Boom Shiva: Parvati Valley to Varanasi and Kolkata

While wandering around the relaxed valleys in Manali was exceedingly beautiful and quite relaxing, we eventually felt the need to move on to greener pastures, so we hopped a string of buses through the Kullu Valley and into the Parvati Valley.  Every valley in Himachal Pradesh has a patron Goddess associated with it and Parvati, the consort of Shiva, the Destroyer, lent her name to this particular one.  It is fitting that she did, since the vale is inbued with an uncommon amount of natural beauty in its steeply pitched slopes made shaggy with deodar trees leading slowly up to a high pass at Pin Parvati and into the arid and treeless Lahaul/Spiti Valleys.  The small villages that we visited during our time there were charming and many of the higher ones were only serviced by foot paths.  We based ourselves in Matheura Jari, a hamlet above Jari town with its access to the road and many Tibetan and Himachali eateries, where we had views of the mountains from our guesthouse balcony, a village made up of many traditional mortar-less stone and wood houses and temples enveloping us, and hills covered in forest and orchards within grasping distance to wander through.

We spent a few days walking the area around Jari and exploring what there was to see, passing only local folks out and about shepherding their goats and cows to the higher pastures or back to town.  One day we took a jolting bus ride from Jari town into Manikaran where there is a hot spring that is sacred to Hindus and Sikhs.  It is said that it came into existence when Parvati had her ear rings stolen by a Naga King.  Shiva eventually found him out and he spat them on the spot where the spring came out as he ran from the God's wrath.  There is a large Gurudwara, or Sikh temple, where there are pools divided by gender that people bathe in to cure diseases and atone for sins.  We picked up a predictably delicious meal there for a donation and toured the area.  There is a Hindu temple next door where pilgrims buy bags of rice and priests place jars of potatoes to cook in a sulfur fed spring.  We then walked along some more forested paths along the valley bottom to Kasol, the valley's major tourist town where huge amounts of young Israelis lounge about smoking the hashish that the area is world renowned for and eating quality Western food.  We caught the first bus out of there and schlepped the back to our little village haven.

While in the Parvati Valley we met a fellow traveler who raved about an adventure that he had just had in the Kinneur and Spiti Valleys, and we were convinced to give it a look.  First day we didn't make it nearly as far as we had expected to and were stranded in the small dusty town of Banjar just below a sizable, but snow free pass.  Turns out that we arrived during a local festival, so we joined the population of the surrounding area to watch some traditional dancing and partake in hoopla.  They had some particularly delicious apple juice from local trees and two ferris wheels that in typical Asian fashion were faced backwards giving the riders a view of the trees behind the grounds instead of the sweeping vistas of hills leading to mountains that the town enjoyed.  Next day we took a marathon bus journey to Kalpa, starting with five hours standing on a bus with about a hundred of the visitors to the mela heading home after the festivities.  The views out of the dirty bus windows were worth the pain of holding ourselves in place amidst jostling, women sleeping on our backs, and fears that the driver careening through ill-cared for curves would push it a little too far and send us all off the edge.  We arrived in Rekong Peo just as the sun was setting and casting it's pink light on the Kinner Kailash massif.  The mountain views got better with every bend as we climbed the hill to Kalpa where we would finally rest our heads after a 14 hour journey.

Kalpa is an idyllic mountain village with perfect views of the mountains across the valley, it's like you could almost reach out and touch them.  Our hotel had uninterrupted views from our balcony and we gazed at them from all different angles on walks around the area.  Following the road around the ridge we found a nice stream to scramble up to pretty meadows.  Another day we headed up towards Chakka, to the top of the mountain and snow line at 4,000 meters.  We scrambled up the hillside following various foot and animal paths to beautiful meadows where an old man was grazing his sheep.  The panoramic views uncovered new snow capped peaks in the not so distant land of Tibet, a country our eyes have flirted with so many times in the past 8 months.

From Kalpa we headed into the Sangla valley to Chitkul, the last village on the old trade route to Tibet.  We heard that the road was out but that we could catch transport after walking through the landslide so we decided to go for it.  It ended up being another long day.  After getting delayed and missing several busses because of misinformation we finally found ourselves at the turnoff to the valley, practically stranded and deciding to walk the 3km to the landslide and hopefully catch a bus on the other side.  It was a hot, dusty slog but we met two Czech guys that helped pass the time.  Arriving at the wash out we found a dump truck full of gravel being rescued by two front loaders from literally falling off the cliff.  Finally being whisked away by a speeding jeep we were on our way again up the valley.  Speeding past pine trees and mountains, slowing slightly to cross several streams that ran over the rutted out road a giant leopard leapt right in front of the jeep.  We stopped and quickly got out to see it already at the top of the hill, it's majestic body slinking behind the boulders.

Chitkul is a small, scenic settlement with traditional wooden houses surrounded by mountains in a meadow at 3,450 meters.  It reminded us a lot of the Langtang valley in Nepal and we took several strolls around the area to get a close look at the glaciers and peaks.  There was a festival going on while we were there and we saw some processions, women cooking fry bread by the temple and, lucky us, some men slaughtering a goat, the liver quivering in their hands.

Heading back out of the valley and towards Shimla we stopped in Sarahan, home to the unique Bhimakali temple.  Built of layered stone and wood with two towers topped by intricately carved balconies this imposing temple dominated the town square.  Human sacrifices were carried out here up until the 18th century to appease the blood thirsty Kali and we saw the deep well where they used to dump the bodies.  Every year during the Dussehra festival they still sacrifice a variety of animals, including a spider.
Moving on to Shimla to find the rest of India there on holiday we scrambled to find a cheap room so we could do the rest of our shopping and send a box of goodies home.  We had some good meals, took some long walks around town to see the old Raj era buildings, and purged our bags of 30 pounds of souvenirs.  Feeling foot loose and fancy free, we were ready to brave the heat of the plains and make our journey to Kolkata by way of Varanasi.

We finally managed to take one of the many Raj Era small gauge railways from Shimla to Kalka in the plains.  The three car train wound it's way slowly down the mountains passing through 103 tunnels and taking six hours to go 96km.  After spending some time in a typical Indian town with it's requisite trash and air pollution we made our connection with a sleeper train to Varanasi.  Known historically as Benares it is the most sacred city to Hindus the world over.  If one bathes in the river Ganges here, then all of their sins are washed away.  If one is so fortunate as to die here, then they get a ticket on the moksha express out of the continual wheel of rebirth into samsara.  This has ensured that the city has been a hub of devotion for thousands of years.  In fact, it is one of the longest continually occupied cities in the world.  We arrived in typical fashion, sweaty, sleep deprived, and discombobulated, and humped our bags for miles to reach the Ganges.  We got our first glimpse of the most sacred of rivers near Manikarnika Ghat, where Hindus are burnt to release their souls from their earthly coils all day everyday in a conflagration that added to the already blinding inferno of the day.  After dropping our stuff we headed back into the labarythine streets to grab a bite at one of the many eateries catering to south Indian pilgrims (masala dosa, yum) and watch the Ganga Aarti, a nightly ritual where five young men make puja to the holy river by swirling incense and fire in classically defined movements.

We spent the next few days soaking up the city, alternating between walking the hundreds of ghats that line the west bank of the Ganga and weaving through the crowded back streets in search of our next delicious meal.  One morning we took a row boat out to get a different vantage of the city.  The boat driver first tried to sell us drugs, then laid it on thick at the burning ghats to get us to give him a large donation to "help the poor" who had come to Varanasi to die and couldn't afford the cost of wood for cremation.  When we declined on both fronts he clammed up and splashed about with the oars until our time was up.  Even though he was the laziest boatman in Varanasi, the views of the city from the water in the morning light were memorable.  We also visited the Vishwanath temple, which is surrounded by hundreds of heavily armed guards to protect it from harm.  It looked much like many other temples in India, with a walled in precinct housing a few shrines and a central one topped with a tall spire housing the diety, but here the spire was coated in gold and the Shiva Linga in the altar is the most holy of them all.

We also took a day trip to Sarnath, the Deer Park where the Buddha made his first speech to only five disciples and started in motion the wheel of Buddhist dharma.  It was an interesting archaeological site with brick remains of monasteries starting from late BCE as well as the core of a massive stupa erected in the supposed spot that the historic speech took place.  It was also hot hot hot as there were not many trees to protect us from the sweltering midday sun.  There were also temples erected by Buddhist nations from all over the world.  It was a strikingly calm and contemplative place, in marked contrast to the frenzy of Varanasi, a fact that highlighted some of the differences between Buddhism and Hinduism in general.

Our final day in Varanasi found us homeless and hot, sitting in the Ganga with the sadhus and drug dealers waiting for our night train to Kolkata.  We bought some final souvenirs at the crowded market in the old city where everything glistens and you have to watch closely where you step.  Amanda got some henna done and we got yet another delicious lassi from blue lassi, which is close to the burning ghats.  Around this area it is common to see funeral processions winding their way down the lane towards the ghats, the family members carrying the body on a stretcher which is covered in a shroud.  The locals aren't fazed at all and carry on with thier business like normal.  It's a strange scene and one that will burn in our minds for years to come.

Heading to the train station we arrived to find our train delayed by 8 hours, which would mean it would leave at around 5am.  Not wanting to go too far afield to keep tabs on the status we posted up in a corner and settled in to sleep with hundreds of other travelers and homeless people.  Cockroaches and crickets scuttled around the filthy floor, cows roamed around sleeping bodies and the fanless waiting area was stifling hot.  Everytime we checked the status the train was delayed further an dit finally arrived 14 hours after schedule.  The next 15 hours was a sweaty nightmare, with a monsoon rolling through turning the train into a humid jungle trap with no ventilation.  We finally arrived in Kolkata at 4am, 17 hours off schedule and headed to Sutter street for a much needed shower and nap before needing to go to the airport to catch our flight to Malaysia.  We were disappointed to have only a few hours in one of our favorite Indian cities but were still able to eat copious amounts of sweets, kheer and chai and visit the market for some last minute shopping.

Oh India.  A country that is so diverse and chaotic, so captivating and intriguing that you can step in cow shit, get buzzed by a motorbike, get a deep whiff of frying chilies and be blessed by a sadhu all at the same time.  The avariciousness and generosity of people is staggering.  At times, you think you've figured it all out, but then something happens that is so contradictory that it throws you off balance and leaves you back at square one.  It's a hell of a place and one we are not done with by a long shot.

A typical Himachali temple with interspersed layers of stacked stone and old growth timber in Matheura Jari.

What you can't see is that the little boy isn't wearing any pants, but he really wanted us to take his picture.  Country fun I guess.

The fields and quaint buildings of Matheura Jari with some peaks in the background.

Some Hindu pilgrims cooking little bags of rice at the hot springs in Manikaran.

Some hoopla at the mela in Banjar which helped pass the time as we were stuck there in route to Kinnaur Valley.

The view of the Kinner Kailash massif from our hotel balcony in Kalpa.  

A view from our hike up to snowline above Kalpa in the sheep pastures.

A dump truck that got swept up by the "road problem" blocking our progress towards Chitkul.  Just before the two front loaders got him out the chain slipped and he almost fell over the edge.

The Chitkul Valley from the furthest point folks are allowed to hike to towards the border with Tibet.

Right about here is where we saw the decapitated goat and the man walking towards his friends with the fresh liver in his hands, presumably to share it with them.  Chitkul.

A photo opt on one of our many day hikes around Chitkul.

Colin jump kicking Tibet.  Hiaw!!!

The Bimakali Temple in Sarahan was one of the most unique and impressive that we saw in North India. The pretty roses belie the gruesome past of the enclosure.

A poster at Indian Coffee House in Shimla.  It is a great worker owned cooperative that has branches all over India where you can get a great Cup of Joe and reasonably priced South Indian snacks.  The waiters also wear funny hats.

Our guesthouse in Shimla.  It was a bit of a dive, but the price was right.  Nobody could tell us what the signs about a handwriting expert were about and the local Communist Party headquarters were around back.  We had an interesting conversation with the president about workers' rights as they prepared for a rally one evening.

Amanda posing like a modern steel plasma cut out of an ancient bronze casting of a dancer.  Post-modern, eh?

A scraper bike with its own sugarcane juicing set up in back.  Baller.

The throngs that gather nightly for the Ganga Arti ceremony in Varanasi.

Bathers washing away sins and dirt from their laundry in the holy Ganga. Note how the ghats are sinking into the water.

Stopping for a taste of the best lassis in town at Blue Lassi.  Just after this two funeral processions blew past us, making the mood a bit more somber for us, but the locals didn't miss a beat in their conversations.

Colin mean mugging during our homeless day in Varanasi.  This street is actually fairly clean  and deserted compared to the norm.

Some boatmen at work re-taring their hull on one of the ghats.  People do pretty much anything and everything on them. 

Sarnath was mainly interesting to an archaeologist.  These are all the bases of very old stupas.

Amanda's hand getting all dolled up with mehendi. 

Bright eyed and bushy tailed after a night sleeping in the Varanasi train station getting ready for one hell of a train ride.