Kashmir - The Long Walk

It was completely black.  The kind of darkness that is so heavy, that the mere absence of light dampens all sound.  I could tell it was snowing, but only because I could feel the flakes hit my face.  As my eyes adjusted, I could see I was standing in about a foot of light, fluffy powder, but as I began to walk, the snow was so light, it offered no resistance to my boots cutting through the frozen blanket.  It felt like the earth had been covered in packing peanuts.  I scanned the emptiness and gambled that the depression in the landscape to my left was actually a road disappearing into the abyss of the forest.  I grabbed my bags, slung them over my shoulder and began the trek into the heart of darkness.

The three Sikhs who had proved to be so helpful up to now, proved to be less so in this Indo-Alpine environment.  I was now the guide. At first glance, it seemed my chosen path was leading away from civilization, but as we took stock of our new environment, we quickly realized there were no signs of civilization behind or in front of us.  We followed the winding road in the darkness for about 30 minutes in nervous silence with only the "little voice inside our heads" to keep us company.  Since my "little voice" was already 0 for 1, I was really wishing I had a better company.  Soon my thought turned to an article I had read a few days earlier about how the people of this region are very proud of their bear and snow leopard population.  Not comforting. Less comforting was the sound of the snow monkeys in the trees overhead.  My "little voice" was now convincing me that these denizens of the alpine forest were positioning themselves for a deadly and decisive attack. I really needed to get a new "little voice inside my head."   

We continued for about an hour winding our way through the forest - up and down small inclines and around blind turns.  It was not too cold for me, as the ski-gear that so recently had increased my chances of kidnapping, was now keeping me at the perfect temperature.   On the other hand, the fact that in 8 hours, I had gone from 600 feet to well over 10,000 feet was proving to be a hindrance.  I could actually feel my heart pounding in my ears.  The overall assessment was grim:  It was cold, dark, remote, snowing and area was crawling with man-maiming animals.  Hum?  I don't know if it was the altitude or the fact that I had 5 hours of sleep in the last 36, but I was pretty optimistic about my chances .....  of surviving the walk to a hotel.  Seriously, it wasn't like I had plan an excursion to the roof of the world, I had simply planned for a few days of skiing…. in India…. in Kashmir…. in the Himalayas. In retrospect, this is probably when I should have reassessed my vacation assessment abilities.   

The Hotel Highland Park
#1 rated hotel in Gulmarg, India!

Finally, after about 1 hour and a half and several dead ends, we actually arrived at the Hotel Highlands Park tired, cold and hungry.  After trudging through a series of dimly lit outbuildings, we found one with a light on.  The reception area was quite a narrow space with a high counter at one end and a shelf with a VCR at the other. The elderly gentleman manning the counter was very gracious and after completing the necessary paperwork, he dispatched a porter to escort me to my "room."   I thanked my fellow travelers for their potentially lifesaving help, grabbed a photo with them and headed out the door to my new abode. 

My new traveling companions upon arrival

Internet information is sparse on the Hotel Highland Park and adjectives range from cozy to rustic to charming - very little is mentioned about old, shabby and generally uncomfortable. Built by the British Army as a place to escape the heat in a time before air conditioning, the Inn is actually a series of bark-covered duplexes scattered randomly along the hillside.  I assume the duplexes have been updated since they were built, but any updates were clearly done by the British before they left in the 1940s.  

We trekked for a few minutes along a newly shoveled path until we came to a bungalow on the far side of the property.  There were two rooms in this particular bungalow and a houseboy's quarters in the middle.  The door sat atop a series of concrete stairs and rather than a knob had a slide bolt with a padlock.  It looked more like the entrance to a prison camp barracks than a room at an inn.  The Porter fiddled with the lock for a few minutes before the ancient mechanism popped and we were in.  

The bungalow in the daylight
Note the lock and bark

The room was decorated in early "WTF!”  The backdrop was a faded rose-colored wall-to-wall carpet on top of which a yellow, gray and black accent carpet was laid.  The curtains were brown and beige and the accent chairs were silver. I was on the verge of an epileptic fit.  The centerpiece was a “queen” size bed that consisted of two single beds pushed together, separately made and united only by the bed frame.  But the pièce de résistance was the stove. 

Feel free to steal any decorating tips you need!

Note the electricals are on the outside of the wall

The only source of heat

Set on a lime green carpet of its own, the stove was a smallish, Indian version of the potbelly stove used by the settlers.  This one, though, was upright and had a small diameter hole in which you shoved wood on the top and an equally small hole in the front by which you regulated the airflow.  On top, was a large brass urn full of water – this was the humidifier.  The houseboy dropped my gear on the floor and went to work lighting the stove.  He shoved several pieces of specifically cut wood into the hole followed by gasoline.  The result was predictable.  After the flames retired back into the stove, he explained that I needed to keep putting the wood into the hole or the fire would go out.  Really?  It is not magic Kashmiri fire?  Disappointed, I nodded. 

The Humidifier

I unpacked my gear and collapsed into bed.  I fell fast asleep and, alas, the non-magic fire went out.  Burr!