Hills of His Holiness

The state of Himachal Pradesh is one of mountains and rivers, winding roads and toy trains. Here are a few of the famous tourist highlights I enjoyed between 10 hour bus journeys!

Shimla

Famed as one of the great Raj Era Hill Stations where ladies of the Raj spent monsoon summers sheltering from the heat, I had to see this. In my experience this is anything but a shelter from the heat! On arrival you are deposited in a new bus station 8 km from the town forcing you to use either the public bus (R10) or a  taxi (R250) neither takes you to the top of town or even close to a hotel. So I opted for the R10 bus. They deposited me at the bottom of the hill. Porters were waiting at the bottom but how hard could it be? Hard. I walked for 3 hours in the hot sun with my 20+kg trying to find a nice clean hotel room, eventually ending up on the ground floor of Spars Lodge. You can’t open the windows due to monkeys so the task of finding a room in Indian summer season is hard. Really this is a lesson for others to simply plan ahead!

I had great expectations for Shimla after reading many novels romanticising the getaway. My expectations fell short. I spent a day exploring the Viceregals Residence, where you can only go on guided tours (on the day I went the tour size was 50+) and only entered 3 rooms - of which one is the entrance hall. The Residence is now used as the Institute for Advanced Learning and despite the lack of respect of the tourists it is a library like environment. What is charming about The Residence is the room where the meetings were held that forged modern day independence of India with the great leaders of the 1940’s. Being in such a momentous room was pretty powerful. The table the documents were signed on has a large division through it, many say was forged after Independence, symbolising the breaking off of Pakistan…truth be told its made of two pieces of wood. Within the grounds are the Botanical Gardens. If you have a love of Botanical Gardens please don’t be as disappointed as I was, 3 roses later.

I enjoyed another Raj era treat taking tea at the Oberoi Cecil, the one Five Star Hotel in town whilst reading the local paper and enjoying the tinkling from the grand piano in its echoing grand hall. Being white in India affords you plenty of luxuries. Not least being welcomed in like a royal highness when you’re wearing jeans and Primark shirt with your flipflips!

The infamous Mall which curves over the ridge of the hill has to be one of India’s prime retail spots. If you are business person wanting to launch a product in India this is definitely the place to be, reaching the upper classes from around the northern states in one swoop. Pop-up shops ahoy! Christ Church is perched further up the hill yet and in its lemony Anglo’ness is a haven from the chaotic crowds.

I missed the opportunity to take the toy train down to the plains some 8 hours away but am sure this is a real highlight amongst train lovers (I am partial to a good train adventure I assure you!).

If you’re wanting a hill station experience I personally feel that Darjeeling is more quant. The accommodation is certainly cheaper and nicer. And the views from Darjeeling are more stunning. To overlook tea plantations and the world’s tallest mountain range is definitely nicer than a city landscape, in my humble opinion. 

McLoed Ganj (Dharamasala)

A night bus, 10 hours on from Shimla around the windy roads of the hills finds you in the city of Dharamasala. A friendly monk invited my tired, sorry-for-myself shell to join him up the hill in his pre-ordered taxi to McLoed Ganj, the home in exile of his Holiness the Dalai Lama. It was 6am when I arrived and I rested so well I didn’t leave for 9 days.

My rest in the city set in a basin, high on a hill, rung with the sounds of barking dogs and Weekenders from Delhi trying to find respite from the summer pre-monsoon heat. I eventually ended up at the Tsuglagkhang Complex, here I sat amongst chanting monks and lay Buddhists most of whom were Tibetan refugees. It was precious moment for me to be amongst the thousands of praying monks in their home of exile. Time and time again I realise about how lucky I am to be born a New Zealander and here was especially one of those moments. Nothing has driven me from my home or my country, separated me from my family nor friends except through the choice I have made to see the world. Imagining the alternative sends shivers down my spine.

After a morning of serenity amongst the faithful I stepped into the Tibetan Museum to get a better understanding on the Free Tibet issue and why exactly the Dalai Lama now lives in Northern India miles from his homeland. If like me you have always seen the posters and advocate for minorities so by default agree that Tibetans should have freedom you might not know, Tibet was once a Sovereign state where the young Dalai Lama was seen as the leader of its people. The 6 million people of Tibet were thrust into the hands of the gun laden Chinese in 1957 who wanted the land to cater for the growing population and the minerals and subsequent money it could provide the government. 55 years later the fight for Tibetans freedom is still strong. Sadly it appears the culture is preserved better here in India than in its native land where ethnic cleansing is seen with forced sterilisation, political imprisonment and death of devotees to the Dalai Lama. The images I saw were frightening and reminds me how brutally primitive the Chinese remain to this day. Walking out of the Tibetan Museum without a wet hanky was impossible for me. Ultimately the preservation of the Culture, Language and Customs is what is important to its people and I am grateful to the Indian Government for their generosity to the Tibetans for giving so many refugee status in an already over populated land.

If you would like to know more the Free Tibet Movement check out. But if you want to join them, start with a simple boycott of Chinese goods. I know I will hence forth be doing my best to avoid Chinese made goods. So if you’re ever planning to buy me a gift I accept non-Chinese made goods and Fairtrade chocolate. Thanks!

On my last day in McLoed I met a Chinese-Kiwi Journalist within the Tsuglagkhang Complex on the outer edge of the Temples. I was struck by how very Chinese Nick looked amongst the Tibetan’s, Indians and Nepali’s in residence. He is taller and bigger and sported a wonderful set of flip sunglass lenses over his spectacles. I was hesitant to talk to him as I thought ‘great another curious man’…I had sat down for 20 minutes and had several Indian tourists try to strike up conversation with me about how hot it was (when it is much cooler than anywhere else in India) and how hard it was to walk here (after I have just been to Base Camp of Everest). Nick surprised me by saying he was a New Zealander, naturally we struck an instant report. He is to interview the Dalai Lama about the topic of “sense of home”. Nick turned the camera on me while we chatted about the topic and I refrained from breaking into You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are. Nick too is in exile refused 8 times by Chinese Government from visiting his homeland and his ailing parents. He is no different to the Dalai Lama, they both find comfort in countries that welcome them Home (crank out the Dave Dobbyn folks) and he speaks openly about the atrocities the military inflict on its citizens. I would have liked to spend more time with him, alas life on the road is constantly moving.

Manali

Another night bus sent me further into the hills and with a mudslide at 2am drew us to a holt until 8am…not a bad shout when the hill roads usually leave you thrown around the bus all night. As the traffic cleared it was a relief to be getting going until one enterprising Goan came up to the drivers box (the driver sits at the front of the bus with about 4 other chaps behind a door in India – it works for me usually as it contains much of the horn noise (the last bits I use my noise cancelling headphones and Adele on full blast all night to drown out…purely due to the instrumental sections people!)) with two special Goan rolled cigarettes and invited a couple of his mates forward, announcing “the driver wants to hot box”. Bloody encouraging we still have 4 hours of Mountain Roads to get around folks. Alas I am India I relax into the moment and know that the Gods will take care of me.

Finally the respite from the heat I was looking for! I enjoyed a few days down time in a backpacker haven of Old Manali. I took an overpriced (by Himalayan standards) 3 day trek to Bhrigu Lake. Holy apparently. Really I wanted to test my altitude status as this would reach 4230m so seemed a safe test.

Myself and two London Film Students, Buzz and Stevie, set out at 10am up the winding roads from 2000m in Manali to Gulaba and walked up a steep meadow to our first nights camp. It was lush and green with plenty of pines and pretty flowers dotting our footing. I had started the day with the runs so it was never going to be a cracking day for me. Alas we made it to our river meadow setting around 2pm where we enjoyed some Chai and a rest in our tents. Overnight it rained heavily and it persisted during the day leaving us with little choice but to sit it out. Stevie suffered with a gastric bug and Buzz injured her hand, so we weren’t all in tiptop shape. None the less three determined young ladies set off on the next clear morning for the lake. With the best of intentions with the ailments we got to the snow line around 4000m. We had no idea that the snow climb would involve vertical climbing and with two of the party in Converse sneakers we were not looking too comfortably on the 200m+ ahead of us through snow and ice. Alas with plenty of breaks and some serious pig headedness we made it to the semi frozen lake. The local men we had kindly lead us and had cut steps for us took a quick bath. Our guide chain smoked and knocked back some lunch. We were very anxious about the way back down and ended up skidding down the mountain on our bums were possible. A fun mission but not something Buzz with her one hand (now we know its actually broken poor love) was so keen on for valid reason….I had keenly taken out one of the guides on my first slide.

The walk was very challenging in the sense there were no clear paths and the snow level was incredibly dangerous for us with no equipment and a careless guide who had left his pick axe behind, and speed off ahead with little regard to our experience or safety. I cannot recommend the experience but it does put into question if we live in a cotton wool wrapped world…

We spent my last night in Manali in a proper old Raj era hotel. The mantel piece was fitted out with old photos and trophies for Manali Fruit Growers 1936…it seemed a good year for this house’s garden. I thought my Mum would be very impressed.