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!