Kashmir
Srinigar Boathouse

Our stay in Gulmarg was curtailed by the unrelenting snowstorm, and on the advice of our tour guide and travel agent we decided to return to Srinigar, so as not to be snowed on the following day and miss our return flight to Delhi.

By this point it had been snowing for hours; heading down from the mountains was no easy undertaking. Our SUV couldn't make it up the icy mountain pass, which meant no hotel pickup. In fact, none of the cars up in Gulmarg could go anywhere, so the hotel produced sleds (and people to pull them) to transport us and our luggage to the entrance of Gulmarg. By this point I had enough of snow and sledding, and would have preferred the comfort of a car.

We sledded down steep hills, luggage in tow, trying not to tip over. Mostly we were successful, but now and then one of us would shift too far off balance and slide into the bank of snow beside us. Several times I got off the sled so I could walk; I felt bad for the sled guys dragging me uphill, and besides walking would have been faster. But unless the hill was really bad they would stop and insist that I sit down and ride, so I went along with it. I felt like the stereotypical overprivileged foreigner, being dragged on a sled with my luggage while the locals walked along the road beside us- somewhat embarrassing.

We were dropped off at an SUV sent to take us down the mountain to the one we came in, and after about 10 minutes of spinning the wheels our driver was able to dislodge it from the ice and start moving. A couple of women wearing headscarves, and a couple of men in the wool coats, joined us, but I don't think they were together. We headed down the curvy mountain roads, all the more treacherous this time from the day of heavy snowfall. Our driver was making good progress down the road, until a large army truck coming up the middle forced us off to the side into a snowbank, were the car became stuck. The tour guide and the two local men got out and started pushing, as did I. I didn't speak the same language as the two guys, but the language of trying to move a stuck car is universal; push from one end, and if that doesn't work, walk around and push from the other. Repeat until car is moving again. After 10 minutes of this the car bolted out onto the road, and with a cry of victory from all of us inside and outside the car, we continued down the mountain.

On the road back to Srinigar, it surprised me how many buildings, which I had only seen once, I recognized on the return trip. How they ingrained themselves in my mind I don't know, but even now I can vividly recall the homes and stores we passed; some imposing, some half completed (or was it half torn-down), all dark... and all beautiful.

We arrived back in Srinigar and proceeded to Daal Lake, which we had passed the previous day when we arrived, only this time we were headed to a houseboat hotel on the lake. I didn't know at all what to expect; a gigantic hotel in the middle of the water? A small one-room boat? We ended up with something in between, which ended up being one of the most unique and amazing places I've ever stayed.

Our SUV pulled over on the side of the road at a seemingly random spot next to the lake. Waiting for us was a boat to take us to the hotel. A boatsman rowed us across the semi-frozen water past rows of stores and homes, semi-fixed on the lake like an upscale trailer park. The lake mirrored the grey sky above.

We pulled up to our hotel, which looked like all the rest with one important exception; the lights were on. On both sides the rest of the boats were dark, idle from the lack of tourism arising from the regional strife. The first thing I noticed- that every inch of the exterior was intricately carved wood- something that would be the same on the inside. The name of our boat- Shahnama:

A view towards the right off the front poarch of the boat- rows of hotels waiting to be filled by those waiting on tourism in Kashmir to rebound:

From inside the boat (which once inside I realized was more like a home built on a barge), you can see the exterior of the one next to ours, which was much the same:

As we were shown into the boat I was surprised by how large and ornate it was. Not ornate in the guady 5-star hotel kind of way, but modern in the plush old-money sort of way- hand carved furniture, walls, everything... that spoke of age and of much effort taken in its creation. We walked through the living room, past the dining room and kitchen to the narrow side hallway along the three bedrooms; I was surprised (but then not really) to find out we had this hotel to ourselves. I negotiated a very low price for a room to myself, so I wouldn't have to share; I was overdue for a night of good sleep and wanted time by myself in one of these large ornate bedrooms to clear my mind and take in my surroundings.

The bedroom, like the rest of the boat, had a wood burning stove. In addition to my two friends accompanying me on the trip, it was just a guy living on the boat keeping the stoves filled for us. He would reach into the hot metal stoves with his bar hands and shift the wood around, sparks swirling around his arm. A contrast to my performance later that night trying to put more wood in the stove once he retired for the night, holding the hot lid of the stove off in the air with a stick, instead of my fingers, and trying to drop split pieces of wood from above without burning myself.

The stove provided some heat (and the cold water and air around the boat took plenty of it away), so I made good use of the piles of quilts on the bed. There aren't many things as comforting as a stack of warm blankets on a cold night.

My bedroom is pictured below. You'll see the ceiling has carved wood patterns, as does the walls, the bed's headboard... you'd be hard pressed to find a flat surface nearly anywhere.

The doorway to the dressing area and bathroom was also carved, and through the holes the dim light I had left on shone like stars.

There was an interesting dresser and mirror in my bedroom. I don't know what style I'd call it- Kashmiri I guess. It was low to the ground, with a low chair; I wondered how many people sat here and used this mirror to get ready, for events that happened in more festive times.

On the dining room wall, more patterns were carved, like the circular pattern here:

The dining room had old china on display in cupboards along the walls; the whole room made me feel like I was in one of those antique shops which my mom would drag me to as a kid where I'd be bored out of my skull. Except this time I wasn't bored, I was amazed that this place was mine to experience for a night, and sad too knowing that this place and the many rows of ones like it were built to be enjoyed by more than just three lonely travellers. The lights in the chandelier stayed off; like any other night, the many chairs and couches would go unfilled.

Another view of the dining room:
The entrance/living room of the boat- and to the left, the stained glass window in the door to the front porch.
The guide and travel agent said we were under guard and not to worry about anything; still that night I shut all the curtains and blinds to the outside as I suddenly felt rather conspicuous in our brightly lit boat in a lake of darkness.

Ironically we were safer here than in many parts of Delhi because of the army and guards all around; they take protecting tourists here very seriously, as the tourism industry is bad enough already. But one aspect of adventure travel is you don't see other tourists around you doing the same thing you are... with the herd comes safety, and being off the beaten path means that you're on your own. I'd say coming here isn't the best idea for most people, or at least, most of the people I know. While you can come to Kashmir legally, and almost as easily as travelling to most other places in India- due to the absense of other tourists, and the reports in the news (which never involve tourists)- many people would feel uneasy here.

I turned off the lights and slid under 5 layers of covers, and fell asleep next to the warm glow of the stove, listening to the crackle of the wood.