Varanasi: Music Shop

While exploring the streets of Varanasi our second evening we stumbled upon a music curio featuring evening performances.  Wandering through alleyways we were invited in by a young man.  He mentioned a free concert would begin in about 30 minutes, featuring two local musicians.  

We entered the studio and left our shoes by the door.  The room smelled of incense.  Several other tourists already sat cross legged on the floor.  A sitar player tuned his instruments many strings while the tabla player adjusted the tension of his drum heads.  We made ourself comfortable and waited for the music to begin.

I’ve never been exposed so completely to this style of music.  It was beautiful.  It was abstract.  Sounds ricocheted off the ceiling.  My mind struggled to dissect and comprehend each piece.  Not that I have a fine tuned ear, but I was reminded of listening to some of my favorite jazz tunes.  Body relaxed.  Mind thinking, ears listening, it was invigorating.  The rhythms and melodies seemed to jump and bounce from one set to another.  Just when a yatra felt comfortable it would morph into something new.

The sitar players name was Tarak Nath Mishra.  The tabla players name was Bablu Verma.

The show lasted over an hour.  The musicians introduced each piece.  Briefly explaining its origins and style.  Pieces ranged from classical Indian music to traditional folk songs.  It was very free, and very improvisational.  The players seemed to feed of one another.  Not with body language or cues, but a sixth sense.  A feeling coming from the ebb and flow of the music through their ears, from their minds.  Magically a sitar riff would be partnered with a pop or slap from the tabla.  His strums would lead to wild fancy solos.  It was amazing to see how many strings could be simultaneously strummed for rhythm while also picked.

Varanasi is known for music.   

Traveling India Style

This is a photo montage of about 24 hours worth of traveling from far northern India to central/eastern India.  We left the city of Leh in Ladakh mid-morning, finally arriving in Varanasi on the edge of Uttar Pradesh the next morning.

This was the first time we used domestic airlines to travel within India.  Being so close to the Pakistan border, with a constant terrorist threat- the airport was overwhelmed with Indian Army security.  We actually passed through at least three security checkpoints.  Even entering the airport complex in a vehicle requires a passport and airline ticket check.  Then entering the airport terminal you get checked again.  Our bags ran through two different preliminary x-ray machines before being checked at the main baggage check.  Then we were scanned and patted down twice before going to the gate.  At the gate, just before departing for our plane, we had to visually identify our baggage in a pile, then board a bus to the plane.  Once aboard the bus, our baggage was whisked off and loaded on the aircraft.  A quick shuttle across the tarmac brought us to our plane, where we finally climbed a set of stairs and boarded.

The first half of the flight was spectacular.  We quickly climbed and had front  row seats watching the Himalaya pass beneath us.  Nameless peaks and massive glaciers filled my window.  I was reminded of similar flights over the Alaska Range from Anchorage to Fairbanks.  The difference was the vast size of the Himalaya.  They seemed to go on forever.  We made a stop to the west of Leh in Sringar, then turned south east and landed in Delhi.

Once in Delhi we played the transportation game again.  Bluffing an airport shuttle service, we got free tickets to travel 7 miles from the domestic terminal to the international terminal.  At the international terminal we were able to hop on the Delhi Metro and ride into the city.  Once in Delhi we had several hours to kill before our train, the Mugadh Express left for Varanasi.  The thick sub-continent humidity once again over took us.  I instantly missed the dry heat and cool nights we found in the high mountains.  

A women has henna painted on her hands

The longer I was in India the more comfortable I became with my camera.  I really had a lot of fun taking candid photographs in Pahrganj and around the New Delhi Train Station.

The main board announcing departures and arrivals, not to be believed...

Gretchen waits for our train, watching our luggage as I wander snapping photographs.

The New Delhi Station has at least 16 tracks if I remember  correctly, possibly more.  Every few minutes trains arrive and depart from all over the country.  Figuring out schedules is overwhelming at first, as previously mentioned in our first encounter.  Our train to Varanasi would end up being about two hours late.  Returning from Varanasi to Delhi a week later our train arrived nearly four hours late.  There are many classes to train travel.  For mere pennies people cram into open air cargo style train cars to travel across the country.  For $20-30 US a person, tourists can spread out in large sleeper cars.  We spent about $10 US.  That got us a semi-personal sleeper car.  Sometimes with six bunks to a chamber, sometimes four.  

A small child rushes to her mothers side looking for their train

Beautiful blue cars, most travelers were men

Pausing in larger train stations is a welcomed break for 30 and 40 hour train rides

Cargo is constantly being loaded and unloaded

The sun sets on the tracks at New Delhi Railway Station

Gretchen rides in comfort, our exclusive four person sleeper bunks

I love traveling by train in India.  I will go back to India, and when I do I hope to stay for longer and travel further by train.  Trains go nearly everywhere except the Himalaya.  Learning to hop trains and reach new destinations is a fun puzzle to solve.  You meet really exciting and interesting people on trains.  I wish America would rethink they way we look at transportation.  The more I visit exotic countries, the more I enjoy traveling by bus and train.  Both those modes have almost become obsolete in America, or at least very unpopular.  A train ticket at times can cost more then the fuel to drive.  Buses are cheaper, but not my much. Why?  In this day and age where we have become  more concerned with our environment, on top of a failing automobile industry- lets look to alternate transportation.  I hate to use the term alternate.  Lets bring back or repopularize those other modes of travel.  Gretchen and I have become more interested in seeking out public transportation in U.S. cities.  We’ve rode a couple different city busses, and always get cold stares.  I think that needs to change.  Though a little harder in Alaska due to greater distances and smaller populations, its still possible to commute by bike, or share commutes with a friend.

Nubra Valley

Visiting Nubra Valley in a way felt like coming home.  In a lot of ways it reminded me of Arctic Village.  We didn’t board a tiny Cessna and fly two hours into the remote Alaskan wilderness, instead we rode in a Toyota over the highest highway in the world.  Nubra Valley was the Yukon Flats of Ladakh.  Small villages spread throughout a desolate yet beautiful valley.  Vast spaces filled with daunting mountains, huge valleys and unique wildlife.  Warmhearted indigenous people living the way they have for thousands of years.  It was inspiring.

From Leh we immediately began climbing the partially paved, mostly dirt highway up over Khardung La pass.  This is the highest highway in the world.  The top of the pass peaks at 5360 meters.  For about two hours we wound our way through tight switchbacks opening up to large hanging valleys.  We stopped briefly for photographs, and to test the effects of elevation on our lungs.  This was the highest Gretchen and I had ever been- 17,582 feet.  

Atop the highest point we cared to climb, our guide, pulled out a roll of prayer flags.  In ritual fashion, we planned to hang them with hundreds of others.  First, unrolling the brightly colored cloth.  Then finding a nearby fire pit.  We relit some incense and dangled the roll of flags in the smoke.  The smoke cleanses the flags before hanging.  Next, we each held a flag to our forehead and said a prayer.  Our guide, reciting his own mantra.  I prayed for safe travels, for loved ones far away, for guidance and direction, and to be used for good in the world, a servant.  Seven months later I know my flags are still there, dangling in Himalayan skies.

Nubra Valley is home to several unique features and creatures.  The double humped Bactrian camel lives here.  Our guide enthusiastically hoped we would opt for a ride.  Gretchen and I promptly replied “NO”!  A month since our last camel encounter, my bottom was still bruised.  There are also spectacular sand dunes worth exploring.

No visit to Nubra is complete without seeing the newest, outdoor sitting Buddha at Diskit.  The statue provided a nice contrast with the vibrant blue sky and rugged landscape.  The Buddha was completed in 2010.  Funny enough, the Buddha seemed to be watching the Pakistan border.  Looking up valley, the border is less than 20 miles away.

We spent the evenings at the Lha Rimo Resort.  The word “resort” should be used loosely, but the accommodations were adequate.  We had a basic room with hot shower.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were included.  The size of the resort provided a very intimate setting.  Nearly half the guesthouses were empty.  In the evenings only a few families gathered in the dinning room for traditional North Indian and Tibetan meals.

On a clear day, looking up the Nubra Valley towards Pakistan, K2 is visible.  The second highest mountain in the world, located in the Hindu Kush of the Himalaya.  Unfortunately this time of year it tends to be cloudy at the higher elevations with monsoon storm systems moving in.









Our last evening in the valley we visited a local community hall for a traditional dance.  I was again reminded of dances back home in the Yukon Flats.  Women dressed in home made clothing.   Men played a variety of instruments.  Two drums and a woodwind instrument similar to an oboe.  Children watched and occasionally joined the women in dances.  It was wonderful.

For an encore the audience was pulled from their seats and formed a “congo line”.  We made several laps around the circular tent, made from an old military parachute.  The culture dance lasted nearly 1.5 hours.  At the end, I briefly felt like less of a tourist, and more of a guest.  These people warmly brought us into their home, sharing their sacred traditions.  Past down through generations living in this distant place.   We drank several glasses of Chang, a traditional home brew made from fermented barley and butter.  Though we didn’t speak their language, laughter is universal.


I was sad to leave Nubra Valley.  Climbing back up the pass meant a lot of things.  We were quickly nearing the end of our trip.  One more night in Leh and we would fly back to lower India.  I thought for a long time on places I’ve visited in my life, that I may never visit again.  Could Nubra Valley be one of those places?  This spectacular valley might be another one of those places.  I stared frantically the countryside, trying to capture every image possible in my mind.  I thought how many other places in my life will I never see again?  I don’t like goodbyes, especially with places like Nubra Valley.

Ladakh: Leh & Beyond

Long drawn out bus rides, some with multiple interchanges and layovers always seem to end in a frenzy.  After two days and 485km traveling the second highest highway in the world, we arrived in Leh.  It was just after dusk.  We disembarked our dusty bus to a scurry of taxi’s and porters tossing luggage across the parking lot.  It can be overwhelming at first.  The daunting feeling of being in a brand new place, while all your earthly belongings are floating around.  Your senses are heightened to an uncomfortable state of alertness, while you quickly try and push aside the grogginess from traveling.  This was again, not time to hesitate.  We first fought to grab our backpacks, then quickly pushed outside the huddle.  I found a taxi, and we were on our way. 

After nearly a month of day by day devising our plan- we opted for a guide service and hotel package in Leh.  I have no regrets doing this.  With only a week to spend in the province of Ladakh, it was well worth it.  As we would discover, this is a very large area to cover in a short period of time.  Unlike places in what I’ll call, “mainland” India, this hidden province operated on even different schedules.  With a driver we were able to see multiple sights in a day.   The hotel included in the package was Hotel Omasilla. It was on the more moderate of hotels we stayed in- but well worth it.  The rooms were spacious and very comfortable.  Our hot water was plentiful, a wonderful upgrade from the  cheap limited options we found in Uttarakhand.  And best yet, each nights stay included a free meal in the hotel restaurant, a five star all you can eat buffet.  Any weight gained on this trip was surely put on at this point.  Each night after a long day exploring, I gorged on delicious Indian, Tibetan, Nepalese, and Chinese cuisine.  

We really liked Leh.  It had a similar mountain adventurer feel as Shimla and Manali, while being much more influenced in the zen like state of Buddhism.  As the pace of life in the lower Himalayan provinces was a little higher tempo, Leh was relaxed, almost easy going.

The climate could be some what compared to northern Arizona or New Mexico.  It was very dry.  Yet the Indus River ran through the main valley below, allowing for a fertile strip of farmland down the center.  Surrounding hillsides were dotted with monasteries, shrines, temples, and stupas.

Leh sits at an elevation of over 3500 meters.  The surrounding peaks easily top 6000 meters.  Nearby Stok Gangri is the tallest at 6150 meters.  In the photo below you can see the sandy tone of the mountains, with taller snow capped peaks in the distance.  In the foreground you can see the lush evergreen trees the grow within the city.  







Like a sea cove, Leh is nestled in a large valley uphill from the Indus.  The main valley runs north west towards Pakistan.  We would later travel up the valley to visit a couple monasteries.

Walking around Changspa Lane, the tourist section of Leh you can hear a variety of languages spoken.  French, Dutch, Hebrew, Japanese, English, and Spanish were just a few.  Cool guy neo-hipsters raced by on Enfield motorcycles.  For only 800 rupees a day you could rent a motorbike and watch people stare as your dreadlocks blow in the breeze through these narrow streets.  We often strayed from the main drag into the real Leh.  Stopping at large prayer wheels to listen as bazaars became enlivened with business.  Children played in the streets and monks picked out produce from the market stands nearby.  Tibetan refugees have taken home here, setting up craft stands, selling a variety of goods, along with “FREE TIBET” stickers.


While we were splurging a bit for a nice hotel at the end of our trip- Leh was filled with cheap guesthouses.  It would be easy to arrive without a reservation and find someplace nice to stay, even on a shoe string budget.  It also seemed like there were plenty of treks and climbs constantly heading into the mountains.  In the future I will return to Leh, I would even plan an entire trip just in Ladakh based out of Leh.  I’m not sure I would opt for the two day bus ride again, multiple flights a day come from Delhi.  Making travel a little easier.


Our first stop was at the palace in Stok, across the Indus Valley from Leh.  Summer weather is typically warm and dry- providing stellar blue skies for photographing the monasteries and palaces.

The beautiful massif of Stok Kangri.  With 3-4 extra days we would have had ample time to hop on a climbing party and tag this peak.  In India, and the Himalaya, they consider these trekking peaks.  Despite elevation, the summits can be easily climbed in minimal time with basic mountaineering skills and equipment.

From Stok we traveled just south, back across the valley to Thikse.  This gompa, or monastery, is over 500 years old.  Now, 100 monks still currently live and work here.  The gompas are vibrant with color, a nice contrast to the beautiful blue skies and light brown sand of the landscape.  The epicenter of each site is the prayer room and Buddha statue.  Prayer room walls are always adorned with ornate murals of the life of Buddha.  Bench seats circle the room with age old velvet pillows on the floor.  Most still have no electricity, yak butter lamps burn in the corner.  The outer walls are lined with cabinets containing various idols and miniature Buddha statues.   

Color, color, and more color!

The River Indus, originating from the Tibetan Plateau of China, briefly scurries through India before running all the way across Pakistan to the ocean.  With heavy winter snow, and some rain- the Indus sustains people throughout the year where little life might not exist otherwise.

Small prayer wheels line walkways entering and leaving the monastery complex.  With each prayer you walk and spin the wheel, clockwise only.

A Buddha sits ornately decorated.  Each large Buddha is crafted and placed differently.  Typically enclosed, and all in different postures.  There were sitting Buddhas and standing Buddhas.  There were teaching Buddhas and future Buddhas.  Each held a story from the life and religious practice of early Buddhism.

Our third day in Ladakh we traveled 110km to the village of Lamaryu.  Within an hour of leaving Leh the highway turned into twisty canyons.  We passed the confluence of the Indus and Zanskar Rivers.  Then, turned out of the main valley and climbed what felt like an hours work of switch backs.  The vegetation was all but gone, it felt as if we were headed to Mars.  Even today, crews were still blasting away mountains to widen the road that continually erodes down steep cliffs to raging rivers.  We briefly stopped for thirty minutes as construction crews worked diligently to keep these routes open through the summer.

The monastary in Lamaryu is over 1000 years old.  We explored this gorgeous place, spun the prayer wheels a couple times, and headed back to Leh.  Only a few minutes out of town we picked up a hitchhiker.  The boy was dressed in monk motif.  With the help of our guide as an interpreter, we learned the boy was actually 16, and had been a monk  for 6 years.  He was very shy, but honest about his passion to help others and live his life as a monk.  He traveled several times a year to nearby gompas and back home to see his family.  On the way back to Leh we stopped in the town of Alchi.  This tiny village about 30 minutes off the highway is home to 5 temples.  These memorials or gompas, contain Buddha statues over 1000 years old.   The highlight here though is gorgeously painted ornate mandalas on the walls.  Tiny doors mark the entrance to these buildings.  The shortened doorways are intentially built so anyone entering the chamber will boy to Buddha as they enter.  Once inside, you walked around the room clockwise, pausing to inspect the amazing paintings on the walls.  In this culture Mandalas are not only art, but stories of the life of Buddha, and other holy Buddhists.  They are gazed upon in a circular fashion, as your eye travels from the outer rings to the inner rings of the circle.  They are a story. You not only learn of the life of a Buddha, but values and morals associated with this practice.

Manali

Manali was one of the coolest, hippest, dare I say trendiest places we visited.  Despite a very un-India feeling at times, it was really quite quaint and comfortable.  The “mountain scene” was alive with travelers from all over the world.  It felt like The Beach.  Having traveled halfway around the world, we were surrounded by hundreds of people that looked just like us.  This was certainly the epicenter for western neo-wanderers in northern India.

Our bus from Shimla dropped us in the heart of Manali.  We pre-purchased bus tickets for the following morning to embark on a two day journey over the second highest highway in the world to Leh.  All we wanted was a nice place to relax for the afternoon and a quiet place to spend the night.  Typically I resist all barrages of husslers at the bus stops trying to offer me a ride, or hoping I will stay at their brothers hotel.  One man in particular in Manali was dressed a little different from the others.  After turning and walking away from a couple other pushers, this petite nicely dressed man explained he had a new clean guesthouse with one room available in Old Manali.  I kindly replied “no thank you” and walked further down the street.  After gaining our bearings Gretchen and I glanced at the travel guide book.  As I was looking up from the pages I noticed the same petitie man standing in front of me.  He once again offered his services, and said he had a car right around the block which could take us to his house.  I decided to trust this one, and told him we would first look at the room, then decide.  

Old Manali is about 5 kilometers north of Manali.  Nestled in the woods.  Roads still unpaved, much of the town only accesible by foot.  We parked the Tata, and walked a couple minutes through alleys and trails back to his guesthouse.  I was thankful we chose to go with him, today we found a very nice, very small, very clean and accomodating guesthouse.  Once again, it was someplace I could have spent weeks relaxing and exploring.

It was Cheech and Chongs wildest dreams, the streets were literally over growing with marijuana.  Nearly every where in Old Manali we found shrubs of marijuana plants growing.  I’m not really sure who they belonged to.  At times little gangs of Indian men seemed to be watching them, other times they were just growing in-between other flora.  

Manali was more embellished then most places.  If you didn’t come with the right about of bohemian clothing, hemp bags and tie die t-shirts- no worries, they could be purchased from nearly every bazaar.  It was actually hard to find something authentic from India here.  We ate in a Mexican restaurant that also featured Greek, Italian, and Israeli food.  Across the street they served Heineken from behind an espresso bar.    

The countryside around Manali was very different from Shimla.  After leaving the hill stations we twisted over and around a series of ridges and mountains.  Deep within the Kullu Vally lies Manali.  As the valley widened from the Beas River drainage, orchards and farms filled the land.  Buddhist red, green, blue, white, and yellow prayer flags hung from everything.  Across bridge spans, throughout trees and houses- prayers flags blew in the gentle breeze.  The people changed along with the landscape.  Thousands of Tibetans call this part of India home since being thrown out of China.  The Dalai Lama lives only 100 kilometers way in Dharmsala, India.     

Sadly we awoke just after sunrise, had a nice breakfast and left Manali.  Our stay in the Kullu Valley was briefly extended when our bus failed to shift out of second gear.  For 15 minutes the driver blocked a major switchback in the road out of town.  He jolted back and forth trying to get from 1st to 2nd and finally 3rd gear before he called it quits.  The bus gently rolled back into a pull over and we waited for our backup bus to arrive.  Moments like this quickly remind you where you are.  Not that accidents don’t happen in other places, but the buffoonery in cultural differences is amusing.  It felt like the bus driver thought he would be able to drive the bus another 495 kilometers without those gears if he could only get around that one turn.  Not only that, but several locals came over and tinkered with the bus for at least 20 minutes before deciding it was inoperable.  Like they could magically put a curse on the transmission to work in all gears.  I’m not a mechanic, but I think low gears are important when you’re  driving a bus loaded with people over steep mountains passes at extremely high elevations.  So what else do you do in these types of situations?  Find the closest chai shack and wait for a new bus to come.

The second highest highway in the world travels 500 kilometers from Manali into the northern province of Ladakh and its main hub city, Leh.  Squeezed between Pakistan, China, and Nepal- you might recognize the other name for this territory, Kashmir.  Over the last 60 years the border here between Pakistan and India has been constantly disputed and fought over.  Where artillery volleys are fired across jagged glacier peaks and valleys.  Thousands of troops sit just a few kilometers from one another, waiting.  Its actually quite sad.  The acreage is petty.  Yes its gorgeous country, but not worth dying over.  The real victims here are the Tibetans.  Displaced from their true home in China.  They make the majority of the population in Ladakh, with only a few Hindu’s that have migrated from over the mountains.  Several of the even more remote valleys around Leh have indigenous communities that have lived and survived here for thousands of years.

The landscape is remote and desolate.  Rocky peaks as far as the eye can see.  This highway has only been open to westerners since 1989.  Before that, a few wary travelers visited from the western part of the province by way of Sringar on the rim of Kashmir.  The average mountain pass was around 3500 - 4700 meters, the highest pass at 5360 meters.  This was the highest elevation I had ever been to.  Nearly 17,000 feet.  Surprisingly we both felt fine.  After spending several weeks at altitude, I think we were prepared.

Gretchen in her usual travelers posture, me on the lookout. 

We spent one night along the highway in a tent camp near the village of Keylong; a little less than halfway.  The scenery gave a lot of time to think.  We rarely passed other vehicles, except the occasional military convoy or road construction crew.  The landscape varied from narrow valleys, our road hanging over cliffs, to wide open vistas and epic mountain passes.  Our bus puttered up the passes at about 20-30 mph, then sped across wide open deserts.  Midway the second day we spent hours crossing a wide dusty valley.  It must have been as dry as a desert.  It probably was a desert.  I couldn’t imagine this place during the winter  The Earth was bone dry, the slightest breeze blew huge dust clouds across the valley.  The sand was fine and blew everywhere.  Closing the windows wasn’t enough, it was circulating through the bus ventilation system.  At times the road looked like a braided river, spreading out in multiple channels, our experienced bus driver carefully choosing the right way.  At times his conductor dismounted and checked the route.

There aren’t to many settlements along the highway.  Small populations of indigenous people have built summer shacks to serve soda pop and noodles to tourists.  Tanned by the sun, their faces always happy to see tourists arrive.  We gathered in round tents drinking milk tea, listening to stories from motorcyclists brave enough to travel this route.

It was hard to compare these mountains to anywhere else I have been.  At times, they reminded me of drier places in the southern rockies or mountains of New Mexico.  Except there were no trees and little snow left from the extreme sun.

We arrived in Leh well after dark.  Amidst a swarm of taxi’s at the bus stand we broke free and headed to our hotel.