The cold seeped into the bed like someone had poured cool liquid between the blankets. Disoriented, I woke up and peered around in the darkness. The only light was the red glow of almost extinguished fire peering from the stove. Shit! I shuffled myself out of the chilled bed into the breath-revealing cold and tried in agony to get the fire going again. I stuffed the top hole with wood and opened the airflow hole to allow in the air. The wood did not catch. I took a few deep breaths and blew into the hole and although there were the promising signs of the coals getting redder, I could not gain any fire-traction. After about the third exhale, my head went spinning as the thin air decided to remind me that I was hovering around 10,000 feet. Freezing, I fumbled around the room and found a magazine and began waving it at the fire. Slowly at first, but then with earnest, the fire came to life. So to did the accompanying smoke. In the end, though, the fire was going and I pushed through the smoky room and climbed back into bed.
Apparently, fire does not heat the room instantly, so although I was in bed with a fire burning, it was still freak’n freezing. I grabbed all the blankets I could find and piled them on top of me, settled into my cocoon and waited for sleep to come. As the shivering slowly subsided, the combination of 4 blankets and the absolute board-like bed began to compact my shoulders as I tried to heat myself in the fetal position. I knew the blankets were heavy, but upon further inspection realized that these blanket were the old, wool type that you see in WWII movies – gray, itchy and about 50lbs a piece. Every time I would start to fade, the searing pain in my shoulder would wake me up. In the end, the combination of jet-lag, cold and weight prevented me from getting any real sleep that night and by 4:00am, I had given up and huddled near the fire and read my book. By the way, if you have never read “The life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid” by Bill Bryson, it is a fantastic read – even if you are not trapped in a shack in the Himalayas.
I waited patiently for 7:00am to roll around, so I could emerge from my hut for breakfast. I was told that there was a restaurant just past the reception, but like most things on this trip, the term may not always meet expectations. I suited up not really knowing what to expect when I opened the door. There was a window in the bungalow, but it looked out into the woods, so I expected to see nothing but trees. I was very wrong. As I emerged from my hut, a postcard perfect mountain scene opened up in front of me. I had never seen anything like it.
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| My bungalow is tucked behind the one you see. You can just see the roofline peeking out from behind. |
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| A room with a view |
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| Looking from the Hotel |
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| Wider view from the restaurant Somewhere beyond the trees is where we were dropped off the previous night |
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| Looking out on the highest Golf Course in the World. The Brits would no be without their golf - even at 10,000 feet. |
To put things into scale, those mountains are another 4000 to 5000 feet from the town rising in almost all directions. From the top, you can actually see the K2.... and the Pakistani artillery installations. Did I mention, Gulmarg is roughly 12 km from the Pakistani boarder, although I doubt anyone is coming over the boarder from that direction.
I meandered over to breakfast slowly, enjoying the view with some validation of my choice to come to Kashmir. With a renewed sense of purpose I entered the restaurant. It was exactly 34 degrees inside and deserted. Not a good sign. Still with an optimistic outlook, I took a seat. The restaurant was a continuation of the room decor - thin, wall-to-wall rose colored carpet with Kashmiri accent rugs. On the walls, were a variety of animal skins, old British Raj memorabilia and some old paintings. There were two large stoves in the middle of the room that, although surrounded by wood, were not lit. Slowly, the staff emerged from the kitchen. The first two men acknowledged me with a good-morning, but went right to work on the stove. The second and third men approached my table with an oral menu. These four guys served me breakfast every day and during that time, I actually got to know them since we were the only five people up in Kashmir at 7:00am. One of them had been working for the hotel since 1967.
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| The restaurant The two large stoves were the only source of heat |
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| My new Kashmiri morning friends |
I was fed and invigorated by my new surroundings. I had made it half way around the world, up a mountain, through a forest in the dark and survived the cold of the Himalayan night. What more could Kashmir throw at me?
One should never ask!
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