We left Delhi in a caravan of vehicles - 3 Toyota SUVs with 14 people in all. I'm traveling with an ever growing group of people who are great to be with - very diverse, and loads of laughs even when we're completely exhausted. We got up at 3AM and hit the road about 4:15 AM. In the dark we loaded the SUVs with our luggage and negotiated who would ride with whom, and then set off.
Even at four in the morning the roads were packed. There are no highways like we have in the States - everything is a 4 lane road at best with tons of cars. Lane usage is optional - at times we'd have 4 cars next to each other on the 2 lane road we were on.
We stopped for coffee / tea at a roadside place. The sun was yet to come up, and it smelled as if they were burning poop in the fields (They probably were.) The place was so filthy that we had a single cup and took off - driving another 2 hours to stop for breakfast.
A couple of people in my vehicle saw an elephant by the side of the road as we were driving; somehow I missed out, dozing off in the back seat probably. Jupiter was somehow penetrating the soot and smoke above our heads in the predawn, and the moon was almost full. As we left Dehli, beyond the roadside stop, we passed what must have been hundreds of people of every age (infant to octogenarian) making their way to the fields to till the land – all this at 5 AM or so. It was eerie to see them emerge by the side of the road out of the smog that surrounded us, and unnerving to see them cross the roads that carried such heavy traffic – no one was slowing or stopping for them.
After another couple of hours we stopped at a much better place for a sit down breakfast. While most my companions had eggs and toast, I tried the dhal and rice – delicious, and rounded it off with a couple of pots of tea. We made sure to have our drivers join us, although they stayed at their own tables and Phutsok seemed to think it a horrible waste of money.
Flat, hot and dusty roads
Tree-lined thoroughfares with trucks stopped here and there, some blocking the way. Cannabis grew along the shady parts of the road for miles, just waiting to be harvested. A thin cover of dust over all turning what should have been verdant greens to grays. The roadway frequently gives way from pavement to dirt as we happen upon road improvement projects. Four lanes to two, to one shared by three vehicles.
Buses, crammed full, with men riding on top in the luggage racks. Strangely, a small car sporting a CalPoly banner in the rear window. We stop briefly for small bottles of Coke drunk through long, extremely narrow straws (hits the spot after the dust.)
Along the way we went through several large towns, the largest being Chandigarh, a city of about 750,000 that stretched interminably through the hot dusty day. After forcing our way through the uncertain hysteria of many rotaries (a free for all of rickshaws, horse drawn carts, autos, trucks, Vespas and bicycles, all going at exactly the same time through the maze of the rotary) we were able to get through to the north and into the final flat part of our journey before climbing into the foothills of the Himalayas beyond. Chandigarh was probably the most developed and westernized place I visited (outside Dehli), with a clear middle class. Women drove their own Vespas and cars (in striking contrast to the rest of the journey), making a striking appearance as their brightly colored saris fluttered in the breeze.
Beyond Chandigarh we came to a set of arches, a sort of strange looking l'Arc de Triumphes (Hindi style of course), that spanned the four lane highway which we were traveling. We had long since lost sight of the other two vehicles that were traveling with us. As things turned out, one of the vehicles had stopped for an emergency toilet break and fallen behind the other two. The other had gotten far ahead of us and stopped under the arch, waiting for us to catch up, disgorging the female occupants onto a grassy strip beside the road and underneath a large set of columns that spanned the road -.) By the time our vehicle had caught up they were surrounded by 15-20 Hindi men - all sitting about 10 feet away and gawking at this spectacle of Western women. I, of course, had to join them in their Yogic activities – a headstand and several handstands added to the spectacle, especially the wad of 100 rupee bills that spilled out of my pocket into the heated, becalmed afternoon. We waited about 20 minutes for the third car to catch up and then we were on our way.
Tomorrow is Holly, a Hindi festival of colors, and everywhere here there are people riding in trailers towed by farm equipment or horses, going from place to place where free food and fresh water are served. Men vigorously wave to us to stop and enjoy their offerings. Tomorrow, the driver tells us, all the young men will run about the streets with dyes of many colors, and plaster each other and everyone walking in the streets with the colors. It’s considered an insult to refuse, and will likely result in being plastered even more heavily. Oh, and the dye stings the eyes, won’t come out of the skin for more than a week, and will ruin you clothes. Or so we’re told.
We pass through another city and are caught in an enormous traffic jam as a procession of Sikhs makes their way to a glittering temple in the center of the town. The temple is enormous, with what must be broken glass lining its faces and spires – it’s quite spectacular, the sunlight scintillating off the temple and blinding you as you look. People are singing in megaphones, a cacophony of music deafening us as we sit stalled in the line of traffic. A cart pulled by a horse is laden with young boys who wave as we push out small convoy through the slow moving procession. Old men with weathered faces, enormous mustaches and stylish turbans glance at us as we drive by – I’m worried about insulting them as we are guests in their country after all.
The younger men are stylishly dressed with brightly colored turbans – pinks, day-glow greens, purples – quite surprising as all the Sikhs I’ve met in the states have worn grays and blank and white and rather staid colors, but here it’s a festival of colors (right – for Holly you may be thinking, but 3 weeks from now we traverse the same ground and I make the same observation, almost experiencing it anew.)
Another hour or so and we’re starting to climb into the hills. The terrain is no longer flat, and the ground has turned clay red and is getting rocky. The lead vehicle decided to stop and flags the other two down (we’d actually driven right by and had to turn around and come back) to have lunch at a restaurant / game room on the side of the road. The 15 of us crowd into a large, open air restaurant (and wedding palace as we’re reminded by the signs). Out back there is a beautiful green lawn, an artificial lake with paddle boats of all things. I think they have a skeet range, and in the basement there are video games (several of the group go off to check this out.)
The husband / wife proprietors come and dote on us – their son has moved to the South Bay in California (Fremont? Hayward?), and they’re amazed to have such a large group of nearly neighbors drop by. Our food appears – delicious – and the obligatory group photos taken. After lunch we enjoy small cups of Nescafe chai (out of an automated machine, it tastes great.) Before climbing back in our Range Rovers they have us pose for a group photo with them. And off we go.
The roads narrow, becoming tracks almost – single lane roads that switch back as we climb and climb. Through hand hewn tunnels a single lane wide (no traffic signals here, you just hope no one comes through as you’re traveling.) The trucks seem to have supreme right of way out here. Past an ancient fort up on the skyline above us the other side of a river. Over bridges, up the other side, passing slow moving cars on insanely tight curves, the valley’s bottom miles below us just over the precipitous drop off to the side of the road. A stop for photographing monkeys by the side of the road and down into the Kangra valley, which is cloaked in a smoggy haze. In the distance are snow clad mountains, towering over everything else – a promise of clean air and distant views – I’ll have to climb those I tell myself.
We drove for 13 1/2 hours to get from New Dehli to McLeod Ganj - It's actually where His Holiness the Dalai Lama maintains his government in exile (not Dharamsala as I’d thought on the way out here), and a good 3 - 4000 feet higher up than Dharamsala which we drove through on the way. (I’ll go to Dharamsala later in the trip).
It’s quite the cluster as we arrive. The Kalsang Guesthouse is up TIPA Way (for Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts – located about a mile further up the road) and the guesthouse is up a set of stairs (never counted them, but probably 60-70 in all) that wander through a couple of other buildings that cling to the mountainside.
We’ve a ton of luggage (personal luggage – as things turn out we all over packed with warm clothes, clothing to donate to an orphanage, medicines for the same) that is dropped off behind the vehicles in the dusty road. We look up the stairs (stretching at this point to what point we have no idea,) and wonder how we’re getting the luggage up. Miraculously (actually through the devices of Phutsok who runs up to the guesthouse,) a set of house boys (late teens) show up and carry our luggage up to check in. After much ado, the party figures out the sleeping arrangements – somehow I’ve wound up with a single room (which turns out to be a blessing later in the trip).
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