India, in name at least

Where have those crazy Beattie’s gone now? Ethan and Siena are glad to change the hot, dusty Rajasthan for this area in the far north. So where are they now? They have a snowball fight in the mountains in the background. In fact, they are standing at the base of the third tallest peak, over 26,000 feet high part of the highest mountain range in the world. These are the Himalayas. We fly from Delhi to Srinigar (deciding to go only after our Indian travel agent swore there had been no troubles in Kashmir for a long time, only to discover a protest with a death had taken place there the day before our arrival.). Kashmir lies between India and Pakistan. When the country was partitioned, Kashmir, despite having an overwhelming majority of Muslims, was named a part of India. We think the Kashmiris are still pissed about it.

Srinigar is like a cross between a western mountain mining town and the West Bank. It has two beautiful lakes and is ringed by high peaks. The buildings here have the steep peak corrugated tin roofs that we see in the Rockies. But, troops are everywhere as there have been any number of battles between India and Pakistan over the region. Kashmir is different from the part of India we have been in. The people mostly don’t speak Hindi. They are a different religion, eat different food, and wear different clothing.

Kashmir is about 75% Muslim. We are lucky ( we guess…) to be here for a special Muslim holiday. Hundreds of thousands of people (we are told a million, but all figures we were given are highly suspect, as I will relate later) have made the pilgrimage to this mosque. The mosque’s most prize possession is being shown to the throngs for the first time in over a year. At first, we misunderstand our guide’s accent and think they will be displaying Mohammed’s ear, which seemed a bit macabre. We travel by boat to the banks of the lake in front of the incredibly crowded mosque, where Kim decided it really was a poor idea for us to disembark. We continued around to a small park to have a picnic lunch before the 2:30 prayer and the main event. As we sat to eat, we were surrounded by a large crowd of people, four deep, all staring at us. The mosque’s relic seemed a poor second draw to the Beattie Clan. We felt as though we were aliens, which in a way we were. My headscarf hadn’t fooled them into thinking we belong. So, we retreated to the safety of our boat and watched the event from a safe distance. Mohammed’s hair was hard to see from our distance, but the sound of thousands of voices chanting in quasi-unison was amazing.

While many in India are vegetarians, Kashmiri’s are dyed-in-the-wool carnivores. They eat lamb in countless ways, and live chickens line the streets. Kim’s birthday is during our stay and I shop to make him a non-Indian meal (we need a break from the Indian food). When the bag with the chicken is thrust in my hands, I am shocked, exclaiming, “It’s hot! Have you cooked it?” Duh. Had the seller understood this city girl’s English, the whole block would have been in hysterics; the bird was alive hardly 5 minutes before…

Unlike the rest of India, there are no bright colors in the clothing here. Most of the women wear headscarves, and we see a small percentage wearing black burkas covering their faces, and small percentage wearing no head covering at all. The men virtually all wear long woolen cloaks, of varying shades of gray. They look like something Clint Eastwood would wear to conceal some big weapon. Perhaps a bit too good an analogy considering the history of violence here.

Ironically, Kashmir is famous for its beautiful and colorful textiles. This is where the famous yarn (of the same name but different spelling) was first spun, and we are approached by many people selling cashmere sweaters during our stay. But, even more famous here are the pashmina shawls, made of the neck wool of a specific kind of goat that lives only in these mountains. Of course, we are not here to shop (although we do ; - )), and we spend our time hiking and for the ultimate treat, we go skiing in the Himalayas. On the way to the hill, our guide points out the 3rd and 4th highest peaks in the world. The mountain he claims is the 4th highest he says is 19,000’. Well, we know that wouldn’t make it anywhere near #4. Feeding us with misinformation and trying to take us for all we are worth seems like India’s national pastimes, and here is no exception. We are initially told skiing in Kashmir is cheap, and then quoted 2500 Rupees/person (~$50) because of the expense of renting equipment. They attempt to “fit” us with boots and skis as we stand in the middle of a snowy field. When we insist on going into the ski shop, the price of the rentals is revealed to be $5 for each adult and $2.50 for the kids. We walk about a mile from the rental location to the base of the cable car (great planning, huh? I’m just glad my kids can carry their own &*^% gear). Finally, we ride the cable car to the highest lift serviced location in the world—14,000 feet above sea level. The 5.2 K run down is awesome, although the snow conditions alternated between crust and slush depending on the sun. The views are fabulous and there was virtually no one else on the mountain skiing, despite clear skies and warm weather. There were a couple of crowds NOT skiing. There were at least 100 Indian tourists up on the mountain posing on top of skis, and Kim skied into an army troop, hiking up the mountain, with machine guns slung over their shoulders. I steered clear.

We had been looking forward to staying put for the full 8 days of our visit. Such a luxury to not have to pack and unpack for a bit! We stayed on a “houseboat” on Lake Dal. Although we had visions of floating in a pristine mountain valley, the reality was a bit different. We were taken by shakara (shallow canoe) to our boat, which was moored alongside hundreds of others, with trash floating occasionally by. The locals’ way of combating the litter is the throw it behind the boats, where the tourists can’t see it so readily. We were a bit isolated for our tastes, although, perhaps this was for the best considering the tension all around. When we leave, we go through no less than 11 security checks, including two separate pat downs and four metal detector/ baggage screenings. We have found India very interesting, but are happy to finally board our plane and leave.

Salaam Ma Lekum (a: hello-how are you-fine and you-take care-good bye multipurpose phrase in Kashmiri)
The Beatties