Kumaoni Days.
We arrived safely in Delhi after a relaxing flight, where we had the luxury of two seats each!!
We played the newbie on arrival, curious as to what the “pre paid taxi” scam merchants would conjure up.
We left laughing, as the first price quoted came to 850 rupees…….
After the usual nail biting trip from the airport to Paharganj, we arrived at the Star Paradise and were soon fast asleep.
Our first two days in the nation’s capital were spent sampling various eateries; we had salivated over during the weeks leading up to the trip.
A new discovery, nestled in the bowels of Chandi Chowk, was well worth the effort in tracking it down,. Parati Wali serves up the most delicious parathas, with accompanying Petha and Chutneys. Which is only right, as they’ve been perfecting the art since 1875!
After losing ourselves in a fruitless search for the book market, we retired to the relative peace of Paharganj!!
Later that evening we were boarding the Ranhiket Express, destination the grandeur of the Himalaya!!
After a fitful night, aboard the largely immobile train, we arose early looking for signs of Haldwani, as the light grew brighter we saw many already at work, quarrying the river bed for rock and silt to be used in building projects across Uttaranchal.
At last we drew into the little station of Haldwani and after the obligatory chai, set about bargaining with the clutch of taxi drivers, eagerly sniffing out a fare.
Soon a mutual agreement was made and our bags were hoisted over the perimeter fence on to our awaiting Tata Sumo. We walked through the main station and were soon “claimed” by our taxi wallah.
Settled, we wound our way through the waking little town, and after a while found ourselves suddenly in the foothills of the Himalaya. There is little preamble to embarking on a journey through these mighty mountains. One minute you are sailing along on India’s plains, the next an incline and a hair pin bend and you’re in amongst the biggest mountain range in the world!
Slowly the Tata ground its way up the steep incline our ears complaining at the gain in altitude.
Navigating hair pin after hair pin, we watched the plains fade, as we conquered yet another ridge, our horn screeched on every comer, warning to any insane lorry driver lost on the Bhangra Boys, that there was indeed other traffic on the road!!
After the picturesque little town of Bhimtal, we summated the last of the protective ridges and now followed the natural course of a river.
We suggested a Chola Batura and Chai stop and the driver, inspired, picked up the pace, eager to have a warm breakfast it seemed.
In Kharia we stopped at the favorite place of the mountain taxi driver and tucked into a great breakfast, washed down with steaming chai, spiked with cardamom.
Our driver again set off at speed and we were soon on the final climb into Almora, we skirted the town and after a final spurt arrived in Pappersali.
Our Little cottage in the hills was already cleaned and aired and Khim as usual in fine fettle, contemplating life from the little empire he has grown over the years!
The citrus trees were laden with oranges and lemons and there was a new addition to the family, in two furry bundles of fun called Rajah and Rani, the offspring of Balou the house dog!
Throughout the afternoon we chatted and caught up on recent happenings, and quaffed a chai or two.
As evening closed in the boys prepared a much needed dinner and Khim something a little more eclectic, soon the cold drove us to our beds, and it was a great relief when our little wood stove finally blazed into life.
We heaved the amazingly heavy quilt over us and our minds drifted away on the silence of the Kumaon hills!!
After organizing our wood supply, we soon settled into the life of the hills like we had never been away. We weren’t alone, we shared our little piece of paradise with another mountain lover and one time forum lurker: Midnitetoker. He was great company and full of great info on this part of the world, after many years spent exploring the nooks and crannies of the Himalaya.
The weather exceeded expectations, with warm sunny days welcoming us every morning, the parched, wooded hills were bathed in sunshine and the commanding Trishul ridge and looming Nanda Devi, made for a pretty imposing backdrop.
The ridge was almost in a state of undress, as the preceding months had been so dry and day by day the silvery white snow covering was disappearing.
As dusk approached this ridge displayed a kaleidoscope of hues and colors, gold melted into pink as the sun slowly set, the wispy cloud cover did it’s best to compete with the color show on terra firma, with a equally impressive canvas of reds and oranges in constant in flux!
Our days were spent wandering amongst the cedar and pine covered ridge, with only the timid chirping of the birds to keep us company.
Occasionally a lone goat herder broke the silence and once a wizened old women’s face briefly beamed as she cackled a “Namaste”, purposely striding her way uphill.
Often in the shade, the weather was just perfect for these strolls along the ridge and if a chill set in, it was a simple matter of moving to the sunny side of the ridge, where chilled fingers soon started to glow again in the strong sunlight.
Around noon we headed for Tara’s restaurant and a plate of Aloo Tikkis and red beans or Rajma.
A favored spot amongst the many long stay residents of “Cranks Ridge” The local name for the ridge, due to its semi permanent population of drifters from across the globe. Many look as if they might indeed have been part of that first pioneering wave of beatniks in search of something………..
Spurred on by the great view on show we decided to head for Kausani some 50 Km’s away, the promised views, often written about in guide book, was an opportunity not to be missed.
Kausani lived up to its promises both as a destination and the staggering views on offer. A compact little place, it caters to the hordes escaping the summer heat of the plains but in December seemed almost devoid of tourists, only the many restaurants and lodgings giving a hint of its place on the tourist map.
After a tour of the local hostelries, all of who offered substantial discounts, we found out spot, dumped our packs and wandered down to the main drag for sustenance.
On a restaurant roof terrace we gulped down parathas with spicey dal, whilst savoring the great views available all over town it seems, whilst cradling a hot cup of coffee.
Our time was short in Kausani, but to be sure it’s earmarked for another visit, possibly in slightly warmer times. The wooded forests that surround this little hill station certainly look inviting!
After the usual round of negotiations we found a taxi and set off down the pass back to Almora.
The weather had again laid on a treat; the sun filtering through the trees was almost uplifting.
We meandered down the valley, enjoying the ever-changing landscapes; terraces defined the lower hills, evidence of the generations of toil needed, to bring life to this inhospitable landscape. Goat herders whistling and cajoling their flock out of harms way, faced with the speeding taxis and goods Lorries. A gunny sack table spread out on the grass verge for an intense game of cards, brightly colored. Mattresses being stitched on doorsteps, a half built marriage hall, adorned with gaily colored tenting and tinsel, Mountain porter’s, the lifeline of the mountains, packing unlikely loads suspended from straining necks, on an age old head harness a old rice sack the only protection from the constant chaffing of their heavy loads. Strong proud mountain women, sporting pantomime wigs of cattle fodder that encompassed their heads as they glided along
Mountain life, hard uncompromising and bar the slowly encroaching modernity, almost timeless!
This narrow piece of tarmac we were traveling on is a main artery for the region, all manner of goods pass along this road, bulls in trucks, Coca Cola, massive jute parcels, fridges, Televisions..
Of course the final destination will only be realized, with the sweat and brawn of the porters who divide the loads and spread out along the myriad of tiny mountain paths, delivering loads to the farthest reaches of the ridges and passes. It’s hard to imagine a functioning Himalaya without these hardy men, from wood to cement there is only one method of delivery, back breaking slog, the tools of the trade; harness, endurance and a ready packet of bidis.
As we slowly proceeded, careful of the speeding goods trucks we would sometimes chance upon an old man walking, in imitable Indian style we would warn the man of approaching rubber and steel with a loud blast from our horn. Often they would turn and fixed us with a look of utter disdain, these were his mountains, his birthright, who were we a mere intruder to disturb his peace, hadn’t he and his forefathers brought these hill to life with their bare hands??
Perhaps I saw a hint of denial, or non comprehension of the slowly pervading world of a new modern India. This proud mountain man saw no need for the change, the mountains and the gods had always provided. Life was hard but afforded a kind of hard won certitude. I wonder if the new world will be so certain???
Every few Kilometers we came across landslides being repaired by local work gangs, Nature doesn’t give ground easily and this constant fight to keep roads open was evidence that nature called the shots, the best we can do is try and hold her in check.
These road gangs had no spirit levels or shuttering they relied on age old methods of building, piecing tighter the rocks around them into bridges and supports for the tarmac above, with little more than a few pieces of cane and string as a guide. The ballast is made in situ, by squatting men smashing the hard rocks into manageable chunks using small hammers. Resolutely staring, into who knows where, whilst sucking the smoke out of a bidi.
Our companion though the pass was a rusty colored stream, bubbling happily below us in the valley floor, strengthened along the way by small burns falling from the mountainsides, it soon widened and gathered pace sparkling in the bright sunlight and boiling over rocks carried from the heights during the monsoon rains.
Hay stacks tied firmly to trees, or seemingly on the move, stacked on the terraces.
Along the banks women squatted with the days washing spread out in a colorful tapestry, chatting and laughing, waiting for the strong Himalayan sunlight to dry their clothes, before moving on the next part of the day and the chores that fill the days of mountain people!
Soon we reached the colorful bridge that signaled the beginning of the climb up to Almora and “home” the haste of the town was soon upon us, and we thankfully pulled into the peacefulness of “Cranks Ridge” and khims guest House.
Rosy from the warm sun we arrived ate and fell once again into a deep sleep with our wood stove chuffing away!!
Early the next morning we heard the tell tale patter of raindrops on the tin roof, the cloud had finally enveloped us. We looked out into a swirling fog, the views had gone, to be replaced with racing clouds and drizzle, the temperature had dropped accordingly and we wondered if the wood ordered yesterday would arrive on this damp cold afternoon. We shouldn’t have worried our “wood Man” arrived bedraggled and musty with a full load of wood, which he dutifully began to chop into stove size pieces,
After his customary chai and roll up he departed for home his days work done and still in remarkably good spirits.
Toward late afternoon the parting clouds teasingly gave us a glimpse of the newly bedecked snowcaps and we noticed a sprinkling on Binsar Hill only 25 Kms away!
Would we receive some of the same overnight??
Evenings were also spectacular as the moon a huge yellow oirb rose over the ridge to bathe the hills in an eerie moonlight, and the stars twinkled in the heavens, like the lamps at Varanasi.
The cold soon spoiled this attempt at astronomy and once again a warm bed called us!!
We awoke to a morning sun and blue skies, the snowcaps were veiled behind white mists but occasionally you can see the new coat of virgin snow.
As I write the valleys are turning red, and the clouds disappearing, the mercury is falling and as I contemplate our last days in the mountains, I think maybe I understand why so many found their god in this abode of the gods!!!!
Khims guest house is a wonderful spot to watch he traditional life of these mountain folk and if you’ve a mind, a stay here is very rewarding.
It’s our last day here and the mountains have made a special effort, the bright white blanket of snow on Trishul a wonderful contrast to the deep blue sky.
Tomorrow, with a certain sadness we return to the frenetic plains of India where a new adventure awaits!!
