Travelling in Himachal in June – 2007
Shimla >> Manali >> Rohtang >> Chandratal >> Ki/Kibber/Tabo >> Kalpa >> Shimla
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Rohtang is like a boundary to No Man’s Land. One moment you are in big crowd, cross the boundary and you find no one. If traffic jams slowed us till Rohtang, beyond there we kept stopping every now and then to look at that and look at this.
The condition of roads deteriorated quickly. Soil was loose and tarmac had long since gone. We had to wade streams that ran across the road in a bid to meet Chandra river below. A truck was stuck on the way and was removed by an efficient team of BRO experts armed with a crane in no time. As we drove further, roads were full of boulders and were fit only for the toughest vehicles with a trained driver. In some stretches we had to drive through cleared ice but fortunately there was no snow on the road. Sections of the road were narrow enough to barely let our jeep pass, and any error in judgment would take us down the valley real fast and then send us up much faster!
BRO at work
Our jeep passes through road cut through ice
We reached Gramphu where the road forks, with one leading to Leh and the other to Spiti. It was prominently marked in the map with a decent sized dot and I was looking to pass through a small town. We passed two tiny tea shops, and a small muddy road deviated towards right. A small sign near the fork indicated that the two shops together contributed the population of Gramphu. At least that was better than a few more places we passed later, where signs put up by pwd read of places that had ‘population – zero’. Why would they want to have a name for those places?
There was no permanent habitation sited on the journey for rest of the day. One or two 2-wheelers passed us which made up the traffic in next six hours. There were a few people here and there, mostly nomadic horseman and shepherds wandering the country in the summer. Our road passed between a line of tall mountains forming a narrow valley bisected by Chandra river. The mountains were devoid of any trees and were colored brown with loose soil that could easily come crumbling down the road, causing landslides. Mountain peaks were dressed in snow that would soon melt and bare it all in high summer. Snow melt made the muddy brown waters of Chandra river to flow fast and furious. The only greenery in this high altitude desert was tiny grass that grew in the little stretches of flat land. Sheep herds seemed to be content with just that and survived effortlessly, and the shepherds probably survived on these sheep.
‘The forest departments tried to plant some trees here,’ a friend had told me back in Shimla. ‘It was not very successful. But a few trees survived in pockets and small forests eventually sprang up. That has resulted in some climate change. It now rains once a while in places which hardly ever see any rain. The result is frequent landslides which makes the place dangerous’. Indeed, rains could cause major trouble in these young mountains with sediments that can tumble at the slightest provocation.
It was 4pm when we stopped at Chhatru for a cup of chai. Chhatru, like Gramphu had no homes but just three dhabas meant to serve people commuting between Manali and Kaza in summer months. Excellent mint tea made by the energetic dhabawala who was all smiles recharged us of the long journey. Tiny streams, colorful flowers along their flow, sounds of Chandra river and views of the mountains kept us going. When we finally reached Batal, another one-dhaba settlement, it was already 8pm and darkness had fallen.
Dhaba owner at Chhatru was all smiles
Bridge across Chandra at Chhatru
That night, we stayed at the dhaba at Batal run by an elderly couple. Their names I do not know, but chachaji and chachiji is how we called them. They had arrived here for the summer from warmer climes and had re-opened the dhaba only a week ago. The elderly Buddhist couple walked briskly serving us with hot Chapathis, and spoke with great enthusiasm. Chachaji was fun to talk to and made us burst into spells of laughter.
Chachiji smiled liberally
Me speaking to driver Mangal: Let’s leave for Chandratal as early as possible tomorrow morning.
Chachaji: How early is as early as possible? Start at 12am!
He had the charming innocent face with an enthusing and ever present smile so typical of Tibetan Buddhists, and was an instant hit with anyone who spoke to him.
After dinner, Chachaji started a conversation again. ‘You guys should come in July-August. Weather will be at its best and you can have a great time.’
Me: Why? Even now we seem to be having a great weather.
Chachaji: Kya great weather? Look at yourself wearing this sweater, jacket and all that stuff.
He always had a witty remark ready and kept us engaged effortlessly.
As the night fell, we withdrew into a corner of the warm dhaba and fell into sleep quickly.
Continued at Batal and Chandratal
Travelling in Himachal in June – 2007
Shimla >> Manali >> Rohtang >> Chandratal >> Ki/Kibber/Tabo >> Kalpa >> Shimla
+ Previous: Rohtang Pass
+ Next: Batal and Chandratal
+ Go to beginning of the story or index page
Most of my trip to Himachal was planned and arranged with the help of our traveller friends. Mangal, the driver who took us through Lahaul, Spiti and Kinnaur was referred to me by a friend in Delhi.
I called Mangal the day we reached Manali, and we setup a meeting. Until we met, we had no clear plans on our journey beyond Manali, though I had a rough idea. It would be a choice between Leh and Spiti. After discussing for almost an hour, we finally decided that it is going to be Spiti.
Mangal had spent many long years behind the wheel, driving tourists around the mountains of the high Himalayas. His paunch looked like a beer belly, but it was acquired over years of work that required him to burn very few calories. In fact he was a tee-totaller, a variety rare among drivers. When he spoke with his soft voice, he always let out a gentle smile that barely revealed his front teeth under the trimmed moustache. He had an easygoing air that would put people at ease. In a few minutes of talking with him, we were relieved of our anxiety of meeting someone who had every chance to cheat gullible tourists.
Mangal always spoke with an air of authority and a confidence held by the firm belief that he knows what he is speaking. And when it comes to driving and travelling in Spiti, he definitely knew his stuff. He knew people all along the way, and in places where he did not, he would make new friends in no time. He had a charm that opened up people to him easily and held them in his trust. After a long day of driving, we stopped for a cup of tea in the evening somewhere where he seemed to know none. He sneaked his Sumo slowly next to a man standing beside the road and waiting for a bus and characteristically said ‘haanji’ with his usual gentle smile and an air of familiarity. The conversation hence started with a stranger lasted for a good fifteen minutes while we had alighted from the jeep and were already done with our tea!
People were delighted to have him to talk to, and were always willing to lend him an arm of assistance when needed. We were looking to buy tickets to Delhi from Shimla at the end of our journey and it was just a matter of going to a nearby ticket counter and picking them up. But a friend of Mangal who was talking to him eagerly jumped in to help and sent an assistant of his to get it done. He was there to find way even with things a little more complicated. When my fellow-traveller spotted a couple of traditionally dressed Kinnauri girls when we were driving, he wanted a picture. But pahadi women usually dislike being photographed, and he turned to ever-reliable Mangal to intervene. ‘Let us see what we can do,’ said Mangal, drove up to them and started wielding the magic with his ‘haanji’. A minute later, the girls were willing to be photographed even when they were a bit reluctant about it.
I realized I never took a picture of Mangal. Here is his Tata Sumo that took us around
It was not just his people skills that helped us through the trip, but his driving skills too. He was a man committed to his work and to his clients, and was ready to go extra mile to make us go back happy. We were early in the season and some of the roads were still in the process of getting cleared after the winter. The jeep drivers coming from the opposite direction told us that the road to Chandratal Lake–an amazingly beautiful lake that was a short deviation from the main road–was closed, but he kept our hopes alive and was confident of driving up there.
‘These drivers are not honest,’ he would say, ‘sometimes the road will be open but the drivers are uninterested in the extra drive. They will just lie to the tourists. And they can’t tell us the facts because their customers sitting behind would get to know’.
And sure enough he drove us to Chandratal on a road that was just opened, but too painful and dangerous to drive.
He would also extend a helping hand to anyone who would be in need. When he saw a tiny M800 wading through a stream crossing the road, he waited and watched to ensure that they crossed safely. When a Ford Endevour had a punctured tyre on the terrible road to Chandratal, they would never have managed to change the tyres and make their way ahead without Mangal’s help. No wonder people all over the route knew him well and respected him so much. And once he was done with the Endevour, he laughed as we moved on and remarked produly – ‘these big SUVs are useless for really tough terrains. Its the Tata Sumos like mine that really survive’.
Mangal did give us his share of pains too. In his bid to give good value to us, he once negotiated a place to stay for a night, came back to us and told us he had found a good place, inexpensive. It was the last day of our journey and so far we had stayed in nice little clean places. We presumed it is one such place and gave him the green signal without inspecting it. But it turned out to be a dingy, grimy place I would never ever want to stay in. It was too late to get out, so I simply unfolded my sleeping bag and took refuge in it in a corner of the room.
He was also fun to be with, talked a lot and cracked a joke every now and then. The journey to Spiti was memorable for its beautiful landscapes, but being with Mangal made it all the more enjoyable.
Continued at Batal and Chandratal
Travelling in Himachal in June – 2007
Shimla >> Manali >> Rohtang >> Chandratal >> Ki/Kibber/Tabo >> Kalpa >> Shimla
+ Previous: Exploring Solang Nala
+ Next: Our Driver Mangal
+ Go to beginning of the story or index page
The later half of the title is borrowed from an Eric Clapton number in City of Angels OST.
Leaving Manali, we made our way up to Rohtang, and beyond to Lahaul Valley.
Manali nearly has the feel of end of civilization, beyond which one would expect higher inaccessible passes and plateaus that are referred to as the roof of the world, where no one but the most adventurous would make his mark. The upper regions have an aura that brings in the souls seeking the road less travelled and the ones looking for an escapade to timelessness. Numerous adventure companies on the streets of Manali, and the knowledge of the fact that there is little habitation beyond here reinforces these feelings.
As we took off from Manali a little late in the day, it was anticipation and excitement of heading into these esoteric lands that occupied our minds. What was in store was far different from the picturesque world created in dreams. Yes, the valleys and the mountains were pretty and of a scale seen nowhere else, but we were not the only ones on the roads. Big mean SUVs, Tata Sumos and even tiny tinny Marutis crowded the road in numbers that could match peak hour traffic of our cites. We progressed slowly like a caravan in bumper-to-bumper traffic that probably stretched all the way to the pass, drinking fumes belched from the engines that half-burned the fuel in thin mountain air. It was no way to head to heaven; undoubtedly there were many of us in quest of something more than the everyday grind.
Traffic Jams on the way up..
It was the shops on the way that had me amused. In the two hour journey, located every hundred meters were shops renting out thermal wear for those unequipped to be up in the cold at 13,000 feet. And they successfully found customers from gullible travellers who had no knowledge of the warm day and the pleasant t-shirt weather on the top. The shops were numbered and not named, and so numerous they were, I recall seeing the numbers go above 400.
‘Why do they have numbers for the shop,’ I asked our driver Mangal.
‘There are so many shops along the road, it is hard to remember where you rented the clothes from,’ he said, ‘but a number is unique and much easy for the drivers to keep in mind and return the wears. Names can be duplicated and can get confusing very easily.’
As we passed each shop, someone would raise and hold up a long jacket with furry outer lining and look at us hopefully of finding a customer. We stopped on the way for lunch and I bought a pair of cheap goggles in one of the shops to compensate the expensive ones I had lost on the way. The fifty rupees plastic piece apparently made me look better than the one I earlier had, which cost me a few thousands.
It was several traffic jams and long waits before we made it to Rohtang. Up there, it was like being in a big mall. Thousands of people, a good number of them who have never seen snow before, were running, sliding, jumping and playing in two-meter thick snow and having the time of their lives. And the whole pass had turned into a supermarket with shops selling breakfast-lunch-dinner and renting out jackets, sleighs, horse rides and even basic skiing lessons. If mall hopping is something you love, Rohtang is the perfect place for holiday.
Up on the pass
But a short ride beyond Rohtang and we were suddenly in no man’s land. The traffic, people, vendors were all past and it was pure silence that accompanied us. It was the silence of joy and the silence of beauty – a feeling that hit us on visualizing the magnitude of the beautiful mountains, the thoughts of Chandra river flowing far below in the valley, feeling the presence of beautiful purple and yellow flowers carpeting the mountain floor and tiny streams flowing down from the snow melting on the white peaks and into the valley floor. Valleys of Lahaul and Spiti perfectly matched our dream of the mountains.
Continued at Our Driver Mangal