Day 180 – Pushkar, India – 7:57pm

I needed a respite from the soaring temperatures during my first three weeks traveling through India. I found that relief 341 miles north of Delhi in the mountain village of Manali. Sitting at an elevation of 6,726 feet, Manali is the jumping off point for many treks in the region. It is also the beginning of an ancient trade route that works north to Ladakh. I arrived on an overnight bus from Delhi with thoughts of snow capped peaks and fresh, mountain air running through my mind.

The visions that occupied my imagination during the fourteen-hour bus ride became reality when I stepped from the bus into the gravel parking lot. Craggy mountains soared upwards into the sky and stretched as far as my eyes could see. The crisp, early morning air jostled the fatigue from my body. I felt alive! I have never been to Nepal, but I imagined climbers destined for Everest base camp feeling the same way when they arrive in Kathmandu.

My plan was to find accommodation in Old Manali; the original village that attained the “Old” moniker after a number of hotels and guesthouses sprung up nearby and became known as “New” Manali. I arrived at the end off the slow season and expected to find an inexpensive room with little trouble.

I took a few steps from the bus and was approached by a gentleman in jeans and down jacket. A black baseball hat rested on his head. He asked if I needed a room and I nodded. He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. He reiterated everything I read on the card. Hot showers, wireless Internet, clean linens; everything I look for in a room. He quoted me $7.50 USD per night. I agreed to make a final decision only after I looked at a room. He hailed a nearby tuk tuk and we departed.

We passed an abundance of hotels as we puttered along from New to Old Manali. Outdoor apparel stores and tourist information centers dotted the sidewalks. Tourist buses sat idle waiting to shuttle their passengers to the next point of attraction. My eyes momentarily took in the street level happenings before darting back to the snow covered summits that loomed overhead. One primary reason that I journeyed to Manali was to trek in the mountains that appeared in the distance. I did not have time to complete a multi-day trek, but hoped to complete a challenging day hike before I returned south to Delhi.

I arrived at Manalsu Guesthouse and was welcomed by the receptionist. He awaited my arrival after receiving a telephone call from the man in the bus parking lot. He instructed me to drop my bags at the base of a stairwell and we began ascending. We climbed one flight, then two and then a third.   We turned a corner and walked into a room. A large bed under a heavy blanket sat against one wall. A wooden storage closet stood against the opposite wall. The bathroom appeared clean and true to their business card, the linens looked fresh. The receptionist stepped forward and pushed open the curtains that hung from a wooden rod. I looked through the window and a massive, snow capped peak loomed in the distance. Tree covered hills ascended in either direction from the valley floor and formed a “V” shape that drew my eyes to the bright, blue sky. The view alone was enough of a selling point. I smiled and gave my approval for the room and the quoted fee. The receptionist smiled and we descended to his office. I turned over my passport to complete the check-in process and another employee hauled my bags to the room.

I returned to my room after the check-in process and sat down on the bed. The long, overnight bus ride had taken its toll and I was tired. It was 10am. I decided to lie down and close my eyes for two hours. However, I forgot to set my alarm and my intended two-hour nap turned into a six-hour siesta. I woke at 4pm; mildly disappointed I slept most of the day away. My distress was abated when I heard raindrops dance off the window next to my bed. I pulled open the curtain and sure enough gray clouds had overtaken the blue skies and rain fell to the valley floor. It turned out to be a great day to catch up on lost sleep. Low hanging clouds shrouded the mountain peaks and I assumed snow was collecting in the higher elevations.

The rain eventually subsided as evening fell on Old Manali. I pulled on my pair of jeans and partnered it with my fleece pullover. I wanted to grab a quick bite of dinner and hopefully set up a hike for the following day. I discussed the idea of a solo day hike with the receptionist and he supported my plan. However, he warned me that the trails are not marked as they are in the States. I pictured myself setting out alone and getting lost while returning from the summit. Those thoughts ran through my head as I traversed the main road in Old Manali and passed shop after shop advertising their trekking services. I entered one such storefront and sat down at a wooden desk. I told the employee my intention of trekking unguided and he recommended the opposite. He compared the trails in the area to a plate of spaghetti. It is very easy to lose your way and proceed down a different trail than the one you intended. He made a quick phone call and reserved a guide for the following morning. He instructed me to return the next day at 9am.

With my hike reserved, I walked a little further and stumbled into an art café. The establishment was empty save for two locals. An employee welcomed me inside and I sat at a small table. Murals drawn by locals and visitors lined the walls. Children’s drawings on white paper filled the void between the larger works of art. Soft music added to the relaxed atmosphere. I scanned the menu and ordered a chicken curry with steamed rice. As my meal was prepared, the employee removed his winter hat and sat down across from me. He smiled and introduced himself as Kiran. He was born in Nepal but has lived in India for seventeen years. He divides his time between Ladakh in the summer months and Goa during the winter months. He found himself stuck in Manali until the one navigable road to Ladakh opened for the summer season. We chatted about India, the United States and local hikes in the area. My food arrived and Kiran stepped away and tended to other patrons. The spicy curry and hot cup of coffee warmed my chilled bones and satiated my appetite.

With my meal finished and bill paid, I stood up and walked towards the exit. I shook Kiran’s hand and bid him farewell. He did the same and I stepped into the brisk evening air. I replaced my ball cap and walked down a set a stone stairs to the main street. I turned right and proceeded back to Manalsu Guesthouse. I unlocked my door and stepped into the room. I suspected the temperature would drop as the night progressed so I removed an additional blanket from the wooden storage closet and set it on my bed.

My mind then turned to my upcoming hike. I pulled out the clothes I would need: t-shirt, long sleeve wool base layer, hard shell jacket and pants. I pulled out my convertible shorts and zipped on the lower half of the legs, thus turning my shorts into pants. Some may laugh and snicker at my convertible shorts. However, space in your pack is a shrinking commodity as you travel around the globe. I take every shortcut available when it comes to space and weight. Laugh away!

With my clothing set, I plugged in my camera batteries to charge overnight. I planned to buy two bananas for breakfast the following morning and a bottle of water for the hike. In addition, the agency I booked the trek through provided me an additional bottle of water and a sandwich for lunch. Everything was set. I brushed my teeth and slid into bed. I pulled the sheet and both blankets tight around me to stay warm. I was asleep in no time.

My alarm sounded at 8am and I slowly pulled back the blanket not wanting the chilly air to shock my body all at once. I quickly threw on my pants, t-shirt and socks. As my body grew accustomed to the cold air in my room, I gathered my necessary belongings and threw them in my small backpack. By 830am, I was out the door and proceeded to the agency storefront to meet my guide. I left early enough in order to acquire breakfast and a bottle of water. The agent was standing outside when I arrived and he quickly scampered off to get my sandwich and additional bottle of water. I walked across the quiet street to buy my breakfast. I spotted pieces of fruit, my intended meal. But, I also noticed a glass case filled with fresh pastries. Rather than settling for the healthy meal, I bought a large cinnamon roll. I returned to the curb, cinnamon roll in hand, and waited for my guide. The cinnamon roll did not last long.

A few minutes after 9am, a local man strolled past with a walking stick in his right hand. He glanced at me and walked into the trekking agency. He must be my guide. I stood up and followed him inside. The agent introduced us to each other. His name was Hari and he was tasked with leading me up one of the large slopes in the area. With all the logistics settled, we turned left out of the storefront and proceeded down the local road that was beginning to come alive with morning activity. We crossed a small bridge and climbed up three flights of stairs. As we walked Hari asked me about my background. Where was I from? What did I do for work back home? What was I doing in India? Have I hiked much in the past? I fielded those questions and more as we walked along paved roads and eventually turned right onto a narrow dirt track. That was the last bit of flat land I traversed until later that afternoon.

As we climbed, my body temperature rose and I started to sweat. I stopped and removed my black shell. I threw it in my backpack and continued on. My lack of cardiovascular exercises became apparent very early on. My breathing increased and I spent time doubled over, hands on my knees trying to catch my long lost breath. But, we continued on and the views grew more stunning as the altitude increased. Our first break occurred on a large boulder that jutted out from the grassy slope. We sat and removed our packs. I sipped water as Hari lit a cigarette and placed it between his lips. This guy smokes a cigarette every break and hasn’t broken a sweat or taken a deep breath since we started. Here I am, having never smoked a cigarette, doubled over and on the verge of cardiac arrest. Hari looked off to our right and pointed out the pasture that sheep and cows graze upon during the summer months. Ahead of us stood the snow capped mountains that immediately drew my attention upon arriving in Manali.  Hari pointed to the peaks and informed me it was Hampta Pass; the start of a 25-day trek that begins in Manali.

After a few minutes, we threw on our packs and continued on. Up and up we climbed all morning. My attention was divided between the narrow track beneath my feet, the stunning views off to my right and the breath that stayed just out of reach. I asked Hari how long we were going to hike so I could gauge how much longer we had to go until we reached the top. He indicated that decision was up to me.   It was nearing 1145am and Hari started discussing a nice spot he knew of to break for lunch. He indicated it was only twenty minutes further up the path. A break for lunch sounded perfect to me. We rounded a bend and Hari pointed out a small snowpack off to one side of the trail. That was a sure sign of the elevation we covered since the morning. Dotting the slope were small purple flowers with yellow centers. We stopped and took a closer look. Hari indicated they belonged to the permula family of flowers. I snapped a few photographs of the landscape and continued on.

I hiked with a renewed vigor knowing that lunch awaited us in the near future. We eventually rounded another bend and before us stretched a level grassy field dotted with boulders. A small stream ran off to our right and a large snow capped peak loomed in the distance. Hari turned and smiled. We had reached our destination for lunch. I was relieved and in awe at the beauty of the area. The grass, stream, and snow covered peaks combined like a scene from a painting. I sank down on a rock and removed my pack. Hari told me to take my time and enjoy both my sandwich and the atmosphere. He was going to walk ahead a bit and return soon. He wasn’t going to eat?? He’s a machine, without a doubt. I watched him walk away and before I knew it he was little more than a speck in the distance. There he was, covering ground at an eye-opening pace and most likely with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. I sat back and thought about what we accomplished so far. We climbed 3,300 feet in just over 3.3 miles. If my math is correct, that works out to be nearly a 19% gradient. No wonder I was out of breath the entire time.

Hari eventually returned and sat down on a rock near me. I asked if we were going any further and he shook his head. We were in a nice clearing at the moment with excellent views of the nearby mountains. If we continued to ascend, we would re-enter the tree line and our views would be limited. After lunch, we would descend. I love to hike and take in the views that climbing at altitude provides but that sounded like music to my ears!

Around 1pm, Hari indicated it was time to begin our descent and I agreed. I changed into a dry wool long sleeve base layer and slid my arms through the straps of my pack. I took a last long look at the sweeping views before me and fell in behind Hari. We returned past the beds of purple permulas and by the small banks of snow. The steep banks that I climbed earlier now posed a different threat on descent. The unsecure rocks that lined the path acted like wheels under foot. I needed to be extra careful as I made my way down. We followed our original path for 1.2 miles and then veered right onto an offshoot trail. Hari wanted to visit Hidimba Devi Temple on our way to back to Old Manali.

As we continued to descend, Hari invited me to join him and his family for dinner later that night. I immediately accepted his invitation. Eating with a local family gives you a true look into the culture and customs of an area. My new years meal with the family in Vietnam was a very special experience and I descended hoping my dinner with Hari would have a similar impact. We reached Hidimba Devi Temple and Hari instructed me to venture around the perimeter while he removed his shoes and went inside. Throughout the afternoon he had picked a handful of purple permulas and wanted to leave them as a gift to Hidimba, the sister of a main character in an ancient Indian epic and the individual honored by the temple.

I walked the exterior amazed at the number of people milling around the patio surrounding the temple. A short walk away was a small park. I slowly meandered through the abundance of trees that soared towards the clouds. Most were limbless until their canopies started to balloon open. They provided enough shade to cool me down after our descent. Hari appeared soon after and suggested we continue on. I nodded and followed his footsteps.

We proceeded back to Old Manali and discussed our forthcoming dinner menu. He suggested chicken with rice and sauce. I agreed with his recommendation and we stopped by a local butcher to acquire four pounds of fresh poultry. The chickens were freshly fileted and handed to Hari in a plastic bag. He unzipped his pack and placed our uncooked dinner inside. We walked to another store and purchased onions and tomatoes. With the ingredients complete, Hari suggested I arrive at his house around 6pm. That left roughly two hours to shower and sort through my belongings. He pointed out the alleyway that snakes towards his house. I made a mental note and we parted ways.

I meandered to Manalsu Guesthouse and hobbled up the three flights of stairs to my room. I unlocked the door and dropped onto my bed. It was delightful to stop moving. I relaxed for a bit but did not have time to dally around. I removed my dirty clothes and stepped into the shower. I eventually realized how to turn on the water and the hot option was little more than a trickle from the faucet. It would have to suffice, as it was far too chilly to use cold water. After my shower I threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. At 5:50pm, I put on my fleece pullover and stepped out of my room and into the crisp evening air. I locked the door and dropped to street level.

I proceeded to the small road that intersects Old Manali. I hung a right and stopped into the trekking agency that put me in contact with Hari. I wanted to let the agent know about the hike and provide positive feedback about Hari. As I sat in the plastic chair discussing the day, I noticed Hari’s head peak into the doorway. He walked inside with a large smile and took a seat next to me. Hari and I chatted for a bit with the agent before we departed and worked our way to his house.

Over the course of the next three hours Hari introduced me to his wife, son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter. Hari’s two other sons were still working and thus unable to attend dinner. Those in attendance sat in a small circle on pads placed on the hardwood floor. Bowls of chicken swimming in a spicy gravy accompanied plates of steamed rice. I placed a bed of rice on my plate and ladled chicken and gravy on top. My reaction to the spicy gravy brought a smile to the faces of those in attendance. Needless to say I refilled my glass of water a handful of times. The chicken was cooked to perfection while the gravy and rice made perfect additions.

The delicious chicken dinner and friendly company far exceeded my expectations. I only met Hari earlier that morning but we grew very familiar with each other as the day progressed. My evening with him and his family further enforced that relationship. We discussed India and America and laughed about particular quirks of each country. Around 9pm, I thanked Hari’s wife for the excellent meal and bid his family farewell. Hari walked me to the alleyway that drops down to Old Manali. I shook his hand and sincerely thanked him for the camaraderie during the trek and for inviting me into his home and being so hospitable as the night progressed. He told me to contact him again if I ever find myself back in Manali.  I assured him I would and flashed a large smile as I proceeded down the alley.

A common theme in many of these posts revolves around the relationships I have formed during my six months on the road. The people that I have met along the way are more important to me than any temple, museum, shrine or activity that occupied my time. I have traveled among a wealth of cultures, religions, ethnicities and economic levels but there is a common thread that runs through the majority of people no matter where they fall in the aforementioned categories. Everyone, no matter their background, wants health and happiness for themselves and more importantly for their family. My day and evening with Hari further reinforced this notion. He openly admitted he has little money, but it is enough to provide a shelter for his family and food for them to eat. For Hari, that is what life is all about.  For the rest of us, that is what life should be all about.

 

* Photographs from Manali are accessible within the India portfolio section found on the Perpetual Footsteps homepage.