There’s little doubt the trip has changed me in certain ways.  For one, I’m a little harder and more selfish…there is just no way to survive over here if you don’t put up a cold wall to some aspects of Indian life.  In this respect I’ve become a little Indian-ized.  That has seeped into my interactions with people as well—I’m better able to express dissatisfaction with situations, such as contradictions in quoted and actual prices, without getting angry.  There are also few situations now when I won’t immediately ask for a lower price.   I wonder how this will all translate into life back in Canada?  I don’t pretend to have been here long enough for these and other changes to enter strongly into my life back home, but regardless the short duration of the trip I’m not coming back exactly the same.  I’m excited by that.

I’m also excited just to be home, and back around family and friends.  While this is the first trip where I haven’t been anxious to get home—I’ve found a comfortable stride and like it out here—I am ready to be home.  I needed a break and found some time to unplug and gain some perspective after the upheaval of the last 6 months.  Through this trip the one truth I’ve figured out (I knew it before but this trip has reinforced it) is that it’s not so much what you do, but how, and with whom you do it.  Whatever you do, if it’s done with integrity and with good people, great things happen.  I have incredible people in my life, many who have helped me immensely lately (you’re probably one of them if you’ve been reading this blog) and I can’t wait to see you all again.  Great things are afoot!

Cheers from India.

First, the Supreme Court in Dehli ruled that any man who throws acid on the face of a woman who rejects his advances can be punished by a sentence of up to life in prison.  This news item should not be interpreted to mean that this crime is commonplace, but it does happen and it’s reprehensible.  If it wasn’t treated seriously before, I can only hope that this ruling means punishment will be meted with larger teeth going forward.

Second, the Court also struck down the use of a section of the Indian constitution related to sodomy to punish gays and lesbians.  To quote from the Times of India, “fundamental rights should not be contingent on an individual’s sexual status or sexual conduct,” and “the state should not be allowed to interfere in the private intimate space of individuals in order to uphold its more absolute positions on what constitutes “good sex” and “bad sex.””  Pierre Trudeau said it with more flair, but the importance and truth of the statement is clear regardless.

I considered renting a bike again and then taking a jeep up to Khardung-La so I could bike down from the highest motorable pass in the world, but after the long ride yesterday the prospect didn’t appeal as much as just relaxing around town again.  On my first day in Leh I found a wonderful leather-bound book that I wanted to start putting some thoughts down in, so that’s how I spent the majority of my afternoon.  As a consequence I don’t have much energy for a journal (blog) entry right now so won’t write much.  It’s a good thing not much happened that lends itself well to a travel blog anyway.

Outside the Shanti Stumpa. What's on offer, exactly?

Writing this though it does feel weird to have my trip draw to a close, especially after having met some great people, some unfortunately very much too late in the trip.  I don’t know what compelled me to hike up the 500 steps to the Shanti Stupa on a whim at 6:00pm, but I’m certainly glad I did.

Arriving at the monastery I was definitely impressed by the complex.  It resembled some of the ridge-top forts I had seen in Rajasthan, but because the buildings spilled down the side of the hill, barely holding onto the rock in some instances, the place was much more inviting.  The scene was complemented by the resonant calls of the trumpets: the puja had started by the time I arrived and the reverential groans lumbered across the valley floor.

By the time I got to the monastery rooftop, the monks had just finished the last of their trumpet playing, so all I could manage was a glimpse of their colorful ceremonial caps and crimson robes as they shuffled down to the main prayer hall.  Still, arriving when I did I was between the early morning wave of tourists and the ones who would arrive after breakfast, and I was left to take in the panorama of the surrounding valley in solitude, accompanied only by the sounds of the continuing puja wafting up from the prayer hall below.

After about an hour I finally made my way out of the monastery and debated heading further south to another one at Chemrey.  However, the prospect of adding another 50-km to my ride was daunting, especially since I didn’t know how well acclimatized I was to the altitude yet.  Instead, I began pedaling up a dirt road leading into the mountains behind the monastery, but with no certain destination.  About 3-km up I turned around and knew I had found my destination.  I was in the midst of a rock strewn gap between two arms of the surrounding mountains with an unbroken view of the monastery to the right, the river valley directly ahead, and the Himalayas behind.  The whole place was perfectly quiet, with no cars or other visitors around, so I found a comfortable rock to sit, relax and read.

After about 3 hours I felt incredibly refreshed and began my journey back up to Leh.  Thankfully the ride from my rock to the main road was a 3-km decent charging through boulders with the monastery and river in view.  The excitement of that ride, together with the monastery and unexpected calm of my rock made the subsequent 20-km uphill ride to Leh well worth it, even though I spent most of it inhaling the exhaust of the slow transport trucks that grinded their way along barely any faster than me.

The rafting was fun, and it was beautiful to float down a mountain gorge for 3 hours.  However, past the first few sets of rapids (max Level III) I was ready for the intensity to be dialed up.  Unfortunately water levels were too low.  Even had they been higher I’m not sure we could have dealt with more intensity anyway—too many Indians in the boat!

I love Indians around water.  For a culture that holds it so sacred and flocks to the Ganges River to bathe, they are remarkably inept around it.  It’s sort of like watching someone who loves the idea of cooking enthusiastically peel a potato with a butter knife: you love the energy of their effort, but cringe at the execution.  The parallel imagery for rafting today was watching 5 people around me try to paddle without moving their top arm: the top hand stays glued to the shoulder so that the paddle blade only submerges about  a quarter of the way, uselessly bouncing off the water like the knife off the potato’s skin.  To add to the comic effect, when the boat got even a small splash from the rapids—barely enough to make my shirt damp—the whole crew erupted in nervous laughter.  All told, there was no way we were going to manage any rapids more intense than Level III, and I’m amazed we even managed the set we did…it was probably too short to pose any real danger.   All that said, the images of my boat mates I’ll take home are wonderful.

Before ending this post, I want to make sure that no one takes any offence to what I’m saying here.  I call Indians inept around water in the most endearing way possible.  All cultures have their quirks…for Canadians it’s probably being overly polite to the point some people think they are being insincere.  The Indian people I’ve met, including those from Bombay on the raft today, are some of the most hospitable and warm people I’ve ever met, and I just get a warm laugh from watching them around water.  I’ll never understand the thought process, but love it anyway, that would have someone show up to raft in sneakers and jeans,complet  with a Blackberry clipped to the belt.

Almost immediately after setting out on the 11-seat minibus the bumpiness of the road made it clear I would be jostled and thrown for the entirety of the trip—the roads around Manali were, after all, supposed to be the “good” ones.   Even had they and the roads through the mountains been smooth, I doubt I could have slept: sitting at the hotel in Leh 20 hours (not 17) later I can honestly say that I’ve never experienced such diametrically opposed, adrenaline-fueled emotions as I did over the trip.  Sleep would have been impossible, as well as an unfortunate “miss” of the incredible journey.

Taglang La, the 2nd highest motorable pass in the world

As for the emotions, the first was sheer terror.  Approaching the Rothang Pass, the first of 4 passes and a mere 3978m (the highest and last pass, Taglang La, also the second highest motorable pass in the world, was 5360m) our driver passed transport trucks parked on the inner edges of the mountain’s dirt roads at speeds that made me happy it was too dark to see how close we approached the outer edges.  As the day grew light though I learned how close we got to those edges, as we did it over, and over, and over again.  For the first 4 hours of the trip I think my stomach lived in my mouth, and I’m not sure my heart beat.  I’ve been on a hair-raising drive through mountains before, but in Costa Rica it was at half the speed, on a road that wasn’t regularly eroded by rain, snow and glaciers, and it was about 3 hours long.  Finally, after about 5 hours I started to relax, recognizing that our driver had been doing this trip for about 5 years so we should be okay, and that even if we fell, at least I would go out dramatically.

Road trip survivors (finally) in Leh

Throughout the drive we pit-stopped every 3-4 hours and the other passengers and I would recharge with Chai Masala tea at whatever tent-camp was now passing as a city, collectively laughing at the fact that we were still in one piece (maybe it was the altitude, or exhaustion, that made us giddy) and savouring every minute we could before stepping back into our bus-cum-pinball machine.

The only time we weren’t batted around on the trip was also ne plus ultra of the ride: a freewheeling race across the Moray Plains, between the 3^rd and 4^th mountain passes.  With Hindi-rap providing an energetic soundtrack and the Himalayas the backdrop, the 3 minivans in our caravan weaved back and forth for kilometers surrounded by monstrous dust clouds kicked-up by the charging buses.  Altogether it seemed a scene right out of Hunter S. Thompson’s imagination, except that I don’t think I would have needed mescaline: had I been able to lean back out of the bus, there surely would have been birds everywhere.   Maybe it was the altitude and exhaustion talking, but contrasted to the terror I felt before, this moment defined the pure exhilaration of being.

How funny this all happened on July 2, what would have been my wedding anniversary.  A year ago I could not have imagined being at a more different physical and emotional place.  Sitting here at the end of the ride, the whole situation gives me the strong feeling that I’ve crossed the Himalayas and left all the baggage of the past 6 months on the other side.

The ride through the valley was excellent, with no shortage of fantastic views, exhilarating downhill runs, and funny memories.  At one point my guide Rana’s bottom bracket gave out on a climb up to the hill town of Naggar, and since losing your bottom bracket is like losing your transmission, for the rest of the ride I literally towed him up the hills we encountered so we could both coast down the opposite side.  I contemplated asking for a discounted price as a result, but the comic look of two guys biking side by side, one apparently grabbing the other’s arse (but actually the saddle), was worth the extra sweat.

A traditional style home in the Kullu Valley

Most memorable for the day was speaking with Rana at various rests throughout the trip.  While of comparably little means, he was immensely proud of his two homes (one a traditional style home that is constructed on a stable so that the living areas are lofted above the snow in the winter…certainly romantic in look but when he brought me inside the 5 foot ceilings didn’t mesh well with my gangly frame) and the life he had built with his wife and young child.  On the topic of marriage, like so many others in India the idea of divorce was surprising and alien to him; however he could relate better to my recent situation since he was in a “Love Marriage,” not an arranged one like the vast majority of Indians (which are more or less impossible to dissolve, as far as I understand).  When speaking to him about the idea of love, it was funny to see how impossible it was for him to suppress a smile when he spoke about his wife.  It was endearing, reassuring and uplifting.

Manali is at the head of a river valley and the last stop on your way to the Rothang Pass, the gateway to the Himalayas. Getting off the bus the affect of the altitude and mountains was immediate, as the first thing I noticed was the towering pines and the cool, refreshing air. Driving to my hotel, the similarity of the place to Whistler and the Rockies rather than anywhere else in India was apparent, except that at 450 Ruppees/night, a room with a terrace that overlooks the mountains and river is approx. 1/100th the cost of something similar in Canada.

For the rest of the day I wandered the city and surrouding forests, just enjoying the laid back environment.  Through my walk I also discovered that this is a place that, for good reason, ensares many western travellers.  I met and spoke with many people who had been in India and southeast Asia for 6 months or more, and the usual story seemed to involve a plan to visit Manali for 1-2 weeks which had since turned into 1-2 months.  For the first time it struck me how crazy and hectic the earlier itinerary through India was, with 1-2 days only in each city, and I feel somehow ridiculous that I  consider my  upcoming 5 day visit to Leh to be a lengthy stop.  Still, this trip has been very much about experiencing the diversity of India and I’m extremely satisified with how it’s gone…I’m certainly not ready to spend the rest of my trip in a cafe or to trade in my newly purchased suits for a hemp sweater and dreadlocks, the defacto uniform of Manali, so those who feared they wouldn’t see me emerge from this country can relax.

The first feature is urban planning.  Chandigarh was only built in the 1950′s and therefore it is the only Indian city that actually follows a plan.  It was conceived by the French architect Le Corbusier and is supposed to represent a human body: the seat of government sits at the top of the city, representing the head; the broad, parallel and perpendicular boulevards channel traffic like an efficient circulatory system; a long park running the length of the city plays the roll of lungs; and the primary commercial district sits in a contained square approximately where you’d expect to find the human heart.

Of this design, the most striking result is the traffic.  It flows…effortlessly.  Even walking along the boulevards you can stop worrying about a rickshaw clipping you at a street corner as it tries to navigate around grid-locked cars.  Instead you can enjoy the breeze that blows down the streets to cool off the city (hot like any other in this part of the country).  The planning is also evident in the commercial district, which is a wide, open and accessible pedestrian mall free of garbage, traffic jams and cows that more closely resembles a North American style downtown than anything else I’ve seen in India.

The State Legislature...the seat of "power"

As for the government area, it was more memorable for making you lose your head than it was for giving the impression of one.  Le Corbusier designed the buildings of the Capital Complex in a way that is of great interest to architects, but unless you are one, I don’t recommend a visit here.  While some of the buildings are interesting (the state assembly building was designed to look like a power plant and does give the impression of a nuclear reactor) the bureaucracy you’re required to navigate to actually see the buildings is intense.  Since there was an assassinatin of a political leader here about 10 years ago, the army has set up several check points and you are only allowed in with a special letter of permission from the tourist office.  Even with letter in hand I had to show my passport to no fewer than 6 different pencil pushers, literally getting approval to enter a building so I could go to the office where I could get approval to go seek approval at another office to take photos.  I am not kidding.  It took about an hour to get to the 11th floor rooftop where I could look over the city, and yes, take photos.

All this to say the city was not particularly memorable and certainly wouldn’t have been worth a visit if it weren’t for the second feature of interest in the city, the Rock Gardens.  These were absolutely captivating and a highly worthwhile reason to visit Chandigarh.  They are 12 acres of industrial and household scrap that have been fashioned into all manner of sculptures and realms by a former traffic inspector for the city, Nek Chand, who should be justly compared to Gaudi.  I’ve been to Barcelona and seen Gaudi’s work there, and the Rock Garden is just as fascinating as places like the Park Guell.  As you tour the park you are literally surrounded by thousands of mosaics and sculputures, and each turn of the path opens onto a new setting with waterfalls and buildings that could have inspired Peter Jackson and his vision of Rivendell, except that when you get close you see that the full size buidlings are fashioned from materials like broken light bulb sockets and toilet porcelain (the Hinidware stamp, akin to American Standard, was visible more than once).  A fantastic place.