Sat April 28th – The Road to Sarahan

Having packed up and breakfasted royally, we met our new driver and Spiti Valley Tour guide, Anil. The most exciting final phase of our little Odyssey was about to begin.

It was a sunny morning. Anil seemed a quiet and unassuming young man, but he drove with a lively air as we set off east towards the village of Sarahan. His vehicle, a Toyota Innova, bore the marks of many adventures and long distances travelled. Her suspension was soon to prove legendary.

Distances are not so much measured in miles or kilometres in India but in time and they are rarely short! Roads can be very unpredictable in terms of their surfaces, as well as who else might be driving along them. The main impulse is always to overtake, so it can make for some exciting scenarios. All I can remember that day is that we spent several hours travelling towards Sarahan, the first of which were uneventful.

Soon we were starting to climb. Jeremy was keeping an eagle eye on the route via our friend Google Maps, and all was going swimmingly, when Anil announced ‘Oh, road closed due to landslide, we’ll have to take another road. It’s a very bad road.’ We went past the expected turning and then took another sharp right up a steep track. It was deeply rutted and strewn with stones: little more than littered hardcore. The hillsides started to fall away sharply at its edges, apple orchards offering the only break in the long plunge down. The bucking bronco of all rides then began, winding up and up and ever more steeply with one hairpin bend after another swinging our bodies to left and right and our tummies up and down with alarming irregularity. There was no way of adjusting other than by adopting rag doll mode and hoping we’d be ok. Just when it was all feeling a little grim, Anil suddenly piped up “Complimentary massage, all included!” We laughed. All things come to an end, I reminded myself. Prayers were said. Unbeknownst to us there would be many more of these to come.. but this was a foretaste. The heavens crashed and it started to rain, and then more thunder. The clouds came down until it was like driving through fog. On and on we lurched and rocked, until suddenly we popped out, joining the normal road to Sarahan. It was only mid afternoon.

After some tea and depositing our bags at the government run Srikand Hotel, (see above) we thought we’d wander out and look at the Bimikhali Temple. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhimakali_Temple The weather was terribly grey and dreary, with a light mizzle to make us feel at home.

The temple – a combination of Buddhist and Hindu – was a high structure on several floors with shrines within it. Its floors were carpeted in red and one was led round the inner shrines by a series of stair cases. Heads slightly bowed we hesitantly explored the entire building. No one was there and no one seemed to mind.

On entering the courtyard outside we had had to remove our shoes. The ground was wet and gritty underfoot, so it was relief to be treading on the carpet. The exterior wood carvings round the temple had been intricately carved.

A wedding procession made its way through the complex. The relations were clad in traditional Kinnauri festive clothing, and everyone seemed very excited about the proceedings other than the bride and groom. Her face was almost obscured by a red and gold scarf and he stood solemnly by in his grey suit and cap, looking a little anxious. It was quite possible that until that day they had never met.

We have since discovered that even among the younger generation it is common practice for marriages to be arranged, and very often done simply in order that a young man may find someone to look after his ageing parents. The bride goes straight from living with her own family to living full time with his. It may seem an alien concept to some of us, but it is widely accepted by society there. This particular couple seemed quite happy to let us watch and take photographs before they proceeded to the temple.

During our time there we bumped into a softly spoken young man, (Anubhav) who had come to pay his respects to his father. He was very gentle mannered and friendly. It turned out he was heading back to our hotel, and he invited us to keep him company while he had dinner. It turned out the hotel had no rooms left so he was having to drive the long road back to his home in Chandigarh that evening (a good six hours or so). Having just come up a portion of that rocky road I did not envy him having to tackle it at night. Despite the impending journey however, he seemed very reluctant to leave us, sharing many things as well as asking questions and quietly helping to consume a couple of ‘Thunderbolts’ (lagers) whilst we chatted. A little later, all sides feeling as though they had shared generously of themselves, we parted the best of friends, and have been in touch since.

After a slightly chilly supper, we retired to bed, myself trying to ignore a dubious smell emanating from the pillows. The bathroom had also been rather a challenge, there being no shower partition, thereby entailing the entire bathroom becoming soaked on use of the shower. The film of water lying on the floor needed to be pushed towards the drain by a window wiper, although we didn’t grasp this tactic at the time. Instead we paddled around on deep cushioned flip flops feeling slightly uncomfortable about the whole thing.

The night passed. What a pleasure it was the next morning to wake to the sunshine and a few mountains visible. What a difference the weather makes!

Even the slightly forbidding exterior of the hotel took on a friendlier appearance.

After breakfast, Anil appeared, fresh as a daisy, to whisk us towards Sangla and the Basapa Valley for a spot of glamping!