FEBRUARY 28, 2022 – In my 12/16/21 post, Where the Scenery Never Failed Me, I gave a preview of my venture away from Srinagar and into much higher elevations and rarefied air. That post was a week before my life swerved radically off course and more than a month before I began a measured account of my “Grand Odyssey.” That 12/16 post also pre-dated my discovery of the cache of letters from which I’ve borrowed excerpts along the current journey of memory.
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After two weeks, I’d had enough of haggling in Srinagar, though the scenery provided a welcome respite at any moment I looked away from the hawkers shouting, “I say you good price.” To gain an undisturbed foothold in paradise, I caught a rickety bus to Pahalgam, 80 miles east of Srinagar. The livestock aboard the conveyance nearly outnumbered the human passengers.
Before the bus came to a complete halt, a swarm of “lodging agents” surrounded us. I was recruited to stay at Bente’s Lodge, primitive accommodations a 10-minute walk from the edge of town. “My bed is a board and a blanket,” I wrote to my family, “and since there is no heat, I must sleep in my down vest and wool hat. Electricity is available—sometimes.”
The rugged, forested surroundings were breathtaking, yet, as always, people in the foreground vied for attention. “The houseboy, about 15, is conversant in English,” my letter continued, “and through him I’ve learned much about Kashmiri mountain life [. . .]
“I’ve also befriended the cook’s son [. . .] about seven. We can’t communicate much verbally, but we’ve become good pals, nonetheless. He’s learned to throw a Frisbee (left by an American), and today I showed him how to fold and fly a paper airplane. My pen and notepad, not to mention my tape recorder, are especially fascinating to the little guy, and I’ve used these devices to teach him a few words of English. Materialistically, my young friend is poorer than the poorest urchin, but he always wears a smile. For baksheesh I bought one and a half meters of cloth [so his father, the cook, also a tailor, can make a pair of trousers for his son].”
I became good friends with the other two houseguests, who became my hiking buddies for several treks in the heights above Pahalgam.
“They are Moslems of Indian descent,” I wrote in my letter home, “and attend the University of Bombay. One is from South Africa [and] the other hails from Zimbabwe. Friday evening we dined and talked for many hours and demolished whatever cultural-religious barriers that had separated us.
“Yesterday we went on a [30-mile], 12-hour hike up the Liddar Valley toward the Katahar glacier. We reached a maximum elevation of 10,000 feet. We encountered a few primitive shepherd huts and mountain people along the way, but for the most part we enjoyed Himalayan paradise untouched by humans. Spring has yet to fully blossom here. Deep snows cover most of the upper forests, and the air is crisp.”
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
