room waiter walks around with a heavy jacket and hat, and they all stay in the kitchen where the stove keeps it warm. The front desk area is empty and we walk down the wide staircase to the clomp, clomp, clomp of our footsteps echoing from the high ceilings. I half expect Jack Nicholson to appear saying: “Here’s Johnny.” The town feels very much like the frontier it has been historically. Lots of narrow one-way streets that naturally are two-way with Indian traffic being what it is. Here there are hundreds of tourist shops selling the pashmina scarves and shawls and trinkets and baubles that tourist seem to crave. Unlike Shimla which had a paucity of such shops, they are in full bloom here. Anoop was going to take us to a ski area to see the full snow and mountains, but a huge boulder came sliding down the mountainside and totally blocked the road. We waited for a while and soon a big bucketed machine came lumbering up the road heading for the blockage followed by a truck load of day workers ready to do battle with the natural elements. However, Anoop didn’t have much confidence that things would become passable, so he went to “Plan B.” - a different route to a different area. To reach it, however, we had to cross a rickety bridge that was truly one way and from where we stopped to await our turn, we could see the bridge bounce from the weight of the car. One car at a time – that’s the rule. When one car reaches the other side the next car can start. Well, if you believe that’s how it happened, then you haven’t read any previous letters because Indians don’t wait. Period ! At one point there were three cars on it and it looked very dodgy. Since Anoop wasn’t the only one to come up with this plan, cars from several directions all converged in typical Indian style at the single archway which provided entry to the bridge. There must have been 30 vehicles all trying to outdo each other for an extra inch of advantage. A car next to us was filled with university students and as I shook my head at the ludicrousness of the situation, he rolled his window down and said with a laugh: “This is India.” And indeed it is.

The other problem was that other cars appeared at the other side also wanting to cross to our side. Well, this isn’t going to work. Cars on both sides each wanting the same, yet opposite, thing. I was reminded of our sign in New Zealand, “Merge like a Zip.” Yeah, right. A car on our side stalled and that gave the cars on the opposite side the opportunity to bolt into the breach and head across. Except that the cars on our side were so packed that there was nowhere for them to clear the bridge, so they just sat there which only complicated the situation because this meant that more and more cars in both directions came trying to cross. The car in front of the entry way couldn’t back up because the cars behind him wouldn’t back up and so it was a total stalemate. Anoop finally gave up and we went to “Plan C” which was to totally abandon the snow for the day and walk the small streets above Manali where a sub-culture of rastas and other counter-culture types have taken up residence. Lily white women in traditional Indian clothes is a sight that was difficult to wrap my brain around. Plan D is to try to reach a high valley tomorrow by jeep. We’ll see……… The morning was another beautiful day, we’ve been blessed with really incredible weather on our entire trip. We headed up to the high valley but had to stop at the police barrier. We were headed into restricted territory and so the driver and Anook got out and talked to the police who were not happy. Shades of Ranthambhore where we had the “Misprint,” we were in the throes of Indian bureaucracy once again. Permission had to be granted from some higher authority and since today was Sunday, the big Army authority was having his rest day and they didn’t want to disturb him. If you ever want to attack India, do it on a Sunday, they seem paralyzed. Calls were made and at one point, our guide/driver, Anook and the police were all talking on their cell phones while standing next to each other talking to who knows whom. Carol remarked: “What did they do before Cell phones?” The thought sends chills over me…a person could freeze to death on the side of the road before anything got done, especially on Sunday, they wouldn’t even find you until Monday. There was further discussion as to whether I had the proper visitors pass to ride in the front seat. Excuse me?....anyway, after about 40 minutes of back and forth about who knows what, we were issued a little yellow circular piece of paper and off we went. We climbed pretty nearly straight up the mountain going from one switchback quickly to the next…37 in all. I know this, because they were all labeled: “Curve #1,” “Curve #2.”, etc. We got to the point where the snow on the sides of the narrow road was higher than the vehicle, and the driver told me to keep my elbow inside the small jeep because the walls of the snow bank were that close to the car. We went as far as we could and then ditched the car and walked about 3 miles on the snow-covered road to reach better vistas…in the end, we bailed. We had walked for over an hour and still had to retrace our steps, so we begged off the last viewpoint. Our guide said we were at 14,000 feet, but it didn’t feel like Potosi or Lhasa. We didn’t make it to the big mountains or the valley, but it was still a fun, beautiful day in the snow.

Tomorrow to Dharamsala and the residence of the Dalai Lama.. This has been the #1 priority for me on this trip and we saved it for the very end. Today was his birthday, so it’s a double celebration of the man I respect more than any other living human. Headline of the day: “Man jailed for taking 7 year old daughter to school….tied to his motorcycle.” I laughed when I saw this but the story is poignant. He is a security guard who makes $115 a month and spends half of that to keep his five children in Private schools because he knows they are better than the government schools. The family lives in a one room house and his wife has health problems,. After his night in jail, he said: “I should have done it differently, but my daughter wouldn’t go to school to take her exam. I don’t want her to wind up like me. I want her to have a better life and I know her education can do that.”