We're nicely settled into our room in the comfy Asha Cottages guest house from Bri's past, enjoying a really mellow pace of reading, eating, plentiful naps and shopping. We're both in perfect health once again.
This morning I got up early and went to a tiny yoga and ayurveda center for a private yoga class with a young swami. While we were scheduled for an hour together, I emerged in a lovely bubble of contentment 2.5 hours later. Swami Vishant was initially a little imposing, very serious, but as we became more comfortable with one another his subtle humour surfaced, and we had a great connection and I learned a lot. His asana practice was very inspiring. Some valuable corrections to certain technical issues, some excellent feedback. We had tentative plans to go for a run together (of all things) in the early evening that I opted out of, but I will return to see him tommorow morning again.
I suppose it's a little odd that I've said scarcely a word about the food, so I should. There is so much to eat that it's a wonder that I do anything else.
What's in season? Around here bananas and litchis are especially good, but there is a lot of great fruit available right now. Mangos of course, watermelon, fabulous peaches, little red plums, apricots, cherries. The tomatoes are mostly of a plum variety, and not great. The cucumbers are excellent and seem to be mainly of three varieties.
While we were on our trek the food was very repetitive, and while I love dal, chapatis, rice and simple vegetable curries "subji", it gets pretty dull when you eat it twice a day for two weeks. As the tiny villages in the hills have little variety beyond what is carried in or grown, we experienced the reality of a diet with little variation. We had packed in oatmeal so our breakfasts were eagerly anticipated breaks from dal and rice. Oatmeal liberally studded with almonds, pumpkin seeds, walnuts and dried fruit provided necessary fuel to start the days walks.
In urban restaurants my favorite breakfast is the paratha. A buttery flatbread fried on a flat iron griddle, available plain or stuffed. I especially like them stuffed with potato or paneer. They are often served with hot lime pickle and "curd", house fermented yogurt that is quite liquid in consistency and tangier than western yogurt. It's excellent.
Here in Manali we've been many times to the Lakshmi Dhaba because Brian remembered it fondly from his previous visit. They make an especially memorable butter chicken. Butter chicken is generally way lighter on the cream here than in Canadian Indian restaurants.
Our lunches are frequently the lovely lacy masala dosas of South India. Enormous paper thin crepes with a masala potato filling, served with a fairly liquid vegetable soup/sauce called sambar, and usually a mild coconut chutney. Today I chose a coconut dosa, instead of a potato filling it had grated fresh coconut inside.
The street food of India is incredible varied and mostly deep fried and potato based. If we could get this stuff on a sidewalk in Montreal for post-drinking snacks it just might give the beloved Quebecois poutine a run for its money. Tasty stuff.
In Haridwar I tried a lovely nightcap of warm milk, sold in an especially appetizing presentation. At night sweet shops set up enormous cast-iron cauldrons, shallow and several feet across, with a propane flame underneath. The milk is kept hot just under a simmer, stirred constantly with a giant wooden paddle. Some have cinnamon, others have pistachio shavings floating on top. There are often benches outside and customers sit and sip their milk from single-use terracotta ceramic cups, tossing them on the sidewalk when they're finished.
I'm dismayed to see the grip that Nestle, Kraft, Frito-Lay, Pepsi and Coke have on India. Despite the excellent coffee grown in South India most places are serving instant Nescafe.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Time to relax in the Kullu Valley
After Nainital we took a very hot night train to Haridwar, a holy city right on the Ganges River bearing the claim of the world's oldest continuously inhabited city. As it is the high season for pilgrimages we were anticipating crowds, however we were stunned at the near impossibility of finding a hotel room when our train arrived at 3am. After an hour of searching in the middle of the night we were considering camping out on the train station floor. (hey, we've got thermarests!) The hotel room we found on loud and busy Railway Road was shockingly overpriced but we managed to find somewhere to sleep!
After spending weeks in the hills and mountains we were also unprepared for the intense heat of the plains and had a lot of trouble functioning in the 45 degree heat, hotter than we'd experienced so far. Admittedly we would venture out early in the morning to sightsee and then retreat before noon to cower like limp wilted vegetables in the air conditioning until it eased up slightly in the early evening.
While we didn't stay long in Haridwar, I'm really glad we made the stop. It was really magical and the thousands of pilgrims were clearly so happy to be there, it was infectious. We spent most of our time in Haridwar chilling on the banks of the river, chatting with kids and families, dunking our feet in the surprisingly clear water and soaking it all in. My first visit to a holy city, and I was enchanted. Lots of temples, big families, wandering stoned sadhus and a generally happy vibe.
From Haridwar to Manali, a 17 hour trip by bus broken up by a few hours to kill in Chandigarh, a city described by some as a city with no soul...Chandigarh is a Le Corbusier designed planned city that serves as joint capital for two states. Aside from the rickshaws, tea stands, and Indians, squint your eyes and you would think you're in Saskatchewan. Vast avenues with wide boulevards, big concrete buildings all of the same age. Peculiar.
And now we're chilling out in Manali in the Kullu Valley, back in the hills. It's cool and fragrant, nestled in a valley surrounded by imposing forest of deodars, majestic Himalayan cedars. Daytime highs in the high 20s, evenings are about 20. My favorite climate. Manali is very close to Brian's heart, having loved it on a visit 15 years ago. Although somewhat dismayed to see it transformed into a bustling tourist destination he is starry-eyed with nostalgia. We even managed to locate the cottage he stayed in once upon a time and are pleased to be staying there. The guest house is in an apple orchard,a short walk down a hill from a 400 year old temple called Hadimba. Kullu is known for its apples. It's too bad we're too early to try them, they're still tiny.
After spending weeks in the hills and mountains we were also unprepared for the intense heat of the plains and had a lot of trouble functioning in the 45 degree heat, hotter than we'd experienced so far. Admittedly we would venture out early in the morning to sightsee and then retreat before noon to cower like limp wilted vegetables in the air conditioning until it eased up slightly in the early evening.
While we didn't stay long in Haridwar, I'm really glad we made the stop. It was really magical and the thousands of pilgrims were clearly so happy to be there, it was infectious. We spent most of our time in Haridwar chilling on the banks of the river, chatting with kids and families, dunking our feet in the surprisingly clear water and soaking it all in. My first visit to a holy city, and I was enchanted. Lots of temples, big families, wandering stoned sadhus and a generally happy vibe.
From Haridwar to Manali, a 17 hour trip by bus broken up by a few hours to kill in Chandigarh, a city described by some as a city with no soul...Chandigarh is a Le Corbusier designed planned city that serves as joint capital for two states. Aside from the rickshaws, tea stands, and Indians, squint your eyes and you would think you're in Saskatchewan. Vast avenues with wide boulevards, big concrete buildings all of the same age. Peculiar.
And now we're chilling out in Manali in the Kullu Valley, back in the hills. It's cool and fragrant, nestled in a valley surrounded by imposing forest of deodars, majestic Himalayan cedars. Daytime highs in the high 20s, evenings are about 20. My favorite climate. Manali is very close to Brian's heart, having loved it on a visit 15 years ago. Although somewhat dismayed to see it transformed into a bustling tourist destination he is starry-eyed with nostalgia. We even managed to locate the cottage he stayed in once upon a time and are pleased to be staying there. The guest house is in an apple orchard,a short walk down a hill from a 400 year old temple called Hadimba. Kullu is known for its apples. It's too bad we're too early to try them, they're still tiny.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
A little more random detail, and some anecdotes.
We really did need this couple of days of downtime in Nainital to rest. Our legs are feeling good, we've had lots of sleep and we're ready to make a move again. Tonight we take a night train from Kathgodam to Haridwar, and we'll arive late at night. Aside from another little bout of tourista that I'm struggling with we're in fine form.
The walk was sublime. Apart from the obviously stressful issue of Brian's pretty serious case of the flu, and resulting low energy, we had an amazing time. Without question the most beautiful hike I've ever been on, all 140km of it.
At the trail head, Munsyari, we started at the valley floor, which was very jungle-y and lush. Lots of banana trees and dense bamboo, humid and moist, fragrant. Big colorful butterflies everywhere, lots of monkeys, mainly langurs. As we climbed and the vegetation became more sparse, through Bugdiar and Rilkot, we saw a whole new palette of butterflies and birdlife. Around Martoli the really great views started opening up and we were in vast alpine meadows, just below the tree line. The meadows smelled incredible too, lots of creeping thyme in purple flowers, sage and oregano. There had been more rain than usual for the time of year and consquently lots of wildflowers.
I was enchanted by the mostly deserted stone hill villages. The tiny populations of these ghost towns eke out a living a long walk from the nearest motorable roads, relying on the herders moving sheep and goats, and the porters with their mules to bring them rice, tea, dal, rice, etc. It's very peaceful.
We were very warmly received in these villages. This trek is still rather overlooked by the international trekking scene, a figure we heard was about 100 foreign trekkers visit a year. The Milam glacier trek is popular amongst the rapidly increasing numbers of Indian trekkers, we met a lot of Bengalis. This is a trend we're pleased to observe, Indians exploring their own country. The villagers welcome the extra income from trekkers passing through.
I loved the women, and made a few really special connections. Most notably was Prema, at Pacchu. We liked each other immediately, and we were giggling and hanging out within minutes of meeting. I would guess Prema to be about 35. Her 5 children are living in Munsyari to attend school, in fact pretty much the whole Milam valley is eerily devoid of children. As there are no schools most of the children are away from their parents in Munsyari. Prema's eldest is 16, her youngest 7. There are only 4 permanent residents in her ghost town village and I sensed she was lonely for female companionship. She spends a lot of time gardening and listening to her radio. I spent a lot of time in Prema's smoky candlelit kitchen and we giggled and smoked bidis and had protracted conversations consisting mainly of hand gestures while I watched her cook and helped her with her chores. These are obviously not electrified valleys, so people cook on wood fires. She constantly pushed food and tea on me with the determination of a Jewish grandmother. We were there for two days and I could tell she was sad to see us go.
When we were in Burphu I was really upset by the conflict between our guide, Prem, and the kindly grandfather-figure who had put us up for the night. For the most part we were happy with our staff, Prem and the porters, his son Darminder and friend, Kisan. It's clear that Prem is quite different when drunk and it was a shame. While he patched things up the following morning both Brian and I were seeing him in an altogether different light and we never really let it go.
The walk out was tough, as we were pretty wiped and covered some serious kilometers in two days. The last two days and the horrific 12 hour ride on the "chicken bus" was grueling, and I feel we both had to dig deep to get through it.
Where we are now, Nainital, is kind of like the Niagara Falls of India. Lots of obviously honeymooning couples and vacationing families, cleaner and tidier than is the norm for cities, and full of hotels. The perfect place to have rested a bit. The pretty kidney-bean shaped lake is covered in nicely decorated big wooden canoes-for hire.
I'm totally intrigued by the countless porters who fill these hill towns, and much of my people watching is spent observing them. Many are Nepali, and most are teenagers and young men. The have their own community and hang out in little packs when relaxing. They have a really cute Huck Finn-like vibe to them. The best parallel I can make in North America is bike messengers. As the streets are steep their work is to shuttle everything from supplies and stock for stores and restaurants, people's luggage and groceries, propane cans, basically anything anyone wants moved somewhere. Their method of carrying stuff is the tumpline across the forehead, and they're astonishingly strong, carrying loads that seem impossibly heavy. Despite the fact that they work bent forward at a 45 degree angle, all day long, when walking unburdened they have beautiful erect posture, with wide shoulders and long necks. Stand up straight, folks!
In urban India if you ever need help with directions, or you're having a language problem and need assistance, don't ask an adult. Indian kids learn their English alphabet before written Hindi, and most have excellent English. It's really cute to watch them speak fluently with a look of total surprise as they realize "hey. I'm speaking ENGLISH, and she UNDERSTANDS me!", quite possibly speaking to a foreigner for the first time. When I compliment their English they look totally incredulous and say "REALLY?"
Enough for now. We're off to get a little bite to eat, grab our packs, and take a shared jeep taxi for a couple hours to the train. Off we go to a new region.
The walk was sublime. Apart from the obviously stressful issue of Brian's pretty serious case of the flu, and resulting low energy, we had an amazing time. Without question the most beautiful hike I've ever been on, all 140km of it.
At the trail head, Munsyari, we started at the valley floor, which was very jungle-y and lush. Lots of banana trees and dense bamboo, humid and moist, fragrant. Big colorful butterflies everywhere, lots of monkeys, mainly langurs. As we climbed and the vegetation became more sparse, through Bugdiar and Rilkot, we saw a whole new palette of butterflies and birdlife. Around Martoli the really great views started opening up and we were in vast alpine meadows, just below the tree line. The meadows smelled incredible too, lots of creeping thyme in purple flowers, sage and oregano. There had been more rain than usual for the time of year and consquently lots of wildflowers.
I was enchanted by the mostly deserted stone hill villages. The tiny populations of these ghost towns eke out a living a long walk from the nearest motorable roads, relying on the herders moving sheep and goats, and the porters with their mules to bring them rice, tea, dal, rice, etc. It's very peaceful.
We were very warmly received in these villages. This trek is still rather overlooked by the international trekking scene, a figure we heard was about 100 foreign trekkers visit a year. The Milam glacier trek is popular amongst the rapidly increasing numbers of Indian trekkers, we met a lot of Bengalis. This is a trend we're pleased to observe, Indians exploring their own country. The villagers welcome the extra income from trekkers passing through.
I loved the women, and made a few really special connections. Most notably was Prema, at Pacchu. We liked each other immediately, and we were giggling and hanging out within minutes of meeting. I would guess Prema to be about 35. Her 5 children are living in Munsyari to attend school, in fact pretty much the whole Milam valley is eerily devoid of children. As there are no schools most of the children are away from their parents in Munsyari. Prema's eldest is 16, her youngest 7. There are only 4 permanent residents in her ghost town village and I sensed she was lonely for female companionship. She spends a lot of time gardening and listening to her radio. I spent a lot of time in Prema's smoky candlelit kitchen and we giggled and smoked bidis and had protracted conversations consisting mainly of hand gestures while I watched her cook and helped her with her chores. These are obviously not electrified valleys, so people cook on wood fires. She constantly pushed food and tea on me with the determination of a Jewish grandmother. We were there for two days and I could tell she was sad to see us go.
When we were in Burphu I was really upset by the conflict between our guide, Prem, and the kindly grandfather-figure who had put us up for the night. For the most part we were happy with our staff, Prem and the porters, his son Darminder and friend, Kisan. It's clear that Prem is quite different when drunk and it was a shame. While he patched things up the following morning both Brian and I were seeing him in an altogether different light and we never really let it go.
The walk out was tough, as we were pretty wiped and covered some serious kilometers in two days. The last two days and the horrific 12 hour ride on the "chicken bus" was grueling, and I feel we both had to dig deep to get through it.
Where we are now, Nainital, is kind of like the Niagara Falls of India. Lots of obviously honeymooning couples and vacationing families, cleaner and tidier than is the norm for cities, and full of hotels. The perfect place to have rested a bit. The pretty kidney-bean shaped lake is covered in nicely decorated big wooden canoes-for hire.
I'm totally intrigued by the countless porters who fill these hill towns, and much of my people watching is spent observing them. Many are Nepali, and most are teenagers and young men. The have their own community and hang out in little packs when relaxing. They have a really cute Huck Finn-like vibe to them. The best parallel I can make in North America is bike messengers. As the streets are steep their work is to shuttle everything from supplies and stock for stores and restaurants, people's luggage and groceries, propane cans, basically anything anyone wants moved somewhere. Their method of carrying stuff is the tumpline across the forehead, and they're astonishingly strong, carrying loads that seem impossibly heavy. Despite the fact that they work bent forward at a 45 degree angle, all day long, when walking unburdened they have beautiful erect posture, with wide shoulders and long necks. Stand up straight, folks!
In urban India if you ever need help with directions, or you're having a language problem and need assistance, don't ask an adult. Indian kids learn their English alphabet before written Hindi, and most have excellent English. It's really cute to watch them speak fluently with a look of total surprise as they realize "hey. I'm speaking ENGLISH, and she UNDERSTANDS me!", quite possibly speaking to a foreigner for the first time. When I compliment their English they look totally incredulous and say "REALLY?"
Enough for now. We're off to get a little bite to eat, grab our packs, and take a shared jeep taxi for a couple hours to the train. Off we go to a new region.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
A good rest after a big walk
Jess and I arrived in Nanital a couple of days ago, both of us pretty exhausted after a hard, but hugely satisfying walk up the Goriganga to the toe of the Milam Glacier. We were out for 14 days, 10 of which we walked. Not great luck, but from the night of the first day I started to feel sick, and the by the end of the second day, in which we walked 13 km, I was feeling truly awful. I'm quite sure it was the flu; I was aching all over, with a headache and a very sore throat, and by mid-afternoon of the third day, the medic from the nearby Indo Tibetan Border Police post measured my temperature at 102 degrees F! He gave me a fever reducing drug of some sort, and declared that if in half an hour it hadn't dropped, he was calling a helicopter!
Happily he didn't have to, but we stayed in the tiny village of Budgiar for four days until I felt (somewhat) better. On the third day a regiment of the Indian Army passed through, which included an actual medical doctor, and Captain (MD) Kumar gave me a thorough checking out, and though slightly concerned about my elevated blood pressure, gave me the okay to continue. The weather during these four days was pretty horrific so we might not have wanted to move anyway: driving rain, some really dramatic lightning and thunder and a fair amout of new snow on the mountains above us. When I was finally able to move on, it was a tough call whether we should go up or down - the weather was very iffy and there were reports of trails washed out further up the valley.
In the end we went, and though I was feeling much better, my belly still wasn't 100 percent, and I certainly didn't have full energy. Most days involved a fair amount of vertical gain, and without a full head of steam it was often a pretty tough push - but definitely worth it!
It really is an amazing walk. The Goriganga was a major trade route between India and Tibet prior to the India - China War of 1962; salt, sheep and wool from Tibet - rice and wheat from India. After the war this was entirely halted, and many of the villages along the way kind of died off - most of the villages now have far, far fewer inhabitants, and most of those are now only seasonal, and there are many abandoned stone buildings. These buildings are beautifully constructed drystone with a bit of mud caulking, with slate roofs. Most are two storey, with the lower levels either for cooking or keeping animals, and the upper for living. Many of these villages - Martoli, Burphu, Pacchu - have dozens and dozens of abandoned buildings in various states of ruin, and they make a beautiful sight below the snow-capped peaks that surround them.
We got our first look at Nanda Devi from the small temple above Martoli, a dramatic sight as it is clearly much, much taller than neigbouring snow peaks like Nanda Kot. But further up the valley, from Pacchu (actually the smaller village on the other side of the river) we got a really clear view of Nanda Devi East in the morning. That day we walked up the Pacchu valley where we got spectacular views of both Nanda Devi and Nanda Devi East - beautiful white goddesses towering over everything. We wanted to get all the way to the Pacchu Glacier, but only made it about three-quarters of the way there - at that point I was losing steam, and then it started to snow, so it seemed like a good point to turn back!
Another day up to the village of Milam, and the following morning we walked up the glacier. The last couple of kilometres were through a rubble field of moraine, and then we jumped along the boulders along the side of the river flowing out from the glacier right up to the snout - wiped off the gravel that covered it and peered into the clear, fissured ice, touching one of the less-celebrated sources of the Ganges.
We were getting pretty good weather up the valley, but by this point were wanting to get back. I'm sure Jess will blog on the amazing people we met in a lot of the villages - some really lovely individuals and they were pretty fascinated with this Canadian girl that was keen to squat by the smokey cooking fires and roll chapatis. We naturally got to know our guide and two porters pretty well in the two weeks that we were with them; and though we mostly liked and respected them, our estimation of our guide fell a bit when he got even drunker than usual in the village of Burphu and got into a fist fight with the owner of the house where we were staying. They seemed to patch things up in the morning, but it was kind of a drag to see him abuse a very kind and hospitable man.
From Burphu we booked it down the valley, covering about 42km in two days. This was really more than I was capable of - during the morning of the last day of walking I more or less collapsed on the trail from dehydration; it was hot and I wasn't consuming enough liquid, mostly because it tended to go right through me. A kind Gujarati trekker on his way up gave us some rehydration salts (ours was in our packs ahead with the porters) and that helped get me back on my feet. After a bit of a rest at mid-day, the weather became cooler and cloudy and I was able to continue at a better pace. Later in the afternoon it started to rain, first lightly, then very, very hard, with lots of lightning and thunder, and hail, mostly the size of peas, and occasionally the size of chick peas. We pressed on all the way to the trail head, making it in the falling dark. We had walked for about 11 hours, and by the time we made the road I was pretty shattered. Our guide Prem's son Darminder was one of our porters, and his cell phone (!) still worked and he was able to call a friend with a jeep to come pick us up, and by the time we made up the switchbacks through the driving rain to Munsyari, it was totally dark.
The power was out in Munsyari, but we managed to find some dank hole of a hotel room, ate in one of the little nearby eateries there by candlelight, and after finishing the inevitable negotiation over the fees for our guide and porters, I was utterly punched. We had almost completely run out of rupees because we weren't able to change money in Munsyari as we had expected, and only managed to barely scrounge enough to pay our porters by changing with a kind man from Mumbai (Srini) and a couple from Germany that we'd met on the trail. We had just enough left for a hotel room in Munsyari and two tickets on the chicken bus out.
As it happened, that bus left at 4:30am, so we were up in the dark after less than six hours sleep, and on the bus without even a cup of the mandatory chai. This bus followed the route down that we'd taken in a hired car up, and it is a very beautiful trip, but pretty hard in the back of bouncing, tightly packed Indian bus, with a fearful speaker pounding Bollywood tunes 18 inches above our heads - loud even with the really good earplugs that Jess had brought along. I suppose I'm getting a bit soft in my old age, but I'd say this would be a pretty punishing bus ride even for someone half my age. Jess seemed to have a harder time of it than me for the first few hours, but I sort of came apart after about 10 hours of it. By the 12-hour mark I was done - we were only about half an hour from our final destination but I hit the wall and just had to get off that thing. I sat on the sidewalk as Jess checked out the little town we were in for a hotel, and though she found a few, none were able to change money and we were almost rupeeless. I really have to hand it to Jess; I was pretty much useless at this point, but she totally hung together and got us sorted out - she really is an excellent traveler.
In the end, after a bit of a rest and something to drink, we pulled ourselves together, got on a shared taxi to Nanital half an hour away, walked into the first hotel we found - pricey but a great view of Nanital's famous lake - and crashed.
We've just spent the last couple of days strolling the famous mall along the lake with the many, many other Indian sightseers, enjoying the great food and recovering from our walk. An amazing place for people-watching and we even got a hazy, distant view of Nanda Devi from the top of the cable car that runs from the lake to the top of mountain. We both are now much restored from the walk and ready to move on to Hardwar tomorrow.
Much more to write, but I want to log off and eat more of the tasty food they have around here!
Happily he didn't have to, but we stayed in the tiny village of Budgiar for four days until I felt (somewhat) better. On the third day a regiment of the Indian Army passed through, which included an actual medical doctor, and Captain (MD) Kumar gave me a thorough checking out, and though slightly concerned about my elevated blood pressure, gave me the okay to continue. The weather during these four days was pretty horrific so we might not have wanted to move anyway: driving rain, some really dramatic lightning and thunder and a fair amout of new snow on the mountains above us. When I was finally able to move on, it was a tough call whether we should go up or down - the weather was very iffy and there were reports of trails washed out further up the valley.
In the end we went, and though I was feeling much better, my belly still wasn't 100 percent, and I certainly didn't have full energy. Most days involved a fair amount of vertical gain, and without a full head of steam it was often a pretty tough push - but definitely worth it!
It really is an amazing walk. The Goriganga was a major trade route between India and Tibet prior to the India - China War of 1962; salt, sheep and wool from Tibet - rice and wheat from India. After the war this was entirely halted, and many of the villages along the way kind of died off - most of the villages now have far, far fewer inhabitants, and most of those are now only seasonal, and there are many abandoned stone buildings. These buildings are beautifully constructed drystone with a bit of mud caulking, with slate roofs. Most are two storey, with the lower levels either for cooking or keeping animals, and the upper for living. Many of these villages - Martoli, Burphu, Pacchu - have dozens and dozens of abandoned buildings in various states of ruin, and they make a beautiful sight below the snow-capped peaks that surround them.
We got our first look at Nanda Devi from the small temple above Martoli, a dramatic sight as it is clearly much, much taller than neigbouring snow peaks like Nanda Kot. But further up the valley, from Pacchu (actually the smaller village on the other side of the river) we got a really clear view of Nanda Devi East in the morning. That day we walked up the Pacchu valley where we got spectacular views of both Nanda Devi and Nanda Devi East - beautiful white goddesses towering over everything. We wanted to get all the way to the Pacchu Glacier, but only made it about three-quarters of the way there - at that point I was losing steam, and then it started to snow, so it seemed like a good point to turn back!
Another day up to the village of Milam, and the following morning we walked up the glacier. The last couple of kilometres were through a rubble field of moraine, and then we jumped along the boulders along the side of the river flowing out from the glacier right up to the snout - wiped off the gravel that covered it and peered into the clear, fissured ice, touching one of the less-celebrated sources of the Ganges.
We were getting pretty good weather up the valley, but by this point were wanting to get back. I'm sure Jess will blog on the amazing people we met in a lot of the villages - some really lovely individuals and they were pretty fascinated with this Canadian girl that was keen to squat by the smokey cooking fires and roll chapatis. We naturally got to know our guide and two porters pretty well in the two weeks that we were with them; and though we mostly liked and respected them, our estimation of our guide fell a bit when he got even drunker than usual in the village of Burphu and got into a fist fight with the owner of the house where we were staying. They seemed to patch things up in the morning, but it was kind of a drag to see him abuse a very kind and hospitable man.
From Burphu we booked it down the valley, covering about 42km in two days. This was really more than I was capable of - during the morning of the last day of walking I more or less collapsed on the trail from dehydration; it was hot and I wasn't consuming enough liquid, mostly because it tended to go right through me. A kind Gujarati trekker on his way up gave us some rehydration salts (ours was in our packs ahead with the porters) and that helped get me back on my feet. After a bit of a rest at mid-day, the weather became cooler and cloudy and I was able to continue at a better pace. Later in the afternoon it started to rain, first lightly, then very, very hard, with lots of lightning and thunder, and hail, mostly the size of peas, and occasionally the size of chick peas. We pressed on all the way to the trail head, making it in the falling dark. We had walked for about 11 hours, and by the time we made the road I was pretty shattered. Our guide Prem's son Darminder was one of our porters, and his cell phone (!) still worked and he was able to call a friend with a jeep to come pick us up, and by the time we made up the switchbacks through the driving rain to Munsyari, it was totally dark.
The power was out in Munsyari, but we managed to find some dank hole of a hotel room, ate in one of the little nearby eateries there by candlelight, and after finishing the inevitable negotiation over the fees for our guide and porters, I was utterly punched. We had almost completely run out of rupees because we weren't able to change money in Munsyari as we had expected, and only managed to barely scrounge enough to pay our porters by changing with a kind man from Mumbai (Srini) and a couple from Germany that we'd met on the trail. We had just enough left for a hotel room in Munsyari and two tickets on the chicken bus out.
As it happened, that bus left at 4:30am, so we were up in the dark after less than six hours sleep, and on the bus without even a cup of the mandatory chai. This bus followed the route down that we'd taken in a hired car up, and it is a very beautiful trip, but pretty hard in the back of bouncing, tightly packed Indian bus, with a fearful speaker pounding Bollywood tunes 18 inches above our heads - loud even with the really good earplugs that Jess had brought along. I suppose I'm getting a bit soft in my old age, but I'd say this would be a pretty punishing bus ride even for someone half my age. Jess seemed to have a harder time of it than me for the first few hours, but I sort of came apart after about 10 hours of it. By the 12-hour mark I was done - we were only about half an hour from our final destination but I hit the wall and just had to get off that thing. I sat on the sidewalk as Jess checked out the little town we were in for a hotel, and though she found a few, none were able to change money and we were almost rupeeless. I really have to hand it to Jess; I was pretty much useless at this point, but she totally hung together and got us sorted out - she really is an excellent traveler.
In the end, after a bit of a rest and something to drink, we pulled ourselves together, got on a shared taxi to Nanital half an hour away, walked into the first hotel we found - pricey but a great view of Nanital's famous lake - and crashed.
We've just spent the last couple of days strolling the famous mall along the lake with the many, many other Indian sightseers, enjoying the great food and recovering from our walk. An amazing place for people-watching and we even got a hazy, distant view of Nanda Devi from the top of the cable car that runs from the lake to the top of mountain. We both are now much restored from the walk and ready to move on to Hardwar tomorrow.
Much more to write, but I want to log off and eat more of the tasty food they have around here!
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