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: 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
