Kashmir- Trip to Gulmarg

We continued by road to Gulmarg, a city high in the mountains of Kashmir which includes a ski/golf area. Pedestrians in the long wool overcoats (I wish I remember what they are called) walked the streets and markets of the many villages the road passed through, and at close intervals stood soldiers weilding AK-47's watching the traffic go by. It made me think... me being an A.D.D. Extroidinaire and everything who can't concentrate on one single thing for more than a couple of minutes, and always complains of being bored- I have it pretty good compared to these guys standing by the road in the snow watching cars all day.

We passed through one of many security checkpoints as we entered Gulmarg. "Gora tourists" I heard the driver said. I've been here enough to know that Gora means white, and that he was implying that they should speed things along- tourists after all are pretty rare here these days. Most of times we had to stop at the checkpoints, it was so the soldiers could ask where we were from, what it was like there. I didn't mind really; speaking with a car of people from another country hopefully broke up the monotony of their day, though I was eager to get to our destination.

Past the last checkpoint we traversed up the side of the mountain, the Himalayas in view ahead of and beside us. The air became thinner, and the snow deeper. There were no more villages to pass, as the terrain was now too steep.

The road ended in a valley high up in the mountains. It was early evening as we headed into the ski town, and the roads were iced over. Our Scorpio SUV was able to navigate the roads through the resort, but an army truck blocking our path was not so lucky. Tired of sitting in the car, I decided to walk in search of the hotel while the soldiers tried to dislodge their truck from the icy road.

As I walked along the road I noticed something I'm not used to seeing in ski resorts in mid-January- the complete absence of other people. The streetlights were off, and most of the cabins dark. The impression it gave me was that I was in Friday 13th's Camp Crystal Lake, with snow.

We checked into our cabin, surrounded by evergreens. It was quaint but warm; well, it was warm until around 3 AM when the wood in the stove which heated our cabin ran out. The layers of handmade quilts over me kept me warm. It reminded me of winter nights spent at my grandparents' house as a child, bundled up under old quilts next to the dim reassuring glow of a heater.

Below, a view from our cabin window...

The first night a snowstorm hit. The snow came down hard, the heavy kind of snow which back home comes and goes quickly, leaving you wishing for more to stick to the ground. Only here it was still falling the next morning, and when I tried to walk outside our cabin my legs sunk past my knees into the cold snow. Amazing that I didn't get a bad cold on this trip.

We received a call to the agent who booked the trip; he was going to send the SUV after us a day early to take us to Srinigar so that we wouldn't be snowed in. But we still had half a day to experience Gulmarg.

The hotel after a night of snowfall...

And at the hotel restaurant, a sign to remind us of where we really were:

Kashmir

Day 1- Arrival in Srinigar

Until last weekend, I thought I knew what Adventure Travel was. Kashmir has just redefined that for me. Now I see the other places I’ve been so far as just so many dots on the maps and guides connected by busloads of tourists buying trips to the great unknown off of the Internet. The inevitable packs of tourists flaunting their newfound, spiritually-linked lack of concern for their personal appearance were nowhere to be found as I stood in line for the flight to Srinigar airport early Saturday morning. While a mad jumble of people pushed and shoved in line (jostling for position is too polite of a phrase to adequately describe airport behavior here) for the flight to Mumbai at a neighboring ticket counter, I started in position three in line for the flight to Kashmir. I saw a few scraggly foreigners in the line next to me, complete with their requisite Ohm t-shirts and faded jeans, but nothing of that ilk in line with me. The tourists here are odd; they don’t dress like the locals (those who try usually overdo it), they don’t dress like the people at home- they just dress like each other.

“Srinigar?!” the gate agent asked me, with some measure of disbelief that I was in line for the correct flight. I showed her the ticket confirmation, and was issued a boarding pass. After the customary molestation by the guards who patted me down in the security line, I waited in the terminal for Alison and Nilton, the two fellow associates on business here joining me for this trip to arrive.

Once together we boarded the flight, which ended up being less than half full. I got the “YOU’RE going to Srinigar?” question once or twice more from the various people I had to show my ticket to. About 40 minutes into the hour flight, I saw the tall edge of the Himalayas approaching, a long line proceeding past the horizon through the window on both sides of the plane. Crossing over that line, we saw jagged, snow covered peaks beneath us- too craggy for human settlement. As the plane descended, valleys of evergreens and snowy fields came into view. Farm houses appeared as the groan of the landing gear rumbled through the floor. As the ground loomed upwards, buildings painted in camouflage, barbed-wire fences and stacks of sandbags appeared. I was thinking it to be odd that the plane was allowed to fly so low over a military base… and realized that we were too low for this to be anything other than the airport we were to land at. Welcome to Kashmir.

If the Delhi airport has a lot of people to handle luggage, Srinigar has just as many people handling AK-47’s. Alison and I were approached immediately upon entering the terminal by an official who gave us paperwork to be filled out by arriving foreigners- something not typically required once you’re actually traveling from within the boarders of another country. Passport information, visa information, where I’m staying… great idea, I thought, “Let’s document where they newly-arrived Americans are going to be in case anyone wants to find them”.

The travel guy who arranged our stay in Kashmir met us there, and took us to the awaiting Scorpio SUV. We were happy to see that we wouldn’t be making the trip in a sub-compact car- which is pretty much the standard here. After a security check or two (you lose count here) we left the airport and were of the road. We passed stacks of sandbags such as were seen from above, but from this distance we could see the soldiers with their machine guns and rifles standing behind them.

The day was cloudy, but the snow reflected the grey light back up at us. Large stone and wood houses lined the streets and canals we passed by. The houses were large and at first glance, deceptively simple in design. Many of the houses were square or rectangular in design, with large triangular roofs extending over the houses in various directions. The windows had ornately designed panes which contrasted with the austere fortress-like walls. All of the houses were dark inside. I really loved the design; some of the houses reminded me of the houses in Amsterdam, others of some of the old houses near my home in Midtown Atlanta.

The people of Srinigar milled about on the streets, with practically every man (who made up the majority of those outside) wearing a coarse brown or grey wool pull-over full length coat. Most of them watched us as we rode by. If you can’t stand being stared at in New Delhi, then Kashmir is definitely not for you. But one advantage a car ride here had over that in Delhi- no one approached my car to beg for money.

We had the driver take us to a store to look at Kashmir-made rugs. I’ve already been doing my homework on how rugs are hand-made, the quality and the pricing. The ones in the good stores in Delhi usually come from Kashmir, but with Delhi tourist pricing. At the store I went to I was probably the first tourist they’d seen in a week.

Persian rugs are made with wool or silk string one knot at a time (if you buy the higher-quality single knot variety, vs. a double-knot rug which has larger knots and thus less detail- think of it in terms of pixel resolution if that helps). I found two red rugs with an Islamic design which I liked and purchased them, and a large cashmere shawl to give to my mom when I return home.

We drove out of town by way of Daal Lake, where on our second night we would stay in the large city of houseboats stationed on the water, and headed to Gulmarg, high up in the mountains.

The trip to Gulmarg I will have to describe in another sitting, as to try to write about this entire trip in the time I have available in one day would not do it justice.

Houses along a canal in Srinigar. In the front you can see a couple of houseboats.





Crossing a bridge over one of the many canals.

Many houses such as the one in the foreground were three stories. Whether or not they were occupied I couldn't tell. As in the rest of India, these houses are often inhabited by several generations, hence their larger size.



Daal Lake with a resort on one of the far banks. Most likely empty as tourists don't exactly flock to places known for dischord.

Day to day I never know how I'm going to feel when I wake up in the morning. When you live in a hotel without your usual diversions, you have a lot of time to think, for better or for worse. Some days I think of the things I miss; other days I question my life and wonder if it has any meaning or if I'm just a spoiled hedonist; some times I wonder if anyone even gives a damn that I'm gone, and usually conclude that most probably don't- but the ones that do are the reason for me to keep going, and look forward to my return home.

Some days I ride to work and see unhappy people everywhere I look. People on rusty bikes struggling to pull a heavy wagon loads behind them; the beggers waiting on me at the intersection to bang on my car window. Today though as I left the hotel I felt good for some reason which I can't explain. It's a beautiful sunny January day, a little cool but certainly not what I'd consider to be cold. The India-Pakistan cricket match is playing, which is the most important cricket match here from what I can ascertain. On the ride to work I saw the same beggers as yesterday, but this time it was in front of a shopping mall in Gurgaon several kilometers from where I saw them in Delhi yesterday- farther than they could have walked. It may sound cruel to someone who has never been here, but I couldn't help but laugh. It's basically just a travelling show, with dirt for makeup, performed for the sake of the tourists and business people who may not know better. Of course it's easier to laugh when it's a healthy teenage girl asking for money; not so when you have a mother pinching her baby to make it cry or a couple of five year olds sent out by their parents to beg on a crowded highway; but today it looks like all of the latter took the day off. Everyone seems more cheerful all around, or maybe it's my perception of what it is to be happy that is changing. As we pulled into the office, a group of young children played cricket in an empty lot, most definately having a better understanding of the game than me, and they looked as happy as any group of children back home.

I think one reason I feel good today is because tomorrow I'm leaving for Kashmir. Kashmir is part of the disputed territory between India and Pakistan; from this dispute has arisen terrorism such as the Delhi market bombings which occurred my second night here, and there has been a tremendous loss of life in Kashmir over the last several decades, including both military and civilians. So what am I doing going there? There is a reason so many people on both sides want to claim Kashmir- it is amazingly beautiful, and hopefully in a few days I'll be posting pictures to show it. In Kashmir you'll find Daal Lake- right now frozen for the first time in 70 years. People are walking across it, and if I make it there I hope to as well, if it's still frozen thick enough. In the area of Kashmir where I'll be going the Himalayas are there- I'll be taking a gondola to 14,000 feet and snow skiing, not something I had thought I'd be able to do in India, but something I'm really looking forward to. For me a winter without a ski trip is a winter wasted. The snow is supposed to be good and the weather uncommonly cold right now; since I feel like I've had a year without a Christmas I'm really looking forward to seeing it. And it is dangerous in Kashmir, but my time in India, and my time in general, is limited; I'm going to choose having the experience, for better or worse, over having the regret the rest of my life for passing up the opportunity to see this place.