Ok I've decided to complete writing about India. It's been nearly two months since I've returned and I've seriously neglected my legion of blog fans, who have been salivating expectedly over how this story ends. I'm going to do this in "typefast" or rather "skimming over the details because they're not so clear to me now."
I left Manali after doing more of the same and rode down to Kasol. There, I spent a few days lounging in the Green Valley restaurant reading and smoking. In my treehouse guesthouse I spoke with an Israeli jesus lookalike who explained to me the fundamental connection beween hinduism, jusdaism, and all the other isms plus christianity and I thought he was objectively intersting until i realized i was being converted. I took a bong rip and slipped back into reality.
I took off for Melana, a village on a hill famous for it's "melana cream" and for its strange melana people. The walk up from where I'd parked my bike took two hours of nonstop stair climbing. I burned more calories in two hours than I could of on a treadmill for two days. A young boy lead the way, all the way to his father's guesthouse.
I ended up staying there, the food being rather bad but the room pretty nice. The view was absolutely stunning from the roof of this place. A bench, on a roof, with 360 degree view of gorgeous green mountains. the weather was also perfect. Two Israeli's joined me at the guesthouse and we commenced major nonstop chillum hits. We bought a gangload of genuine melana cream from the owner and remained in a state of serious highness for a four days. We played poker, ate parantha with nutella, read books, gazed aimlessly and slept a lot. The two guys were students at Tel Aviv University on a month long India journey, having been here before, and coming back only for the Melana Cream and Kasol.
I took a walk a couple times through the village itself, and was stunned by how closely the reality of this place resembled the stories I had heard of it. The kids and people were filthy, the houses made of rotting wood and covered with bushels of grass for the winter. The dirty kids jumped out of the road when I came through, believing, as the parents had told them, that they were "holy people" not to be soiled by foreigners. Signs read "do not touch anything or anybody" and "stay on the path" etc. Fine 2000 Ruppees. I went to the shop to by some chocolate to feed my munchies, and had to point to what i wanted from the outside. The owner than put my stuff in a bag and placed it on the floor for me to pick up. Everybody was looking at me with an aura of superiority, as if they knew something about me that I didn't. I tried hard to think why these people could possibly believe themselves to be holy, and how they could look at me and feel they were in a better position, living here among the cow dung, the dirty water. I'll give them the pristine natural wilderness and the great ganga, but c'mon. Anyways they've been working on building a road to this village so that it's no longer reachable only by five thousand stairs, adn once that's finished the whole culture will meet its doom, i'm told, as visitors flock from abroad and outsiders come to trade and live here.
I left Melana and Kasol thoroughly in love with India and wondering why I was leaving to go back to the modern world. I rode the bike down to Delhi but stopped in Chandigarh, a "modern" city in India and the capital of Himachal. The city reminded me of Brazilia, the capital of Brazil, and it was actually designed by the same idiot european architect. The city is straight line grid of ugly neighborhoods. It's something out of 1984, filled with Seikhs, absolutely lacking in everything that's wonderful about India. The restaurants are aweful, the vibe is constipated and tight, the weather humid, the wind lacking, the streets congested, is their anything positive? no.
I left and cruised down to Delhi a week from departure. In Delhi I ran into old friends, returned the motorcycle and managed to not pay anything extra, bought gifts, walked around, tried to inhale every cubic ounce of delhi air so as not to forget, took some pictures, was disgusted by the heat, and left to the airport. I just summed up a week in three lines, but honestly theres not much to say about Delhi that was different from the first time around.
I am now back in Israel. I've been here for two months and I've started business school. I am in a relationship with the girl I met in India, and I may or may not continue writing in this blog. I have a feeling I'll be in India again.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Manali Third Time
So as I was saying, after we got our luggage we took a room in Vashisht, a small village located about 10 k from Manali on a hill overlooking the river. We were lucky to get a corner room with large windows and an amazing view. Anastia had only two days left before departing for Delhi, from where she was to take a plane back to Israel on September 2. My flight back was two weeks after on Sept. 18.
I found Olik back in Manali, angry that I had flaked on our plans for Nepal, but admitted that the fault was mainly his as he hadn't arrived from Leh on time for departure. Anastia and I had grown quite close during our trip and spent our last days together wandering around Vashisht, lounging in random hippie cafes serving all kinds of Israeli food like shakshuka, sabich, and malawah, as well as meeting up with Adrien who had fallen ill with a fever, probably his body's reaction to the shock of coming so close to serious injury or even death. My bike needed tending to, but I decided to wait until Anastia had left. I saw her off at the bus station in Manali where she caught a sleeper bus to Delhi, a 14 hour bus ride.
After she left I moved my stuff back to Manali and took a room in the Mount Diew guesthouse where Olik was staying with new friends. I spent another five days in Manali, mostly with him, and some other quite ordinary folks from Israel, recuperating from the demanding Spiti-Kinnaur adventure, fixing my bike and preparing it for the trip back to Delhi, and reading. Olik had decided that he wanted to get a bike on which to continue the journey, and that the perfect idea would be take up my lease since my trip was over in two weeks. I said this was fine with me but that he'd have to wait two weeks. He said he couldnt wait and decided to buy a bike instead along with his friend who was continuing with him on another bike to Nepal. Suffice it say that they bought horrible bikes and definitely got ripped off, and whats worse they bought it from a mechanic with a reputation for swapping original parts for generic ones. Because they were impatient and wanted to leave within a few days, they decided to risk it, something I urged them not to do. I told them to find a better bike from a mechanic who'd been recommended to me, but they wouldnt listen. I just hope they didnt get stuck somewhere on the extremely long journey to Nepal.
The mechanic who's been recommended to me was in Vashisht, by the name of Anu, and I needed to fix the oil leak as well as the other problems, which he, after a quick look, attributed to a manufacturing defect in this model of Enfield that no one but an expert in the Thunderbird model could know about. They fixed this defect within an hour, and after lubing up some other parts and tightening other ones, the bike was running perfectly. If only I could have fixed this problem before Spiti-Kinnaur I would have saved myself and anastia a lot of headache, but of course things never happen that way and lessons must be learned. While I was at the mechanic we all witnessed the horrible scene of a cat getting run over by a car and writhing in the street for at least 45 seconds before succumbing.
What else happened in Manali? Nothing of serious note, just relaxing, getting a massage, buying some gifts, eating well, smoking a lot, coming to terms with going home, and figuring out how I was going to spend the next two weeks. I was being urged to go with Olik and his new group to Rishikish, but since I had already been there I declined. I met a guy named Avi who I also spend some time with, we visited some waterfalls near Vashisht together where a very crazy baba smoked a tiny chillum under the falls and coughed grotesquely. He had also bought a bike from the same corrupted mechanic, and we decided to head down to Kasol together, before I'd continue on to Pushkar for a week. We even made plans with some other friends but I ended up traveling alone to Kasol because we realized that Avi, though he had recieved the bike, did not actually know how to ride it, being that the gears were on the wrong side and he was having difficulty starting it. He needed a few days to get used to the Enfield and I couldnt wait. We agreed to meet in Parvati.
I found Olik back in Manali, angry that I had flaked on our plans for Nepal, but admitted that the fault was mainly his as he hadn't arrived from Leh on time for departure. Anastia and I had grown quite close during our trip and spent our last days together wandering around Vashisht, lounging in random hippie cafes serving all kinds of Israeli food like shakshuka, sabich, and malawah, as well as meeting up with Adrien who had fallen ill with a fever, probably his body's reaction to the shock of coming so close to serious injury or even death. My bike needed tending to, but I decided to wait until Anastia had left. I saw her off at the bus station in Manali where she caught a sleeper bus to Delhi, a 14 hour bus ride.
After she left I moved my stuff back to Manali and took a room in the Mount Diew guesthouse where Olik was staying with new friends. I spent another five days in Manali, mostly with him, and some other quite ordinary folks from Israel, recuperating from the demanding Spiti-Kinnaur adventure, fixing my bike and preparing it for the trip back to Delhi, and reading. Olik had decided that he wanted to get a bike on which to continue the journey, and that the perfect idea would be take up my lease since my trip was over in two weeks. I said this was fine with me but that he'd have to wait two weeks. He said he couldnt wait and decided to buy a bike instead along with his friend who was continuing with him on another bike to Nepal. Suffice it say that they bought horrible bikes and definitely got ripped off, and whats worse they bought it from a mechanic with a reputation for swapping original parts for generic ones. Because they were impatient and wanted to leave within a few days, they decided to risk it, something I urged them not to do. I told them to find a better bike from a mechanic who'd been recommended to me, but they wouldnt listen. I just hope they didnt get stuck somewhere on the extremely long journey to Nepal.
The mechanic who's been recommended to me was in Vashisht, by the name of Anu, and I needed to fix the oil leak as well as the other problems, which he, after a quick look, attributed to a manufacturing defect in this model of Enfield that no one but an expert in the Thunderbird model could know about. They fixed this defect within an hour, and after lubing up some other parts and tightening other ones, the bike was running perfectly. If only I could have fixed this problem before Spiti-Kinnaur I would have saved myself and anastia a lot of headache, but of course things never happen that way and lessons must be learned. While I was at the mechanic we all witnessed the horrible scene of a cat getting run over by a car and writhing in the street for at least 45 seconds before succumbing.
What else happened in Manali? Nothing of serious note, just relaxing, getting a massage, buying some gifts, eating well, smoking a lot, coming to terms with going home, and figuring out how I was going to spend the next two weeks. I was being urged to go with Olik and his new group to Rishikish, but since I had already been there I declined. I met a guy named Avi who I also spend some time with, we visited some waterfalls near Vashisht together where a very crazy baba smoked a tiny chillum under the falls and coughed grotesquely. He had also bought a bike from the same corrupted mechanic, and we decided to head down to Kasol together, before I'd continue on to Pushkar for a week. We even made plans with some other friends but I ended up traveling alone to Kasol because we realized that Avi, though he had recieved the bike, did not actually know how to ride it, being that the gears were on the wrong side and he was having difficulty starting it. He needed a few days to get used to the Enfield and I couldnt wait. We agreed to meet in Parvati.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Chandar Tal
We turned off the main road and headed for Chandar Tal at about 7:30. Darkness fell fast as the dirt road narrowed. We had been warned that this side trip to CT was one of the most dangerous roads in Spiti-Lahaul, and the reason, it became clear to me, was the slope of the road, which actually sloped downwards cliff-sides. The surface itself was sandy and rocky, and with the downwards slope, the bike had a tendency to slip sideways towards the open cliff. Because it was night, this was all the more frightening because I couldn't determine how high the cliff was, and assumed that I if we veered too far right we could plunge thousands and thousands of meters into a violent river below. I steered the bike slowly, trying to remain as close to the mountain side of the road as possible, but because of the slope, the bike would keep sliding. I had to keep both feet on the ground, and we continued forwards very slowly, moving carefully around sharp rocks, and crossing some slippery mud zones. What was actually a 10 kilometer road took us at least four hours. Towards the end the road disappeared completely, and when we caught up with Adrien, we spent an hour trying to locate the lake itself. Adrien had a breakdown around this time also but managed to keep on with his bike slowly after adjusting some electrical wires. We were all quite shaken up and exhausted by the precarious journey and were relieved to finally find the lake, a full moon shining brightly upon it.
Adriend stayed in a teastall tent while Anastia and I got a rundown two person tent in which we froze all night long. In the morning we socialized with three Spaniards in their 40's mountainbiking the whole of Spiti and planning on continuing on to Leh via Rhotang Pass with their ultra-high tech $8000 bikes. I was scolded by a trek guide whilst doing some laundry in the stream with simple detergent that could and would apparently harm the local fish population. Anastia and I walked around the magnificent lake surrounded completely by snowcapped peaks of 6000 meters, and Anastia even took a full-bodied dip in the lake, obviously protected by her natural russian body suit. I declined.
We left Chandar Tal at 2pm with Adrien, and continued onto more unstable roadways, crossing some serious landslide areas and mighty rivers. The journey was slow due to the huge boulders and rocks strewn all along the road and the dust flying up everywhere, but suffice it to say that we were in Lahaul Valley now, the most beautiful place on teh Spiti-Kinnaur circuit, comparable even to the vistas of Leh: Huge green fuzzy mountainsides strewn with gigantic boulders, flocks and flocks of sheep and goats, and a very mighty river running through it all. What increased the beauty of this area was the complete lack of cars, people, villages. Even the most nomadic of peoples hadn't settled this area, except of course, for a few shepards. There are no villages between Losar and Rhotang Pass, and our final stop for the night was Chatru, basically a group of tents for passing tourists. Before Chatru we stopped at Chota Daba for a half hour where Adrien ended up staying in a tent with the mountaineer from Kaza and an old Englishman, and Anastia nearly fell down a steep cliff when we went to to check out the impressive Lahaul river.
In Chatru we ate dinner in a Dhaba with one of the Spaniards who continued on alone after an argument with his friends, and he told us about his furniture import/export business between India and Spain and his dysfunctional relationship with his former wife. We couldnt believe this athletic specimen who had just rode the most difficult road in India on a bike in the same amount of time we did on an Enfield was 40 yrs old. he slept with us in a dilapidated wood structure with metal beds without mattresses and tarantulas crawling the walls. It wasn't hard to sleep though after the day's challenging journey. Oh yea at one of the notorious river crossings my leg nearly got caught between the wheel and a rock, so I'm lucky that I'm still walking!
The next day we continued on to Rhotang Pass via more of the most amazing landscape in the world, thankful for the beautiful weather we were having here and for most of the previous two weeks. We finally reached Rhotang after passing this valley and that pass, and I this junction itself was familiar to me as I had reached it from Leh less than a month earlier. We continued to the pass itself, my third time being here (last time from Leh it was immersed in a giant cloud) and started the descent into Manali. Of course we wouldnt make it without a final unlucky incident.
At the same muddy zone where I had nearly fallen off the cliff a few weeks before coming back from Leh and where my bike had slipped a few times, the road was now drier. But again semi's were stuck and Adrien who was riding ahead, tried to pass one on the cliff-side of the road. Now we were behind and sitting in traffic, Anastia went ahead to see what was causing the hold up and came running back shouting that Adrien had fallen off the cliff! I was momentarily shocked, and the bike fell over as I hastened to get off and see what she was talking about. I ran up 100 meters ahead and saw a bunch of Indian drivers looking over off to the side of the road, and there, 20 meters down, was Adrien standing next to his bike which had got caught in a tree!! He was on the cliff-side of the road, and was trying to get back onto the road when the earth crumbled from beneath him! somehow he had managed to jump off the bike and roll away without bumping his head one a jagged rock, and his bike tumbled down and was stopped by the trunk of this tree. I couldn't believe what had happened, and more, that Adrien appeared unhurt, even amused, and his bike also seemed relatively intact. I ran down to him and he was blabbering about needing to get the bike back onto the road while I questioned him about his injuries and about saying how fucking crazy this is! Being the manly and cocky englishman that he is he insisted that he was fine, that this was nothing, and that all we had to do was get the bike 20 meters up onto the road and continue down to Manali where we'd have Chai like nothing had happened at all.
I couldn't argue with a man who had just grazed death, and with the help of 10 indian men and a rope, we pushed the bike up the muddy slope onto the road, me on the back end pushing with every last shaken muscle in my body. I was sure this was impossible to do, but somehow we got the bike onto the road, and after only 15 minutes of thanks and tipping the indians, we were off to Manali. I couldnt believe this whole incident, but was grateful that nobody got hurt. I was slighly upset that Adrien was so non-chalant about the whole thing. Apparently motorcyclists are often overly masculine and unwilling to admit their dumb mistakes, especially the 33 yr old ex-currency trader types who are out to pursue their safari greatness after spending way too much time in a London office.
Back in Manali we had Chai like nothing had happened, and Anastia and I took a guestroom in Vashist after picking up the luggage we had left in Diew Guesthouse in Manali. We made it!!!
Adriend stayed in a teastall tent while Anastia and I got a rundown two person tent in which we froze all night long. In the morning we socialized with three Spaniards in their 40's mountainbiking the whole of Spiti and planning on continuing on to Leh via Rhotang Pass with their ultra-high tech $8000 bikes. I was scolded by a trek guide whilst doing some laundry in the stream with simple detergent that could and would apparently harm the local fish population. Anastia and I walked around the magnificent lake surrounded completely by snowcapped peaks of 6000 meters, and Anastia even took a full-bodied dip in the lake, obviously protected by her natural russian body suit. I declined.
We left Chandar Tal at 2pm with Adrien, and continued onto more unstable roadways, crossing some serious landslide areas and mighty rivers. The journey was slow due to the huge boulders and rocks strewn all along the road and the dust flying up everywhere, but suffice it to say that we were in Lahaul Valley now, the most beautiful place on teh Spiti-Kinnaur circuit, comparable even to the vistas of Leh: Huge green fuzzy mountainsides strewn with gigantic boulders, flocks and flocks of sheep and goats, and a very mighty river running through it all. What increased the beauty of this area was the complete lack of cars, people, villages. Even the most nomadic of peoples hadn't settled this area, except of course, for a few shepards. There are no villages between Losar and Rhotang Pass, and our final stop for the night was Chatru, basically a group of tents for passing tourists. Before Chatru we stopped at Chota Daba for a half hour where Adrien ended up staying in a tent with the mountaineer from Kaza and an old Englishman, and Anastia nearly fell down a steep cliff when we went to to check out the impressive Lahaul river.
In Chatru we ate dinner in a Dhaba with one of the Spaniards who continued on alone after an argument with his friends, and he told us about his furniture import/export business between India and Spain and his dysfunctional relationship with his former wife. We couldnt believe this athletic specimen who had just rode the most difficult road in India on a bike in the same amount of time we did on an Enfield was 40 yrs old. he slept with us in a dilapidated wood structure with metal beds without mattresses and tarantulas crawling the walls. It wasn't hard to sleep though after the day's challenging journey. Oh yea at one of the notorious river crossings my leg nearly got caught between the wheel and a rock, so I'm lucky that I'm still walking!
The next day we continued on to Rhotang Pass via more of the most amazing landscape in the world, thankful for the beautiful weather we were having here and for most of the previous two weeks. We finally reached Rhotang after passing this valley and that pass, and I this junction itself was familiar to me as I had reached it from Leh less than a month earlier. We continued to the pass itself, my third time being here (last time from Leh it was immersed in a giant cloud) and started the descent into Manali. Of course we wouldnt make it without a final unlucky incident.
At the same muddy zone where I had nearly fallen off the cliff a few weeks before coming back from Leh and where my bike had slipped a few times, the road was now drier. But again semi's were stuck and Adrien who was riding ahead, tried to pass one on the cliff-side of the road. Now we were behind and sitting in traffic, Anastia went ahead to see what was causing the hold up and came running back shouting that Adrien had fallen off the cliff! I was momentarily shocked, and the bike fell over as I hastened to get off and see what she was talking about. I ran up 100 meters ahead and saw a bunch of Indian drivers looking over off to the side of the road, and there, 20 meters down, was Adrien standing next to his bike which had got caught in a tree!! He was on the cliff-side of the road, and was trying to get back onto the road when the earth crumbled from beneath him! somehow he had managed to jump off the bike and roll away without bumping his head one a jagged rock, and his bike tumbled down and was stopped by the trunk of this tree. I couldn't believe what had happened, and more, that Adrien appeared unhurt, even amused, and his bike also seemed relatively intact. I ran down to him and he was blabbering about needing to get the bike back onto the road while I questioned him about his injuries and about saying how fucking crazy this is! Being the manly and cocky englishman that he is he insisted that he was fine, that this was nothing, and that all we had to do was get the bike 20 meters up onto the road and continue down to Manali where we'd have Chai like nothing had happened at all.
I couldn't argue with a man who had just grazed death, and with the help of 10 indian men and a rope, we pushed the bike up the muddy slope onto the road, me on the back end pushing with every last shaken muscle in my body. I was sure this was impossible to do, but somehow we got the bike onto the road, and after only 15 minutes of thanks and tipping the indians, we were off to Manali. I couldnt believe this whole incident, but was grateful that nobody got hurt. I was slighly upset that Adrien was so non-chalant about the whole thing. Apparently motorcyclists are often overly masculine and unwilling to admit their dumb mistakes, especially the 33 yr old ex-currency trader types who are out to pursue their safari greatness after spending way too much time in a London office.
Back in Manali we had Chai like nothing had happened, and Anastia and I took a guestroom in Vashist after picking up the luggage we had left in Diew Guesthouse in Manali. We made it!!!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Kaza
Anastia and I spent three incredible days in Tabo in our guesthouse on the outskirts of the village starting at a monumental mountain jutting up from the ground only a few feet away. We were sorry to leave, but like they say, all good things must come to an end, plus we had to stay on schedule -- anastia had a flight to catch only a week ahead.
The roadblock had cleared and we left for Kaza, the main city in Spiti. We reached Kaza and found a rather ordinary and small city with a lot of closed shops, on account of everyone still not back from Nako and the Dalai Lama visit. I needed oil badly for the clutch and was prepared to stay in Kaza until I found some. The one store in town with oil was closed, but Anastia managed to find out where the owner lived, and somehow went there and came back with the owner's friend and the key to the story. This is how we got oil. I thought our problems were solved.
We decided to spend the night in Kibber, an ancient city perched on a hill at 4000 meters only 20 kilometers away. We had heard a lot about Kibber being the most beautiful place in the world etc... etc... and out high expectations led us to being slightly dissapointed at the view and the village which were not so different from the other villages we had been in. Nevertheless we took one of two guesthouses, ate some indigenouse food that resembled Argentian empanadas, met a danish couple who had been living and traveling in India for nine years and who we would meet again in the next village, and slept.
In the morning we returned to Kaza and ran into none other than Mati and Gali, again. We decided to proceed to the next stop, Losar, together. Mati has a thing about riding at an absurdly slow speed and stopping no more than every 10 kilometers for five minute "bong break". I was slightly annoyed by this, as I prefer to ride long distances and stop for longer periods of time, thus keeping up the momentum and arriving faster, but I did realize that riding slow has tremendous advantages, such as taking in more of the surrounding view and noticing small things that may otherwise go by unnoticed.
During one of the breaks Mati noticed that my back tire was deflated. Suspecting a flat tire we continued on at a slow speed to see if the tire lost more air: it did. Mati inflated the tire with a hand pump and we continued on slowly. About 10 kilometers from Losar the tire exploded and I lost control of the bike which swung left and right and left and right until I finally regained control. During this experience I saw my life flash before my eyes and was sure that we were going to crash. The bike had tipped over slightly when I managed to stop it thus grazing some of the luggage on the asphalt, and the tire had popped completely out of position. Anastia was in shock which expressed itself as hysterical laughter.
Mati and Gali who were riding ahead finally returned to see what was keeping us. Mati claimed to have expertise fixing tires. We took out the wheel and then, as he attempted to remove the tube with a screwdriver, he actually managed to create more punctures in the tire! He was working hastily and with obvious frustration, and didnt heed our warnings about damaging the tube even more. Finally he got the tube out and as he inserted my spare tube, he managed to ruin it completely with the screwdriver!! I was irate but Mati took control and would not let go of fixing the tire. He had simply gone crazy and would not listen to anybody. His girlfriend looked on in horror while making him a joint to calm his nerves. Anyways by and by he then took out his own spare and ruined that too, and we were completely stuck.
Eventually they left to Losar and promised to get a jeep to pick us up. We hailed the first semi to pass and got a ride to Losar with the flat tire, hoping that someone there could fix it. The ride in the semi truck was extremely fun and a nice diversion from our motorcycle troubles. We reached Losar and discovered that there was no mechanic who could fix the tubes that were now all beyond repair due to Mati's ridiculous stubborness. If only we had taken the tire as I had wanted to Losar they could have patched up the tire without any problems. Well eventually I realized I would have to go back to Kaza to get a new tube and the next day we took a local bus back to Kaza, a 2 hour ride. The ride itself was rough but a good experience seeing all the locals, some of whom take the trip every day to get to work. We reached Kaza, and I found a local with a bike who was kind enough to take me in search of a new inner tube. Hours and hours later after much desperation and heat, we found a tube that could be repaired. But then then it couldnt and more searching was needed. I was going crazy. Finally we found a fellow israeli with a spare tube, and after much convincing, he agreed to sell it to me. We thanked him profusely, knowing that he still had a huge ride ahead of him to Kinnaur and no spare, which was a risky situation. Anastia took a jeep back to Losar while I stayed to have the tire fixed. An Englishman named Adrien was heading to Losar and I hitched a ride with him while his friend whose name I cant recall followed behind. We shot some cool videos along the way. My butt was hurting due to English Adrien's fast riding, but I didnt complain. I was starting to know the Kaza-Losar rode intimately, and the only solace to the redundant riding was that this was a particularly beautiful rode full of all kinds of majestic hills and valleys and, well, you know all those jaw dropping himalayan views.
We reached the motorcycle where I had left it in before Losar and realized, to my huge huge dismay, that two critical pieces in the wheel had popped out during the ride!!!!!! FFFUCK was what I thought and I was literally ready to abandon the bike their forever and cut my losses. I was going nuts at this point. Nothing to do but continue to Losar. Adrien amazingly offered to take me BACK to Kaza the next day again, my third time! to get the missing pieces. We left early the next day while anastia stayed behind, and I endured yet again a butt-hurting ride to Kaza with crazy english adrien. He seemed to enjoy driving fast. We got the pieces from the tire walla who had an old identical tire, and rode back to Losar, not before stopping at the Key Monastery where i had already been! but which adriend wanted to see first. I couldnt say no to someone who was doing me this fantastic favor, obviously.
Finally we got going but of course adrien had to have his only flat tire on the way!! Three hours later we continued with a half inflated new tube due to a poorly functioning hand pump and made to my bike and fixed the tire. My bike was back on track, I put some oil in, and rode to Losar slowly. It was about four in the afternoon and having lost three days in Losar, we decided to continue with English Adrien to Chandra Tal, our next stop. This of course was unwise, seeing as how we'd heard that from Losar and onwards was the worst part of the Spiti Kinnaur rodes and we would hit darkness in a few hours, but we decided that in the worst case we'd camp with Adrien who had full camping gear. His buddy had already left Losar so it was just the three of us.
We rode through very bad rocky and muddy roads and reached Kanzum La, one of the high passes in Spiti. From here we reached a turn off from the main road to manali which heads to Chandra Tal, a lake in the middle of the mountains at 4200 meters of which we'd heard so much about.
The roadblock had cleared and we left for Kaza, the main city in Spiti. We reached Kaza and found a rather ordinary and small city with a lot of closed shops, on account of everyone still not back from Nako and the Dalai Lama visit. I needed oil badly for the clutch and was prepared to stay in Kaza until I found some. The one store in town with oil was closed, but Anastia managed to find out where the owner lived, and somehow went there and came back with the owner's friend and the key to the story. This is how we got oil. I thought our problems were solved.
We decided to spend the night in Kibber, an ancient city perched on a hill at 4000 meters only 20 kilometers away. We had heard a lot about Kibber being the most beautiful place in the world etc... etc... and out high expectations led us to being slightly dissapointed at the view and the village which were not so different from the other villages we had been in. Nevertheless we took one of two guesthouses, ate some indigenouse food that resembled Argentian empanadas, met a danish couple who had been living and traveling in India for nine years and who we would meet again in the next village, and slept.
In the morning we returned to Kaza and ran into none other than Mati and Gali, again. We decided to proceed to the next stop, Losar, together. Mati has a thing about riding at an absurdly slow speed and stopping no more than every 10 kilometers for five minute "bong break". I was slightly annoyed by this, as I prefer to ride long distances and stop for longer periods of time, thus keeping up the momentum and arriving faster, but I did realize that riding slow has tremendous advantages, such as taking in more of the surrounding view and noticing small things that may otherwise go by unnoticed.
During one of the breaks Mati noticed that my back tire was deflated. Suspecting a flat tire we continued on at a slow speed to see if the tire lost more air: it did. Mati inflated the tire with a hand pump and we continued on slowly. About 10 kilometers from Losar the tire exploded and I lost control of the bike which swung left and right and left and right until I finally regained control. During this experience I saw my life flash before my eyes and was sure that we were going to crash. The bike had tipped over slightly when I managed to stop it thus grazing some of the luggage on the asphalt, and the tire had popped completely out of position. Anastia was in shock which expressed itself as hysterical laughter.
Mati and Gali who were riding ahead finally returned to see what was keeping us. Mati claimed to have expertise fixing tires. We took out the wheel and then, as he attempted to remove the tube with a screwdriver, he actually managed to create more punctures in the tire! He was working hastily and with obvious frustration, and didnt heed our warnings about damaging the tube even more. Finally he got the tube out and as he inserted my spare tube, he managed to ruin it completely with the screwdriver!! I was irate but Mati took control and would not let go of fixing the tire. He had simply gone crazy and would not listen to anybody. His girlfriend looked on in horror while making him a joint to calm his nerves. Anyways by and by he then took out his own spare and ruined that too, and we were completely stuck.
Eventually they left to Losar and promised to get a jeep to pick us up. We hailed the first semi to pass and got a ride to Losar with the flat tire, hoping that someone there could fix it. The ride in the semi truck was extremely fun and a nice diversion from our motorcycle troubles. We reached Losar and discovered that there was no mechanic who could fix the tubes that were now all beyond repair due to Mati's ridiculous stubborness. If only we had taken the tire as I had wanted to Losar they could have patched up the tire without any problems. Well eventually I realized I would have to go back to Kaza to get a new tube and the next day we took a local bus back to Kaza, a 2 hour ride. The ride itself was rough but a good experience seeing all the locals, some of whom take the trip every day to get to work. We reached Kaza, and I found a local with a bike who was kind enough to take me in search of a new inner tube. Hours and hours later after much desperation and heat, we found a tube that could be repaired. But then then it couldnt and more searching was needed. I was going crazy. Finally we found a fellow israeli with a spare tube, and after much convincing, he agreed to sell it to me. We thanked him profusely, knowing that he still had a huge ride ahead of him to Kinnaur and no spare, which was a risky situation. Anastia took a jeep back to Losar while I stayed to have the tire fixed. An Englishman named Adrien was heading to Losar and I hitched a ride with him while his friend whose name I cant recall followed behind. We shot some cool videos along the way. My butt was hurting due to English Adrien's fast riding, but I didnt complain. I was starting to know the Kaza-Losar rode intimately, and the only solace to the redundant riding was that this was a particularly beautiful rode full of all kinds of majestic hills and valleys and, well, you know all those jaw dropping himalayan views.
We reached the motorcycle where I had left it in before Losar and realized, to my huge huge dismay, that two critical pieces in the wheel had popped out during the ride!!!!!! FFFUCK was what I thought and I was literally ready to abandon the bike their forever and cut my losses. I was going nuts at this point. Nothing to do but continue to Losar. Adrien amazingly offered to take me BACK to Kaza the next day again, my third time! to get the missing pieces. We left early the next day while anastia stayed behind, and I endured yet again a butt-hurting ride to Kaza with crazy english adrien. He seemed to enjoy driving fast. We got the pieces from the tire walla who had an old identical tire, and rode back to Losar, not before stopping at the Key Monastery where i had already been! but which adriend wanted to see first. I couldnt say no to someone who was doing me this fantastic favor, obviously.
Finally we got going but of course adrien had to have his only flat tire on the way!! Three hours later we continued with a half inflated new tube due to a poorly functioning hand pump and made to my bike and fixed the tire. My bike was back on track, I put some oil in, and rode to Losar slowly. It was about four in the afternoon and having lost three days in Losar, we decided to continue with English Adrien to Chandra Tal, our next stop. This of course was unwise, seeing as how we'd heard that from Losar and onwards was the worst part of the Spiti Kinnaur rodes and we would hit darkness in a few hours, but we decided that in the worst case we'd camp with Adrien who had full camping gear. His buddy had already left Losar so it was just the three of us.
We rode through very bad rocky and muddy roads and reached Kanzum La, one of the high passes in Spiti. From here we reached a turn off from the main road to manali which heads to Chandra Tal, a lake in the middle of the mountains at 4200 meters of which we'd heard so much about.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Kalpa
We rode the eight kilometers up to Kalpa from Rekong Peu and found the first decent guesthouse called Parvati guesthouse. Their we met Gali and Mati, two serious acid heads in their late twenties on their fourth trip to India. We sat with them and heard stories about various acid trip they had taken in random spots all around the world.
The next day Anastia and I took the bike down to Rekong Peu, though the bike stalled on the way and we had to push it through mud and seek help from Kalpa locals, most of whom are usually dressed in traditional green hats and brown frocks.
The next few days were spending the mornings at the mechanics trying to figure out what the hell the problem with my bike was, becoming convinced the mechanic had no idea how to fix the bike and was making up random solutions on the spot that made no sense just to get me out of there, and the afternoons, smoking with Mati, talking shop, lounging about and enjoying the stunning view of the tallest peak in this area (mount Kailish, 6500 meters). The weather couldnt have been better, and tourists were generally not around as the road from Manali was roadblocked and most had turned back. The food was surprisingly good at the guesthouse, run by Raj, a man in his thirties who cooked all the food himself. We ate thali usually, but the beans were of a different variety every night!
After four or five days and enough confidence that our bike would make it to the next stop, we decided to head out. We had this annoying oil leak that just couldnt be fixed, but the mechanic had fixed some cable and the bike seemed to be running better than before. We prayed we wouldnt get stuck on the way.
We made our way through and through the windy hills that slowly turned more barren and sandy, and also more beautiful, and decided our next stop was Chango. We reached Nako by evening, about 20 kilometers before Chango, and the Dhali Lama's stop for the next day. We wanted to sleep in Nako but the DL's visit was causing problems for us: all the guesthouses were full, literally. We decided to take our chances and head for Chango in the dark...whats the worst that could happen? The bike was underperforming again due to who knows what, and we rode slowly. Eventually we reached an uphill muddy slope and the bike stalled. I tried to start but nothing happened, and then it started raining, and then it got cold. We thought about what we could do, and then decided to hitch a ride to Chango and come back for the bike in the morning. After a few futile attempts, a jeep stopped for us and we headed for Chango. Right after where we stalled was a landslide area with a deep river to cross, and jeep handled it poorly. Driving in a jeep at night is scarier than many things I'd experienced, and when two jeep cross on a narrow dirt rode with a steep cliff on one side, theres many reason to close your eyes and pray.
We made it to Chango only to learn from the police at the entrance to town that everybody went to Nako to see the DL and that only one guesthouse was open two kilometers earlier. One of the policeman recognized us from Rekong Peu, he had almost given me a ticket for riding without a helmet, but warmed up to us and convinced the jeep driver to take us back to the guesthouse. We arrived, and were told we could sleep but would have to leave by six am because the whole family was going to Nako in the morning. We ate a dinner of leftover spinach and chapati and went to sleep. In the morning we took a jeep taxi back to the bike and managed to start it.
We crossed the precarious river, one of the hardest on this trip, and continued our journey, slowly. The bike was performing poorly, and I had to stop to refill oil in the clutch box from time to time. Nevertheless we still enjoyed the increasingly amazing views and took tons of photos. Eventually we reached Chango again, passed and continued on to Tabo.
We reached Tabo and had no choice by to stay there and not proceed to Kaza because a landslide up ahead had blocked the road and wouldnt be cleared until the next day. We ended up staying in Tabo for three days in one of the best guesthouses we'd been. We found Gali and Mati there also and we slacked off with them, building a homemade bong and chatting with Tenseen most of the time, the guesthouse owner from Manali. We had entered the Spiti Valley, and we were nearing Kaza, where I was sure to find a good mechanic.
I didnt have more oil and was worried about riding to Kaza without reserve oil, but Tabo, like Chango, was empty and the stores were closed, on account of everyone fleeing to see the DL in Nako. In Spiti everyone is Buddhist, but they are not considered Tibetan, rather they have their own Spitten culture, just like the Ladakhies and the Kinnauris.
We left for Kaza after a few extremely pleasant days in Tabo.
The next day Anastia and I took the bike down to Rekong Peu, though the bike stalled on the way and we had to push it through mud and seek help from Kalpa locals, most of whom are usually dressed in traditional green hats and brown frocks.
The next few days were spending the mornings at the mechanics trying to figure out what the hell the problem with my bike was, becoming convinced the mechanic had no idea how to fix the bike and was making up random solutions on the spot that made no sense just to get me out of there, and the afternoons, smoking with Mati, talking shop, lounging about and enjoying the stunning view of the tallest peak in this area (mount Kailish, 6500 meters). The weather couldnt have been better, and tourists were generally not around as the road from Manali was roadblocked and most had turned back. The food was surprisingly good at the guesthouse, run by Raj, a man in his thirties who cooked all the food himself. We ate thali usually, but the beans were of a different variety every night!
After four or five days and enough confidence that our bike would make it to the next stop, we decided to head out. We had this annoying oil leak that just couldnt be fixed, but the mechanic had fixed some cable and the bike seemed to be running better than before. We prayed we wouldnt get stuck on the way.
We made our way through and through the windy hills that slowly turned more barren and sandy, and also more beautiful, and decided our next stop was Chango. We reached Nako by evening, about 20 kilometers before Chango, and the Dhali Lama's stop for the next day. We wanted to sleep in Nako but the DL's visit was causing problems for us: all the guesthouses were full, literally. We decided to take our chances and head for Chango in the dark...whats the worst that could happen? The bike was underperforming again due to who knows what, and we rode slowly. Eventually we reached an uphill muddy slope and the bike stalled. I tried to start but nothing happened, and then it started raining, and then it got cold. We thought about what we could do, and then decided to hitch a ride to Chango and come back for the bike in the morning. After a few futile attempts, a jeep stopped for us and we headed for Chango. Right after where we stalled was a landslide area with a deep river to cross, and jeep handled it poorly. Driving in a jeep at night is scarier than many things I'd experienced, and when two jeep cross on a narrow dirt rode with a steep cliff on one side, theres many reason to close your eyes and pray.
We made it to Chango only to learn from the police at the entrance to town that everybody went to Nako to see the DL and that only one guesthouse was open two kilometers earlier. One of the policeman recognized us from Rekong Peu, he had almost given me a ticket for riding without a helmet, but warmed up to us and convinced the jeep driver to take us back to the guesthouse. We arrived, and were told we could sleep but would have to leave by six am because the whole family was going to Nako in the morning. We ate a dinner of leftover spinach and chapati and went to sleep. In the morning we took a jeep taxi back to the bike and managed to start it.
We crossed the precarious river, one of the hardest on this trip, and continued our journey, slowly. The bike was performing poorly, and I had to stop to refill oil in the clutch box from time to time. Nevertheless we still enjoyed the increasingly amazing views and took tons of photos. Eventually we reached Chango again, passed and continued on to Tabo.
We reached Tabo and had no choice by to stay there and not proceed to Kaza because a landslide up ahead had blocked the road and wouldnt be cleared until the next day. We ended up staying in Tabo for three days in one of the best guesthouses we'd been. We found Gali and Mati there also and we slacked off with them, building a homemade bong and chatting with Tenseen most of the time, the guesthouse owner from Manali. We had entered the Spiti Valley, and we were nearing Kaza, where I was sure to find a good mechanic.
I didnt have more oil and was worried about riding to Kaza without reserve oil, but Tabo, like Chango, was empty and the stores were closed, on account of everyone fleeing to see the DL in Nako. In Spiti everyone is Buddhist, but they are not considered Tibetan, rather they have their own Spitten culture, just like the Ladakhies and the Kinnauris.
We left for Kaza after a few extremely pleasant days in Tabo.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Kinnaur
Hey!! Im back in Israel now and Ive got pleeeenty of time to finish up my big india story...
Right, so I was in Manali with a bike problem. We rolled down the hill from where we stalled and when we got back to the start of Manali the road stopped going down. I told Anastia to wait while I went to find the nearest mechanic. I ran, and I sweated but I was determined to leave Manali the same day being as it was raining and all and I hate the rain. I finally reached a shop and the mechanic came back with me and we pushed the bike manual style.
I won't bore you readers with the boring details, but suffice it to say we spent the entire day at that shop with a couple mechanics who, I realized later, knew jack shit about enfields and how to fix them. The problem, I was told, was electrical. Later, after changing some parts that actually didnt need to be changed, the problem was boiled down to a busted alternator. OK. So fix this shit and lets get out of here! But no, they werent sure of what they were doing and had to call in another mechanic named Sonny who apparently is quite a famous mechanic! They fixed the problem but it was too late to leave. Also the spring for the kick start broke while they were fixing the other problems. blah blah blah.
We drove back to our guesthouse frustrated but then surprised to run into our friends who were supposed to also have gone to Spiti via Rhotang Pass in a jeep. As it turned out there was a massive landslide that made passing to Spiti impossible, and we were lucky we hadnt proceeded further, as we would have had to turn back to Manali anyways, as they had iin the jeep. Plans were delayed for a day and we would set out the next day.
The road was blocked again the next day and while the group abandoned Spiti-Kinnaur, Anastia and I were determined to make it. We had to do some more stuff in the shop of Sonny and Bonny, fix the spring for the kickstart and Sonny showed me that the chain itself was completely fucked and had to be replaced due to the poor workmanship of a Kashmiri mechanic who had put the new chain on without centering it. I had to put in a new chain, and I had him put new shocks in the back too because they were worn out completely and with Anastia on the back I wanted to make sure the shocks wouldnt explode in the middle of the mountains! This took a whole day and so we were delayed yet again. We also decided, since the road block to spiti, that we would head south to Kinnaur first, and then go up to Spiti and Lahaul and come back to Manali. This is the same thing we were planning just the other way around. By the time we got to Spiti the road would be repaired.
The following morning we took off to Kinnaur. We were on our way! Hurrah!
The first part of the trip out of Manali was fast and familiar to me, as I had ridden this way earlier in the trip on the way to Kasol from Manali. We reached Aut and turned off into the hills towards Chail Chowk. We road thru low windy hills covered in green and reached Chail Chowk where we ate dirty thali and found that bottled water was simply unavailable. We continued, thirsty and drank at our own risk from a random stream on the way.
I realized at this point that I had oil dripping from the clutch box. Shit! Not a good way to start the trip into what is commonly known as the toughest road in India! Sonny had told us quite clearly that the Spiti Lahaul part is the hardest road to navigate in all of India, even more than the manali Leh road.
We reached Karsog, a small beautiful village and took a nice room with a balcony and amazing view. We had bought a bottle of sketchy Indian whisky in Manali and sat drinking all night long on the balcony.
The next day we continued and were determined to make it to Kalpa, a small village a few kilometers from Recong Peu, the main village of Kinnaur Valley. Our determination didnt mean we'd make it however, as the oil leak got worse and the bike stalled a few times. The first time it stalled near a waterfall we were drooling over but we managed to jump start on slope. I was rather pissed that my bike was having problems after having been to Sonny and Bonny and demanding that they do whatever necessary to prepare my bike for the trip. My bike was failing me and we weren't even in Kinnaur yet!
the bike stalled again on a sandy dirt road in the middle of the day in scorching weather and I started cursing every member of Sonny and Bonny's family each time I tried to kickstart and nothing happened. Anastia was also pissed and we had to push the bike for some time in mud and dirt. It sucked big time! I thought it was over, we were stuck forever, I was gonna ditch the bike and become a homeless vegetarian nomad and make russian kids with anastia, but then the bike started all of a sudden and we continued to Luri. Luri was a hellish village mainly because of the hellish heat. I tried to find a mechanic but none was available in the village that ran for no more than 200 meters. The oil leak was getting worse and I tried to figure out what the problem was but couldnt figure it out. The bike was sputtering a bit and obviously something was not working right.
We left Luri and I prayed we'd make it to Rampur, a rather big city where a mechanic could help me out. We arrived and suffice it to say that by the next day, after a good nights sleep in a fine hotel on a majestic river and 700 ruppees in a mechanics pocket we left. The problem was the starting switch or something in the alternator again and the mechanic fixed it. Before we left though he took me to wash my bike and then see the building he owned. I smoked a joint with him and the contractor which was awesome. He had also claimed to fix the oil leak.
The bike was riding great now, but 20 kilometers later I realized I still had an oil leak! I called the same mechanic who rode out to meet us and temporarily fixed the problem. Somebody stole one of my gloves and we continued. We just wanted to get to Kalpa and relax!
After Rampur, which is on a fairly main highway, we again entered the mountains and headed for Recong Peu. The views were familiar to me as were back in Uttaranchal where I was in the beginning of the trip: mossy and bushy green mountains and verdant valleys with gushing rivers: amazing. And at least we had great weather now. No rain, no scorching heat, just perfect. We hit a couple stretches of bad road but nothing like what I had seen up in Ladakh. The 40 kilometers of road before Recong Peu were bad due to construction being done on the roads. The road up here was fairly decent for a place lacking in traffic and people. It would stay fairly decent until Spiti. We finally reached Recong Peu at night and drove up to Kalpa to a guesthouse and passed out immediately.
Right, so I was in Manali with a bike problem. We rolled down the hill from where we stalled and when we got back to the start of Manali the road stopped going down. I told Anastia to wait while I went to find the nearest mechanic. I ran, and I sweated but I was determined to leave Manali the same day being as it was raining and all and I hate the rain. I finally reached a shop and the mechanic came back with me and we pushed the bike manual style.
I won't bore you readers with the boring details, but suffice it to say we spent the entire day at that shop with a couple mechanics who, I realized later, knew jack shit about enfields and how to fix them. The problem, I was told, was electrical. Later, after changing some parts that actually didnt need to be changed, the problem was boiled down to a busted alternator. OK. So fix this shit and lets get out of here! But no, they werent sure of what they were doing and had to call in another mechanic named Sonny who apparently is quite a famous mechanic! They fixed the problem but it was too late to leave. Also the spring for the kick start broke while they were fixing the other problems. blah blah blah.
We drove back to our guesthouse frustrated but then surprised to run into our friends who were supposed to also have gone to Spiti via Rhotang Pass in a jeep. As it turned out there was a massive landslide that made passing to Spiti impossible, and we were lucky we hadnt proceeded further, as we would have had to turn back to Manali anyways, as they had iin the jeep. Plans were delayed for a day and we would set out the next day.
The road was blocked again the next day and while the group abandoned Spiti-Kinnaur, Anastia and I were determined to make it. We had to do some more stuff in the shop of Sonny and Bonny, fix the spring for the kickstart and Sonny showed me that the chain itself was completely fucked and had to be replaced due to the poor workmanship of a Kashmiri mechanic who had put the new chain on without centering it. I had to put in a new chain, and I had him put new shocks in the back too because they were worn out completely and with Anastia on the back I wanted to make sure the shocks wouldnt explode in the middle of the mountains! This took a whole day and so we were delayed yet again. We also decided, since the road block to spiti, that we would head south to Kinnaur first, and then go up to Spiti and Lahaul and come back to Manali. This is the same thing we were planning just the other way around. By the time we got to Spiti the road would be repaired.
The following morning we took off to Kinnaur. We were on our way! Hurrah!
The first part of the trip out of Manali was fast and familiar to me, as I had ridden this way earlier in the trip on the way to Kasol from Manali. We reached Aut and turned off into the hills towards Chail Chowk. We road thru low windy hills covered in green and reached Chail Chowk where we ate dirty thali and found that bottled water was simply unavailable. We continued, thirsty and drank at our own risk from a random stream on the way.
I realized at this point that I had oil dripping from the clutch box. Shit! Not a good way to start the trip into what is commonly known as the toughest road in India! Sonny had told us quite clearly that the Spiti Lahaul part is the hardest road to navigate in all of India, even more than the manali Leh road.
We reached Karsog, a small beautiful village and took a nice room with a balcony and amazing view. We had bought a bottle of sketchy Indian whisky in Manali and sat drinking all night long on the balcony.
The next day we continued and were determined to make it to Kalpa, a small village a few kilometers from Recong Peu, the main village of Kinnaur Valley. Our determination didnt mean we'd make it however, as the oil leak got worse and the bike stalled a few times. The first time it stalled near a waterfall we were drooling over but we managed to jump start on slope. I was rather pissed that my bike was having problems after having been to Sonny and Bonny and demanding that they do whatever necessary to prepare my bike for the trip. My bike was failing me and we weren't even in Kinnaur yet!
the bike stalled again on a sandy dirt road in the middle of the day in scorching weather and I started cursing every member of Sonny and Bonny's family each time I tried to kickstart and nothing happened. Anastia was also pissed and we had to push the bike for some time in mud and dirt. It sucked big time! I thought it was over, we were stuck forever, I was gonna ditch the bike and become a homeless vegetarian nomad and make russian kids with anastia, but then the bike started all of a sudden and we continued to Luri. Luri was a hellish village mainly because of the hellish heat. I tried to find a mechanic but none was available in the village that ran for no more than 200 meters. The oil leak was getting worse and I tried to figure out what the problem was but couldnt figure it out. The bike was sputtering a bit and obviously something was not working right.
We left Luri and I prayed we'd make it to Rampur, a rather big city where a mechanic could help me out. We arrived and suffice it to say that by the next day, after a good nights sleep in a fine hotel on a majestic river and 700 ruppees in a mechanics pocket we left. The problem was the starting switch or something in the alternator again and the mechanic fixed it. Before we left though he took me to wash my bike and then see the building he owned. I smoked a joint with him and the contractor which was awesome. He had also claimed to fix the oil leak.
The bike was riding great now, but 20 kilometers later I realized I still had an oil leak! I called the same mechanic who rode out to meet us and temporarily fixed the problem. Somebody stole one of my gloves and we continued. We just wanted to get to Kalpa and relax!
After Rampur, which is on a fairly main highway, we again entered the mountains and headed for Recong Peu. The views were familiar to me as were back in Uttaranchal where I was in the beginning of the trip: mossy and bushy green mountains and verdant valleys with gushing rivers: amazing. And at least we had great weather now. No rain, no scorching heat, just perfect. We hit a couple stretches of bad road but nothing like what I had seen up in Ladakh. The 40 kilometers of road before Recong Peu were bad due to construction being done on the roads. The road up here was fairly decent for a place lacking in traffic and people. It would stay fairly decent until Spiti. We finally reached Recong Peu at night and drove up to Kalpa to a guesthouse and passed out immediately.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Manali Again
Im back in Delhi waiting for a few days for my flight and I realized i havent written in my blog for nearly a month and so much has happened! Where do i start?
I arrived in Manali after the crazy Leh to Manali adventure that basically changed my life and the way I think about things in general. If I didnt get the message across in my earlier post, the ride was like travelling on another planet, probably mercury, though I wouldnt really know. Huge mountains, deep valleys, incandescent sunshine and no people make for surreal surroundings. The whole trip I was cursing myself for not buying a good camera, and now I was missing incredible photo opportunities. Oh well.
Anyways back in Manali I took a room at the Mountain Diew guesthouse and was shocked at my appearance when I glanced in the mirror. I was black, literally, from all the dust and sand on the road, and where my sunglasses used to sit were now two large white holes surrounding my eyes in a sea of ash. I was too weary to take a shower just yet, and walked around in the village, immediately meeting a host of friends from Leh and Kashmir. They had trouble recognizing me as my face was still black, despite some attempts to wash myself at the sink. My pants were covered in mud also and the internet guy thought twice before letting me sit down at the computer to check my mail.
I ran into Asher and Anastia here. Asher left the next day to Rishikish on the bike I had helped him buy and which he was now desperately trying to sell. I spent the next few days with Anastia and a new group of people she met in manali in the two weeks she had already been there. Among them were a flamboyant fashion designer, two young ethiopian israeli girls from netanya, a couple generic hippies, a lonely American named Lloyd from Louisiana whom everyone despised, and an Israeli-russian immigrant like Anastia who I just ran into again here in delhi yesterday. These few days were a recovery period for me from the crazy leh-manali trip that wore me out, and I spent the days relaxing, updating my blog and eating good food.
This group devised a plan to visit Spiti-Kinnaur, two adjacent valleys east of Manali that, like Leh, are closed eight months out of the year. The ride from Manali to Kinnaur and then Spiti leads back to Manali in a practical loop and makes for a perfect circuit trip. I was offered to join the group in a jeep expedition costing a small fortune but decided I would follow on my own bike. I had heard about Spiti Kinnaur but originally had little intention of doing this, as Olik and I had already decided to meet and ride to Nepal together- i was to wait for him in Manali. Olik however failed to arrive by his proposed date and I decided to go to Spiti Kinnaur and postpone Nepal for a few days, until I arrived back to Manali. I thought the trip would only take five days. Anastia and I were together quite a lot in Manali and she asked to join me on the bike, which I decided was an awesome idea since not only would I be splitting gas money, but Id have a pretty russian blonde at my disposal in case we got stuck in the mountains at night and needed to hitch a ride (two things that ended up happening).
I informed Olik that Id be meeting him later than intended which was fine because he notified me that he'd gotten sick and was staying in Leh for a few more days, and we left on Sunday morning, hungover after a long night of drinking. I had replaced a broken accelerator cable on the bike but did little more before leaving for Spiti as I had already serviced the bike in Leh and figured it was good for the journey. I was wrong. ten kilometers into the trip to Spiti via the Rhotang pass which I had just come down from on the way from Leh, the bike stalled. I checked everything I could think of, and a few indians on enfields also stopped to offer advice. They concluded the problem was electrical and I had no other choice but to turn the bike around and head back down the hill in neutral hoping to find a mechanic.
I arrived in Manali after the crazy Leh to Manali adventure that basically changed my life and the way I think about things in general. If I didnt get the message across in my earlier post, the ride was like travelling on another planet, probably mercury, though I wouldnt really know. Huge mountains, deep valleys, incandescent sunshine and no people make for surreal surroundings. The whole trip I was cursing myself for not buying a good camera, and now I was missing incredible photo opportunities. Oh well.
Anyways back in Manali I took a room at the Mountain Diew guesthouse and was shocked at my appearance when I glanced in the mirror. I was black, literally, from all the dust and sand on the road, and where my sunglasses used to sit were now two large white holes surrounding my eyes in a sea of ash. I was too weary to take a shower just yet, and walked around in the village, immediately meeting a host of friends from Leh and Kashmir. They had trouble recognizing me as my face was still black, despite some attempts to wash myself at the sink. My pants were covered in mud also and the internet guy thought twice before letting me sit down at the computer to check my mail.
I ran into Asher and Anastia here. Asher left the next day to Rishikish on the bike I had helped him buy and which he was now desperately trying to sell. I spent the next few days with Anastia and a new group of people she met in manali in the two weeks she had already been there. Among them were a flamboyant fashion designer, two young ethiopian israeli girls from netanya, a couple generic hippies, a lonely American named Lloyd from Louisiana whom everyone despised, and an Israeli-russian immigrant like Anastia who I just ran into again here in delhi yesterday. These few days were a recovery period for me from the crazy leh-manali trip that wore me out, and I spent the days relaxing, updating my blog and eating good food.
This group devised a plan to visit Spiti-Kinnaur, two adjacent valleys east of Manali that, like Leh, are closed eight months out of the year. The ride from Manali to Kinnaur and then Spiti leads back to Manali in a practical loop and makes for a perfect circuit trip. I was offered to join the group in a jeep expedition costing a small fortune but decided I would follow on my own bike. I had heard about Spiti Kinnaur but originally had little intention of doing this, as Olik and I had already decided to meet and ride to Nepal together- i was to wait for him in Manali. Olik however failed to arrive by his proposed date and I decided to go to Spiti Kinnaur and postpone Nepal for a few days, until I arrived back to Manali. I thought the trip would only take five days. Anastia and I were together quite a lot in Manali and she asked to join me on the bike, which I decided was an awesome idea since not only would I be splitting gas money, but Id have a pretty russian blonde at my disposal in case we got stuck in the mountains at night and needed to hitch a ride (two things that ended up happening).
I informed Olik that Id be meeting him later than intended which was fine because he notified me that he'd gotten sick and was staying in Leh for a few more days, and we left on Sunday morning, hungover after a long night of drinking. I had replaced a broken accelerator cable on the bike but did little more before leaving for Spiti as I had already serviced the bike in Leh and figured it was good for the journey. I was wrong. ten kilometers into the trip to Spiti via the Rhotang pass which I had just come down from on the way from Leh, the bike stalled. I checked everything I could think of, and a few indians on enfields also stopped to offer advice. They concluded the problem was electrical and I had no other choice but to turn the bike around and head back down the hill in neutral hoping to find a mechanic.
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