Connecting without a Connection

 

Spiti Valley is in the Himalayas of North India, it is popular these days as a crowded traverse by car or motorbike, an insular ‘been there, done that’ tourist spin for five or six days. But here I was, alone on a twenty day local bus trip and today was only day two, would I last another eighteen days, without the umbilical cord of data? Years of ‘civilised’ living had made me an addict to my smart phone, connecting to friends and family instantly, constantly, compulsively. 

My smart phone was a brick, the smartest smart phone will not connect without a signal, and I had no signal.

I boarded the bus for the eight hour journey, but as soon as it started I was impatient for it to end, to reach my destination. Would the bone-jarring, single lane, often 3000 meter high, perilously winding mountain roads never end?

...Why wouldn't the bus driver drive more slowly? Why, that was a near miss, we nearly fell into the river! Why do those goats not stay off the road. Why, why, why, six more hours of why.

On reaching Chitkul at about 3500 meters, I was rasping for breath while staggering to the home-stay. It claimed to have WiFi but I saw no trace of it. I went for a walk that evening, a gentle level ramble to acclimatise, on the way I kept trying to get a signal.

The next day I rose very early to climb a mountain nearby as I wanted to see the sun rise from the top, but as dawn broke I realised that in the dark I had taken the wrong path and the top was nowhere in sight. Breathing heavily, I paused to enjoy the sun-dappled hillsides and then scramble down, looking for a signal all the way. Rather guiltily, I began to feel nervously liberated, but still no signal, no data, what if...

Two days later I was on a bus to Reckong Peo and on to Sumdo, a journey of nearly ten hours. The bus was filled with chattering ladies and gents, all going to harvest fields along the way. 

The elderly lady next to me explained the types of crops they were going to cut and why they were doing it now (if they didn’t, as it got colder the semi-wild cattle from the mountains would come down eat the crop). 

That the hour or so in the bus each way was the only time in their busy day that the local people got to chat. I noticed that all of them had simple phones, only to make necessary calls, no data, they used their precious time to talk face to face.

Well into my journey a landslide had blocked the road and I was getting impatient again, when I noticed that no one in the bus was perturbed and they simply accepted the situation. Landslides are a way of life here, and fretting does not clear the huge boulders on the road. 

Finding one road closed it was much simpler to explore another. In doing so I found Kalpa, a very pretty apple orchard town, spending three days there.

As the days passed, I found myself slowing down, caring less about plans and mobile signals. Rambling on mountain pathways, I began to feel very close to myself, gradually leaving questions and urgent thoughts behind. 

I began to feel the texture of life at a slow pace, perhaps we have forgotten this pace? 

Walking among the old houses, I see when the wind was blocked with stones and wood and there was time to fit them together precisely. The year was dictated by the seasons and not the clock, work was completed before it got too cold.

I tasted, soaked in and felt the places I passed through, it was very liberating from the shackles of modern life. I met people, got to know them, ate what they ate, and for a moment in time was privileged to enter their lives.

The absolute peace is very calming, I made connections without a connection.

Rambling in the Mountains

This image of sunrise over Trishul affected me very deeply, so much so that I did a sketch from the picture that inspired it. However, no sketch or  photograph does justice to the scene which is immensely awe-inspiring and majestic.  I completely agree with John Muir when he said "I'd rather be in the mountains thinking of God; than in church thinking about the mountains".

...and this is the picture that inspired the sketch.
Though people often conquer mountains, I feel it is simply a privilege to be there, it is the closest to God that I can be. I  slow down completely and amble along, nothing is time-bound.

Rambling around and through mountains, I feel very close to myself, gradually leaving problems and urgent thoughts behind. I go without an itinerary, no plans, no hard stops, no reservations and very few electronic connections.  I find this liberating, very liberating from the shackles of electronic life, so for many days no buzzing or jangling.  The absolute peace is very calming.

I taste the place, soak it in, feel it, absorb it; not simply pass through.  I find the local ambience very different if I do not have a mission to climb or do such and such. I meet people, get friendly, eat what they eat, and be privileged to enter their lives.

Food for the soul is when I see sights when others are asleep or partying, here is Trishul at late sunset, a very different sight. It is a delight to see mountains by bright moonlight, see them before the sun rises, at dawn, during the day, at any time.  Generally the clouds descend in the afternoon and by evening the peaks are shrouded in white. 

  

This wooden peg  at a water driven grinding mill holds the door shut from wind and animals.  In the past houses did not need locks as no one stole, on my way down from a hill walk in Chitkul I came across this latch, designed to close but not lock. 

Sun dappled hillsides greet me as I get higher in Chitkul, up a small mountain behind the village to see the sunrise.  I started by the light of a head torch in total darkness, on the first day I took the wrong trail and climbed higher than I intended to. As Barry Finlay said "Every mountain top is within reach if you just keep climbing." On the second day I got the right track, and got to the top in time to see the sun peek from behind another mountain.  I am realistic in what I can and cannot achieve, so I climb what I can and admire from afar what I cannot.

Feel the texture of life at a slow pace, perhaps we have forgotten this ambling pace?  Walk amongst the houses, see old construction, the time when the wind was blocked with stones, real seasoned wood was used for beams and there was time to fit it all together precisely.  Time was dictated by the seasons and not the clock, and all work had to be completed before it got too cold. 

Natures light show is more spectacular than anything we can invent. The sun rising from a side, illuminates the mountainsides gradually, from tiny orange tips, then side-lighted mountains to the cold blue of the day. Kasauni enables a panorama of a beautiful slice of the Himalayas, here each day is different and the ever-changing scene is a joy to behold.   These peaks are above 7000m and for my aching bones, best admired from a distance.

The early sun is shrouded  partly in natural and partly in man-made mist and haze, here it peeps out from behind the trees.  The leaves of the tree are dew laden, possibly frost formed at night and now melted. The sun lights a new day with new hopes and plans, each day different from the previous. 

  

Dew drops on a tomato... it is cold at night and early mornings are usually wet.  On an early morning walk I came across this dew laden tomato in a field. Normally I am out walking an hour before sunrise to about mid-morning, then I get back to my stay and sit out on a veranda and read.  I am out again early in the afternoon till an hour after sunset. Carry spare socks as nothing will prevent them from getting wet.

  

Higher I go, the more stark is the landscape, till I reach a high altitude desert which has only very sparse vegetation in summer. Local human and animal life adapt to the altitude and the bitter winter cold, houses are made to insulate, fodder is gathered before the first snowfall, and the locals are prepared. It is us, the passersby, that cannot adapt to these  conditions and insist on the comforts that we are used to.

  

A Himachali Couple prepares for winter as there is not a moment to spare.  The cattle and other animals come down from the higher ranges as it gets colder and they eat the crop if it is not harvested. Every bit of the harvest is used, the grain and the stalks as fodder. Every aspect of life here is governed by the seasons and the weather.

  

The sky is deep blue as there is little pollution at this height, the clouds are cotton puffs against the inky blue.  The pollution is creeping up with rapid construction and expansion of road networks, now there is dust at many places. Almost all landslides that I have seen here and elsewhere, start at the cutting for a road in the mountains. I think if you leave nature alone it will look after itself.

  

...the shades of blue are infinite, the ranges are serene, vegetation on the lower slopes, stark and bare a little higher up and perpetually snow clad peaks in the distance.
To quote the evergreen John Muir:
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”