The reading backlog

“Please return all mail I recieve to the sender. It might be a very long time before I return South. If this adventure proves fatal and you don't ever hear from me again , I want you to know you are a good man. I now walk into the wild. Alex.”

In April 1992 , a young man named Christopher Johnson McCandless from a well-to-do family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness, never to return again. Author Jon Krakauer chronicles the story of this enigmatic young man in his book “Into The Wild”. I had picked this up on my way to Ladakh at the Bangalore Airport.The book,however,remained unread through the trip, packed off in a fellow trekker's backpack.Thanks to my incurable habit of picking up books every now and then (airports being an old favourite), I have accumulated a huge reading backlog ever since, something I have been trying to finish off during the past couple of weekends.

Krakauer's book raises some intriguing questions – what differentiates adventure from bravado,and how far would one go in search of raw, transcendent experience? A tryst with the unknown holds a seduction of it's own , and anyone with a passion for adventure can vouch for it. Krakauer relates it to his own climbing experiences , and a personal obsession to climb one of Alaska's remotest mountains – the Devil's Thumb that had overtaken him during his youth. He explores McCandless's personality almost with a personal vigour. An extremely intelligent and idealistic young man , captivated by the writings of Tolstoy, McCandless's strained relationship with his father pushed him into seeking refuge in his undisciplined imagination - a strange obsession to experience living off the wilderness in Alaska. Surprisingly , his encounters with others on his journey to Alaska reveal a more grounded side of his personality and the fact that he held no illusions around his venture into the wild. In fact , as the author delves deeper into the youngster's last few days in the Alaskan wilderness, what surfaces is that save for some insignificant blunders, McCandless would have walked out of the Alaskan woods in 1992 as anonymously as he had walked into it.

A somewhat dark read , a deep exploration of a very enigmatic personality and thought provoking questions around the limits of climbing as a sport ( which as the author himself puts it , becomes a 'psycho neurotic' tendency for some of the most obsessive climbers, an attempt to frame the torment of their own existence).

On a more cheerful note, I moved on to Michael Palin's ' Himalaya' , a day to day account of the BBC documentary series by the same name. Palin gives a befitting introduction -“ What the Sahara is to desert, the Himalayas is to mountains. Both share the same contradictory attractions, appealing and appalling, tempting and terrifying in equal, and ultimately irresistible,measure.”  He traverses the Himalaya from the Khyber Pass, through Ladakh and Kashmir,enters Nepal and the mystic land of Tibet and concludes the grand journey in the Bay of Bengal - “ Mission accomplished. With the help of the Ganges and the Brahmaputra I'm swept away out into the Bay of Bengal , along with millions of tonnes of mud that was once the Himalaya”

Palin's first hand account of his experiences in the subcontinent are earnest – his predicament while filling a permit to buy alcohol in Rawalpindi which among other things , requires him to give his religion (“Agnostic with doubts”), his pleasure on discovering the many facets of Hindu mythology in Krishna's temple in Kathmandu (“Our gods don't tend to have girlfriends. It's something we've rather missed out on”) or his admiration for Wongchu,the Sherpa leader who accompanies him to Annapurna Base Camp (“ He is horrendously over-qualified for this sort of work, having twice summitted Everest. On one of those occasions he arrived at the top at 5.30 in the morning, so far ahead of the rest of the party that he lay down on top of Everest and fell asleep until they arrived. Now that is cool!”). The unmistakable attraction of the Himalaya lingers all through, and photographs by Basil Pao do justice to the captivating accounts. A thoroughly enjoyable travelogue, deja-vu for anyone who has travelled to the Himalays, highly recommended!

My reading backlog still continues though, am hoping to bridge more of the pile of unread books on my shelf  before the year ends:)

The Eclectic Getaway

“Kochi, Kerala’s Friendly Gateway, Is No Backwater” read the article on New York Times travel. I was sifting through google trying to figure out a destination for the long weekend around Independence Day. Explicit instructions from M just said “No beach , please!”. The woman elegantly went incommunicado after that and no amount of hounding over phone calls or emails helped. The responsibility of looking for a destination was thus successfully delegated to me , the sole back up plan being hanging out at Hard Rock Cafe in Bangalore for all the three days. The snake boat race in Alleppey around the same time was an option , but I had already been there same time last year. The idea of Fort Cochin seemed like a good fit – I had briefly passed through Jew town on my way back to Bangalore from Alleppey after the snake boat race. I badly wanted to catch a Kathakali dance performance and M could get her first glimpse of the backwaters too – our two main agendas were ticked!

Fort Kochi was the territory that was granted by the Rajah of Kochi to the Portugese , later captured by the Dutch and finally by the British. There is a distinct colonial air around the place, be it the ancient architecture of the churches or the elegantly built boutique hotels on the waterfront , some restored from heritage buildings. The place is also a backpacker's retreat and tell tale signs are everywhere – affordable homestays (the one where we stayed ,bang opposite the St Francis Church claimed to be the last residence of Vasco Da Gama till his death and burial in the same church ), flea markets lined across the streets and small cafes tucked around the corners in the local neighbourhoods.

We reached Fort Kochi on Friday afternoon and decided to catch a Kathakali performance in the evening at the Kerala Kathakali Centre. We got in early to catch a glimpse of the elaborate make up process before the actual performance. The show begins with a demonstration of the main facial expressions used in Kathakali. The experience of  watching a Kathakali performance is a fascinating one -a vibrant medley of dance, mime, music and acting. Expressions so vivid that we were left to wonder how is it humanely possible to practice and perform such an art form! An enthralling 3 hours later we headed off for dinner and back to the venerable Vasco's home . Despite much speculation around the apparition of the Portugese explorer , the night went away uneventfully. Vasco probably decided against a rendezvous with the two not-so-sane women:).

Early next morning we headed off to Kumarakom. Situated on the banks of the Vembanad Lake (the longest lake in India), Kumarakom is a beautiful backwater destination.The cruise took us through an intricate network of canals and lagoons lined with lush, green paddy fields, finally ending in the Vembanad Lake. The boat stood still in the endless expanse of the lake, and the gently flowing breeze put us into the throes of the most heavenly sleep ever. Vembanad  deservedly earned it's place on my list of favourite places to snooze*!

We reached back Fort Kochi in time to catch the sunset along the waterfront and the postcard Chinese fishing nets. Plenty of fish mongers were still open in the evening , selling fresh snapper, prawns or crabs which can be served grilled to your liking ( for those with a strong penchant for the piscean variety , it may also take some effort to steal your glance away from the fish glistening under the light of the lantern). We wandered around in the quiet streets for sometime,whiled time over coffee and headed off for dinner to the Koder House. The Koder House is the former residence of one of the city's most prominent Jewish families , now a heritage building and an all suite hotel. Menorah , the restaurant serves authentic Jewish, Syrian Christian and Kerala cuisine with a wonderful ambience to unwind. A thoroughly enjoyable dinner later (not to mention M's interesting conversations with the waiter after her glass of beer) ,we headed back to the homestay.

We checked out the next morning , left our bags at the homestay and decided to cover Jew town and the Dutch palace before heading back to Bangalore. Jew Town is situated in Mattancheri , a 10 minute auto rickshaw ride away. The oldest synagogue in India , built in 1568, is located here. Old , handpainted Chinese tiles decorate the entire synagogue which also has Hebrew inscriptions on the walls. The narrow alleyways around the synagogue are lined with shops selling artifacts and antiques, some owned by the handful of Jews who still stay there. Nearby is the Dutch palace , which was presented to the Cochin rajas by the Portugese. The highlight of the palace are the beautifully painted Hindu murals depicting the entire story of the Ramayana. We headed back to pick up our bags , and with an hour still in hand , decided to spend some time in the St Francis Church.It was empty and quiet inside ,except for gospel songs, being rehearsed by the church coir. The oldest European church in the country briefly held the remains of Vasco Da Gama before it was sent back to Portugal. We sat in silence as the gospel songs echoed in the centuries old church (I am tempted to add the church as well to the my list of soporific favorites save someone sue me for blasphemy). An hour later we headed off to the airport to catch our flight back to Bangalore. The holiday to the Queen of the Arabian sea was over – a tete-a-tete with eclectic culture, the lovely backwaters and plain good times with an old friend:).

*Others in the list include the tempo traveller single seat , the soft grassy, ground beneath a particular tree in Vaxholm and my sleeping bag in Ladakh.

The Himalayan Sojourn,after the Epilogue: High on the Khardung La

The world outside was a perfect monochrome – black and white. Inside the maxi cab , I sat beside the window pane drawing circles on the accumulating mist. The snow outside was getting thicker – inch by inch. The blizzard was getting dangerously stronger and showed no signs of receeding. The cigarette butt that one of the guys had thrown outside just minutes ago was invisible now , buried under a thick layer of snow. “A precursor of things to come?” - I thought to myself. The serpentine queue of vehicles, lined along the Khardung La stood immobile. The Innova standing right infront of us, started the ignition and in an attempt to move ahead, skid dangerously on the snow. We were stranded , on arguably the highest motorable pass of the world.

Our super adventurous trek during the first half of the Ladakh journey had an undesirable post effect- the road trip and mobile camping for the second half of the journey felt like a school picnic in comparison – notwithstanding the lovely landscapes we came across on the way to Pangong,Chumathang and Tso Moriri. Our final roadtrip destination was the Nubra valley. Lying between the Ladakh and the Karakoram ranges , Nubra is a cold desert and is also known as the gateway to the Siachen which lies to it's north. The only way to access Nubra from Leh is through the Khardung La. The road over the Khardung La is two lanes , no guardrails , a vertical precipice of snow below and interspersed with huge military convoys – quite unsurprising given the proximity to Siachen.

The journey from Leh to Nubra through the Khardung La was quite uneventful. Our initial plans to camp in the Nubra desert had to be ditched thanks to a sandstorm right after we arrived ( which I admit gave us cheap thrills , after the picnicky mobile camping days). We camped for the night in a village nearby , and left in the morning for Leh after stopping at the Diskit monastery on the way.As we passed through the military post at around 11 a.m just before Khardung La, the army hurried us across -“ It's snowing and we won't be letting any heavy vehicles across”. A couple of minutes of drive later , we stopped. The snow had blocked the way and all we could see was an unending queue of vehicles along the long and narrow winding road. To make matters worse , the blizzard continued unabated reducing visibility and making the road highly prone to skidding. We hoped the logjam would clear in sometime .What we didn't anticipate was an 11 hour stalemate in the snow blizzard , at 18380 feet .

By evening , we had inched around a kilometre ahead. The effects of high altitude were gradually showing up - staggering breath and headaches. Conversations had died down and everyone was back to the dead stupid game of Uno* .We were out of both water and food , something we hadn't stocked up on our way back since we were heading straight back to Leh. “ Let me make some tea ” - our driver Angchuk enthusiastically suggested. The porters jumped out , broke icicles hanging outside on the walls of snow , and dismantled the stove from the camping equipment stocked above. The driver's cabin miraculously turned into a kitchenette as he opened the seat compartment on the side to reveal well stocked up kitchenware and condiments. The hot tea was a miraculuous relief, albeit only for sometime.

As darkness fell , visibility levels were down to zero. Temperatures outside had dipped to sub zero and we could feel the biting cold make our toes numb.Govil suggested rubbing the toes constantly with our hands in order to keep them warm and avoid frostbite.An army truck distributing maggi and biscuits on the way stood like a messiah. We managed to get a little more than our rationed share thanks to a colonel from the Siachen regiment whom Avisek had befriended on the way. Angchuk steered the cab slowly through the blinding flakes of snow,carefully keeping distance from the vehicle right infront. We could see a car standing precariously on the edge of the road on the left .The driver had tried to speed ahead and had lost complete control. Angchuk and the other drivers got down , to try and push the car back on the road ( a ritual that all the drivers in this terrain abide by - to always stop by and help a stranded vehicle on the way , irrespective of the prevailing conditions).

The road ahead was now a complete blur. We could see the armymen on the road , walking through the blizzard trying to clear the snow. Inside Govil was making dinner for us - maggi atop the Khardung La. A young girl suffering from respiratory problems in one of the vehicles behind us was brought down by Angchuk, since ours was one of the very few vehicles that night with an oxygen cylinder inside. An army doctor was doing the rounds checking up on passengers inside .The prolonged stay at such high altitude was already taking it's toll on the stranded travellers .

At around 10 p.m , we could see a strong flashlight and the way clearing up infront. Angchuk started the ignition and drove forward. We cheered the armymen who gestured us to move ahead faster. Once we had descended , we dropped the young girl and her father who stayed back at an army post for their family in another vehicle behind to catch up. The pass had finally cleared up and the ordeal at the Khardung La was over. Ladakh had left it's final imprint on our memories for a lifetime.

*the only game the non functional human brain can fathom under the effects of high altitude.

Kudos to the Indian Army who got down to clear up the Khardung La ,and without whom it would have been impossible to get through the pass that night.


Photo credits to Abhinav

The Himalayan Sojourn,Chapter 4: The Last lap

"As far as I'm concerned, if someone eliminates the mental part of climbing, then we might as well all go play miniature golf." -  Greg Opland

The gravel was slipping beneath my foot , I scrambled on all fours to find a ledge against a rock. The steep ascent along the side of the mountain pass was loose gravel and rocks and finding a foothold was next to impossible. The only way was to climb rapidly over gravel and rest over the ledges of rocks. Two of the trekkers had taken to the sheet of snow which lay like a carpet through the mid of the ascent. I took a detour and tried the route – my foot immediately sank inside the deep layer of snow. I stood for a minute trying to choose between gravel and snow. “Just keep climbing this way”, Neeraj pointed at the others who were climbing through a trail on the gravel. “Okay! so gravel”, I decided and turned back to follow suit. Gravity was a killing drag. As we inched higher , the thinning air left us panting for breath with every other step.

A couple of hours later,all of us had arrived on the summit – 5200 m above sea level. All around were the snow clad peaks of the Zanskar and the Karakoram range. The wind was a violent roar and it had started snowing. “Don't wait here , we need to start the descent as soon as possible. The mules will not go any forward. Pick up your essentials from the backpacks and one sleeping bag each”. The horseman was retracing with all the camping equipment and two of the porters would also go back with him. The rest of us, with our guide Govil and cook Gombo, would move ahead till Shang Sumdo.

“Walk on your ankles, not your toe”-Govil instructed. The other side of the mountain pass was a thick sheet of snow descending rapidly. We tried to walk fast, digging our ankles, but kept sinking in the snow.The descending carpet of snow gave way to a narrow stream lined with boulders and rocks. “Keep walking fast!” chided Govil ,  “we have no way of getting through if it starts snowing heavily”. It was snowing lightly every now and then, and the wind sent a shiver down to the bones everytime I stopped.We split into groups of two - seven of us led by Gombo ,which quickly moved ahead. In case we did not make it to Shang Sumdo, we would still need to get to the nearest village before nightfall. The remaining five led by Govil decided to stay back for the others to catch up and then move.

What lay ahead was a long journey none of us had ever dreamt of.The mountains threw up a new terrain everytime - boulders interspersed with last remains of glacial ice , steep cliffs of gravel and narrow trails over gorges with the river flowing beneath , gradually draining the last bits of physical energy.

Darkness was setting in. We were walking along a narrow gorge which gradually descended into a trail.We could spot the meadows and the closest village – Chogdo.  Gombo and Deepak moved ahead - “we will try and get some hot maggi and water in the village , you guys can rest for sometime and follow us” .The five of us sat along the gorge resting for sometime. I swallowed flakes of snow in the air as I gasped for breath. “ Let's go , we cannot rest anymore, it has started snowing again” - we got up again and started the descent along the trail. We reached Chogdo, but Deepak and Gombo were nowhere to be seen. Neither was our second group of trekkers .We could only hope they would catch up , it was impossible to cross the terrain we had left behind in the dark.

 We walked up to a lone house located on a small hillock in search of the two , but they had not come there. I suddenly heard Govil's voice and turned around – the second group had arrived -“ Bring out your torches , we will continue till Shang Sumdo. Deepak and Gombo will be somewhere on the way”. The final lap to Shang Sumdo started - in the flickering light of our torches , the 10 of us queued up and trudged ahead along the gorge. We met the other two on the way ( Gombo was resting a little ahead , and Deepak had carried along. When we finally caught up with him , he was standing still in the pitch dark ,lighting a cigarette. As he told us later , every sound in the dark would remind him of all the snow leopard stories we had heard earlier during the trek:)).

The last trek to Shang Sumdo was a 2 hour journey , and by the time we reached the village , our bodies were numb from cold , hunger , thirst and pain. The entire trek was close to 36 km . Unfortunately the maxi cab which had come to pick us up had waited till evening and gone back to Leh , assuming we had retraced our way back to Chilling since all the other trekkers had done so. We dragged ourselves to the doors of a small monastery where the kind lama lent us a room to rest for the night. As we slipped into our sleeping bags ,I slumbered into my most peaceful night ever - the end of a Himalayan adventure in God's own abode.

Epilogue:

A word of gratitude as a small token of thanks for Govil and Gombo ,who tirelessly guided us , at times carrying all our sleeping bags to ensure we were not bogged down by weight. To me personally , they will always remain role models in courage , persevarance and patience.

Also a word of thanks for our porters whose astounding physical ability amazed me. They would start the trek after us , reach the campsite way before we did , work tirelessly to set up the camp , cook dinner and have tea ready for all of us by the time we reached.

On Himalayan trekking -

To be honest , the mountains beat you up black and blue:). Everytime you cross a terrain , there will be an entirely new one waiting to challenge you. But once you learn to push the limits , you will be amazed at the amount of pain the human body can endure.

Always respect the mountains , there is something so eternal and timeless about them that everything else seems insignificant.

Trek responsibly , please do not litter. It's disgusting to find plastic, bottles,wrappers etc lying around at campsites or on the way .It just takes a moment to collect the garbage and burn it away.

The Himalayan Sojourn,Chapter 3: The Journey

The Zanskar was raging below in full force,we stood on the cliff looking down. How on earth were we supposed to cross this? One of the porters quickly ran ahead, hauled himself in what looked like a rickety version of a cable car (a metal cart with a wooden sitting board ,suspended over a rope which connected the two banks), and slid ahead in full force.We gaped as he reached the other end and pushed the cart back.The other porter followed suit. "Get in groups of two with your daypacks. We will move all the backpacks once all of you are on the other end"- our guide Govil instructed. A moment of contemplation, a last look at the bellowing Zanskar and the 10 of us exchanged glances - let the adventure begin! We quickly got into groups of two, sat crouched facing each other and crossed over to the other side. Except for a broken wooden plank on the sitting board below and a momentary suspension over the Zanskar mid way (not too pleasant a moment I can say), the ride was smooth enough. In an hour's time, all of us had crossed over.

Once the horseman had arrived with the mules,the backpacks and camping equipment were loaded.The first day trek was a 5 km hike from Chilling to Skyu , a virtual stroll compared to what was in store for us in the days ahead. But even a slight ascent would leave me exhausted and completely out of breath.I was realising the demands of high altitude trekking and hoped the body would adapt , which it quickly did over the course of the trek. The short trek got over by late afternoon when we reached our camping site at Skyu (3300m).

Our second day was a 20 km trek from Skyu to Markha at 3780m.We followed the meandering Markha River through groves of apricot, willow and poplar,looking out for grazing blue sheep (blue sheep is a misnomer,this variety of sheep found in the Ladakh region actually has a brownish-gray coloring providing them with protective camouflage.They often stand motionless,can be extremely difficult to spot and , when alarmed will swiftly bolt to safety). We spotted herds of blue sheep twice on the way,grazing high on the mountain tops,met nomadic horsemen and passed through remote villages and ancient gompas. On the hilltops around us were remains of ancient forts and fluttering prayer flags. The sun started beating down harshly as the day progressed. It almost felt like walking through a wild west movie with the ochre coloured cliffs and high folded mountains towering high across us all around.Water was running out fast and some guzzled from the glacial streams on the way. In the days to come, the sedimented water in a variety of colours from the glacial streams became our only source of drinking water, a fact we learnt to ignore, and thankfully our body immunity systems caught up.The campsite was near the Markha village where the last satellite phone would be available for the rest of the journey.We gathered exhausted ,sipping cups of hot tea and learnt from Govil that all the trekkers had retraced their way back from the Nimaling base camp. The Kongmaru La pass (5200m) was still closed , and no one had crossed over. We decided to figure out the final course of action once we reached the Nimaling base camp.

Markha to Hankar (4000m) is a 12 km trek to the highest village in the Markha Valley and the last before the Nimaling plateau.The path runs through frozen river beds , and we often had to cross streams with freezing water barefoot. The relatively heavy wooded sections of the Markha valley are left behind and the path runs through grassy ridges , with steep ascents at times.The weather was playing spoilsport and we could see snowfall in the distance." The horseman might refuse to proceed with the mules if it snows heavily at Nimaling.Carrying all the backpacks can be a huge burden", said Govil. In the event of crossing the pass without the mules around, we decided to let the horseman retrace with our luggage and camping equipment.

Hankar to Nimaling basecamp (4700m) is another high point of the trek. The trek from Hankar simply goes up,up and up! As we ascended, the Kang Yatse (6400m) comes into view. The Nimaling plain is a broad undulating meadow which slopes upwards to the base of the ice-clad Kang Yatze .It offers some of the most stunning views, and enroute is a lake with a shimmering reflection of the Kang Yatze.The tiny rivulets flowing all over its meadows provide pasturage in the summer.The camping site was on the other end of a frozen river.

The overcast clouds had disappeared , "there is an alternative pass which is used during winter that we can cross" - Govil said."You would need to climb the same height, but we don't know what the way ahead after you cross the pass looks like". We would need to descend to Shang Sumdo by evening where our maxi cab would be waiting to pick us up to Leh.Retracing back from Nimaling base camp didn't seem like a good idea.Once we climb the pass and reach the summit, the descent ahead should not be a problem , we asssumed.

As it turned out later , the summit was less than a halfway point, and assumptions in Himalayan trekking don't work.

The Himalayan Sojourn,Chapter 2: An acquaintance with Leh

Our first two days were spent acclimatising in Leh. Initial acclimatisation* is critical before moving on to higher altitudes and normally takes 1-2 days. Drinking plenty of water helps, I religiously drank 4 litres of water (my highest ever average daily consumption) and earned the title of the "water lady" , much to the amusement of my fellow trekkers. The Leh itinerary was normal touristy stuff - Thiksey Monastery,the Shey Palace, the Sindhu Ghat on the banks of the Indus and a stroll in the Leh Market to pick up woolens or other essential trekking equipment.

There is something very mysterious and blissful that fills the confines of the monasteries of Ladakh. There is darkness, yet a lot of colour , faded frescoes and beautiful buddhas but also a bewildering variety of images. In front of the altar, there are butter lit lamps and usually small bowls containing water.Scrolls of silk hang from the roof. Long woodblock printed , loose leafed books with wooden covers are kept near the altar. Buddhist monks in their red robes silently walk by. A world almost untouched and eerie lies behind the walls.

The Leh Market is small but littered with shops which sell almost everything ( my fears of not being able to find batteries were pretty much unfounded). In case you need to stock up on essential items for the trek , you will be able to find everything - backpacks, downjackets,batteries, trekking shoes,medicines , trekking guides - albeit at a hefty price.The market is also a good hunting ground for street food - hot kebabs on skewers and a mouth watering variety of street snacks. A visit to the Amdo cafe is a must , a well known eatery serving Tibetan food. Amdo cafe turned out to be one of our favourite haunts for Tibetan food and the 10 of us would just land up there with a marathon of orders whenever we dropped by at Leh.

On the third day, we packed up our backpacks and headed out of Leh with our guide and porters. The plan was to visit Lamayuru monastery situated on the Srinagar-Kargil -Leh road during the day. Lamayuru is one of the oldest monasteries in Ladakh and the long winding road also passes through the confluence of the Indus and the Zanskar. We would head off to Chilling in the evening where we would camp for the night on the banks of the Zanskar. Next morning , our horseman with the mules would meet us on the other side of the river from where the trek would begin.

A punctured tyre just a few kilometers away from Chilling in the evening forced us to set camp at a hamlet nearby instead of the original camping site . As the sun set and the icy winds grew stronger, all of us gathered in our dining tent for our first camping dinner. During the entire course of the trek,an inadvertent pre and post trekking regime automatically fell into place- a wake up call at 6a.m in the morning before which most of us would be out of our sleeping bags (some even had unique warmup exercises to fight the biting cold), retiring after the trek to discussions over cups of hot tea and kawa ,details of which I have promised not to reveal ( what was said in Ladakh, stays in Ladakh;)) and continous games of Uno (the charm of which I absolutely failed to understand) , sometimes continuing well after dinner.

After dinner we strolled around for a while , trying to figure out constellations , but retired to our tents soon as the winds grew stronger. Our trek would finally begin the next day - five days of experiencing Ladakh , raw and unplugged.

Conversational footnotes:

Heard at a liquor shop in Leh where a couple of us stood shivering asking for some brandy:
"Brandy ka season to khatam ho gaya,woh to winter mein milta hai" (clearly someone has not heard about benchmarking)

From the neighbouring tent on the first day of camping:
"Can I turn inside my sleeping bag on the side?" ( No Mevil, I wont write about your more intriguing questions in order to protect my blog's sanity).

*Diamox is a very useful drug which helps in acclimatisation by making the blood thinner. Test for sulphur allergy before diamox intake. Also, the drug is only a preventive medicine , it cannot ensure altitude sickness will not hit.

The Himalayan Sojourn, Chapter 1: The Arrival

" Not more than 6 alkaline batteries in your handbag" - the lady at the security check at Bangalore Airport was adamant.She took out my batteries and threw them aside. I stared at her in disbelief -" But these are for my camera, I HAVE to carry all of them", I paused. "Can I put these in my co passengers' handbags?"-I pleaded. All the other guys were already through the security check and I could see them loitering around the restaurant. Her ice cold gaze didn't change for a minute.I might as well be speaking to a stonewall. She slid across a cancelled boarding pass - " Get a fresh one, check with your airlines if they can put the batteries in your check in luggage". I pocketed the boarding pass and walked  to the check in counter with a terrible scowl on my face. " But your luggage has been checked in till Leh, we can issue you a fresh boarding pass though". I walked back to the security check with the boarding pass, slid my six batteries aside and walked away. I was in a terribly bad mood which meant I shouldn't speak much.

" They took away all my freaking batteries. What if I don't get any in Leh now?". I grumbled away as I ate my dinner with my fellow trekkers. The Jet Airways flight to Delhi was already late by more than 3 hours , the flight was to tentatively depart at 1:00 a.m now. What a start to the Ladakh trip! " Relax, we will try and get your batteries back. We have enough time on our hands", Avisek said. We walked back to the security check after dinner. " Madam , we are all going to Ladakh and I asked her to carry my batteries as well. Could you please return them?. It may be difficult to get any in Ladakh , you see" , Avisek was at his gentlemanly best. I stood beside trying not to open my mouth at all. " Show me your handbags, do you all have cameras?" , she peered into three of the handbags to find a camera in each. "Okay" , she muttered nonchalantly and slid across my precious batteries. I burst into a gleaming smile as we walked away , I could have almost done a somersault!
We loitered around for the rest of the night till a boarding announcement was made for the Bangalore Delhi flight. My hopes of catching up with sleep aboard the flight were pretty much dashed. Once in Delhi , we caught up with the two others in our group who had already arrived in earlier flights. Luckily, the Delhi - Leh flight was on time.I sat bleary eyed aboard the early morning flight staring through the window below.An hour into the flight , the clouds disappeared to give way to a carpet of snowcapped ice peaks below.

Ladakh lies beyond the Greater Himalayan Range and the enchanting mesh of the Himalayan peaks and clouds continues uninterrupted for the entire last 30 minutes of the flight till Leh. The spell is only broken by the flight landing announcement. I quickly fastened my seat belts and put my camera inside ( for the best views, always ask for the left side window seat on the flight from Delhi to Leh , I unfortunately got a right sided one over the aircraft wing!). As we headed out of the aircraft to collect our baggage , I could feel the chill in the air and a slight but throbbing headache. "Altitude, let's hope this gets better fast"- I thought to myself. Two jeeps from the Ladakh Sarai had come to pick us up , the luggage was hauled and the jeeps raced ahead cutting through a landscape none of us had ever seen before. All around were the lofty peaks of the Himalayas,and a frontier of purple haze mountains of the trans Himalayan Ladakh and Zanskar Range,gradually descending into barren , arid land. As we stared around in disbelief , the realisation finally hit us - our journey into the Himalayan kingdom had begun. Juley!

Mixed bag!

The blog has been dormant for sometime. Blame it on my comfort zone with travelogues. No weekend travel for sometime meant no updating the blog – bad Cheshire I say! My blog conscience was catching up , so I sacrificed on a lazy weekend afternoon siesta (sigh!) to blog on a couple of random things:

A week's vacation to Calcutta in March – Pure bliss:). My parents finally settled in Cal , which helps resolve the following issues (in no particular order):

1. I have a permanent address now , Yippee!
2. No more racking brains to answer “so where are you from” conundrum.
3. No more “whattay nut” look when I mention I dont know where home is exactly located since my parents just moved places and I havent visited them ever since.

The vacation turned out to be what a Cal vacation is supposed to be anyways – eat-sleep-eat marathon. The air conditioned volvos plying from the airport were a pleasant surprise. The Bedouin rolls at Gariahat market taste the same , my aunt continues to admonish me for not gaining weight and discussions around where to get the best fish from still gain centrestage. Thank God for things in life which never change!

Speaking of food,some epicurean adventures in Bangalore at:

• Ruh , a mediterranean restaurant located at a stone's throw away from office, forced out of extortion for winning the HSBC annual debate. Sprawling area comprising of an open mediterranean set up and a lounge like version with a Dracula theme – red curtains , waiters with pin tailed coats et all. Food is just about ok , music is incongrous.I liked the bar though, and also added bartending to my dream profession list:).
• Jukebox, Koramanagala – a colleague's suggestion for a team dinner. Jukebox is a rundown version of an American diner.Don't expect a TGIF for the ambience , but a good place to get some great steaks. Serves only beer for drinks. And the cheese toasts for starters are really yummy!

Great starters for thought at the HSBC annual debate where it was back to Keynes-“In the long run we are all dead”. (or the grateful dead as Krugman puts it in an interesting but slightly dated article here ) Eclectic arguments drawn from economics to the Gita. Also heated debates over the womens' reservation bill issue , Sachin versus Beckham etc. An enthusiastic audience and some out of the box questions:). A thoroughly interesting evening and a clean sweep by the marketing analytics team.

Oh and yes - a first tryst with Bangalore theatre – Girish Karnad's Bikhre Bimb at Rangashankara. If it ever happens to be staged in your city , do not miss it. A brilliantly executed monologue by the protagonist Arundhati Nag , the play explores the dilemma of Indian writers who choose to write in English and serves as a moving story of conflict and the desire for fame. I also liked the theatre ambience at Rangashankara , somewhat similar to Prithvi in Mumbai (not sure if they have the same cutting chai though). A successful first tryst for sure, and hopefully I will end up catching more of Bangalore theatre there!



 

The French Connection

The grumbling auto wala from the Pondicherry bus stand was in a constant peeve - "You could have taken a hotel closer to the bus stand" (or so we inferred from his otherwise incomprehensible Tamil). An almost sleepless (Surprise, surprise!) overnight bus journey from Bangalore brought us to Pondicherry. It was just the wee hours of morning and the town was still asleep under a blanket of very un-Indian tranquility. The auto took a sharp left turn on a street and stopped.“That's Du Parc” - the autowala pointed to a huge medieval door on the opposite end. As we knocked bleary eyed , the door opened to the villa which stood like a time trap - a courtyard lined with pastel coloured walls and large French windows. Du Parc was originally a French Villa built in the 17th century, now restored as a heritage hotel. The colonial rooms are styled beautifully, we were particularly thrilled with ours which had a split,duplex setting. After the initial excitement of running up and down the stairs inside the room (yes, the silly girlish streaks are unputdownable at times:)) , we chalked out a rough itinerary for the two days and plonked ourselves on the grand beds to catch up with sleep till breakfast.

Pondicherry is tiny - a queer mix of the French colonial heritage and the ubiquitous small Indian town. As far as colonial history goes , it has never occupied a predominant place in the discerning travellers' imagination the way other colonial cities in India have. Set up by the French in 1674, it was captured by the Dutch almost immediately , retaken by the founders and then sacked by the British. Also, unlike the more glamorous Goa , this coastal town on the Bay of Bengal has shied away from the glammed up crowd looking for a hip beach getaway. In Pondicherry, time unwinds at it's own pace like a leisurely amble on the wide brick streets by the sea or stands still at the old pastel coloured Catholic Churches.

We decided to visit Auroville and Aurobindo ashram on Saturday and spend the next day exploring the town on our own. Auroville is a universal township in making ,some 10 kms from Pondicherry. The utopian township was founded by the Mother, and is a means of implementing the teachings and vision of Sri Aurobindo. Visitors are only allowed till a viewing point where one gets to see the Matri Mandir or the meditation centre. For those interested in spiritual experiences of the very alternative kind , there are cafes galore which offer the best gastronomic fare ( including fresh sea food and the best pasta:)) or boutiques selling chic craft clothing , handcrafted leather and bohemian jewellery.

Our next stop was the Aurobindo Ashram where Sri Aurobindo and the Mother lived for most of their lives. At the centre of the Ashram, in a tree-shaded courtyard, lies the Samadhi, where their bodies are laid to rest. A slew of visitors were lined up for a visit to the Ashram as the Mother's birthday lay the very next day.
From the Ashram , we headed out towards the sea. The too-rocky-to-swim beach is smattered with tourists , a very incongrous statue of Gandhi ,stately old buildings , a boutique hotel - Promenade (a Hidesign hotel) and a 24 hours open cafe by the beachfront which turned out to be our favourite haunt during the Pondy stay. Endless conversations over coffee later , we decided to solve our “what-to-do-next conundrum” with shopping for shabby,chic street clothing and headed back to the hotel for a quiet dinner.

The next day we rented bicycles and decided to explore the quiet town on our own. Pondicherry is a vagabond's delight!You can wander through the streets aimlessly,relax at a shady corner along the neatly lined perpendicular streets or just breathe in the breeze along Goubert Avenue across the sea. The neighbourhood changes drastically near the sea - the 'white town' with it's colonies of ochre coloured walls, tile roofs ,wooden shutters,colonnades and balconies and streets with very Gallic names. Straight ahead from the beach,the surroundings gradually change back to a familiar,daily Indian town. The Rendezvous, a well known restaurant situated on the Rue Suffren (I tried to pronounce it the French way, from the remnants of a semester of French at university:)) serves the most amazing and fresh sea food.

Endless meanderings through the town, a stop by at an old church and cups of coffee later we returned to Du Parc in the evening and headed back to Bangalore at night. The weekend turned out to be everything a Pondicherry holiday had promised – leisure , amblings, conversations and the childhood pleasure of letting time just roll by.

Hotel Du Parc is a highly recommended place to stay in Pondicherry. Contrary to the autowala's grumblings , it is located only 10 minutes away from the bus stand. The villa is situated in the French quarters , close to the beach. The beautifully restored place and the hospitable staff make it an extremely memorable stay. Details of the hotel here:

http://www.hotelduparc.co.in/

A weekend called Wayanad

"Climbing at altitude is like hitting your head against a brick wall - it's great when you stop"-Chris Darwin

We had reached the peak ,2100 m above sea level and the highest point of Wayanad. A panorama of peaks and valleys of deep forests surrounded us, receeding gradually into the carpet of lush green plantations way below.The trek had started late, almost near noon. The sun was beating down upon as harshly as we started the climb. The ascent to Chembra peak is interspersed with flat stretches of lowlands till the heart shaped lake- a natural lake shaped in the form of a heart, believed never to have dried up (“Because love never dies”;) - as a fellow trekker smartly quipped). The hardest part of the ascent began after the lake, not only because it was steep,but because everytime we climbed and reached a peak we could see another one towering infront of us. The terrain was rocky, and the sun flashed directly at us, dehydrating us frequently.To make things worse, a frolicking bunch of Wayanad school kids crossed us on the way, reached the top and met us on their way back while we were still some distance away! The last frontier to the peak is near vertical rock formations. But once atop the peak, the view is simply captivating. Chembra stands imperiously gazing upon the Wayanad landscape...well..almost imperiously! In the backyard of Chembra,lies Vellarimala , taller than Chembra at 2240 m above sea level,but geographically in the Kozhikode district. Discounting for the slight heartbreak caused by the sight of a taller peak after a tedious trek , climbing Chembra is an exhilarating experience.

Wayanad lies on the southern top of the Deccan plateau lined by the Western ghats ,interspersed with dense forest and valleys. The region was known as Mayakshetra (Maya's land) in the earliest records. Mayakshetra evolved into Mayanad and finally to Wayanad. The Folk etymology of the word says it is a combination of Vayal (paddy) and Naad (land), making it 'The Land of Paddy Fields'.

An overnight journey from Bangalore through Bandipur forest brought us to Mepaddy where we were met by our guide, Santosh. We were a large group divided into two tempo travellers.The journey was pretty uneventful except for minor glitches: The music CDs I wrote failed to work . So while people hurled abuses at me , I blissfully went off to sleep in my cosy tempo traveller seat (a divine art I have mastered to near perfection).

Our weekend itinerary included a trek to Chembra and back on Saturday, a tour to Meenmutty falls and Edakkal caves (the only known caves with neolithic stone carvings in South India) on Sunday before heading back to Bangalore. The trek to Chembra was accomplished without any major disruptions this time (much to Santosh's relief , who had accompanied us before on our now infamous Kudremukh trek). As the temperatures dipped after sunset and the shadows of the Wayanad peaks loomed around,we gathered around a bonfire over dinner,drinks and a game of dumbcharade with some thought provoking performances.

Next morning ,we headed over to Meenmutty, albeit later than planned. The drive to the starting point of the waterfall is beautiful , through undulating roads with tea plantations on either side. A steep downward jungle trek begins some distance from this point ,mostly over loose pebbles and rocks. Meenmutty is the largest waterfall in Wayanad. The first sight of the waterfall is spectacular - a three tiered waterfall with a height of 300 metres in an unspoilt natural setting. We climbed our way back after spending sometime near the waterfall.

By the time we reached back , we realised it was too late to visit Edakkal and decided to head back straight to Bangalore instead. Our hopes of sighting some tuskers as we crossed Bandipur forest around sunset were dashed. A stop by at Mysore for dinner later , we reached Bangalore late night,back to the humdrum of our daily lives.

Footnotes:

1. My google search reveals interesting facts about the name – 'Meenmutty' which literally means fishes can come downstream but can not retrace their path back through this waterfall. Why would a fish ever want to retrace it's way back through ANY waterfall remains a semantic mystery to me!

2. The climb back in the heat from Meenmutty leads one straight to a small shop selling buttermilk strategically placed at the starting point of the trek. Two important tips for visitors (based on fellow travellers' experiences):

  - Do not gulp bottles of buttermilk like magic potion (even if you are dehydrated to the hilt or someone volunteers to pay)

 - Do not mix buttermilk with lemon soda ( you better believe this!)

3. Instances of dumbcharade inspiring lateral thinking among enthusiastic, first time trekkers:

a. "Pratighat" - Desperate climbing acts to express trekking on Western "ghats".Commendable lateral  thinking despite failure to communicate.

b. "Reshma ki Chadti Jawani" (yes,we are nasty people:P) - Highly random,adrenaline packed gestures including running around to express “race”(and hence Reshma). Sucessful communication by protagonist.

The new year camping adventure

The sun was setting behind the western Ghats.The four of us watched in silence, perched on the edge of the valley.As the saffron hues of the sky unfolded,our conversations slowly died down. Beneath way below, we could see the flickering lights of the town.The whispering wind grew stronger by every passing minute and the silence was getting eerie. The other groups of trekkers had left long back and we were the only group of four camping in the valley beneath the peak.

Earlier during the day when we had reached the valley just below the peak , we were still unsure of our camping plans. The only source of water in the valley was a small,stagnant waterhole with floating mosquito larvae, quite contrary to the "drinkable water' that we had heard earlier. A guide with another group of trekkers we met had also informed us that the valley was the transit route for elephants and that the wind gets very strong at night.Camping for the night already had some cons - there was too little water for the four of us and the not-so-interesting-idea of an inquisitive elephant toying with the tent in the night. Add to the fact that none of us had ever pitched a tent before. So we decided,well,almost decided to trek back instead of camping. But the futility of carrying camping equipment to 1600m was difficult to ignore. Someone suggested a dry run. So there we were,trying to figure out how to erect a tent for the first time ever!(with ideas as diverse as climbing to the top of the peak to see if we can get GPRS to watch a you tube video on how to pitch a tent:)). Finally , the tent was erected ..or atleast it looked like one:). But the decision was still not to camp. So we packed up , left our backpacks and camping gear in the valley and climbed the 100 odd metres up to the final peak. By the time we came back to the valley , it was already 4. The harsh daylight was fading away slowly and we realised it would get dark very soon.

“Guys,we can just camp , we will go back tomorrow” , like a bolt from the blue Soumyajit suggested as he plopped himself down on the grass.
“Yea,I am cool”- Varun was thrilled (he probably wanted to do a somersault but restrained with great effort)
“Okay didnt we decide just now not to camp? And it's getting late , so camp or no camp we need to decide fast ” - I looked at the three of them.
“Shireen is getting pissed , let's decide” (how I love pressure tactics!) and all eyes turned towards Ayan who had no clue why he was chosen to decide. “Umm..okay..let's camp” , said Ayan. And so , in exactly the way all truly momentous decisions are made,we decided to camp the night in the valley.

We had pitched the tent a little distance away from the waterhole , near a concrete hut (which probably is a storehouse for a Shiva temple also located on the valley) , to get some protection from the wind. There was some firewood we had managed to collect just before it got dark. The plantation owner we had met on our way when we started the trek had given us some kerosene. But the wood was wet , and the wind was now a ferocious roar.The fire flickered for a while and went off. Darkness had fallen and the night sky was bombarded with a million stars,the sky so clear we could even see the milky way.

As it got colder, we decided to move inside the tent and slipped into our sleeping bags. The night went by uneventfully,except for Varun waking up in the middle of the night to declare that our tent has “moved”!!?? I slept like a log (much to the surprise of my fellow trekkers) only to wake up intermittently to the sound of the wind raging throughout the night. Our tent miraculously survived the night despite a missing peg which we discovered in the morning the next day:)

Travel trivia: The trek was to Kotebetta  (literally meaning the fort mountain as it looks like a fort in distance), the third highest mountain in Coorg at 1620 m.Trekking distance is 10 kms each way.

How to get there: Take a bus from Bangalore to Madikeri and from there onwards to Hattihole.The trekking trail starts through plantations and is quite broad throughout except for a rocky ascent for the last part of the trek.

Camping facts: The camping site lies on the way to the waterhole in the valley.Do not camp very close to either the temple or the waterhole.Carry adequate water and make sure you do not leave any trash (plastic bottles,polythenes) after camping. Although we were warned about wild animals (especially because of the waterhole) , we never encountered any , the only signs we came across were elephant footprints in plenty and some pug marks.