Monday, May 26: Every trip to a new place has its memorable bits. Last week in the North Indian state of Jammu & Kashmir was no exception. The following is about one part that sticks out in my mind - a journey to the Himalayan town of Leh from Srinagar, also known as Indian Occupied Kashmir.
It's 3 in the morning and I am waiting outside of the houseboat that has been my home for the past three days. A jeep is on the way to scoop me up for a road trip to Leh, a town 430 kilometers down a mountain road just recently cleared of snow from a particularly strong winter. Dogs are howling in concert with the call to prayer from Kashmir's minarets as my jeep pulls up. I say goodbye to Gulam, my Kashmiri friend and guide who arranged the jeep, toss my backpack to the driver who's on the roof tying down the bags, and hop in. Our driver, Hussain, has awarded me the front seat with hopes of some nice baksheesh from the foreigner.
I am greeted by eight 20-something Indian guys who are also on their way to Leh for the first time. They've heard that there are good jobs in Leh. Unsatisfied with their current situation, they all packed a bag and took a gamble. Three minutes after we get on the road I start to hear some moaning from the back. Then some heaving. One of my new Indian friends has become violently ill, and it is intense. The noises coming out of this guy could only be conjured up in some 1930s quarantine room. I look over at Hussain, who has a slightly grossed-out, slightly amused expression on his face. He says, simply, "vomiting." I figured this would be a long trip, but at that point I had no idea what I was in for.
Two hours later. We're driving through a valley right at dawn when we approach a stand-still line of jeeps, all headed to Leh. After an hour we begin to move again, only to pull into a huge gravel parking lot where Hussain turns the car off. "Waiting." He says. The only other English speaker in the car is a Nepali-Indian named Dabalama. He tells me there's a road block ahead and that we must wait to see what happens. The lot gradually fills up, and hours pass by. All day we hear different stories about a landslide or snowfall, but the only sure thing is we are not leaving that parking lot. During the next thirteen hours of waiting, Hussain takes four naps and I wander around, making conversation with any other foreigners I can pick out. A small civilization forms among the growing mass of cars and trucks - people are building fires, cutting vegetables, selling goods car to car. By nightfall we discover that we will be able to leave at 4 am the next morning. Many people spend the night in their cars; I find a nearby guest house to get a few hours of sleep and give my fellow passengers a little more room.
We make tracks promptly at 4 am. Somehow Hussain has managed to sneak into the front of the line, so we are one of the first groups to get out of there. The initial hour or so was the most uneasy, slipping over a muddy road in the dark with a snow wall on one side and a drop off on the other. Our fearless driver maneuvers the jeep like a champion and we are out of the danger zone with no issues. The moonlit, snow-capped mountains surrounding us create an environment I have never seen before. Our sick Indian is still letting it rip in the back - we begin to wonder if he needs medical attention.
Drowsy but invigorated, I keep Hussain company while he navigates the pass. It looks like we're on the moon as we climb above the treeline. By mid morning we make it to our halfway point of the journey - the small, dingy mountain town of Kargil. Sick Indian is involuntarily moaning and heaving at this point, so myself and four of his buddies lead him to the Kargil hospital. We can't find anyone to help us, and proceed to run around in circles following the arbitrary directions people give us. Ask an Indian for directions, and he/she will give you an answer regardless of whether they know or not. Finally, someone who appears to work there takes a look at our infirmed friend, prescribes some medicine and gives him a shot. We grab some chai and a samosa before getting back on the road.
Apart from the extreme increase in elevation and continuously stunning scenery, the next seven hours are relatively uneventful. The sick Indian is passed out from whatever was injected into his arm. Dabalama and I swap stories about our hometowns, and Hussain stops periodically so I can take pictures of white washed monasteries tucked into the mountainside. Buddhist prayer flags become increasingly ubiquitous, faded and frayed after years of exposure in this harsh climate. The Border Road Organization (BRO) keeps the mood light with their quirky road signs such as "I like you, but not so fast" and "Be careful, I'm curvaceous."
We make it to Leh that afternoon. I pay Hussain for providing safe transit, shake a few hands, and unceremoniously part ways with the people I'd been cooped up with for the past two days. Though a full twenty four hours later than planned, we arrived at our destination with nothing worse than a slight case of the altitooties. In this part of the world, time does not follow the same rules as it does in the States. You just have to get some tea and wait it out.
At the moment I am on a bus to Agra, the sight of the Taj Mahal. I only have one week left in India before visiting relatives in Bangladesh. Then it's back to the land of plush couches and premium television. Thanks for reading this, underneath you will find pictures of the Kashmir adventure and a few other things I've seen along the way.
This is the gravel pit that developed its own micro-economy within twelve hours
Hussain running a clinic on how to take a nap anywhere; Dabalama observing his technique
The start of a long wait
Sunup through the Zoji La Pass - pictures do no good in communicating its magnificence
The first of many checkpoints along the way. I think they just like playing with a foreign passport
Kargil - no real desire to visit that place ever again
This is the gravel pit that developed its own micro-economy within twelve hours
Hussain running a clinic on how to take a nap anywhere; Dabalama observing his technique
Sunup through the Zoji La Pass - pictures do no good in communicating its magnificence
The first of many checkpoints along the way. I think they just like playing with a foreign passport
Kargil - no real desire to visit that place ever again
Getting close to our destination, and their sick friend is finally asleep in the back. Solid travel companions - good luck guys
