Day 4: Amritsar - Dharamsala/Mcleod Ganj

I woke up at 2am and headed down to the Golden Temple. People were still walking around, although the crowd was noticeably thinner than in the day. Some were also sleeping next to the sarovar. I also found a spot next to the sarovar and sat down to recite the Asa di Var . One could feel the spiritual rejuvenation, sitting there looking across the still waters to the golden structure arising out of the dark.

Around 4am the temple slowly started stirring, some sewadars coming to wake the sleeping folks, some cleaning the sarovar. An hour later I headed back to pack up and check out. Our ride arrived punctually at 6am, and we headed out, the receptionist happily waving farewell to us.

We started our 200km trip to Dharamshala with a man down... Govin had started vomiting and having stomach problems overnight, I suspect due to the kulfi he had the day before... in any case the poor guy was bundled up in the back of the van as we made our way through the flat fields of Punjab.

So our grand trip to the Himalayas started with a whimper... which was followed by a groan when barely out of the city the van engine sputtered and died because we were out of gas. With some unholy mutterings our driver sprinted off with a tin can in search of a petrol station, while the three of us remained crouched inside the van, attracting curious glances from passersby... we had no idea how long he'd take, or if we'd ever see him again, since there was a statewide strike (more on that later) and all shops were supposed to be closed. Fortunately the van had stalled just in front of the bus station, so the germ of the thought to take our chances was forming in our heads when we spotted good ol' Kulvinder in the horizon sprinting back with a full can. And so once again, we set off in the not-so-early-anymore morning.

Stopping for some chai along the way. That's our driver in the background.

And now for our "Tension of the day" segment...

Along the way Dave gets a call from the hotel... turns out the reason why our room charge was so low was because they forgot to charge us for the most recent night, and the receptionist was almost begging us to pay for the room somehow otherwise he'd be in big trouble with the boss. We debated between being honest and paying up or being bastards and disappear into the hills, but - one of those rare occasions - our better natures won the argument, and we decided to be nice guys for once. Only problem was how the heck were we going to pay for the room, being halfway on our journey already and the guy didn't want us to do a bank transfer since otherwise his boss will find out... so in the end our driver volunteered to bring the money back to the receptionist, and we opted for it, since he seemed honest enough and in any case we'll get him to talk to the receptionist before he left so that he can verify that we'd passed him the cash.

The first part of our journey went by pretty fast. There was a statewide strike called by the ruling state party due to the acquittal by Mumbai courts of a Hindu activist who had killed a Sikh over there. In one town we had to take a minor detour since the main road was closed for a demonstration. It was a pretty novel experience to encounter no lorries and buses on the roads and closed shops in all the towns we passed by. Petrol stations were open, thankfully.

Once we crossed the border into Himachal Pradesh the landscape visibly changed as well, forested hills replacing cultivated flat lands. And that's when our driver's skills came to the fore. You have not experienced true driving talent until you have travelled on the roads of Himachal. These are narrow mountain roads with hairpin bends,blind corners and potholes the size of Taj Mahal,, shared with big-ass trucks, overloaded buses, drunk cyclists, half naked yogis, and maniac drivers all coming at you. But hey, do not fear, because your driver's a maniac too! At one point we got stuck behind a convoy of army trucks at a badly damaged bridge that could only take on one vehicle at a time..
Part of the convoy. Apparently the rule of 'one vehicle at a time' was sufficient and it doesn't matter how heavy the load was.

This wasn't the first damaged bridge we came across. Apparently a few days back there were heavy rains in the mountains, and the swollen rivers had swept away a couple of bridges, including one big one on the main road, forcing us to take a detour some distance back. In any case, our driver apparently took it as a personal insult to be held up behind a convoy, and spent the rest of the journey demonically determined in overtaking the 20 or so trucks that were ahead of us. You probably think it's no big deal when you're reading this in the comfort of your office cubicle, but after Golden Temple that morning I didn't expect to find myself so close to God again so soon. One thing about Indian roads and traffic you'll learn pretty fast is that, like my friend puts it, all traffic and speed rules are 'for reference only'. It's pretty common to find a car overtaking a lorry while being simultaneously overtaken by another car, all three vehicles also needing to avoid the cow that's lying down and contemplating the rumen condition in the middle of the road. This arbitrary driving works most of the time, but sometimes the system breaks down, like when we were almost at our destination in Dharamshala. In the pouring rain we got stuck behind a line of cars that didn't seem to be going anywhere for some time to come. Through the network of drivers and curious onlookers that gathers in any such occasion our driver figured out what happened... apparently there were two buses, one going up and one coming down, and they were blocking each other's way on a bend further up. Unfortunately there was no romm to move since vehicles had quickly piled up behind them, and some enterprising drivers had also tried to cut in through the road shoulders and also got stuck. So the only way that traffic could get moving again was for each vehicle to back up and provide space for the vehicle in front - this was a truly painstaking and tortuous process since oftentimes when some space opened up you'll find some idiot speeding up all the way from behind to fill the gap, and everyone gets stuck again. It didn't help that the rain was truly heavy - Dharamsala has the heaviest annual rainfall in all of India - so our driver would be reversing at full speed downhill round a bend with zero visibility, all the time grumbling about bad drivers. I was pretty much craving for a couple of whisky double shots by then. It's times like this that you gain an insight into the Indian personality though. You can understand why people here are so damned patient and fatalistic, because that's probably the best attitude in dealing with situations like this.

After three hours and lots of sorting out by irritated drivers and amused locals, we finally got into Dharamsala. Our destination was Mcleod Ganj, about 5km further uphill. The whole journey took up 10 hours, jams and food breaks included. In the heavy rain, we got off and checked into Hotel Tibet. Dave couldn't get in touch with the CJ Hotel guy, so in the end we wrote out a receipt for the amount of 1650Rp and passed a copy to our driver along with the cash. We didn't hear from the receptionist again, so I suppose he finally got the money in the end, and they all lived happily ever after...

Our room in Hotel Tibet was quite cozy actually, with a view of the valley that Dharamsala overlooks. Having tucked a still ill Govin into bed, Dave and I ventured down to the hotel bar to celebrate our survival. Ten hours ago we were in the wilting heat of the Punjab plains, and now we were 2000m above sea level sheltering from the incessant rain and plummeting temperature - perfect circumstances and perfect surroundings for some Tibetan chilli pork and double shots of Royal Challenge scotch. Never heard of Royal Challenge before? It's just one of the many local brands of alcohol that's prevalent in Indian bars. Don't expect to find a Chivas or even Dewar's at the local dive. Well, we did come across a Black Label, but of a very different type, and much later. How's the local scotch? One word, three letters - meh. But it did the job though, along with the chilli pork... I totally enjoyed that warm harbour in the freezing storm.

Thankfully the rain cleared up after a while and we could come out to have a look at our surroundings. Dharamsala/Mcleod Ganj is mainly known for being the place of residence of the Dalai Lama and the capital of Tibet's government-in-exile. And hence a significant portion of the people here are of Tibetan origin.
A Tibetan temple


Prayer wheels. One spin is the equivalent of one oral chant.

A typical street in Mcleod Ganj. Still wonder how traffic jams can happen so easily?

One of the many vestiges of the pro-independence stance of the local Tibetan populace.

The main intention of our walk was to get to the HP government tourist bureau to find out more on transportation options out of Dharamsala. At that point our plan for the next day was to take a scenic train ride to Jogindernagar, about 100km east of Dharamsala, and then get a taxi from there to Manali. Unfortunately the bureau was manned by a totally clueless guy who I suspect wasn't actually an employee, but just some random guy who snuck in for a quick smoke. In any case there was a train timetable stuck on the wall, from which we figured out that the train journey took about 9 hours and the best option was a 7am train from Kangra, about 20km south of Dharamsala. We discussed this for a while, and decided that since Govin was still ill, we'd might as well skip the train ride and cab it direct to Manali. Govin was already having a fever, and Dave was looking for a clinic so that we can get a doctor to check on him. However all the clinics there were offering Tibetan medicine, and the only Western medicine available was at pharmacies. So Dave went back to check on Govin and give him some panadol, as well as make arrangements with the transport guy at our hotel for a taxi to Manali, for which he had quoted us a price of 3300Rp earlier. While Dave went to make the arrangements, I continued on my walk.

Apart from being the centre of government for Tibet-in-exile, Mcleod Ganj is also a hill station. And the 2km walk up to the village of Bhagsu is a good reminder that I was actually over 2000m above sea-level...






The Dalai Lama's residence, as seen from Bhagsu Road.

More awesomepics from my walk can be found here. After an hour's worth of breath-taking scenery, I made my way back.


Aparently the panadol did its job since Govin was out and about by the time I got back, so we did more exploring of the town itself as well as some shopping. I have to say that the bargains in Mcleod Ganj was among the best of the trip, and good quality stuff too, especially the clothing and leatherwork. With the shopping done, we had a tea break on one of the many rooftop cafes in the town, watching the people below and the mountains above...


At night we had dinner in our hotel room, and tucked in early after a long, exhausting and eventful day.