Travelling in Himachal in June – 2007
Shimla >> Manali >> Rohtang >> Chandratal >> Ki/Kibber/Tabo >> Kalpa >> Shimla
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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
Travelling in Himachal in June – 2007
Shimla >> Manali >> Rohtang >> Chandratal >> Ki/Kibber/Tabo >> Kalpa >> Shimla
+ Previous: Beyond Manali – III
+ Next: Rohtang Pass
+ Go to beginning of the story or index page
I could not write much in the last few days and had to resort to posting pictures. I was too lazy to write when I had time, or was busy preparing some posts for a few other places where I write. Now it is time that I do some writing here.
The few hours that we spent exploring near Solang Nala are one of my best moments in the entire journey through Himachal. Dense spread of flowers, high peaks dressed in white, a stream flowing down from the intersection of the mountains, blocks of old snow scattered around the streams and green lower slopes intercepted by colors of the flowers are only physical realizations that touched the heart. Mind goes quiet in the presence of this nature’s eloquent display of her beauty. Thoughts cease and the tranquility lost in the ordeal of living comes back alive, nurtured by the creation herself. The moment overpowers anything less significant and the ceaseless chatter of the mind meets its death.
Solang was love; I held it close to my heart. Only a short minute of walk from the last point of tourists where we left behind a few people, chai shops and a small construction in progress, it opened me up to the treasures of the mountain. Floral congregations drew me into them and slackened my pace. The stream that occasionally disappeared into snow and resurfaced downstream amused us with its pleasing sounds and hurried pace. Innocence lost somewhere in the days of childhood flooded us that moment as we laughed and ran on the snow and delighted ourselves inspecting the tunnels under the ice formed by the stream.
We were lost for long in the indulgence. When we spotted a few shepherds and grazing sheep across the stream, it immediately became our way ahead. We walked up the slopes that appeared deceptively close but took us an infinitely long time to climb, slowed down not just by the steep gradient but by a waterfall, tiny plants carrying all kind of colorful bloom and the changing vistas of the valley below. The shepherds were packing up, dousing the fire and cleaning the tea kettle. The last man who remained when we finally reached them was herding the remaining sheep and gave us a weary and toothy smile, responding to my ‘Namaste’.
He shoved the kettle and a few utensils under a plastic tent kept near a tree and told us that they come back here again for the night. He answered my volley of questions quickly and seemed to be in a hurry to leave and catch up with his fellows who had gone ahead. We asked him if we can go up to the ridge above and find our way to the other side. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you will find a path from the other side, and you can reach the main road if you go down along the path.’ He took leave from us and we continued our exploration up the unknown mountain.
We walked through a thickly wooded section of the slope. Tall trees dominated the landscape except at the steep gradients where ground was covered green with undergrowth. Lichens and mushrooms grew on the dead trunks which probably hosted inside it an army of insects that fed from the remains. Depressions on earth marked the now dry streams where water would gush down from the mountain during the monsoons. We took our time and walked aimlessly along the slopes, unwilling to leave even as sun made his progress towards the horizon in the west.
We reached the ridge, but did not find the path mentioned by the shepherd. We could clearly see far below and map our way down, and there was nothing to panic. My friend walked ahead and down the slope, and halted doubtfully after taking a few steps.
‘What happened,’ I asked him. He said, ‘Arun, I think it is too steep to go down.’
It looked simple from where I stood. There were many trees along the slope and even if it was steep, a few steps down would provide support from one tree and then the next and the next.
‘Wait, let me come there,’ I told him confidently and walked down from the ridge towards where he was standing. But as I got near him, I was filled with the same doubts as he had. It was deceptive when we saw from the ridge but the soft top soil was slippery and the way down was steep. It would not have been an easy way down.
But is was too late to decide to head back. The few steps we had taken down left us in a situation of danger where we could slip down even if we tried to retrace the way up. We worriedly talked for a few minutes, hanging there and trying to work on a strategy, but finding none. Finally my friend made the first daring move, threw his shoulder bag down the slope, removed his shoes and let them go down too and slid down barefoot. There was a moment of anxiety where he seemed to be going down uncontrollably, but quickly got hold of a tree, found his way down further. He had managed to move out from the point of danger in a matter of less than a minute.
It was my turn now. Things were harder for me as my backpack was heavy with a camera and a big additional lens which I could no way let go sliding downhill. I let off my shoes, and with no choice left, decided to take a chance and took the next step. I slid down, got scratched at places and moments of anxiety later, crash landed into a tree without getting hurt. It wasn’t really a cakewalk further, but a little safer. From there it did not take long for me too, and we were back on stable ground, panting but smiling.
The moment of danger had us worried and the hours of calm we had spent up the mountain was completely forgotten in the prospect of having to break our bones. But we were again back on our feet and loving the walk down and leaving the danger behind. It was another half hour’s walk down that we covered chattering about the beautiful day we have had and of the thrill that remains when the peril is past.
Continued at Rohtang Pass
