Is a perfect holiday the one in which every little thing goes according to plan? Nah! That would be a perfectly boring holiday. Perhaps that's why life throws all these problems at us, to keep us on our toes and alive! Ah, but that's a discussion for another day and another campfire in the mountains.
The fun began when the cab to the Old Delhi Railway Station broke down in Daryaganj in the middle of heavy traffic - living in Bangalore, I do not use that phrase lightly! The thought that I was paying the cabbie (too much, I might add) to push his cab through a stream of honking Delhi cars bounced around in my head. A gleeful autodriver saw me waving ridiculously on the divider and made hay, taking us and our backpacks for a ride to the station. And so, we were on our way.
We got to the Dalai Lama's monastery only to learn that the last of his series of lectures to the public had ended a couple of hours before. Soooo, that's why all those people were headed in the other direction! Oh, but wait, the security guard says, he's giving another talk to a group visiting from Taiwan, so you can sit upstairs and catch a glimpse of him on his way to the prayer hall. And so, we waited with the Buddhist faithful, watching them twirl prayer wheels and murmur prayers inaudibly. We sat for close to an hour on the stairs and all this time, a Tibetan lady bowed towards the prayer hall in a manner akin to doing pushups, stopping only to wipe the sweat off her brow. Faith can move mountains?
From Mcleodganj back to the hotel is a short walk on the hillside, and after my first glimpse of a Nobel prize-winner and lunch, I decided to take this path. Of course, a walk is not worth taking note of unless it pours. The rest of the gang decided to catch a taxi back to the hotel, leaving just Anjali and me to splash through the puddles looking for the way back. The directions said that we would reach a field which we would have to cross to get to Dal Lake and from there, it would be simple. The field turned out to be a school playfield on a very washed-out Sports Day with the viewing galleries filled to the rafters with students and onlookers. Casting aside my stage-fright, I plopped across the field with my trousers rolled up above my knees looking like I was wearing nothing but my newly acquired rain poncho-like-thingy. Oh yes, we even stopped for directions. Dal Lake was duly found and in our relief at being out of the spotlight, we promptly headed up the wrong road. The chinese features did seem to bring more greetings than usual. Anyway, someone pointed us in the correct direction and we were soon back at Dal Lake sipping tea by the roadside watching the kids from the school running the marathon in the pouring rain.
The next day dawned bright and shiny, and forecast of our guide was, "It's good it rained yesterday - now the trek should stay dry." With most of our baggage on pack-mules in true sahib-adventurer style, we set off towards Kareri Village. The first break, after a steep downhill walk, was at Ghera and after a cup of tea we were on our way across the bridge and up the hill accompanied by the constant chirruping of cicadas. Lunch was a welcome break near a small settlement as we crested a ridge. The village kids stopped their games and watched us shyly from a distance.
The climb continued after lunch through rhododendron, oak and pine, with
many breaks to look at butterflies and spiders and wildflowers, or at least that was the excuse.We set up camp a little below Kareri Village by a small stream on a grass field occupied mostly by grazing sheep. The calling birds drew me towards the village, and while the rest of the group washed in the water, I clambered up the hill. Sitting on a boulder, I heard with joy the sound of life without motors. Suddenly, "Thump!" A stone the size of an orange landed in the mud a few feet away. And then a scream, "Yaaaaa!" A boy from the village was chasing the horses off his farm, and had come within a few inches of seeing the inside of my skull. I hastened out from the rocks and made my presence known. As my pulse settled down again, Subhash came up behind me and says, "Sir!" My skin stayed behind while the rest of me leapt into the massive oak trees, before sheepishly creeping back. After carrying our lunch the entire morning, he was headed to his home in the village to get us some firewood and मक्की की रोटी. And so I was invited home and treated to walnuts from the tree outside, introduced to his children and told stories about life in Kareri - the struggle with the black bears, the snow in the winter, the planting of trees for the forest department
and school for the kids. Then, supplied, we raced down the hill in the dusk to camp.We sat by the fire and sang songs for our audience of sheep. After the others had turned in, two boys emerged out of the darkness and asked, with a wink, if I would like some "ककडी" since they were going to get supplies. They grinned and pointed in the direction of one of the farms. I declined, and they disappeared cheerfully back into the dark. I'm sure the cucumber they 'borrowed' tasted a lot sweeter!
The second day was supposed to be a long climb all the way up to Kareri Lake. But after spotting a Crested Pied Kingfisher and a Spotted Forktail, the rains came again, in buckets. The decision was to split the second day trek into two days and camp somewhere halfway up. The sky cleared, and in retrospect, it was very fortunate that we shortened the second day because a couple of us really struggled on the climb. The view was breathtaking.
Himalayan Griffons and Lammergeiers studied us from above as
we made our way to our second campsite, wondering if one of us would thoughtfully keel over and provide them with a meal. The tents were set up by the side of a stream with White-capped Water Redstarts and Plumbeous Water Redstarts flitting from boulder to boulder. The Grey Wagtails just wouldn't sit still for the cameras.The next day, we followed the stream up towards it's source, following the path used by the Gaddi shepherds. The slopes on either side were littered with huge boulders probably deposited there by long-disappeared galciers. Raptors flew overhead thoroughly exposing my lack of skill at identifying them. Pheasants called raucously from the trees on either side.
And suddenly we were part of the idyllic scene that is Kareri Lake. The lake is considered sacred because of the Shiva temple on its shore. The rock-strewn Minkiani Pass rose from the edge of the lake towards a sky of the deepest blue. Sheep grazed on the emerald green banks lit by a sun on the way down. Rosy Pipits shot into the sky from their hiding places as I walked through the rocks at the base of the pass. Past the shepherd huts, the land drops away into a deep valley before rising back up in another ridge. As I watched, the clouds drifted slowly through the valley and climbed up over the lake.
My restless feet led me up the path to the ridge on the right of the valley we'd hiked up. The sun went behind the mountains, and the sky turned a deeper blue. An almost full moon was already in the sky, giving the mist an eerie glow as it curled around the oak trunks. And then I noticed that the shrubs all around were rhododendron. Unexpectedly, this silly dream of mine had come true - from the time I had learnt that rhododendron trees became shrubs at higher altitudes, I had wanted to see this.
A rather heavy shower had me checking my tent for leaks in the wee hours of the morning. My neighbours, being more paranoid than me, packed their bags and got into their raingear in preparation for the collapse of their tent! When we clambered out of our tents to greet the daylight, we saw the hailstones by the tents, and the snow on Minkiani Pass. I wish it had snowed.
And so we said goodbye to Kareri Lake and set off on the long trek back down the mountain, back to where the rhododendron were still trees. Coming down is hard on the knees as we all learnt, and when we finally got to Brrlay, our final camp site, we were all exhausted.
The next day, we hiked back to concrete and glass and bathrooms.
It's more than two weeks now since I unpacked my bag, and there's still so much I remember that hasn't found place in this post. And with my memory, that's saying something! Every time I looked up, there was a spectacular view that burned itself into my memory. Every time I looked in the grass, there was a butterfly, a grasshopper, a flower, something I hadn't seen before. So many birds flitted through the view of my binoculars. The people everywhere greeted us with an honesty that sometimes had me blinking that watery stuff away from my eyes.
And that, I guess, is what will remain.... that bag full of memories.
