From within my sleeping bag, I peered at my watch. It was 03:30 – a time which gave a glow to my cooled intestines, as it would be only an hour and a half to first light, even in heavy weather like this.

Twelve hours earlier, I’d also been looking at the watch. Then, 3:30 in the afternoon had meant it had needed nine hours merely reaching Marrhi, 3300m asl, a place I had got to know rather too well. Depressing progress from Manali, which would normally be only 2-3 hours away by public bus. The HRTC bus I had taken was backed up behind a line of halted trucks, vans, motorbikes and private cars, a sleeping snake wound around two dozen switchbacks on the road from Manali to the Magic pass.

Continue reading – `The wetness of the Rohtang Pass´

On a rainy Sunday morning, backstreets of Bhuntar were only slightly more appealing than those of Bingley, West Yorkshire. Grey drains oozed, clumps of animal droppings spread wider as they wettened, and raindrops sprang renewed after dropping onto plastic packets strewn about the shuttered streets. Nonetheless, on this unpromising day I’d turned up two aces: this was a direct bus to Manali, and I’d bagged the front seat, with a little more room for my legs.


Continue reading – `Wetness picks up´

At breakfast, our host Ravi greeted us with, “I’ve just had four chillums in my friend’s house..!” before walking unsteadily over to our table to sit down. It was a Malana twist on the, Good morning how are you? to be expected outside of a region famous for its sold-by-the-gram attractions. Ravi told us that about half the men in Malana regularly smoked the village’s hash. Perhaps his assessment was in error: At his Top View Guesthouse, the other half never seemed to show.


Continue reading – `Is moody Malana a karmic koala?´

I can write only a little before I need to check on – wait! No, it’s fine. No-one up here died in the past hour. None of the two occupied rooms (in addition to mine) had a fatality. I don’t always see how these circumstances squeeze around me, but here in this guesthouse – where I have been staying long enough to see some turnover in stayers – noises of breathing from behind locked doors become important.


Continue reading – `Death and other dynamics´

In the Indian monsoon – even though it may appear as irregular as the cow that ate eighty chapatis – wetness is expected. Rain which visits these hills of Himachal and sits around while it tumbles down. Pounds earthwards on occasion, as if trying to purge the land with washing. Or floats in wraps of mist curled around dampened rock ridges.


Continue reading – `The essentially optional umbrella´

The India trip 2010 is bashing out in Kullu and Parvati valleys

You might like to look at the blog from 2007-8 or view the India gallery