Chillin’ and Templin’ in Manali

May 7th & 8th, 2011

Yesterday I took it pretty easy. Slept in. Hung out at Purnima but in the late afternoon I decided it was time to get the heart pumping so I went to explore Old Manali. I walked for about an hour and a half and wasn’t disappointed with the views. It first started with stores and guest houses and then there was the Himachal Pradesh Club House, basically a mini amusement park with swings, slides, a blow up bouncy castle and a very small go-kart track...don’t worry, these weren’t the views I was talking about.

The road curved up a small hill heading north and then ran parallel to the river. I kept walking for another couple of kilometres and was rewarded with a lovely vista of Rohtang Pass with the snow shining in the late afternoon sun. It is a high mountain pass, with a peak of 3978 meters and a crazy curvy road snaking up and down to connect the Kullu Valley and the Lahaul and Spiti Valleys to the north.

The lovely view from outside my room:

Seeing more of Manali Peak:

Today I decided to get the lay of the land around Manali and perhaps check out a few temples. I crossed the tributary that separates Old Manali with Manali and started up a steep road. Along the way I passed many fancy looking hotels with restaurants. Many people from Delhi come up here to vacation. Arriving at the top, I could see the bright colours of a temple on the other side of a locked fence at the far end of a large, fancy hotel’s parking lot. I asked the security guard and he said it opened at 4:30pm, three hours away...okay, move on.

Looking back at Old Manali, Purnima, where I'm staying is above and a bit to the right of the big white building in the centre:

The lobby of the fancy hotel near the closed temple:

I descended half way down the hill and then took a small road towards the Hadimba Temple. A relatively small, square temple with a triangular sloped roof in the middle of a cedar and pine forest, built in 1553. There were many fine, but weathered carvings on the outside beams and around the door. There was a small line up in from of the only door and I decided I might as well queue up and see what’s inside. The line moved along slowly but steadily.

Sad little fender bender I witnessed, and tried to help but they wouldn't listen to me. The white car's driver was pretty bad at driving and should have moved a bit forward but he couldn't without first backing up (didn't use his e-brake) so he ended up with a scratch and a slightly busted tail light:

The Hadimba Temple:

The entrance was quite short and not terribly wide. Only one person could either enter or exit at any given time. Once I popped through the diminutive doorway I gazed around the square room with white clay walls and massive, dark brown stained cedar beams. There were a few basic tables with bowls and other kitchen utensils strewn about. Two men were sitting on the slightly uneven rock floor. Some canvas bags, probably containing rice and flour, were flopped over along with other miscellaneous items lying on the floor. It kinda looked like someone’s unkempt house!

The temple entrance:

I now saw why the line up moved at a consistent but crawling pace. Just inside, four stairs curved to the left to a part of the rock floor was overhanging. It was like a small cave and all I could see were the feet of an old woman sitting cross legged underneath the rock and a small shrine beside her, candles and incense lit and a pile of money, mostly small bills on the far side. I watched the three or four people in front of me and the ritual seemed to be to kneel under the overhang, put down your donation, touch each of the stone feet in the center of the shrine, put your hands in prayer and say “Namaste” to the old lady. Some even touched the woman’s feet but I opted to omit this part. Interesting and slightly strange experience.

After the temple I continued in the same direction on a main path through the cedar forest. There was a flat clearing amongst the trees with many types of temporary vendor stalls, small, manually driven kids’ rides like a mini Ferris wheel. Some women were holding big, white and very fluffy rabbits while men held the reins of dressed up yaks with impeccably combed fur. I assume the deal was that it cost for a photo with either.

I followed a sign down a path for another temple but never found it (1 for 3...templin’ may just not be my thing). The path wound up and down the hillside with houses dotting the way. Eventually it hit a rivulet and followed it down towards the Beas River. I figured this would wind up in Manali and it did. Along the way I walked past some kids playing on one of the most extreme cricket pitches I’ve seen. It was a slightly inclined dead end of a road that had a steep slope on one side sporting thick bushes and thistles and on the other side was a big drop off. Currently they were trying to locate the ball in the bushes. I joked with them that it was the toughest pitch I had seen and they all had a giggle.

Quaint houses along the pathway:

The path along the small stream:

One of the most difficult cricket pitches in the world:

A temple in Manali:

I wandered through town and then stopped at a nature interpretation centre, which cost 5 rupees to get in and it had next to nothing inside. I then figured out that really it gave you entrance to the lovely pine forest as a more pleasant alternate way to get back to Old Manali instead of walking on the side of the road.

Shops and house in Manali:

The main pedestrian thoroughfare:

In the forest:


I think I walked about 6-7 kilometres and feel like I got the lay of the land...a good day!

Made it to Manali

May 6th, 2011

Yesterday evening, as the bus began the slow roll out of the sprawling tentacles of Delhi, the young occupants, slightly spurred on by their adult supervisors, began to break out in song. Great idea, a good way to pass some time on the journey. The first group to start singing were seated in front of me. They ranged from what I would guess to be 8 years old to 14.

The girl that I was assigned to sit beside was part of this group but she seemed a bit older yet I still placed her in high school. One of the older women, but still maybe 20 or so came over shortly after I had initially sat down and asked if the young woman was okay. She fervently stressed that she was. Another woman, from a distant seat asked the same and again she replied that she was fine. I couldn’t help, in a light, humorous tone state “I’m not that scary am I?” Maybe not the best response but I think she got it. I later found out that Sarjita, my next seat neighbour, was an instrumentation engineer (hadn’t heard of it before, but sure). So with the education required and the fact she’d been at this job for 3 years, she had to be at least 24-25, but she sure didn’t look it. She was very friendly though and was nice enough to look out for me when some aggressive potato chip and soft drink vendors boarded the bus to sell their goods. It’s always good to have a native speaker on your side (that must to be in the “Top 20 Tips to Not Getting Ripped Off While Travelling” guide).

Some singing started to gain momentum with the young group in front of me but soon the group of older teenagers decide to pipe in to, unfortunately to songs of their own choosing. Once in a while the two factions collaborated on the same tune, which was much more pleasing to the ear, and I couldn’t help but smile from the energy in the bus.

I plugged away on my laptop as the singing soon died out when a Bollywood movie was teed up in the DVD player with a big flatscreen TV at the front of the bus. Most people dozed off after the flick but everyone was awakened as the bus stopped at a roadside restaurant where most of the tables were outside under a tarped roof. I sat down for a non-veg thali which I was told would run me 280 rupees (which I thought must be the foreigner’s price). As I dined on my fairly good tasting dish, occasionally having to pick to sliver like bones of chicken from my mouth, the manager (or maybe pit boss is a better term) of the place walked around barking out orders giving the environment the feeling of being an auction barn.

Back on the bus, everyone fell asleep but I could not maintain my REM stasis as we began to climb curvy roads up the mountains. I was actually quite impressed by those who were able to keep dreaming. I then noticed a woman slightly slumped over three rows ahead of me and then one of the adult supervisors hopped up to her aid. Well, she would turn out to be only the first of three people who would succumb to car, or I guess bus, sickness. Yes, it was a windy road.

In the early morning, feeling quite sleep deprived, I forced myself to open my eyes and take in the magnificent scenery outside the bus. It was stunning. We were cruising along a windy road on one side of a wide canyon with steep slope running up either side and water down below. At first I couldn’t tell whether it was a small but long lake created by a hydroelectric dam or a slow moving river...I think it might have been both. Himachal Pradesh has one of the highest incomes per capita thanks to its wealth in energy production which it sells to neighbouring states.

Turns out it’s the Beas river originates from the nearby Rohtung Pass, maybe twenty kilometres away and it heads south before eventually emptying into the Gulf of Cambay of the Arabian Sea, in the State of Gujarat The scenery was incredible and it was such a shame that the bus windows were so dirty that none of my photos turned out. I was befuddled by the houses perched high up on the opposing mountainside, just thinking of the effort to bring any goods home from civilization. There were a number of cables spanning the tumultuous water below and suspending a basket to transport both people and freight.

As we approached Manali, there were more and more tourist type businesses flogging their services for activities like rafting, canyoneering and trekking. We followed the Beas all the way from Kullu to Manali, a distance of forty kilometres. I felt as though we could have been in the Canadian Rockies, at least just considering the geography and flora and fauna, I have to admit that the buildings were quite a bit different than from home.

The canyon between Kullu and Manali:


I took a taxi to the Purnima Guest House, the crown jewel in Manu and Panna’s family empire. The place sports thirty or so rooms, a restaurant including an outdoor area, pool table and wood fired pizza oven. Manu tells me that they have expanded bit by bit over the years. They run 2-3 other restaurants at least at any given time of the year with four brothers performing the majority of the managerial duties. Quite the family business!

As my taxi crossed a steel bridge over a tributary of the Beas River which signifies the border of Manali to Old Manali, we pulled into a small parking lot and I was met by Payre, an older brother of Panna and Manu, and I could tell instantly that yes, this was their brother. Super friendly, clean cut and wearing a comfortable fleece top and slacks, I instantly felt at ease and like I had just met a new friend with pre-cleared references. We climbed up a number of stairs beside some buildings and entered the Purnima Guest House.

Manu was at the front desk at reception and it was great to see him again. We shared a greeting, a hug, a chai and caught up on the last month. He showed me my room and I was blown away, what a gorgeous place. The view from the terrace outside my accommodation looks at snow covered mountains, four to five waterfalls cascading down a slope to my left and the crashing of the river from below.

Outside my room:

My view:

The room (and all this for a little more than five bucks a day!):

Later I saw some of the other Olive Garden staff: Ram, Inder, Ramesh...nice to see these guys again. There was another waiter who came up, said hello to me by name and I definitely recognized him but he didn’t work at the OG. Manu had to clue me in, it was Jiwan and he worked in another restaurant at Arambol Beach, the Rice Bowl.

The side of Purnima (which means "Full Moon"):

Part of the courtyard:

One of the bigger rooms...pretty sweet:

It was a relatively quiet day as I was exhausted from the bus journey but I did go briefly into town with Manu in his cute little red Tata car.

I know I’m going to enjoy staying in Manali...what a stunningly beautiful place!

The Lotus Temple

May 5th, 2011

My bus to Manali was leaving at 6:30 and after a bit of a lie in, I figured I should go and see something in Delhi. From advice from Naomi, the lovely Israeli woman I met in Goa, I decided on checking out the Lotus Temple, a Baha’i place of worship. I asked the hotel concierge which metro station to go to and he immediately said “Rajiv Chowk”.

Walking in Paharganj:

I walked on an overpass across many railroad tracks out of Paharganj to the metro station; past some poor dirty guy sleeping on the side of the busy road, past some other guy hanging up these white bundles of thread on the railing, past a woman setting out round cakes of dung to dry out. You just start to get used to seeing these sights after being in India for a while....expect the unexpected.

Always a buzz going on...

The dung lady (notice the patties on the right):

Train tracks emanating from the Delhi station:

Before exiting the Rajiv Chowk station, I asked a subway worker where the Lotus Temple was. He said Central Secretariat...the previous station. The Delhi metro is quite excellent with a fairly high tech system where you get a little plastic token that is programmed with the amount that the distance you are travelling. The minimum, to go from one station to the next, is only 8 rupees (about 12 cents). So I asked the guy what to do as my token was to get to this station. Well, I had to exit and buy another token to go back one...no biggie, 12 cents.

I arrived at Central Secretariat and then saw a map of the city with the subway lines superimposed on it and pictures of some of the big sights. I noticed the Lotus Temple quite a bit south from where I was, down another line that originates from here...hmm, I’m guessing I need to exit again, buy another token and try yet again. I confirmed that with another subway worker and finally got to the proper station.

The subway line went from underground to above ground about 5 stops before it arrived at Kalkaji station and it was cool to see some of the city. I noticed a big stadium in the distance that I’m quite sure was built for the Commonwealth games held last year. Just as we pulled into Kalkaji, I could see the Lotus Temple less than a kilometre away...what a cool looking place!

The temple from afar:


It was completed in 1986 and as the name suggests, it is built in the shape of a lotus. I walked up the stone path lined with grass and trees, snapping the odd photo along the way. Admission is free and there was an interesting semi-subterranean building you had to pass by, bend down to an open window and pass your shoes in to a guy in exchange for a token. I guess it was mostly underground to not detract from the beauty of the temple.


The "Foot Locker":

As I arrived to the entrance, I along with others were instructed to form one line and wait as there would be a short briefing, which was in Hindi and then they asked if anyone wanted to hear it in English and I was the only one of twenty some people...so they all had to wait and listen to it thanks to me! The man talked a little about the Baha’i faith, how it tries to unify all religions and people on the Earth. We were also told to turn off cell phones, put away cameras and not talk once inside.


The inside was grandiose, open and simplistic with gorgeous symmetrical lines. There were rows upon rows of marble and wood pews. I sat down and soaked the place in. Some birds, not sure what kind, were beautifully singing or chirping and flying around from perch to perch. Pretty nice bird house!

It was amazing to notice how difficult it seemed for not just kids, but adults, to keep their mouths shut. There were stewards walking around, usually with their hands in a prayer position and then they would raise them up and put a finger to the mouth in the universal “shh” sign...which usually worked.

I happened to be there at 3 o’clock when they have a prayer service. It consisted of three or four of the stewards, male and female, reciting or singing prayers from various religions in multiple languages...pretty cool.

Looking inside:

A sneaky photo of the ceiling from inside:

What it looks like from above (thanks to a promotional poster):

After the temple I headed back to Paharganj, collected my begs from the hotel and headed to an area called Connaught Place, a fancy shopping and financial area consisting of concentric rings of roads. I had been to this area way back in November with Tony and Mike and according to Google Maps there was a Dominoes Pizza here which I had a hankering for...but couldn’t find so I ended up in the same restaurant we went to, Zen, almost six months ago.

As I waited for my meal, I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize, that I noticed had tried me earlier and I missed the call. The person asked where I was and was I still going to Manali. “Who is this?” The person would not answer that question and kept demanding my location. I rephrased my query and after about a minute and a half, finally hung up on them. He called back a few minutes later, the same routine and then he hung up on me or we got disconnected. Half way through my dinner, at about five minutes to 6, he called again and finally explained that the bus was leaving at 6, not 6:30 as my ticket said! I dashed out of the restaurant (not a true dash...I paid my bill!), found a tuktuk and went to Chanderlok building, where the bus should be. After a bit more confusion (there were 3-4 busses), I finally got on my bus which in the end didn’t leave until 6:30...so I’m leaving Delhi with a half full belly!

Dealing with Delhi

May 4th, 2011

Arriving at the train station called Hazrat Nizamuddin (sounds like a character from Star Wars), I hopped in a taxi with the hopes of being taken to the nearest metro line. From my research, I don’t think I was taken to the closest, but it was on a better line for getting to my destination. I had decided, after talking to some other travellers and Panna (from the Olive Garden), to try and find accommodation in an area called Paharganj, a popular spot for backpackers. I exited the metro at the New Delhi train station and knew that Paharganj was to the west and I happened to exit on the east side of this big station.

Getting off the train:

A big jovial fellow approached me and started off with small talk, asking me where I was from etc. I was quite sure that he was a tuktuk driver trying to solicit business and sure enough he was, but I was impressed that he happened to have a small Canadian flag sticker on the front of his vehicle. He offered to take me to Paharganj for a mere 20 rupees...why not?

As we tootled down the road, he kept trying to convince me that we should stop by the tourist information place (really a travel agent) as he had dropped a fellow Canadian there early that day. Obviously he must get some type of commission but I rejected his offer mentioning the monolithic journey I had just undertaken...a shower was much higher on my list of priorities!

Raja, the jolly driver:

As we tootled down the road, he kept trying to convince me that we should stop by the tourist information place (really a travel agent) as he had dropped a fellow Canadian there early that day. Obviously he must get some type of commission but I rejected his offer mentioning the monolithic journey I had just undertaken...a shower was much higher on my list of priorities!

He took me to a hotel and I’m sure I was getting a foreigner’s rate but at this point I didn’t care, as I mentioned...shower time!

After cleaning up I headed out to find a restaurant. Paharganj has a few main roads, chock full of neon signed hotels, and many alleyways running in between. Down these alleyways were many different types of food vendors and small shops selling anything and everything. But to find a sit down restaurant? Next to impossible it seemed.

Paharganj:

Food vendors selling who knows what:

Just as I was walking by this father gave his son a cool mask while he was sitting on a matching bike...couldn't help but ask to take a photo:

I finally stumbled across one, a sports bar, and it was jam packed...no wonder. The waiter asked if I minded sitting with another foreigner and I didn’t mind. He was from France and was heading back tomorrow after 5 months in India. I asked him his favourite spot and he said Hampi...cool, I’ve been there!

Later we were joined by another Frenchman and a guy from Kashmir, the northernmost area of India (which is where the French guy had been for the last few months). I enjoyed practicing some French and was interested to hear that Jean was next planning to head to Canada, to Montreal and began a long and slow journey down the Americas to Argentina, occasionally working along the way....nice, good on ya. After a bite to eat, we parted ways and thankfully I was able to find my way back through the labyrinth to my hotel.

The Train Kept a Rollin’

May 3rd, 2011

I boarded the Goa Express train at 12:30pm at the Pernem train station. Express? Hmm, it was going to take twenty-eight and a half hours to travel the 2014 kilometres to Delhi. Definitely the longest train ride I’ve been on but I don’t think you’ve “done” India if you haven’t experienced a marathon rail journey.

This is the train chart, telling you where your car will be, I was in A1, fifth from the locomotive:

Right off the bat there was confusion as there was an Indian gentleman with the same seat number as mine on his ticket. I had wimped out a bit and instead of riding in the “sleeper” class where most locals ride, I opted for the second class A/C, however this car was a third class A/C one. The difference is that in the main cabin, the 2nd class only has four people while the 3rd has six. Okay, no biggie and we’ll wait for the ticket inspector to come along and sort it out. The four guys sitting there were gem merchants and quite nice guys and told me I was welcome to stay there. They too had thought it should be a 2nd class car but said that Indian Rail had probably decided to switch it to get more people on board. The inspector did eventually arrive and gave me a new seat number which was on the side of the car. I walked down the aisle to check it out but someone had turned the lower berth into a bed, closed the curtains and was fast asleep...okay, I’ll come back later.

I found a different, empty seat and settled in for the ride. The terrain in Goa and into Maharashtra is quite lush with many tropical trees and hills and hence many tunnels. I was trying to use my laptop with my USB modem stick and it seemed that every time it connected and I just started to open a web page...tunnel!

We passed by Mumbai in the early evening, stopping at a couple of stations where a number of people boarded the train and it was now quite full. Just prior to the first stop, I figured this was the time to stake my claim in my real seat before the confusion compounded.

I was the only Caucasian in the car so I did receive a fair number of stares and the odd smile but everyone was quite friendly, as I’ve found generally in this country.

Everyone began to settle down for bed around 10pm. Being on the side lower bunk, I only had one bunk above me (but two people were in it, a father and his one year old son) while in the main section, there were three beds stacked on either side of the cabin. I was glad that I’m no taller than I am as I just, and I mean just fit. Lying on my back, my feet were flat against the far wall with my head less than an inch from the close one. The other beds looked longer and more comfortable as mine had a ridge running width wise in the middle from where the backs of the two seats come down to meet each other, however mine did have more privacy since I had a curtain. With my recent back injury, I found this crack was just exactly in the wrong place.


Ready for bed:

There was only half a curtain, yet surprisingly one of my shirt's buttons perfectly slotted into the curtain rail...I guess it was a "shirtain":

The cabin seemed quite hot for being A/C so I decided to fold up my blanket and use it as a mattress and just have the sheets to cover me. It seemed like a good plan at first as my back’s comfort level increased but after falling asleep, the place turned into an icebox. I got up and fished out an extra shirt, some socks (as having them against the wall was really chilling them out), my long johns and even my toque! I tried this for about an hour but waking up again, I resorted to wriggling between my blanket so that half still served as a mattress and half as cover. This did the trick but I woke up many times in the night thanks to the tight area, the odd crying child and the shaking around caused by the train.

I awoke at sunrise the next day to a landscape that had flattened out and the trees were fewer and farther between. I dozed off and again until 9am and the sparseness had increased due to flat shale rock preventing larger vegetation from taking root. There were stone fences dividing up some of this barren land...must have taken a lot of effort to make them.

The flatlands:

Some old hill fort in Rajasthan:

We had stopped once during the night and then we had one more stop in the late morning at Kota Junction, an important area of industry (primarily chemical) in the state of Rajasthan and also a link to some busy rail lines heading east.

At four in the afternoon, we began to roll into the outskirts of Delhi. Not surprisingly, the sides of the tracks were lined with slum dwellings, lots of garbage with pigs, cows and dogs looking for goodies. Surprisingly we actually arrived pretty much on time.

Namaste Delhi...you big stinky city!

Taking a Break from Goa

May 2nd, 2011

With the weather getting hotter and more humid coupled with the fact that the beaches are emptying out of foreigners, the winds are turning stronger and causing the sand to form mini dunes, the occasional offshore are dumping of oily bilge crap from ships...it’s time to get out of Dodge for a bit. I decided that I would head north to the state of Himachal Pradesh for the month of May. I’ve wanted to head to this Himalayan region for a number of years now, at least since 2007 when I visited Nepal. Unfortunately I will not be taking my paraglider as my back is still not 100% yet.

The quiet beach of Arambol:



Looking back from the ridge:

Sweetwater beach was even quieter:

So I bid you adieu Goa for a while. I will definitely not miss the man, or horker as I call him, that has woken me up most mornings for the past month by a disgusting ritual he does outside my bedroom window of sticking three fingers down to draw up phlegm, saliva and who knows what else. The sound he makes doesn’t even seem humanlike! On the last morning I saw that a woman, I presume his wife, does the same thing, but not with as much oomph. Yes, probably more info than you wanted to hear but if you are curious...check out the following video!

The horker:


Later Arambol.

Full Power

May 2nd, 2011

Over the past 5 months I’ve noticed a certain catch phrase used in a surprising number of contexts...that phrase: “Full Power”. I first heard Marvin, the kite surfing god from Holland use it when describing the wind (and have to admit I liked the way he said it the best). Then it was Deano talking about the wind with regards to paragliding, which is a different, lower level of full power than Marvin’s context. But soon I heard it to talk about a night of partying “Full Power Music” or “Full Power Drinking”. Another case was recounting the degree of intensity of the sun shining down on the beach. Later, with the World Cup of Cricket, there was of course “Full Power Bowling” and “Full Power Batting”!

The Full Power Tattoo Parlour (closed for the season):

Random signpost placement:

Now this one made sense, Full Power on an electrical transformer!

Other vendors are catching on to the phrase...Full Power Chocolate!

At first I thought it was a localized phenomenon at Arambol Beach as there is a local tattoo parlour called “Full Power” and they have been branding the place by giving out stickers that seem to be quite popular and are ubiquitous. However, within an hour of arriving in Panchgani while walking with the motley crew of backpackers and paraglider pilots staying at the Eco Camp, Natalie from Holland said something to me which included the phrase “Full Power”. Unfortunately I can’t recall the topic I was just more surprised that she said it and I had to point it out. I heard her and the paraglider pilot Dave from England use it a few more times over the course of the week. I believe it was mentioned in one conversation about whether the painkiller suppositories “Just In” were working...”Yup, Full Power!”, I replied.

I was on a scooter near Vagator Beach (15 km from Arambol) and saw this...it's probably impossible for you to see but someone painted on the road "Full Power Music" for a New Year's Eve party in this field by the ocean:

Okay, I have to join in the act...stuck one on the back of my paragliding helmet:

You only have one life...so why not do it, with FULL POWER!!!