Hangin with the Reaper

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Owing to the separatist violence that has rocked Kashmir for the past 13 odd years, the state has been effectively isolated from the encroachment of capitalism and the degradation of culture that accompanies mass tourism. It's like travelling to a medieval Muslim society, where the pace of life is so aptly described by the words often used to describe it, Shanti, shanti. Roughly translated this means quietly, peacefully.

Since the political situation stabilised 2 years ago, more intrepid travellers are making the journey to savor the richness of this country within a country. Having seen amazing pictures of the place and having met a group of Europeans who were going, I decided on the spur to go with it and join them. Of course, had I known that I would have to make my peace with God in order to get there, I might have thought twice...

Getting to Jammu in southern Kashmir was fairly non-eventful, barring our bus driver swerving into oncoming traffic on a blind cliff face corner, to avoid being rear-ended by the truck that was careering out of control towards us. Ah yes, and I thought I was getting used to travel in India. Think again.

The jeep drive from Jammu to the Aru valley in the Kashmiri mountains was the closest I've ever come to a nervous breakdown. You welcomed the relative peace of the machine gun-toting army guards at the checkpoints, as the driver finally pulled back into the correct flow of traffic and took his hand off the horn.

I had to laugh, a little histerically, at the road signs bordering the precipitous mountain road that serves as Kashmirs "highway"...

"This is a highway, not a runway"
"Don't show your strength on the accelerator"
"Don't mix drinks while driving" - this one I think I driver took heed of. Yup, only pure whiskey for him.
"Better late than naver" - "Naver" obviously means horribly maimed, or just a mental vegetable.
And my personal favorite...
"Drive with nerves calm and enjoy the valleys charm"

Ha ha, so easy..and for the passengers, just don't think about those newspaper reports you always read about this car / bus going off a cliff in India...

So it was with much praise for the Almighty that we finally arrived, after 30 hours of chillin with my homie, the Grim Reaper. He promised to visit again and I went to throw up. With perfect timing, my Delhi Belly finally kicked in too.

The village was wonderfully charming, however. Quietly nestled between snow-capped mountains, alongside a river full of trout and woods full of wildlife (a snow-lion had killed two horses 3 days prior), the flow of life was joyously peaceful. Bedraggled children shouted "How are you?" (that's all the English they know) as I walked past little homesteads with weathered women smiling toothlessly, whilst chickens and ducks pecked about their legs.

Between my bouts on the toilet, I had a great time walking the valley and watching the shepherds tending their sheep beside the river. After a day, I found my heart beating to the same slow rythm played by Natures wonderful orchestra of sights and sounds. In fact, playing cricket with the villagers each evening was about the most frenzied activity I did.

I was sad to leave such a pristine place, and could totally relate to the Swiss hiker I met at our little guethouse, who had come for 3 days and stayed for a month, but my meditation course was about to begin in Dharamsala and there was no way I was gonna miss that..

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