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Published: September 4th 2008
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Coming down from the highest mountains in the world is an occupation that takes some time. Buses often can't travel more than 100km in a day, and even catching the bus can be a challenge, the schedule being very flexible, or maybe just some kind of joke. Upon leaving Ladakh we passed through the Spiti and Kinnaur valleys on our way to Shimla. We got marooned in Kaza for three days waiting for the district commisioner's office to open. We needed to obtain inner line permits, which are required for foreigners to travel the Hindustan-Tibet highway, as it passes close to the politically sensitive Tibetan border. Killing time outside the DC office we met Dan and Adam (also marooned), an English/Kiwi duo with a dry, cutting wit and a strong desire to leave Kaza. Our three days stranded passed easier in their company, and they easily convinced us to indulge in our first beers for almost two months.
When we had obtained our permits we headed to Tabo where a festival, the reason for which we were never able to determine, was taking place. It seemed to be a performance of sorts for the lama and monks from the local monastery,
who were seated on a stage in front of a dancefloor. The public were crowded around this space, into which a series of dance troups appeared, danced for the monks then filed out, making room for the next group. Many of these dancers were dressed in elaborate traditional dress and masks. The traditional dancing is a little lethargic, or subtle may be a kinder description. It consists mostly of swaying gently from side to side whilst slowly walking in a circular direction. Visually it is relaxing to watch, but becomes a little boring after a few hours. However the music betrays this ambience. Loud and tuneless, it grates on the nerves and provides a sharp contrast to the movements of the dancers. Interspersed with the traditional dancers were several groups of pre-teen girls performing hindipop dances to the appropriate music. This provided an interesting contrast between the old and the new, as the girls girated their hips suggestively at the monks. The monks for their part looked bored, took naps, picked their noses and occaisionally took photographs.
We stayed at the monastery guesthouse, where guests are requested to abide by the five precepts; no killing, no stealing, no lying, no
Monks facing tourist
it may sound and look remote, but spiti is crawling with tourists from all over the world, mainly france and israel. drugs and no sexual misconduct. In the morning we attended the puja (prayer ceremony) at the 1100 year old gompa. Inside the sanctuary 8 or 10 monks sat on the floor chanting. We sat quietly at the side absorbing the atmosphere of the ancient temple. The chanting was mesmerizing and the half light of dawn filtered through the skylight outlining the hundred or so tantric buddha statues which lined the walls. Despite the sacredness of the temple and ritual, there was no air of formality or stuffiness. The monks were not averse to allowing themselves to become distracted, disinterestedly examining the palms of their hands or looking around the room, picking their noses. sometimes one would leave the room momentarily and they even took a tea break.
On our way to Tabo we'd met Daniel and Bea, a Spanish couple, and Julia from England. Thus ensued a much more highly sociable week than we are accustomed to as we travelled together through the Kinnaur Valley to Shimla. We spoke a blend of Spanglish in an attempt to exclude neither Bea, who spoke no English or Julia, who spoke no Spanish. Admittedly though, Daniel was the alpha talker of the group,
on the bus to Kinnaur Valley
this ride on the hindustan-tibet highway from spiti to kinnaur was perhaps the scariest ride in my life. and spoke so quickly in either language it required one's full attention to follow him. Entering Kinnaur we left the monsoon rain shadow and the landscape became lush and green, dotted with coniferous forests. The mountaintops remained hidden behind thick cloud and the rain was reminiscent of the west of Scotland. Kinnaur lies between Hindustan and Tibet and this is reflected in the culture. Hindu and Buddhist temples stand side by side, and peoples' facial features depict a Hindu-Tibetan mix. Travel is slow in Kinnaur but we had a pleasant week making our way down the valley. People seemed neither friendly nor unfriendly towards us, and seemed to treat us no differently than they did eachother. But the rain restricted our activities and it was with some relief that we reached Shimla, a large town with more to do than eat, shoot the breeze and walk in the rain.
Under colonialism the British discovered that the beautiful setting and relatively high elevation (2205m) of Shimla offered some welcome respite from the heat of the plains. In 1864 they made it the summer capital of the British Raj, and for almost a hundred years the entire administration in Calcutta and Delhi
packed their bags every April and headed to Shimla for 6 months, from where they essentially ruled a sixth of the human race. The result is strange. The architecture and street layout is distinctly British, reminiscent of some old Cornish town. But India never allows its presence to escape your consciousness. Monkeys are everywhere and Hindu-Indian culture is so vibrant it demands your full attention. The same things that attracted the British also attract many Indian tourists, and the town has now been reclaimed as an Indian hill station.
From shimla we took a 13 hour bus journey to the holy city of Haridwar and left the Himalayas behind. After almost 2 months in "Tibet", Haridwar felt like a real Indian city. The noise, chaos, humidity, smells, filth, vast array of delicious foods, bright colours, elephants in the street, and the magnitude of religious symbolism filled us with anticipation. Haridwar is on the banks of the Ganges and every night at dusk a huge ceremony takes place with ritual bathing, pujas and the floating of flowers and candles on the river. Every 12 years Haridwar is host to the massive Kumbha Mela, possibly the largest festival in the world. Millions
traditional Kinnauri house
the design of the houses are so cute, with carved wooden arches and window shutters. the sloped and pointy roofs had alot of character, villages full of these houses appeared like something fantastical. of seething bodies pile into the city, their tents spilling out for miles around, all preparing for a mass stampede into the Ganges. Fortunately we didn't witness this spectacle, but the ceremony we did watch was considerably well attended considering it is a daily occurrence.
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