Delhi-Pravati Valley

So we finished last time at the beginning of a start of a new adventure northwards. Rob, my newly acquired Irish travelling buddy, and I left the hostel to catch a train from Old Delhi train station to Kalka. At the station we had managed to pick up 2 English girls, who despite promising appearances, turned out to be nightmare little bit extreme maybe). Furthermore turns out one is going to Bristol Uni with me next year, lets hope she doesn’t see this blog hehe. They were mates from back home and had met up at the hostel to travel in the north for a few weeks. No problems there, but within in minutes of arriving at the hostel after the usual hugs and kisses associated with meeting an old friend the future Bristol Uni student had to show off her recent purchase in Goa which was effectively 2 sets of tennis balls on the end of a piece of string. Nobody at all had any problem with this bar the fact that she chose to do it indoors under a nice light fixture. And there I was thinking gap years instilled a bit of common sense...

Anyway whilst accidents can be avoided, they do happen, so all was forgiven and we set off for Kalka. The train pulled into Kalka after another rather unremarkable sleeper bar the girls pissing off half of the carriage talking well into the night. A strange sensation swept over me; Deja vu. But I could never have seen this place before! Only once before had I been in India; and that was in Goa, thousands of kilometres from my present location. I did not recall seeing it on TV or any other media source. Then it hit me! Many aspects of the station were a splitting image of Moor street station in Birmingham where I pass through almost daily. We were in colonial country!

The train from Kalka to our intended destination of Shimla was a “toy train”. By this I mean a narrow gauge and one of only 3 in India. In fact it was a tourist attraction in its own right. We tried, in vain, to purchase a 1^st class ticket (400 RS) for the last train of the day (wel only 2 a day and the last was at 11:30am!). However with its small size these were in short supply and it was fully booked for that day. One of the girls and I enquired at the station master as to the purchasing of tickets for the next day. He was very helpful and told us about the ticket office, price and times. He said that he couldn’t tell us whether it was full as we would have to find out once it opened in a few hours. Satisfied I thanked him for his advice.

One learns after staying in India that as a non-Hindi speaker you have to ask the right questions to the right people, especially if you wish to have an answer in some sort of English. For example,

“Shimla? Today”

“No available, tomorrow”

“ticket?”

He points to ticket office and 11am on the clock.

“Thank you”

However the girl piped up after I finished the conversation with the guy.

“Is there anything to do or see in this town, any sort of monument, park?”

Now the station master, not recognising any names of towns, train numbers or general trainy things gave the most surprised look I have ever seen. I laughed knowing full well it was like waving at Stevie Wonder. She was unimpressed with my laughter and I explained that it was kind of pointless asking these questions to him. 

She persisted.

“How much is accommodation in Kalka?”

“Kalka-Shimla no first class” he replied.

She gave up and returned back to the group. The 2 girls decided they didn’t wish to stay in Kalka and wait till tomorrow to go first class and so Rob and I said our goodbyes and got a refund on our general class tickets and proceeded to find some cheap accommodation in town before heading down to the ticket office to purchase our tickets. Kalka was nothing spectacular but it was out first taste of the Himalayas. The surrounding foot-hills towards Shimla were particularly impressive contrasting with the flat plains towards Delhi.

4 O’clock came in the morning and all 5 alarms went off right on que. Rob and I paid our bill and made our way down to the train station in the darkness. The tiny train chugged off at 4:45 with it just beginning to get light. The morning grogginess was instantly removed with a couple of hits of chai and we were ready. The train sneaked its way through the town right next to all the houses and daily life before leaving Kalka to start the seemingly endless series of hair-pin-esque bends, bridges and mini-tunnels. The views as we ascended were truly quite something with the sun rising over the mountains before being blocked out as we entered immaculate hillside forests. A man came round our carriage of about 12 seats (the carriages were just bigger than a ford transit van) and asked our request for the complimentary breakfast. 

The first stop was a quaint little “perfect” station which resembled those seen on model railway kits. The train collected the breakfast and I received a rather average omelette. Oh well I’m travelling in what could only be described as one of the cutest and most spectacular train journeys on the planet so an average omelette didn’t really disappoint! 

Sadly after about 5 and a half hours it had to come to an end as we entered Shimla. Upon recommendation we made a B-line to the YMCA which was on a ridge. After a good half hour trudge up to the hostel, dogged with the usual rikshaw, hotel and tour touts, we rocked up fairly exhausted. Shimla is a very strange town. The historic centre of the town is located on a ridge with the newer areas on the slopes either side. The ridge is a long wide pedestrianized promenade with shops on either side which wouldn’t look out of place in Blackpool. 

However this was significantly more beautiful with views on either side across the surrounding valleys and hills.

Shimla’s purpose over the past few years had transformed considerably from a major political centre (Summer capital of the British Empire) to a major tourist destination. However these tourists were all Indian. The rich had come from all over India to enjoy the cooler climate and atmosphere, which for us, the western tourists was definitely a plus.

Night arrived and settling down in the outside garden for a beer we met Adam who was a Danish traveller who was journeying back from the Pravati valley to Delhi to catch a train back home and a Nepalease traveller called Danesh who was travelling with his friends mom. After a few more bevies and some more travellers joining the group we decided to check out a local club we had seen. We all gandered down to find the place deserted. 

Seeing a group of Westerners enter the dj instantly started up and within a few moments the whole group was bopping along to some classic 80’s pop and having a real whale of a time. After half an hour of serious move busting the club closed to our dismay due to Shimla’s strict licensing laws and we made our way back up the road to the YMCA.

The next day Rob and I decided to take a walk to the Indian Institute of Advanced studies. However this took slightly longer as we bumped into a group of American Christian missionaries in a chai shop. They were opening and expanding the Christian movement in the north of India and also doing some social work. They were really friendly genuine guys but I was quite sure how I felt about them in the end. On one hand they were really funny and pleasant but on the other I had a feeling what they were doing was fundamentally wrong. Lets not open that can of worms!

Well the IIoAS used to be the former Viceroy’s of India summer residence and also the main building for controlling the British Empire in the Summer before the British left India and then after a period housing governors and Prime Ministers was changed into its current use as a post-doctorate centre for humanities based subjects. The building was quite sight! It looked exactly like a Scottish Baronial house. The grounds were wonderfully maintained and it also housed a “real tennis” court. 

Ps this is a very strange game which I have played once. Sadly with more badminton players than real tennis players in India the purpose of the building had changed. The house itself was incredibly impressive with large hanging portraits of former viceroys on the oak panelled walls. The views were equally impressive over the surrounding hills.

Rocking on back we went for a meal with Adam and Danesh in a what can only be described as the Indian equivalent of the English chippy. Packed full of kids from the local schools on their lunch breaks, the place served pizzas, chicken burgers and general western fatty fast food. The pizza was especially tasty. That night we decided to have a little party in the YMCA to celebrate one of the girls birthday who was staying there for a night.

Well I can only say a little party as the YMCA decided that having a few bevies and a bit of quiet music was a crime against humanity. The YMCA at Shimla, whilst being a great place to meet people, was a deridingly boring place. The staff seemed to be only interested in selling you ridiculously overpriced 10 day treks to the middle of no-where and timing to the tea the amount of time you played snooker, table tennis or used the internet.

Rob and I the next day took a walk up to a giant monkey god (Hanuman) statue on a hill. At the beginning of the walk up was a sign detailing how long it should take you and therefore your relative fitness. (Ill try and post a picture, twas brilliant, oh by the way, me and rob it turned out were in great shape-ish!). The monkey statue was pretty cool but the views from the top of the hill were spectacular!

That night, me, Adam and Danesh went with an local Indian friend we had made, Raj, to his friends house for chai and music. Well it turned out he was a pretty amazing player of the Tabalas (Indian drums). However, drums are nice on their own, but we needed a singer! Step forward Danesh who sang a catalogue of classic Nepali songs and a few Hindi songs he knew. Once this amazing catalogue was exhausted, he turned to his favourite Western band, Dire Straits!! Well I have got to say, a Nepali singing Dire Straits along to the tabalas was quite an acoustic experience to say the least! Anyway we went back to the hostel.

The next day me and Rob decided to move up to the Pravati valley upon recommendation of Adam who had just spent 2 weeks there and had said it was a really chilled out amazing place. We woke up and marched on down from the ridge to the bus station where we thought the bus would be. We showed the a conductor the ticket and he laughed and pointed along the road to a bus parked up at the side of the road about 2 km away up the hill. Well neither I or rob are great athletes but we just about made it before it took off. Big high five before collapsing into our seat, soaked in sweat...lovely!

The journey was quite scenic and little quaint villages flew by, but god almighty was it bumpy and travel sickness, which I had never experienced since I was 7, started to set in. Arriving in Bhuntar we both felt like, 

well, shit. We gathered our thoughts in a chai shop. I looked up to see that the royal wedding was on the TV and I managed to catch 2 minutes of it, specifically the part where they officially married.

“Look rob, the wedding, its today!”

“Ohh for fuck sake!”

Rob was quite the royalist as you may tell.

Well we got into the bus to take us up to Jari where Adam had recommended. Arriving in Jari we spotted signs to the village guesthouse and snaked our way out of the small village up the side of the hill for 20 minutes till we arrived at a collection of a few houses. The views around were stunning with crop fields cut into the side of the hills and small old wooden houses dotted about. We rocked into the guesthouse and took a bedroom each as they were so cheap, 100 RS (£1.20) per night!

Rob and I spent the next 3 weeks in Pravati (before he had to depart to go back to Ireland), mostly sitting round chatting with people, making friends with some of the locals and going on day walks to small villages and so a day by day account like previous blogs would be rather boring so instead I’ll give an account rather of the couple of highlights.

The trek up the Malana valley to Malana:

Just down the road from Jari on the way to Kasol is the turn off to the Malana valley which houses several new hydroelectric projects and also the ancient town of Malana. I went with a Dutch actor/comedian called Oscar who was incredibly funny and had some great stories. We set off very early in the morning for the 5 hour trek. The trek was truly magnificent with 50m waterfalls either side and snow capped mountains all around. We decided to ditch the road we had been walking on for the old steep redundant track (since the new road now arrived at the base of a short gently sloping track up to the village). We waited outside the village until we were officially invited in by the locals.

There are a number of rules like this for the village which has tried to preserve its unique heritage and culture despite outside influences. The first and foremost one is that there is a strictly enforced (2000 RS fine) rule that there is to be no touching of the locals, their houses or basically anything. This strange rule has its roots in the centuries old caste system still present in the village. This rule is taken to what some may describe as extreme levels in the purchasing of goods from the village. For example after completing our ascent of the steep, yet beautiful path, Oscar and I decided a coke was well earned and deserved. Upon asking at the village shop for “2 cokes”, the cokes were placed on the floor and the money we owed was also placed on the floor allowing a “no touch” if not a little strange transaction to occur.

The village was in a serious state of disrepair after a fire in 2007 had decimated 90% of the original and beautiful old wooden houses. Luckily a few of the houses still remained along with the central temple which had been partially damaged. The temple’s carvings were ornate if a little strange (donkeys performing unspeakable acts upon men!) We hiked up to a couple of guesthouses run by outsiders just above the village limits and had a rather basic pizza and hot chocolate whilst waiting for the weather, which had worsened, to abate.  It didn’t, so we walked down to the main road and flagged down a taxi which had just dropped off a few Israelis.

Trek to Kir Ganga:

After having trekked most of the available routes around Jari, and not wishing to become lazy, I chose to go on a solo-mission (Rob quite frankly couldn’t be bothered, but in a good way, he loved the life style of Jari!) up to the top of the valley. I took the bus to Kasol, then caught another to a small settlement called Bilshani. This place served as a sort of trading post for the towns of Tosh, Kalga, Pulga and Kir Ganga.

Arriving in Bilshani, I joined a small group of Israeli travellers heading towards Kalga as it was probably a little too late in the day to start the five hour trek to Kir Ganga. Kalga was a small collection of houses and guesthouse not far from Bilshani but on the other side of the river. One of the guys had already been to this really “cool and chilled out” guesthouse and so we followed him there. It did not disappoint.

The accommodation area was situated in a small square wooden house structure with 2 floors and with external ladders come staircases allowing access to the second floor. May not sound architecturally impressive but I have never been very good at describing architecture, so trust me, it was pretty “neat”. The general chilling cum living quarters comprised a pool table, several hammocks outside, a tandoor heated lounge area and with any wall space filled with a drawing of Bob Marley or LSD inspired painting! Definitively seemed a real shame only to spend a night there, but progress onwards I had to.

 The next morning I set off early to Kir Ganga. After an hour or so I stopped en-route at a small village for a chai. The locals were all extremely friendly and soon a French musician joined the ranks at the open air chai shop with stunning views across the picturesque valley. A conversation soon piped up about the local’s views on the relatively recent surge of hydroelectric developments in the valley. Frenchy (after returning from the hippy settlement of the Rainbow at Kir Ganga) took the rather bunny-hugger pessimistic approach that we dont need electricity. Hmm, yes the Bronze age does seem rather tempting. I, not one for an argument, quietly nodded with a “meh”. The locals, living lives not exactly requiring Kilowatts of energy, rather just to power a few light bulbs, the village cooler and maybe a mobile phone charger, laughed at him. Disgruntled, he quickly pissed off down the valley and I, satisfied and well chai’d up, pissed off up it.

The journey up the valley was exceedingly scenic and beautiful passing through various small villages, crossing small streams (Christ my feet got wet) and creaky bridges, traversing through thick mountain forests (even saw a couple of mountain monkeys!) and stopping at the one other chai shop en-route. I eventually arrived at Kir Ganga. Well at first glimpse the question was “Is this it”. Now for a place to be given a name surely, it must contain more than 4 or 5 glorified long tents. Apparently not so!

My first impressions of dismay were quickly dispelled as I discovered that the real reason it was given its name was due to the holy hot springs in its vicinity. I quickly chose one of the restaurant/cum accommodation hut and settled in for a warm night’s sleep (its close to freezing at night in the mountains, so sleeping in the tents with their tandoor ovens for warmth for 50 RS is a brilliant idea).

The next day I took the short 50m walk to the thermal baths. I was certainly not let down. There were two baths; one for women, which was shielded off by wooden boards, and one for men which was far larger and not shielded. Thank god! It meant you could sit in the small swimming pool concrete structure with water as hot as any hot tub, bright sunshine, uninterrupted views of the spectacular snow capped Himalayas opposite and talk with fellow travellers. I think I found Eden! Apart from one day coming out as wrinkled as an orange and shoulders burnt to a crisp! Oh well.

The following day, after the ritualistic morning “bath”, I went with a few hippies I had met in the village to go to a squatter settlement about 20 minutes walk away. The gathering is called “the rainbow” and involves a small group of people (around 30), living outdoors in caves in this wooded forest. I arrived at the rainbow and proceeded to check out some of the caves the gatherers had inhabited, obviously being hugged at every available opportunity. They share meals and cook communally for the group. The atmosphere was really good and I really wanted to spend a night there, but lacking many warm clothes, a sleeping bag and especially a waterproof (rain was quite common up here), I decided it was not wise to find a cave and bunk it for the night. Meh, maybe should have done, but that nights weather was horrendous, gale force winds and really cold heavy rain. So, wise decision, wouldn’t have been much singing dancing going on, maybe some cave loving. Hehe!

The next day I returned to the “base” of Jari and linked up again with Rob and the other friends we had made.

Well that sums up a few of the highlights. I’ll tell you more in person about this incredible place/might write a fuller account one day of this place however for the moment, I hope I have given you a bit of a flavour!

PS: Rob left shortly afterwards to return to his native Ireland after his year of travelling. Top bloke. I left aswell to go onto Daramasala (strictly speaking McCleod Ganj)

Admin: 2000 page view mark has been reached! Happy days! I know the last blog was almost a month ago. I guess with the serious land crossing I have completed post Pravati I havn’t really had time to sit down and write. Well actually maybe that isn’t strictly true, I have, but Rob gave me a shed load of movies/TV programs/ Documentaries for my computer and so instead of “working” I have actually been gorging myself on Western TV.  Well I promise you this, the next one will, definitely be up in less than 7 days? Hehe, I’ll try!!