A 4:15am wake-up knock for me and my new roomie Pratigya. Some chai and cornflakes followed and we were on the road by 5:00. None of the first three petrol stations we stopped at were open yet...

BRO, Eager to Last? Then Why Fast?

So, license plates in India have a two-letter representation of the state (or city in the cases of major metropolises) in front of the number.

So, up here, I keep thinking the license plates are joking around. JK. Our first few stops in the state of Himachal Pradesh were all about the wizards and witches. HP During my trip to Rishikesh earlier in the year, we may as well have been in England. UK. And I live in a positive kind of place. UP

BRO, If Married, Divorce Speed

About halfway to Kargil which is halfway to Srinagar, we reached the little town of Lamayuru, mostly known for its monastery on a hill. (We nearly went there on a motorcycle day trip, but decided to stay in Nubra Valley another day instead.) It is also known for having a very moon-like landscape. Indeed.

After Lamayuru, our duo of vehicles (no more motorcycles) started ascending switchbacks. Although we were technically heading to a pass higher than Rohtang, it did not seem as dramatic when starting from above 10,000 ft.

A lot of our long drive today was parallel to the Line of Control that separates Pakistan-controlled Kashmir from India-controlled Kashmir. (There appear to be Chinese sections, too.) Our route was from Leh to Srinagar via Kargil. Aside from Turtuk a few days ago, this is the closest I've ever been to Pakistan. This map I found on Wiki from 2002 appears to be fairly accurate as far as the borders go.

Every so often, I hear about soldier skirmishes on the news, often in Srinagar. Given that, I expected a much heavier military presence in this area. However, airport aside, there did not seem to be significantly more men in fatigues this side of Ladakh than in Jammu & Kashmir in general (which admittedly has much higher than average number of soldiers holding rifles than in India on the whole, which has much more than back home in the U.S.)

A couple hours before we reached Kargil, we went through a little village and finally found a petrol station. Whew. I took the below photo across the street while we filled up.

Around 9:30am, we stopped for morning tea / second breakfast at a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with fairly slow service, pretty good paranthas, and mediocre chai. Across the street was a neat Buddhist monument on a rock tower dedicated to the future incarnations of the Buddha, or a bodhisattva named Mattreya.

I saw other foreign tourists enjoying a breakfast here as well; I have been seeing non-Indians more often ever since Leh.

A little over an hour later, we descended into Kargil, one of our original stopovers. The green town along the river was much cuter than I expected based on the stories I read about the quality of its guest houses. (Our stopping place if we would have stayed, however, was a tent camp. These tent camps seem to be in quite good shape comparatively.)

I've noticed that the women are more often wearing headscarves as we get further from Buddhist Ladakh. Here in Kargil, though, they are colorful, not black or covering the face, and feel more Indian style.

The most significant change I noticed after Kargil was the existence of a center line on the road!

(But it did not last as long as I'd hoped...)

The goal of today was to make it to Srinagar, then to Pahalgam the following day before coming back to Srinagar to catch my flight back to Delhi. Here is our route (at least, this is the route Google believes we took.) Remember what "La" means (of "Zoji La" below)? Oh yes. Another mountain pass. Just because it isn't as high as Rohtang or Khardung doesn't mean it isn't just as exciting...

Our next stop was the War Memorial. Here, we stretched our legs, got a bite to eat, and flexed our patriotism. The Memorial is just kilometers from the Pakistan "border" and this area has some history, being the site of the Battle of Tiger Hill. Apparently there used to be a signboard in the area (that tourists photographed themselves next to) that said "You are being watched by the enemy" because of Pakistani camps on the mountaintop.

BRO, In the Service of Nation

(I'm not making that one up.)

I was surprised, walking around the Memorial, how freely they let visitors take photographs. This felt like the kind of place where it would be severely prohibited, especially given that we could not take pictures of any other military installations and academies in the area.

When I read the above sign, besides thinking that Helipad was his last name and that Vijay was his nickname (it actually means Victory in Hindi), I also assumed it was an old war hero. I'm accustomed to thinking of people we honor in battle as being from WWII, or at least from an era preceding my lifetime. So it was a surprise to find out that the battle in question was only in 1999 and that Vijyant Thapar was the same age as me!

Near the entrance and souvenir shop (where I also signed the guestbook, though I think I misremembered my passport number and what do they need that for anyway?), we sat at a table and enjoyed a yummy "Funky Roll" with chicken, though I declined to pass along my phone number to the food booth dude.

Near a small building full of photographs, there were signs displaying four bravery-related passages from four different scriptures. (Two are Hindu and there is one each from the Bible and the Koran.) You can read the quotes (barely) if you look at the big version of the below photo and zoom in. I had to chuckle a bit at the Christian one. Looks like they need a better spellchecker...

Back at the parking lot, the other SUV was just arriving. After greeting them and chatting a bit, we were preparing to head back out on the road when I noticed this van in the parking lot. The decal on the back was interesting. I keep re-interpreting the meaning. But the War vs. Peace dichotomy summed up the general feeling here.

To be honest, patriotism makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I'm not sure why, perhaps the mass mentality associated with it. In any case, that discomfort was compounded by it not being my home country. But I did find the Memorial an interesting and well-laid-out place and it inspires me to learn more about the history between Pakistan and India.

There was a soldier walking around (one of many) who had the Best Moustache Ever, but I could not work up the nerve to ask him to pose for a photo, even though Akarsh assured me that it was not a problem. There is a security guard at my apartment complex with the same awesome moustache. I wonder if it is a men-in-uniform thing.

In the neighboring state of Punjab, you can go to the only actual road border (called the Wagah Border) between India and Pakistan and watch the daily dramatized soldier exercises and challenging shouts between the two nations. Or watch YouTube videos of the same. Often featuring some pretty fantastic moustaches.

Shortly after the War Memorial, we passed by Drass, also spelled Dras. There are some interesting demographics in this place that I'll describe as a "truck stop highway village". Quote from Wiki article: "The local population is of 64% male and 36% female. In total the population of Dras is 1,201." But I did not need the Wiki article to tell me that THERE ARE NO WOMEN HERE. Besides the dramatic percentage gap, there is also the fact that this is a predominantly Muslim town (which will be the norm for the remainder of the trip, at least in the smaller communities) and it seems women stay out of sight more often. Akarsh said that the bicycle tour folk used to joke that the men make babies here.

The temperature once flirted with -50 degrees Celsius (or something; the Wiki article on Dras climate has changed its numbers twice since I started this post), which I supposed gives them the second-to-Siberia record dictated on the sign below. Though... Siberia is five times the size of the whole country of India, so kind of an odd comparison if that is indeed what they are comparing to. Still, it seems hard to believe in the middle of summer that this little valley would be colder than somewhere further north, like Alaska or Scandinavia. This is the Himalayas, though, and we are at 10,760 ft (3,280 m) so I guess it's not impossible. Or perhaps they mean the coldest place on average?

The road after Kargil was stunning, especially because I had not seen grass in a while. With the grazing horses, colorful tents, and peaks rising up into the sky (and the drizzle that accompanied us) it felt like I was suddenly in the middle of Europe, maybe Switzerland (or perhaps Ireland with the green hills), even though I have never been in those countries.

I don't tend to take many 'people' pictures for a variety of reasons. Mainly, I'm too shy to ask and it seems polite to at least get permission. I know I prefer when people ask me first. (I have been in quite a few photos during my time in India, including dozens I don't even know about I am sure. But, if you are going to take a photo of me anyway, I'd rather be smiling and aware.) Also, it is a little weird posting pictures of those people online, even on this quiet web site, without their permission. And that is another level of question that just seems too much. "Hi stranger, you look cool and cultural, can I take your photo and post it on my online blog?" Kind of creepy.

So, in compromise, the few photos I do have and post of other people usually do not have large versions. The photo on the right I did not intend to have people in. I was trying to get the awesome cloud-covered peak behind it from a moving vehicle. I am hoping they don't think I was some "oh, look at the quaint locals!" foreigner... But, now that I have the photo, it is kind of a cool people shot. They are all looking at me. But I'm not sharing the large version here.

Less than fifteen minutes after we passed the tiny village in the photo, we pulled over at a checkpoint. I thought that, like usual, we'd show them our permits and be on our way. But perhaps they noticed me and my whiter-than-whiteness when I got out to stretch my legs.

They called me over to a shelter. They only called me, but at this point, everyone else I was traveling with was from India. One of my (muscled) male companions kindly accompanied me as I walked over to the three old men sitting in folding chairs. I was a little nervous, but they were friendly and nice enough. I had to answer a couple questions, fill out a pretty long form (in English luckily) and show them my passport. The weirdest part of this checkpoint was that we were really in the middle of nowhere. (Well, just ahead of us was Zoji-La, so maybe they were making sure I was in healthy and fit condition, not susceptible to heart attacks, ha.)

I should have seen my reaction coming. After all, rain = mud. Mud = slippery. Pass = high. Guard rails = nonexistent.

We passed the tree line. Then we were in the constantly changing clouds, fog materializing at random. The atmosphere was somewhat surreal. The rain had caused big puddles on the muddy road and the precipitation had not yet ceased.

We could see from a distance that something wasn't right. The cars were backed up on the road when they should not have been. "Someone's stuck," Akarsh said and we pulled over. He walked up to investigate.

While he was checking out the situation, we took a lot of photos. After all, it was a beautiful and dramatic place, clouds churning around us like crazy. The scenery was, despite all the unbelievable vistas I had already witnessed on the trip, unique and stunning.

Akarsh returned and we all piled back in the SUV and started toward the stuck vehicle with intent to assist. And here... here is where I panicked. The mud got very slippery, the rear wheels started spinning. Then we started sliding, helplessly it seemed, toward the edge - the guardrail-free, steep, slippery edge. Then we slid back, then toward it again. And one more time. The next time was the worst.

No one else seemed overly concerned. I thought we were going to topple off the cliff. I burst into tears while the others bravely tried to keep from looking too amused.

As soon as we stopped, I got right out of the deathtrap, despite that I knew that if Akarsh intended to try to pull the other vehicle out somehow, he would need all the traction he could get. Everyone else got out, too, so maybe it wasn't just me who didn't want to incur the additional slippage risk.

We walked further down the road and joined the sizable crowd gathered behind the stuck vehicle, who were trying to help push it out of the mud ruts. All around me, except for Pratigya, were men. And I could now hear more clearly than before that no one was speaking Hindi. I think they were speaking Kashmiri. I got a fair share of curious looks.

The leader of our expedition, alone in the Scorpio now, drove up face-to-face with the stuck car, attached to it with some kind of tether, then began moving in reverse. I think there was concern that there really isn't "low 4WD" in reverse gear, but persistence, experience, and lack of fear did the job and, with the help of the crowd pushing from the back, he managed to pull the spinning car out of the rut!

Once the vehicle was on its way, Akarsh picked us up and we squeezed by all the waiting cars and continued the descent.

We soon hit very dramatic rain and I could only be grateful we had not hit the heavy weather back when we were trying to navigate the slippery passage! The thought made me worry about the folks on that stretch now, though perhaps they were above the cloudline.

Shortly after that, we crossed paths with the truck brigade and I was again thankful that we did not hit this procession during the scary part. Getting past the trucks took a little doing, but we had a trick. We sent Raj (the most intimidating-looking of us) out with a walkie talkie to direct traffic. He was not really using it, it was just a prop as it is apparently generally assumed here that anyone with a walkie talkie is a cop, uniform or no, since the devices are sort of quasi-legal. In any case, it worked! We threaded our way down through the trucks no problem.

We made it down finally and my heart rate slowed to normal. We stopped to have tea and a parantha at a place where the food was okay, but the restrooms, even according to the gentlemen, were kind of gross. So I declined to use them. I did purchase myself a coke as we were leaving, though. Needed a comfort beverage.

First the trees returned. Then it became lush, green and hilly.

By 6:00pm, we were out of the mountains entirely.

There were a new concrete company competitions in the advertisements along the highway. This time Arco Cement vs. Saifco Cement. We passed larger villages more frequently. The architecture seemed mostly back to Indian style with one notable exception. The windows everywhere seemed to be lovely. We passed mansions and pretty townhouses in a row, so there must be money over here. But we even passed a dilapidated building with pretty windows, as in nice glass, detailed frames, everything, so there must be some sort of cultural glass skill in the Srinagar area.

Road signs were now appearing not only in English and Hindi, but in Urdu as well. To me, Urdu kind of looks like scribbles, but I suspect that English cursive would look pretty much the same to the uninitiated.

The temperature was noticeably warmer. Almost uncomfortably so. My sweater was going back in my suitcase for the remainder of the journey

As we finally entered the city of Srinagar, it was a bit of a culture shock. The sudden traffic, honking, and urban crowds were a little unsettling after the quiet of the mountains. This city of almost a million felt different than Delhi, but I could not put my finger on why. I did make one observation. The buildings along Delhi streets are a mish-mash of style, size, age, purpose, and wealth but the neighborhoods and markets here seemed more consistent and regularly situated.

My bladder and I were irritable by this point. It had been a long day in the car (pushing 14 hours) and the drive had involved some ups and downs, literally and figuratively. Hotel Kabir did not improve my mood. It's in competition with Inderlok in Rishikesh as the skeeziest hotel I've stayed in during my time in India. (Granted, I'm particularly picky and haven't tried many low budget options.) Akarsh admitted that Srinagar is a very expensive city; to find anything in the range we had been paying was difficult. At least it had hot water (once they came up and fiddled with the hot water heater anyway.) I couldn't bring myself to use the towel even though it was probably technically clean. My biggest complaint is that there was no top sheet. The YMCA had this problem as well, though provided some alternatives if I recall. Here's the thing. I doubt a hotel would wash the blanket between every guest. That is kind of the point of sheets, right? To not have to wash the giant, thick blanket all the time? But if there is no top sheet... then am I right to be concerned how many people have used this blanket in an unknown state of cleanliness before me?

One good thing about it (as is often the saving grace of places like this) is the location. Centralized, very close to Dal Lake, and within walking distance to many shops and restaurants.

The next morning, we wandered around town. It wasn't raining! It was a bit hot and humid, however. We had brunch in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that, on a non-festival day, would have had a line of people out the door apparently. But today, we got a seat. The best thing on their menu was a concept called paneer parantha which I can't believe I have not seen done before. Fried stuffed bread is always improved by cheese! Incidentally, I think the festival going on was Raksha Bandhan, the one where sisters tie a bracelet on brothers' (or male relatives') wrists and the brothers then swear to protect her and give her a monetary gift.

After we ate, we walked around by the lake for a while. Then we got to ride a gondola! A definite highlight of Srinagar.

One white face (me) among the six of us was enough for a price hike so we "walked away" until he came down. Then we split up into two gondolas, also called shikara and enjoyed a pleasant, peaceful float among the houseboats. The depth was quite shallow and the water full of plants. Someone told me that Dal Lake was man-made and I was astonished, especially given the size (over 120 sq. miles says Wiki) but, no, it is a natural feature of the area, even though various artificial causeways and such exist.

There is at least one famous Indian actor by the name of Jhon so that makes more sense than a misspelling.
(For other words that are difficult for me to see as anything other than a misspelled word, see French Connection UK ,or, FCUK.)

View from Gondola, Front and Back

Along the way, you could stop at floating souvenir shops (luckily, we were not required to, whew) or buy a beverage or snack from the refreshment boats (which I did partake of.) Apparently, many of the hotels and shops on the lake were originally built to avoid taxes "on land." I do not know if that is still a benefit.

Care for a Snack?

I had heard about the famous Srinagar houseboats and about the rip-offs foreigners might encounter when trying to book a stay from out of town. In any case, the multitudes of unmoving marine hotels were fairly similar-looking from the outside so it was hard to tell the quality of the interior. There were many (many) more houseboats than I expected, each with a different name.

The "Chicago", the "Wan" and the "New Wan"
(There were quite a few boats with a "New" version parked next to them.)

Flora and Fauna

The ride in total took approximately an hour, including going up some "streets" and through reeds, and on the whole, was very relaxing.

Pahalgam

After our diversion, we squeezed into two SUVs and headed up to the hills to a tiny village called Brar in an area called Pahalgam. Then into the landscape beyond.

Near Brar, Pahalgam

Know what is surreal? To be invited in by a lovely man, have the most delicious tea ever, head back out to the vehicles and keep driving up into the hills, looking at the pretty green scenery as the sun set, then about an hour later, arrive at another house where the same man is waiting for us and who invites us into an identical room for dinner.

It took me an embarrassing several (long) moments to realize we had driven in a loop. It did not feel at all like we were back where we started. I want to offer some excuse like, it was dark out when we returned, but that is a weak reason. I honestly was like, "Wow, how did that man beat us here? Does he really have two houses with this same room?" Brain had stopped functioning, folks. It did not help that there was mention of staying in this fellow's "guest house" so I was sort of expecting to arrive at a different place than the first location. But, no, his guest house was his real house where he hosted seven of us on short notice.

Anyway, our host was the kind of man who seemed practiced at entertaining guests. He mostly spoke Hindi, but threw in the occasional English for me (apologizing that he did not know it better, but I thought he spoke it fairly well.) The room was large, comfortable, and had no furniture. Sitting on the carpeted floor with pillows is apparently the norm in Kashmir and I had no objection at all, being a floor-sitter myself. We were then elaborately served dinner. All the men of the household (no women were visible at first) participated. They first laid down a long placemat. Then plates and cutlery. Then we were individually served course after course of very tasty (non-veg) food. All of the hosts, despite that at least one of the sons was busy studying for exams, remained with us as we ate (we had our fill before than began their meal) and engaged us in conversation for a couple hours at least.

Kashmir: hospitality at its extreme.

Cultural Differences Ahoy

After that followed some awkward cultural confusion, by no fault of our hosts. The two women in our group (i.e. me and Pratigya) were taken downstairs to the sister's bedroom. I assumed it was bedtime, though that had not been specifically mentioned, at least not in English, so it sort of seemed like guys' party was continuing upstairs. There were two bedrolls and pillows laid out for us. We met the two sisters (?) who spoke some Hindi and a little English and were apparently students at a local university. They were dressed head to toe in a headscarf and flowing clothing, only their faces (and not even a strand of hair) showing.

I brushed my teeth in the outdoor restroom building and came back. Right after I returned, our main host entered the bedroom, sat down, apologized that the accommodation wasn't better prepared (it was pretty impressive for such short notice) and then served us dessert and more delicious tea. Oops. I ate and drank anyway while we shared a pleasant conversation. He left and his wife came in. She sat with us, obviously trying to do her duty, but she knew not one word of Hindi or English, so it was a little awkward to sit there in silence, just looking at each other. But she was trying. The strange thing was that the brothers kept walking in and out of the bedroom without knocking so I was not sure when I could change into my pajamas. (Seems like that would be an extra embarrassing thing to be caught at here.) It was bedtime right? What else was on the agenda? It occurred to me the next day that I should have tried to find a door lock. At any rate, I managed to eventually change without interruption and we were left alone (rather, left with the two sisters and a neighbor I think, who seemed to sleep in their clothes.)

There was similar confusion in the morning. Someone knocked while we were sleeping and announced it was time for breakfast immediately. What? I tried to get up quickly and rub the sleep out of my eyes. Then someone walked in a few minutes later to ask us where we were. The mother came in and stood there quietly for some time. Then a few minutes later, someone else reminded us it was breakfast and that people were waiting. I would have really liked five or ten minutes warning so I could "wake up" and a few minutes of privacy to get dressed - I assume they REALLY did not want to walk in on me dressing! - but with everyone running around preparing and the language barrier, it was complicated to request. (I'm sure I was missing the proper behavior here. Maybe we were supposed to sleep in our clothes so we could rise quicker? Or lock the door? Or we were supposed to have already been up? I would have happily set my alarm had I been given a time. Unclear. I am particularly not a fan of being hurried in the morning and am not a morning person, so it took me some effort to not be grumpy. I'm sure I did not fully succeed.)

Indeed, a lot of time there, I kept feeling like I was doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing and being inadvertently offensive. And, of course, everyone would be FAR too polite to inform me of any mistakes I was making. I just had to try to go with the flow, the flow of being an undeservedly pampered guest (though a guest, it seemed, with no expectation of privacy).

Breakfast was large, delicious, and served in a similar fashion to dinner. Apples, fresh peaches, sweet doughy balls, hard boiled eggs, fried roti, bananas, bitter pickles, and paneer were on the menu. Apparently, one of the sons had risen early to go harvest the peaches. (I felt guilty when I learned that because that had been one of the very few items I skipped.) Also, we were served the same unbelievably tasty (buttery?) tea. This time, the women of the family (all covered up) hovered in the doorway, handing the dishes to the men so they could serve them. The women did not participate in the conversation. That was probably the most awkward thing of all, the division of labor. It made me a little sad. I wondered if they felt that us more Westernized women were incredibly forward by dressing like the men and talking with the men as (whoa) equals. Or if it is just one of the cultural things that I've been conditioned to think is wrong, oppressive even, when no one else in the village shares that belief.

Horses and High Places

The brothers (and a couple other folk from Brar) accompanied us on an excursion up to a mountain settlement.

On the way, we were stopped. Might have been an official checkpoint, I don't recall. In any case, they fully intended to spend 20-30 minutes searching our vehicle and (stinky by now I'm sure) luggage. I was kind of stunned at that. However, one of our host's work is related to the Air Force, so we were able to avoid further detainment. (In fact, I am guessing he was embarrassed that his guests were stopped at all.)

We made it without further incident up the curvy roads, over a river and into a small village. We parked then walked up the little street to the end. You could pay for a horseback ride, but we instead hiked up the muddy hillside to the top.

And said hello to the horses as we passed

The guys were (chivalrously?) trying to help me more than I required up the hill while the men in our group were wondering why they didn't get offered any help.

Once we made it up, some competitions followed.

Sprint Down the Hill; Climb to the Top!

And some fun with camera angles...

(I like to compare this group photo to the very first one in my Intro. I ended the trip with none of the people I started with.)

Although the vista was quite beautiful, it was also remarkably similar to the (stunning) scenery of my hometown. So, in that sense, nothing new, but still very nice.

Street in Pahalgam

An Excellent Hotel

We headed down after we had climbed, jumped, and clicked to our satisfaction. After at least one muddy slip and spill, which I managed to avoid by being lucky enough to see where said person slipped and not go in that direction, we made it down to the bottom and stopped at a little restaurant. We enjoyed samosas, soft drinks, and chai. I got my fair share of stares.

After that, we hung out in the town of Pahalgam for a bit. Most of the group were going on the long drive back to Delhi, but the remaining ones (including me) were getting a taxi returning to Srinagar for a flight back the following day.

While we waited, Raj bought me a Kit Kat. I gave a piece to an old beggar woman hanging about, though I'm sure she would have preferred cash. I spent some time talking to our hosts' sons who had much better English than I had expected. It was a friendly conversation and I got to show off my website on my smartphone. (Internet works in Pahalgam!)

Houseboat!

The final night of the trip was an unplanned splurge on a fancy houseboat. It cost 6,000 rupees (about $120) give or take some fees which, by international standards, is pretty reasonable for this caliber of hotel (4-star), but much higher than what we had been paying for trip accommodation thus far. We chose this place based on tripadvisor ratings. Either that is a reliable method or we just got lucky.

Google vs. Reality

The map above shows one route from our old hotel (we had to pick up left luggage) to the new. The route we actually took went in the opposite direction. The taxi driver went around the lake counterclockwise and I figure he did this for one of two reasons: 1. the taxi driver wanted additional fare, or 2. wanted to provide us with the opportunity to enter the guesthouse from the direction of the water. Or perhaps, was required to. Taking a shikara across the strip of water may have been the only way to actually get to this boat.

We were welcomed by the proprietor and discovered that, by a miracle, we had the boat to ourselves - the guests already there were on the other 'WelcomHeritage' boat and they had not planned on opening this one up. Lucky again! Everything about this houseboat was absolutely lovely.

(Even if I never quite figured out in my head why the boat did not rock nor how the plumbing actually functioned. It worked, that's all that is important.)

Approach to Gurkha Houseboat

View From the Porch

The room was beautiful, the sheets and towels were clean, the beds were comfortable. The only complaint I can possibly think of was that the water pressure in the shower was not very strong. But really, small beans compared to the other stuff. We even had a visitor - someone's friend who lives in Srinagar drove over to meet us and chatted, even came all the way across on the gondola. Fun to meet a local.

Dinner was fantastic. Rice, mutton, meatballs, potatoes, chicken, roti, and veggies. Delicious! In the running with the final night at Leh as best dinner of the trip. The atmosphere was luxurious, but homey, with a living area and dining area, not a restaurant, where we were personally served. Detailed woodwork was everywhere. There were framed, signed quotes from famous visitors in the living room including, if I am not mistaken, at least one Clinton.

After dinner, we sat on cushioned seats on the porch and watched the moon rise over the mountains, reflecting off the lapping water. This ranks as one of my top ten most perfect evenings ever, I think. Extremely relaxing. (Even the salesmen who came by on boats to sell trinkets, snacks, flowers, foot massages, anything you can think of, were not that annoying. Especially the massage guy...)

The nice people at Gurkha helped us arrange a taxi to the airport following our tasty, large breakfast. We took a shikara to get to our ride, so possibly there is no other way to realistically leave the boat premises. At least not for guests. I wonder how/if that works in winter since I think the lake freezes. At any rate, I could have stayed another night. Or two. Five, even.

Nope, not tired of this view yet...

The Flight Refund Mystery

I had heard rumors about Srinagar airport security before coming, so I was prepared. We left plenty of time as a buffer. Indeed, there was a car checkpoint and a luggage screening checkpoint or two before we even reached the airport entrance, where there was a documents check to even get in the door.

I finally reached the counter. But I hit a snag when I tried to get my boarding pass...

The woman at the desk informed me that my ticket had been cancelled. According to them, I had cancelled the ticket over a month ago and *had already received a refund.* I found this strange as I had just received an SMS from MakeMyTrip in the morning reminding me of my flight. (When we logged in to double check the booking ID, they showed me as 'Confirmed'.) Something odd was going on.

No matter what I said, the woman (and another fellow we talked with) would not budge from the fact that it showed "Refund" on their computer. They showed us their computer screen in the back room, even, which was actually fairly accommodating of them. In the end, there was nothing I could do to get that ticket back. Not today, anyway.

I kind of froze. I had not planned for this. I think my recent travel experiences had gone so smoothly and effortlessly that I was starting to get a little bit lazy about backup plans. So my brain blanked out as I sat, had a soda, and tried to figure out what my next steps were. Logic was slow in coming. But here, I was very lucky about a few things. 1. There were still tickets available on this flight, and 2. I was with a Hindi-speaker who extremely kindly took over the situation and helped by getting a new ticket for me from the slightly intimidating ticket booth. 3. I happened to have the cash (I had brought emergency cash) and the ticket was cheaper than the one I had purchased online over a month and a half ago.

So, in the end I got home on the same flight I had intended to, just down about $80.

Notes from the at least four security checkpoints I went through (a couple twice because of the ticket mix-up.)

My luggage had a collection of identification and "screened" stickers on it
My boarding pass was checked and double checked by at least six people. I still almost boarded the wrong flight.
One lady, after patting me down and finding my pocketed chapstick: "What's this?"
"Lip balm," I replied.
"Use it."
Um, ok. I was been planning to anyway, pavlov effect of taking it out of my pocket. "Don't mind if I do."
Man, I certainly hope no one figures out a way to use lip balm as a weapon (the lip-bomber if you will) because if someone takes away my Burt's Bees, which incidentally I converted one of my fellow travelers to on this trip, I will straight-out panic.
After all that, no one seemed to care about the hand sanitizer gel in my purse.
We actually walked outdoors to the plane, dramatic in the wind, and went up a staircase to board the plane just like in movies before 1990.
No naked-body monitors, yay.

The Epilogue? Where did that refund actually go? Still in progress. I'd first given it up as a lost cause since I did not know who to contact. Finally, two months later, I contacted Air India and Make My Trip by phone. Air India showed that same refund but had no other information. MakeMyTrip had me down as a No Show. They are now looking into who actually received the "refund".

Hmmm. Is there a mafia in India?

On second thought, I don't really want to find out.

Wrap-up

My family is often surprised that I choose to take these kind of trips. Well, actually, by now they have stopped being surprised. But I often wonder, myself.

I don't like four wheeling very much. A strange thing for a Coloradan to admit, but it is true. Most of the times I've been on a serious, rocky 4WD roads in the mountains, I get scared out of my life. For very little logical reason, mind you. Once I walk out of the vehicle and see the (slight) tipping and bouncing from the outside, I certainly don't fear for those inside because, you know, they aren't even close to being in danger. Then I get back inside and the terror starts afresh.

I had never successfully made it to the top of a 14er (a mountain over 14,000 feet, or 4,260 meters, which Colorado has many of) despite trying *twice*. Why? Because of altitude sickness. Both times, I was too woozy to walk on. Even when the top was in plain sight above me.

The last several times I had sat in the back seat of a car while driving on curvy roads in the mountains (in both India and Colorado), I became dizzy and light headed after a few hours. Not full-on car sick at all, but I could not look at anything within the vehicle or I felt much worse.

So why was it that, what I wanted to do more than anything in India, was to do all of the above for TWO SOLID WEEKS?

I have no explanation. But you know what? It. Was. Awesome.

I did do my research. I prepared insanely, insanely for every aspect of this trip. And you know, I didn't get car sick at all. Barely got altitude sickness. I did fear for my life, I suppose. But that's all part of the fun, right?

I hate/love getting out of my comfort zone.

Leaving Leh

License Plates

No Llamas Here

Kargil War Memorial

Drass

Checkpoint in Europe

Zoji Pass

Akarsh Saves The Day