Chpt 7. Magic Land

12th August

Aah! Finally! The day that we were waiting for had arrived. Today we would visit the Valley of Flowers, the highlight of our entire trip. We were advised to pack breakfast and lunch, something we had planned the previous night itself. There were no commercial stalls or sellers – we would only meet fellow trekkers. This would be pristine untouched nature at its best. We were set to leave at 7.30 am. Unfortunately the restaurant bungled our order and we managed to leave only past 8 am.

The Valley of Flowers, about 3500 mts above sea level high, is sited within the Nanda Devi biosphere and is covered by stringent forest protection regulations. The most interesting rule I saw was ‘no species of plant or flower or insect to be carried out, either living or dead’. No mules are allowed and typically, one treks the 3 km path, an estimated 2 hour track. For the others, the pittoo man or the palki option is available.

The Valley was first discovered by Frank S Smythe - mountaineer, explorer and botanist – who chanced upon it in the monsoon of 1931 while looking for an alternative path to Badrinath. He authored a book called "The Valley of Flowers" which unveiled the beauty and floral splendours of the valley and made the world sit up and watch. It was declared a national park in 1982, and now it is a World Heritage Site. It boasts of a staggering 300+ species of exotic flowers and plants including some rare ones found only on high altitudes. And today, we would get to see it all! On my list were the Edelweiss and the Himalayan blue poppy.

A one km trek from Ghangria, with quite a lot of climbing and we reached the entry post where we registered our names and met our guide, Shekhar. Apparently, the group whom we were to accompany had left before the scheduled time, without him. We started the 3 km trek with much aplomb; we were on an expedition to identify the various species and in my case, to remember the common names of the flowers. Shekhar acquainted us with both the botanical and the common names, the former failing to register at all.

We soon began spotting the flowers, thick with dew - the Himalayan blue poppy, cobra lily, forget-me-nots, potentilla, petticularis, sasuria, balsam, etc. We stopped at many points, each time to observe a new genus or type. And instantly after this, all of us would assemble at the spot, cameras taken out to meticulously photograph each flower and various comments passed. We were making full use of our resourceful guide. An elderly couple, watching us keenly, asked us if we were students of botany and seemed disappointed that we were tourists.

This trek, fuelled by the flora fervour, was comfortable, almost to the point of being languid. No doubt, there were several steep mounts en route but we did get the advantage of flattish ground. Past 11, we were hungry and realized that we had done a little over half the distance only. We wanted to stop and eat but Shekhar kept talking of the big rock, a largish rock that offered a natural protection from the rain, a customary resting place to have lunch.

It soon started raining and out came our functional raincoats – here, they came in so handy, compared to our windcheaters. We soon passed several people returning, loudly praising the valley [except for one who wasn’t pleased and said ‘nothing much to see’ about it]. They probably had risen very early in the morning – some folks do both VOF and Hemkund the same day. Some were also returning due to the rain. In a short while, we began overtaking people, our speed was back in form.

We passed frozen ice along one part of the Pushpavati river, the water body that flowed close to the trek path. The ice, almost like sleet, was probably a remnant from the snow of previous seasons that refused to melt. All along, we followed the flowers, the different species sometime in clusters, sometime not. We began recognizing some of them too. But we were not yet in the Valley. At some points, we had to stop to allow the rain to ease off a bit.

We crossed sections of the river several times – we went across some dry rocks that formed a natural bridge over the stream or rudimentary bridges in places where the stream was much larger. At one point, there was a small landslide and the wet mud had been pushed back. We trekked over it, much excited, little knowing that we were to see more landslides in the days to come.

Some more uphill and downhill trekking and we could see the big rock. The topography around it was flat – valley like - it was completely covered by meadows and meadows of flowers. Almost like a pink carpet, from a distance. A small path was marked in the centre for walking. On reaching it, all one could see around for miles were fields of differently hued flowers. Around the big rock, growing in profusion, were the pink balsam and some white coloured flowers, as though in unrestrained exuberance.

It was 12.30 pm and we had our breakfast/lunch at the big rock, along with some pittoo wallahs, to whom we gave the larger part of our lunch. We also met the Nature Admirers group, folks from Bangalore [Blr]. Post a yummy heavy meal of aloo paranthas/ tomato omelettes, we hit the road again, with the Blr group in tow. The plan was to go a further 2 km into the Valley, cross a stream and see the memorial of Miss Margarate Legge - a botanist, deputed by the botanical gardens of Edinburgh, arrived at the valley in 1939 for further studies. While she was traversing some rocky slopes to collect flowers, she slipped off and was lost for ever in the garden of the gods. Her sister later visited the valley and erected a memorial on the spot where she was buried by the locals. The thoughtful memorial is still there and the lines inscribed on the marble slab read: "I will lift mine eyes unto the Hills from whence cometh my strength".

The pink and white flower blankets gave way to a spread of myriad colours – lavender, violet, indigo, purple, pink, yellow, cream, mauve, white, blue, etc – all in various incredible shades. It was almost like entering a magical land. We felt special, at being able to visit this heavenly abode. Even as I write this travelogue, 3 weeks later, I can close my eyes and my mind wanders to the enchanted Valley that held me spellbound with its unparalleled beauty, pure air and magnificent splendour.

The Valley is in itself not perfection, none of that manicured artificiality, segregating different species of flowers. Here, the same patch of ground would have a number of flower types, in various stages of germination. Every 3 weeks, a different flower type blooms, creating a completely different coloured landscape. And this perpetual variation of colours from May to August adds another admirable element to the wonders of the Valley - it is perfection at its natural best.

The Valley of Flowers extends some 66 km into the area – we would be seeing a small portion of it. Most folks return from the big rock itself, which is an even smaller part of the Valley. About 500 mts after the big rock, Vash decided to return with the Blr group while Vidya, Shekhar and I carried on. We crossed small stream of clear running water - a traditional watering spot. We too stopped and tasted it – it was ice cold and weirdly tasty – probably packed with minerals – the authentic Himalayan drinking water.

Weighed down by our heavy lunch and the now consistent drizzle [we had some relief from the rain earlier], we decided to go till the main stream [about 1.5 km from the big rock], foregoing the visit to the memorial. Thick fog kept enfolding parts of the Valley and it was dreamily fairylike - each step kept unfolding different flowers and colours, earlier unseen due to the fog.

We reached the stream point and here the true essence of the valley descended on us - the valley and its pastoral delights could be panoramically viewed in a 360 degrees sweep. All around as we twirled, we could see the gently sloping valleys and the mountains within which it was nestled, filled with relatively homogenously coloured flowers of pink, purple and white, thrown into relief here and there by riotous patches of different coloured flowers.

As I stood there, surrounded by the peacefulness in the mystic land, the emotions that rose unabated in my heart are difficult to describe. I later found a phrase by Frank Smythe in his writings that captured a part of that emotive feeling, “a contentment of spirit beyond all earthly imaginings".

The trek back was fun and super quick – I find trekking down much easier. We soon caught up with Vash and the Nature admirer group [including her new friend, Dev…wink, wink]. We were at the Ghangria bridge by 4 pm, tired but elated, with shiny faces and brimming spirits. While walking into the town, we came across a masseur, a local lady who promised an authentic foot massage with some herbal oils of the area. Vidya and Vash decided to go for it, while I would decide later. The masseur followed us to our balcony.

We ordered our evening chai and pakodas and made ourselves comfortable on the balcony – I had heard the Surd family leave very early in the morning and figured that they had checked out – so us lolling on the balcony, getting our foot massage was cool. My shoes being wet, I stepped into the room, to roll the sneakers in newspaper so that by morning, all the dampness would have been absorbed. Finished, I came out to the balcony and decided to get the massage too, not that it was any good as per the girls. Both Vash and Vidya went back into the room. Anyway, so there I was, all legs, the massage having just begun and the Surds from next door returned –the father and the son duo. Talking about cringing embarrassment, I looked everywhere but at their faces.

When the girls came out again, I learnt that the whole Surd family had returned when Vash was getting her massage. I was spared the full mile mortification - that seemed to be Vash's prerogative! NO MORE massages and it was certainly a crap massage - barely for 5 mins, it was of a blink-and-miss-it kind. And during it, having to listen to the ridiculous silly yarns of the faux local lady [not really local pahadi, but a migrant from another state] was hardly amusing. Total fraud that she was! We just put it down to an experience of the place!

It started raining later in the evening. We ordered dinner in and began bundling ourselves in our woollens to beat the increasing cold. I tried the soup and milk option, the latter being a local drink, flavoured with dates and cardamom. I usually hate drinking milk, even in my childhood days but I quite enjoyed this variant - it became my staple dinner supplement there [i.e. for 2 nights]. We’d had an enriching day, filled with vivid experiences and in that sense, it was long. We were in bed even before the lights went officially out [i.e. before 10 pm].

The next day, we would be tackling the highest altitude point ever in our lives - Hemkund, known as the highest site of worship in India at a height of 4400 mts above sea level. A steep challenging climb of 9.5 km one-way, more gruelling due to the terrain, incline and weather than the distance. We’d had our fill of trekking, it was ghoda mode for all three of us. But for now, images of the magical land, that we were blessed to visit, kept lingering in my mind before sleep soon overtook consciousness.

As Frank Smythe wrote about the Valley, “All about me was the great peacefulness of the hills, a peacefulness so perfect that something within me seemed to strain upwards as though to catch the notes of an immortal harmony” - For me, the Valley of Flowers was paradise on earth.

Chpt 6. The 13 km trek

11^th August

We were up early and checked out at 6.30 am, with promises from the front desk manager to give us a front facing, room with balcony when we returned after 3 days. We had bookings for 2 nights at Joshimath. Initially our plan was to get back to Joshimath upon our return to Govind Ghat [GG] and leave the next day to Badrinath, from where we would return to Joshimath and stay another night. We knocked off the Nanda Devi national park from our plans since we got varying reports from its distance from Joshimath and the routes weren’t structured/ convenient to get there. Auli, the skiing resort, though off-season in August, but very close to Joshimath could also be visited.

We left one bag each in the store room, charged at a nominal fee. Now with one piece luggage each, we donned our trekking avtaars. We were geared in woollens, ready for the biting cold that we would soon encounter. The bus would start from the old GMVN guesthouse, but situated almost right across a field from our guesthouse, though at a lower level.

The bus, now filled with its group, consisting largely of Gujratis and Bengalis, began the winding drive to GG at 7 am. We reached in an hour and arranged with the driver [one Mr Suri Rawat – aah, now we figured whom the dog was named after!] to pick us up when the tour also returned to GG after 3 days. The tour plan was to go straight to Badrinath from GG and entailed no return to Joshimath.

Rawat helpfully volunteered to get our baggage from the stores in Joshimath and arrange for our accommodation to be transferred to Badrinath and Pipalkoti - the night stop points for the two nights as per the official tour plan – so that we could continue in the GMVN tour bus. Since the ride on the bus would be much more convenient than getting there ourselves, we preferred it. If Rawat could manage it!

We handed over our baggage receipt to Rawat and proceeded to begin another journey, a 13 km trek to Ghangria - the last big one before our destination, the Valley of Flowers. By now, we were introduced to the tour guide, Rana and knew some members of the tour group. We were soon surrounded by the group of locals, getting us to hire their mules or themselves [‘pittoos’] to carry either our luggage or us. The pittoos typically carry a basket on their back, supported by a strap on their heads and their hands hold the basket from behind – luggage is placed in it or children are carried, though we also saw adults sitting in it. A third option was the palki – a rudimentary form of a palanquin, made comfortable by cushions - carried by 4 people. The rates were progressively more expensive for each.

Even before we started the trek, our shoes got wet as we were crossing over to the other end of GG – a large stream was flowing onto the tar road and crossing it without getting one’s feet wet was difficult. At the gate before the exit bridge, we hired 2 mules [called 'ghodas' locally] – one to carry our luggage and the other to carry one of us – 13 km is a long stretch to trek, it could get arduous and with one spare mule, one of us could take a break at anytime. We also picked up handy raincoats for Rs 20 each, nothing more than 2 sealed sheets of plastic with a hood and sleeves, in bright colours .

At 8.30 am, we began our trek, inspite of our wet start, with full josh. Vash and Vidya, each with their walking sticks, almost like staffs, looked the part of explorers of yore on the road of discovery. My mind kept flashing back to the 1930’s when the Valley was first discovered and the fairly decent walking track was non-existent. Thinking about how the early explorers went about the overwhelming task of unearthing hidden lands, seemed intriguing and exciting.

Each of us had a different walking speed and needed a break at different intervals which made walking together difficult. Several steep turns later, Vash threw in the trekking towel and hopped onto her mule. She then proceeded as regally and comfortably as possible. Vidya and I continued walking, sometimes overtaking everyone else, sometimes downright slow. Vash undoubtedly overtook us but waited ahead at regular intervals along with our overenthusiastic ‘ghoda’ wallah [man] until we came into her line of vision.

Vash was upto adventures of her own – the most noteworthy being her fall from the ghoda while trying to mount it. The ghoda wallah was distracted and not paying adequate attention [probably thinking Vash was a pro, judging by her confidence on the ghoda]. The ghoda reared and lo! Vash was on the ground, being soon helped by the other ghoda wallahs who came rushing to her rescue. Needless to say, our ghoda wallah got a mouthful and was as vigilant as ever after that.

At each turn of the path, at each ascent or descent down a mountain, the landscape held us in awe. Truly breathtaking scenes unfolded – Gushing streams, painting white slivers against the dark brown rocks. Bigger streams, flowing unabashedly, in wild abandon, originating from a melting glacier somewhere much higher in the Himalayas, while all along mesmerising the land with its sounds, that of water, surging to meet the plains in all its exuberance. Lofty mountains, coloured in brown and the green of vegetation, with their peaks, playing peakaboo, sometimes covered in mist or sometimes being so high that the clouds claimed it as their terrain. The surprising green of the grounds surrounding the stony path of the trek, bringing sharp contrast to the staid browns. Inspiring sights, enough to keep our mind off the demanding 13 km.

The initial part of the trek, especially the ascents, was tough. Soon, we were sweating and gradually shedding parts of the sweater paraphernalia that we carried. Gradually, we got into the groove - we began to cope better and enjoy the trek. We frequently stopped, taking chai-time breaks or to enjoy some hot, delicious Maggi noodles [my personal favourite throughout the trip along with aloo parantha!]. Amongst the fellow trekkers, the majority were Sardars [Surds], making the pilgrimage to the revered Sikh site of Hemkund Sahib [also on our plan after the Valley of Flowers].

The temperature kept steadily dropping, something we realized only when we stopped walking. When moving, the increased body temperature and the sweat had kept the cold at bay. We managed to keep moving. Somewhere, after walking 8 km, prompted by the ghoda wallah’s constant beckoning [by now, he started riding the spare mule instead of walking along and guiding the pair of them] and a keenness to ride it – I hadn’t ever sat on a mule, leave alone a horse, for more than 5 mins - I decided to take a crack at riding it and joined Vash. Vidya stuck to walking and as usual, kept up the photography. I rode for about 2 km, it was fine but without the touch and feel possibilities that walking offered [I loved touching the cold water wherever the path curved close to the stream]. Also, photography on a ghoda is difficult and jerky - I got back to walking.

The trek had revealed spectacular scenery that just kept getting better as we climbed higher altitudes. Another experience that was intensely associated with the trek, apart from the sheer distance [yes! I managed to break all my previous marathon records, so what if we took our own sweet time to complete the trek] was the camaraderie that accompanied the trekkers. Whenever each of us took a break, we found ourselves talking to a number of people, all from different backgrounds, all united by the common endeavour of walking the challenging climb. Each time we overtook someone to whom we’d earlier spoken to or even folks we didn’t know, the exchange of smiles that resulted encircled us all in an atmosphere of warmth and conviviality, one that removed barriers of status, age, gender and faith.

I particularly remember talking to an old man from an obscure village in Punjab [so remote that I hadn’t heard of it and I am good in Geography!] – he didn’t even know Hindi and there we were – he conversing in Punjabi, me struggling to follow and replying in Hindi and broken Punjabi –anyway, I landed up sharing my mint Foxy toffees with him and then, later whenever I passed him, the broad grin that he flashed me from his wrinkled weathered face, truly struck a chord of tenderness.

This and many such encounters later, we found ourselves at the end of the trek. We had just passed the luxury Sarovar tents and the heli-pad - the backdrop was as splendid as ever – we took a few minutes to catch our breath and obey the board that stated – ‘Thoda ruk ke, prakriti ka anand lijiye’ – ‘Stop awhile to enjoy and admire nature’. Soon, we caught up with Vash in Ghangria, who had done some hard work in the time she had, having reached ahead of us. After evaluating hotels [specifically, the loos], she had checked into Krishna Palace hotel and into our room – henceforth known as the Blue Room, named after a vibrant blue that the entire room was painted in.

It was about 5 pm and we were in Ghangria – the base site for visits to Valley of Flowers [VOF] and Hemkund [neither permitted night stay, visitors had to return to Ghangria]. Typically, people stayed here for 3 nights before heading back. Our room had triple beds, barely enough place to spread out our stuff and a clean loo. We soon found out the peculiarities of the area, the hotel and our room – electricity only during 7-10pm, cold water for about an hour early morning, hot water a scarce resource, available in the morning at Rs 40/ bucket – also available in the evening with pleading, toilets with non-working flushes. Apart from all this, the room was great.

The room was on the first floor, had a delightful balcony/ sit-out that we shared with a Surd family next door. It overlooked the main street of the town, which was about 6-7 feet wide. A small documentary centre was on the other side. Just behind it were the fir trees and an awesome mountain view. The town was right at the foothills of the ranges - our balcony offered a view right in front of it and the spectacle - with the mist, ranges within a few metres and even Hemkund lake mountain visible – seemed picture perfect. We soon discovered our bathroom window also offered an unexpected perk – another mountain right next to it, a few metres ahead.

The town was small, one long street actually, where on one end, you entered after the trek and the other end, was the exit to go to VOF or Hemkund. We were right in the middle and one could watch the entire world of Ghangria pass by as one sat on the balcony. I spent early mornings over the next 3 days, alone [the girls were asleep], sipping hot chai and soaking in the fantastically misty sights – total ‘me’ time. Evening chai time was also a constant, this time all of us together.

The fast food centre was next door and soon, we were drinking chai, tastier with the hot pakodas that we ordered with it, bliss in the cold weather. Our breath had already begun to condense in a visible smoke like form. We soon saw Rana and the tour group members trickle in, more than an hour after us. We contemplated the peculiarity of our situation – that of having arrived after 4 days of travelling. We would spend 2 more days, after which we would start another 4 days of travel. Such was the path we’d chosen, certainly the road less travelled by. Mulling comes easy over a cup of tea, hot savouries - in a setting to die for – who knows? Here, we might do some serious introspection and stumble across a clairvoyant deeper meaning of life.

We went to watch the documentary that featured the Valley of Flowers and then got back to our room to relax. It had begun drizzling and kept getting colder. Vidya went to try the pco lines [no luck!]. While in search for a guide to visit VOF, she met the documentary film maker, Shekhar who agreed to take us along with another group. Instead of paying him his entire fees of Rs 1500, we’d have to pay him Rs 500 while the other group paid him the balance. We were in luck, what better way to visit the Valley than with an expert who knew the flower species in detail and would prove to be a valuable help?

An hour later, the drizzle turned into rain, the temperature got bitingly colder. I started getting the beginning symptoms of altitude sickness and a reaction to the cold, namely a headache and promptly took a tablet [thanks to being a seasoned UK traveller now and knowing the fix]. All was well then with me. Earlier we had organized hot water for our baths, pleadingly [experts at it by now]. Incidentally, the cold water was no longer just cold, it was ice cold. We ordered dinner in and just as the electricity went off, tired, we retired for the night - with 2 or more layers of clothing and sweaters, socks, woollen cap, et al – brrrr, it was freezing!

Chpt 5. Roughing it on a bus!

10^th August

The ‘unreliable’ tuk-tuk chap was on time, our breakfasts packed by the hotel staff [part of our package fare] and by 4.15 am, we were at the local bus station as per schedule. The tuk-tuk chap showed us the first bus which would leave the soonest and we boarded the rickety looking local bus. Lousy seats, cramped space, no other tourists. That should have been a sign. Nevertheless, Vidya went to take a quick look at the other buses. Most of them were none the better and the ones that were marginally more comfortable had later start times. It was imperative for us to take the first bus as it was a long 12-13 hour journey and the sooner we reached, the easier would be finding accommodation. Infact, in the Garhwal area, early morning travel is the norm, the last bus is at 9 am since anything later than that, would result in the bus reaching beyond the stipulated 8 pm deadline when roads would be closed.

We decided to stay put on the bus we’d boarded. Who knows? It might be comfortable after all. Well, it turned out to be the worst bus journey of our lives. To start off, the bus went ahead to the next road and stopped until the bus was filled to capacity. About a quarter past 5, after several minutes of watching other buses zoom past, our bus, packed to capacity, finally started moving. We were leaving Rishikesh, gateway to the Himalayas and starting yet another journey within our overall trip.

The seats were smaller than usual size, approx 15” in width, and without any arm rest. The result was that whoever sat on the aisle end kept falling off whenever the bus braked. And invariably it turned out to be Vash who was initially sharing the seat with me. I can vividly recall her holding on to the seat ahead [with no handles or hooks] literally with her life and still falling on to the luggage laden aisle.

Eventually, all through those excruciating 12 hours, moving from the plains to the mountains, from dawn to evening, we kept swapping seats, trying to catch a better view of the area or solitary seats, just as passengers got off along the way, leaving them vacant. In a way, each of us got our share of falling off seats. At other times, we had to share our seats with the local folks. Apart from the cranky old man grumbling about everything or the local romeo talking to his sidekick in broken English to impress us – we encountered largely normal people, more curious about us and our travel plans.

Funnily, each of us coped with this bus journey in a different way – Vidya working the shutterbug constantly, moving from one window seat to another, searching for that perfect shot. Me, duly fired up with my anti-nausea pills and chewing spices to keep the puke down, watching the view, snoozing on and off and moving from one window seat to another, searching for that unrestricted supply of air on my face to shake any signs of nausea away. Vash, largely sleeping when she wasn’t falling off the seat, and moving from one window seat to another, searching for that undisturbed place where she wouldn’t be at the risk of falling. Like they say, each to her own! Anyway, without a single loo break, and just a couple of stretch-your-leg breaks, the bus just seemed to go on and on, without really getting anywhere.

What kept us going were the marvellous facets of the mountain territory that we were treated to - craggy surfaces, streams, peaks and valleys. This was my third trip to Uttaranchal [also known as Uttarakhand or UK as the locals and license boards of vehicles proclaimed], the previous times were to the Kumaon ranges. Yet the sights held me in awe with their wondrous beauty. A humbling experience indeed!

Several hours after we left the plains, at about half past 1, our bus packed up in a town that appeared to be a transit point, what with the number of buses around. The break down seemed contrived and later we were told that it was purposely done to avoid going on the Joshimath route. The driver handed over the remaining fare that would get us to Joshimath and we were left to transfer to a bus that would take us only to Chamoli. From there, we’d need to get another bus to Joshimath. Painful!

Vash did a quick investigation and found a direct bus to Joshimath that would leave in about 15 mins. We quickly transferred on to it, with our luggage in tow. The conductor later told us that the current bus had left from Rishikesh at 5.30 am itself and incidentally, they had seen us boarding our previous bus. Apparently that bus didn’t go on the Joshimath route and the break down was an excuse, a convenient method to get passengers off without trouble. Really, the crooked minds of people, all in the name of commercial interest!

A half-an hour lunch break with food at a decent hotel and a much needed loo visit coupled with a bit more wider seats, made the journey a bit more comfortable. We reached Joshimath at about 5 pm and began to walk up a slope in search of the new GMVN guesthouse where we didn’t have a booking but seemed our only hope of comfortable lodgings for the night. There was another slope on which the guesthouse was located. Leaving Vash with some luggage, Vidya and I trudged up slope no. 2. We were in luck. After explaining that we had bookings for 2 days later that week and that we had contacted the Rishikesh guesthouse too, we managed a room. A functional, barely comfortable room for the same price of Rs 600 as for a deluxe room, but we were sure it was better than a room elsewhere. Moreover, since this was the GMVN guesthouse, it would open doors to help us with our modes of travel to Govindghat the next day morning.

We zipped down, caught up with Vash, hired a coolie to take the luggage up – Vash’s luggage didn’t have wheels like the both of ours – while we sipped some delicious chai at a roadside stall. By now, Vidya, a hitherto tea/ coffee non-drinker, became a chai-drinker and had begun to enjoy it. For Vash and I, total chai freaks, it was wonderful to sample the different flavours of tea, prepared in different styles as we traversed several kilometres into the Himalayan country. But never mind about the tea, it could well be the topic of another blog of mine, so intrinsically a part of my life it is.

Coming back to our Joshimath interlude, it didn’t matter that our room didn’t have a balcony – hey, beggars can’t be choosers and we were lucky to get a room at GMVN. The lobby had an awesome view of the mountains, enveloped in parts with mist and right in front. Without anything to block the view, the guesthouse was literally snuggled amongst the mountains. We were well and truly away from the warm weather and in officially cold temperature land now.

We spent the evening, grumbling about our horrendous bus ride for some time and then unwinding, with sweet chai and hot pakodas, in front of the hotel entrance with the mist, the majestic Himalayas towering above us, the increasing cold, a slight drizzle and a domesticated mountain dog called Rawt for company. We can ignore the fact that I was scared of the dog and would get up every time it came near while Vash, without a care or fright, kept indolently talking to it. Anyway, the thought of a dog at our heels completes the peaceful imagery that I hope my words have evoked.

It had been 2 days since we began travelling and it would take another day to get to our first destination. In the meanwhile, we were enjoying the “getting there” bit, like the quote by Lao Tzu - "A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving."

After somewhat luxuriant baths [water, leave alone hot water, would turn into a scarce resource after this] and somewhat un-delicious food [for which we had to order 3 hours in advance] and the usual re-packing and the chatting, we called it a night at about 11 pm. The next day, we would travel to Govind Ghat, which was the starting point for trekking to Ghangria, and was located 23 km away. Rather than booking an expensive cab to take us there, we arranged with the GMVN guys to organize a ride on the GMVN official tour bus. Ofcourse, it was unofficial, meaning we’d probably have to sit in front in the driver’s cubicle and the fare we’d pay would, in all likelihood, go as a tip to the driver. We certainly didn’t mind! We were getting a hassle-free ride and that, given our famous bus ride from Joshimath, ranked high on our list of priorities.

Chpt 4. Land of the Ganges

9^th August

We awoke early and left the guesthouse by 5.30 am to catch our Dehradun Janshatabdi train from NDLS station. We didn’t know which side the train would arrive and due to a traffic jam [yes, at 5.45 am!], we were driven by the taxi-chappie to the Ajmeri side of the station. If we were at the wrong end, there were 12 platforms to cross over since the train arrived at either platform no. 1 or 12 [an estimated extra 15 mins]. Sure, we were travelling light. Further, our luggage was negligibly lightened when we shed off our Delhi to-and-fro clothes at the guesthouse. But still the task of dragging our stuff to the other end seemed daunting. Lady Luck as with us. It was the correct platform and we boarded our train which left Delhi for Hardwar at the estimated 6.30 am.

Amidst the AC environs, the food laden trays that came at regular hours and intermittent snoozing and yapping, the journey was comfortable. [Loo verdict: bad and shame too since this was the much-hyped Shatabdi train]. We were excited and had begun the first phase of our trip. We reached Hardwar at 11.30 am and stepped out of a crowded station into a dirty dusty town, only differentiated from the other hinterland towns of North India by a small number of foreigners, all heading like us to the prepaid taxi stand.

On the train, a friendly uncle told us that the cab ride to Rishikesh where we were to spend the night, would cost us Rs 400. Some sort of agent floating around the prepaid booth quoted us a figure of Rs 760. Fifteen minutes later, the sweltering heat swathing us, each struggling to our two pieces of luggage around to find an alternative cab stand - we were none the better. That was the only taxi-stand, a so-called Government owned one, not a cop in sight. The only alternative was a stuffy bus ride that would cost us Rs 15 each and in this heat and strain, seemed painful, not to say self inflicting. We tried our bargaining hand with the booth fellas and couldn’t get to the magical figure of Rs 400 but instead to Rs 560. We agreed and set out to Rishikesh.

I wanted the cab guy to drive by the town to have a dekho of the famed town beyond its filth lined station road but apparently taxis weren’t allowed into the city [or so the cab chap claimed]. Anyway, the fare was to the Great Ganga [a hotel that my friend, Gits fondly mentioned when I spoke to her before leaving Bangalore] and any detour would probably bring on more negotiations, which would only add to the irritation quotient. We decided that on our return, since we would reach Hardwar early in the evening and our train back to Delhi was only at midnight, we could explore the town, visit the ghats of the Ganga and watch the beautiful display of lamps or diyas, set afloat at sunset on the Ganga, called Hari-ki-pauri. Soon, we were crossing bridges, catching various views of ghats alongside the Ganga and temples, followed by more temples, before heading out towards Rishikesh, the last of the plains before the Garhwal Ranges began.

We reached Rishikesh at 12.30 pm. The Great Ganga was situated atop a huge slope, at Muni-ki-reti, just outside the town and just before the famous Ram and Lakshman Jhulas, the ropeway bridges across the Ganga. We were in luck, rooms were available and we chose one with a long view of the Ganga, rolling along. The yoga room and its balcony offered an even better view and since the room rent of Rs 2800/day with breakfast seemed appropriate, we decided to stay there.

After freshening up and a chai break, we set out to explore the jhulas, where reportedly the Bollywood flick, Bunty and Babli was shot. While we came prepared for the cold of the Himalayas and the rain in Delhi, nothing prepared us for the heat in Rishikesh. Burning sun, scorching rays, terribly warm – these phrases best describe the weather. We decided to first have lunch at Chotawala [or some name similar to that], a restaurant recommended for its delicious thali meals. Assuming it was on the other side of the Lakshman jhula [LJ], we took an empty tuk-tuk [called a ‘bikram’ locally] from our hotel. The tuk-tuk is akin to a large shared auto and is similar to the ones in use in Indore, Pune, Bangkok.

At LJ, we figured that Chotawala [CW] was at Ram Jhula, incidentally very close to our hotel, so it was a tuk-tuk back again, this time shared with some college students. Vash also managed to keep the tuk-tuk man in giggles whenever she mentioned ‘chotawala’ and only when we crossed to the hotel, we realized that it was ‘chotiwali’, as it someone with a choti [or a pony/ pig-tail]. The two words have very different meanings. In Hindi, the ‘cho’ of both words is also pronounced differently and interchanging one for the other guaranteed the laughs of the tuk-tuk circle of that town for atleast a week.

Descending down to the Ram jhula from the road on the high slope and crossing the bridge to get to CW an experience. There wasn’t any jute ropeway or precarious structure but a robust ensemble of steel in a faux ropeway style, about 5 ft in width, enough for people and the frequent motorcycle to come through in a two-way single file, the jhula constantly shifting as people moved on it and the mighty Ganges flowing undulating beneath it, without a hurry in the world. Lunch at CW was every bit as promised, rich, sumptuous and finger-licking good in true Indian style. Completely veg, but we knew that this side of the world, we could kiss non-veg goodbye. We met the chotiwali man, pancaked in make-up with his choti in clear display, infact there’s a snap of us with him somewhere.

Fuelled by good food, chilled water, bandanas and glares, we decided to check out LJ. But first, we needed to climb up the stairs to get back to the road from the bridge. In the hot sun, the ascent seemed like a trek itself and we were tired. Bowing to the sun’s relentless fury, Vash who had visited Rishikesh [on a rafting expedition] earlier, decided to skip LJ and the walk in the sun, and instead wait for us in the cool of a roadside shop. Vidya and I carried on, following the long, long winding path down to the river to cross the LJ. Vehicles kept passing by, hardly anyone else seemed to be walking. A long time later, with a new sun cap in my possession, when we hadn’t yet reached the river bank, we called Vash and asked her to return to the hotel since we were going to take much longer than expected.

Finally, when we got there, LJ was such a disappointment. Much narrower than Ram Jhula and with twice the number of people, we hurried amidst the crowd to get to the other bank and get it over with. Vidya made a quick 2 minute visit to a 13-storeyed temple while I guarded her shoes outside from the prowling swell of people. We zipped back across the LJ and this time around, we found a short-cut, much steeper but definitely quicker, almost like an urban ‘pagdandi’ track, curving around shops that were situated on the slope between the river and the road. And fairly crowded. No wonder, on our descent earlier, Vidya and I seemed like the only jokers walking - most folks would have used this path.

As we were leaving the banks, we were surprised to see a German bakery, packed with foreigners and offering some delicious baked goodies. No doubt a Lonely Planet recommendation. We decided to forego the goodies, more attractive to us, now that we were so far away from home, and get on with our ascent. En route, we stopped at a hotel, Lakshman JD delux that was somewhere just after LJ and with a view to die for. An entire long shot of the Ganga, with the Ram Jhula ahead and the river flowing beyond it, continuously down towards the plains, with swirls of rapids here and there.

We sat on their terrace, just alongside the river bank, took our shoes off, ordered a limesoda each and just watched the river flow by. Rishikesh is pure white water rafting country and though the season was well over, we tried spotting rapids in the panoramic landscape of the river that the hotel offered. The sun was beginning to ease off and the view just lulled everything to a peaceful tranquillity, while we both sat quietly, in idyllic ease. Several blissful minutes later, when the hotel guys, in all probability forgot about our order, we left [after informing them]. A tuk-tuk and ten minutes later, we were back, appreciating the cool AC blast in our room.

During our jaunt in the blazing sun, Vash had done some homework and visited the GMVN office to figure out our accommodation in Joshimath, our next stop. Apparently, the guesthouses are booked to the T and only the local manager’s intervention could help, so appeals were to be made to him.

Our more immediate problem was to get to the bus station the next morning at 4 am. The distance wasn’t much, 15 minutes at max but the lack of a reliable means of transport at that hour was worrying. The taxis through the hotel were atrociously expensive at Rs 500, hardly any tuk-tuks would ply and walking down was not an option. After literally arm twisting the hotel desk manager with various pleas to the tune of us being students on a shoe-string budget, he spoke of a ‘unreliable’ tuk-tuk chap that he knew of. He made a big show of calling him, and “for us, negotiated a low amount of Rs 200”, while clearly absolving himself of any responsibility incase the tuk-tuk failed to appear in the morning. In the lack of any other viable option, we took him up on it.

The same evening, after relaxing baths, we had tea on the yoga room balcony. Though sunset wasn’t visible on the western bank that our hotel was located on, we were treated to a vivid display of oranges, peaches and pinks that the sunset evoked. That accompanied by the satsang like soothing singing, low in volume, that emitted from an ashram on the opposite bank of the river, most likely an Iskcon temple, produced positive vibes around and created a relaxing ambience. It soon turned into a disturbing cacophony of religious songs/ chants, each trying to outdo the other in terms of volume. Though the tranquillity was short-lived, it was a memorable evening at dusk and the image of the river, gradually disappearing into darkness as nightfall arrived, only to be a little illuminated by a sole diya, let afloat on the water, will stay with me.

Dinner at Rishikesh was peaceful, we walked down to ‘Madras Café’, which seemed decent and served good simple food, thankfully with nothing Madrasi about it. A tuk-tuk back and a bout of packing later, it was again past 11 pm when we fell asleep.

Chpt 3. Rock on!

8th August

We were to take the 17.30 Indigo flight [Blr-Delhi] and meet Vash there. We’d coincided our flight arrivals so as to minimize waiting times at the Delhi airport. As plans stood, Vash would reach Delhi an hour before us and together we would proceed to Khelgaon [the first day of our trip being in the relative comfort of the Vash’s company guesthouse, a perk that Vash enjoyed, thanks to her UTI job].

The struggle of the last few days for me was to ensure that I travel light. Numerous lists of all possible things that I would need were made. Wollens sorted. Clothes meticulously planned taking into consideration their weight, the rain [hence, more changes], the 12 days and all our modes of travel. Finally, I managed to bundle everything into a backpack, a rolly backpack and a sling bag. Phew! I could manage them all, thankfully without any porter.

This was my first travel from the new international airport and I decided to take a Vayu Vajra, the fancy Volvo transit bus to the airport. The previous day I literally had to hunt to locate the stop point near my place. I took an early Vayu Vajra, meaning to reach the airport well before my scheduled check-in time as I was unsure of the travel time. Having being warned that these buses sometimes don’t stop, I tracked down the driver’s number from the control room and called him when it was time for the bus to reach my point. Luckily, all was well, the bus was only late by a few minutes and I enjoyed the comfortable bus ride to the airport. I do recommend it.

Vidya also reached a little later and we decided to explore the new airport. We found that it was not yet upto the mark compared to airports in international cities that we’d seen but awesome for Bangalore, considering the sad bus-station like HAL one that we earlier had. Our flight was more or less on time and we reached Delhi at about 8 pm, waiting to see Vash. As luck would have it, her flight was terribly delayed due to the rains in Goa/ Bombay and she landed more than an hour later than we had. We took a prepaid taxi from the airport and by the time, we reached the guesthouse in Khelgaon, it was well past 10.30 pm. We finally settled into what might be the last comfortable surroundings for a long time and called it a night around midnight.

Chpt 2. The Planning

Timeline: Last week of July [a day after the Bangalore blasts]

It almost started on a lark, amidst the aromas of oolong tea and steamed momos, at my favourite café in Bangalore, InfiniTea. There we were, the three of us, old friends from college - Vash [visiting from Bombay], Vidya and I – sharing the latest in our lives, quips and anecdotes when quite accidentally, the topic of the Valley strayed into our conversation.

Ever since a friend of mine had shared her experiences of the area, it was on my list of must-travel-places in India. We discovered that we all wanted to go there and why not? The long Independence weekend was coming up in a fortnight, each of us wanted a break, the Valley would be at its best this time of the year and a holiday with just us girls was a great way to celebrate the ten years since our graduation in 1998. Unlike the umpteen vacation plans we’d hatched in the last decade, all of them unsuccessful, this time we decided to solemnly go through with it. The three of us sitting at the same table removed the hassle of clashing schedules that usually tends to be the biggest deterrent to such plans. Dates were tentatively decided on.

The next 3 days saw a hectic flurry of mails, a result of the detailed recce on the net that followed our InfiniTea meeting. Dates were fixed and a sketchy itinerary was drawn up with timelines, night stopovers and the mode of travel for each day. Most of it was just in the form of information, hotel bookings could be done later once we got to particular locations. We’d figure as we went along. In true Himalayan trekker style. We had all the info and only the train/ flight bookings needed to be done. We were truly well on our way.

That’s when our usual ill-luck or disaster struck. Or almost struck. Vash and I knew that while this was the “season” for the Valley flowers to be in full bloom, it was invariably accompanied by rain. It was akin to the cost of seeing this magical land at its best. Postpone the trip any later and it would only get colder, with not many flowers in bloom – the season was end-July to mid-August. Vidya, it seemed, was unaware of this, until a friend of hers, who was a regular visitor to the area, mentioned it to her with the advice of visiting the area in September. Travel in September wasn’t feasible for me and moreover, I wanted to visit the Valley in its peak season. Vidya didn’t want to travel in August, an impasse reached, the trip was off. And just after all that planning, when it seemed like a distinct possibility. The disappointment was doubled.

The next two days saw Vash and I, each trying to convince Vidya to reconsider her decision. From sharing rain splattered pictures of folks who had visited the area in the last fortnight to sharing blogs where everyone spoke of the rain as a normal phenomenon, we tried to highlight that it was the best time to visit, the rain really wasn’t such a big deal and just went with the terrain. Since it wouldn’t be continuously raining, our views of the mountains and valleys wouldn’t be compromised or covered all the time in mist. With no change in her decision, the trip was shelved officially.

A day later, Vidya called, she’d changed her mind. We were going! We were back in business. The plan further fine tuned. Travel Tickets booked. Stay for 3 nights at the GMVN [Garhwal Mandal Vikas Nigam] guesthouse, Joshimath was booked. Blocking for a day at the luxury tent in Ghangria was done [Blocking and not booking, since we were unsure whether we wanted to spend Rs 4800/day as opposed to the going rate of Rs 300/ day that non-luxury hotels charged – well, maybe one day of comfort after all those days of budget stay and strenuous trekking!].

Like St. Augustine said, "The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page” – one of the quotes that are frequently aired on the Discovery Travel & Living channel – we were ready to unravel another page soon.

Sources for recce: http://www.flowersofindia.net/vof-trek/index.html, http://www.garhwaltourism.com/valley/