by Steve Harkless
The "lonely planet" guide recommends against travel to Kashmir, and, well, that's good advice. On a compulsive decision to travel to Srinagar, thinking that I could make it to Leh [near Tibet], I boarded a bus in New Delhi. For hours we drove through the pollution and the heat of northern India before reaching the mountains.
I awoke in the early morning to see gypsies driving their goats and cattle up the highway. The sun rose to awaken this wondrous and dangerous land as we entered the Himalayan region in the state of Jammu and Kashmir.
Many gypsy herders were driving their flocks up the highway. Donkeys carried their blankets and a few possessions. The women have strong faces and dark skin, thick and weathered from life. These people seem to live in their own time; the ways of the modern world out there, irrelevant. I wandered if they recognize the boundaries of India and Pakistan, the border that this highway so closely follows. They don't look like Indians; they resemble Pakistanis.
We stop at a tea shack on the side of the road. Attempting to drink Kashmiri salt tea and eating chapatis, I noticed the faces of these men were much different than most of the Indians I had seen. They were quite distinct with long beards, long white shirts, and a cap on their head. I was entering another world that is predominantly Muslim. This culture is the result of the Moghal, or Indo-Islamic, invasion of India. They seemed more middle eastern or central Asian, whereas many Indians come from proto-australoid, Indo-Aryan, or mixed ancestry.
Continuing further into the mountains, the tension of these borders becomes more apparent. Indian soldiers are positioned all along the road. There are many bunkers, outposts, and vehicles transporting troops and heavy artillery. It makes me wonder if there are Pakistani soldiers, plotting in the forest just above us.
No gun shots or explosions, just an overturned truck on the side of the road. Traffic on this narrow mountain highway often comes to a near collision. The road becomes even more narrow when goats and cattle take up its side.
We have entered what seems to be the Kashmir valley. Steep rock walls stand motionless. A river flows beneath us as waterfalls gush from the sides of the valley. The snow-capped peaks of the himalayas stand high above us. In my half-conscious, sleep-deprived state, I gave thanks to be finally entering the expansive embrace of the Himalayas. I was entering the unknown. There were no other tourists on this bus; I was alone. Rain clouds loomed as we finally reached the flatlands where I was transferred to a taxi with some Kashmiri man holding a sign with my name on it.
Muslim chants ring out across the lake at dawn and at dusk. The voices are projected from a small boat with speakers; this is done for the Indian tourists apparently. There are no motors to be heard, no honking, no beeping rickshaws, and no motor boats. The people of the lake move by shikara - a long, narrow paddle boat. There are some taxi shikaras for tourists and some that are selling fruit or coke and junk food. Others are Kashmiris going about their business.
It is a lake economy here on Dal Lake. There is a lotus market where one can purchase lotus plants, apparently to feed one's cows. There is a floating vegetable garden which is also a morning market. Old Kashmiri women congregate with their shikaras, filled with lake plants. They often talk for some time and then trade or consolidate all the plants onto one shikara.
Paddling calmly through the lotuses, they would all be in bloom at the right time. In this strange lake world, there are whole villages, houses and shops perched on narrow canals with overhanging trees.
As we reach the open expanse of Dal lake that reaches out to Srinagar and to the mountains, gun shots echo across the water. No battle, just practicing soldiers at their shooting range. But suddenly the whole 'shanti, shanti' vibe wears off. Srinagar is also an important base for the Indian army.
At my brief stop in New Delhi at the travel agency, I had been told that the roads were temporarily closed in the state of Himachal Pradesh due to land slides. This was in fact not the case. Having suspicion at the time, I tried to call the Himachal Pradesh Transportation Department to find out when the roads would open. I was at the house of the travel agent for a shower when his brother pulled a quick maneuver on me. He had the travel agent call the house as he was tapping the phone so that it would connect without ringing. He then asked me the phone number, dialed it in, and gave me the phone. It was the travel agent on the other end, pretending to be the H.P. transportation department. Still suspicious, I regretted that I had already paid $100 for one week stay on a house boat in Srinagar. This was the cheapest price. A "Second class" stay was $390 which is outrageous for India. [Do not go to the "Government Tourist Office" on Janpath road in New Delhi and beware of other Kashmiris trying to pull you into the scam.]
While in Srinagar, I received an email from a friend who had made it to McCleod Ganj the day after I was in New Delhi. The roads were not closed. I had been deceived. What made it worse was that I could not make it to Leh; the high-altitude road was not yet open. And the travel agent in Delhi had apparently only sent $30 of my $100 to my house boat in Srinagar.
When you get to your house boat, they tell you that you cannot leave the house boat without a guide for safety reasons. So they try to sell you a package deal, for as much as they can get, to see temples, mosques, ancient gardens, mountains etc. They ask for maybe $200 for their services. Meanwhile, you're stuck on your house boat, which is not connected to land, and all their friends and local vendors are stopping in to show you their fine Kashmiri souvenirs.
The truth is that safety is an issue. There were at least two bombings in Srinagar while I was staying on Dal lake. A random bombing on a street killed five people including one soldier. Militant actions are a constant reality. I had been told by my guide not to tell anyone that I was an American. So I was Canadian. Recently I learned that the terrorist organization Harakat Ul Mujahideen issued a ban on Americans, including tourists in Kashmir. There is a history of trekkers disappearing and one Norwegian man who was decapitated by Pakistani militants. Being in a Muslim state so soon after the war in Iraq, I heeded Shaffi's advice. I met only two foreign travelers in the nine days that I was in Kashmir. They were Israeli, and probably in more danger than I was.
There is however some value in traveling to such places as an American. I now have a more intimate perspective on the Muslim world. It is not some distant reality that can be boxed and labeled and grouped among the "axis of evil." There is true beauty in this culture. Ironically, Srinagar felt more civilized than many other parts of India. But when religious dogmatism leads to the extremism of these militants, all people suffer. Muslims are killed by Muslims. Kashmiris live in the constant threat of terrorist attacks and a possible war with Pakistan.
Rain fell for days in Srinagar. Blue sparks shot out of the poorly connected power supply for the house. The level of the lake started to rise to the point where we had no electricity, no more electric stove, no hot water, and no more melodramatic Kashmiri television. [Appliances were plugged in merely by sticking bare wires into the outlets.] We lived by candles and flashlights at night. Local shops that sit on the water level were getting flooded.
Recovering from a cold and fed up with being stuck on my house boat, I was ready to leave and get to my true destination. After a failed attempt to leave in a tourist jeep one day, actually due to landslides, I decided to fly from Srinagar to New Delhi. After making it through multiple security checks at the airport, I met Amanda, a New Zealander. From the looks of me, she knew that I was another victim of the house boat scam.
She had a worse experience. There were other travelers staying where she was, but they tried to keep them separated, each on their own house boat. Some people got there and wanted to leave the first day, but were not permitted. The house boat master monitored Amanda's emails and her call to her mother. Clearly something strange has developed in this struggling tourist economy. Although some people apparently do enjoy their house boat stay.
Amanda had connected with a BBC reporter, doing a radio report about Kashmir. We learned from him that most Kashmiris would rather be an independent state, not a part of India or Pakistan. In 1947, when the ruler of Kashmir was given the choice of the two countries, he was partial to India. However, some Kashmiris would join Pakistan as they are of the same descent and religion.
When Amanda and I reached the airport in New Delhi, we were quite ecstatic and could have kissed the filthy ground. Back from this strange and interesting detour, we headed for a more peaceful destination in McCleod Ganj, home of the Tibetan government in exile.
Steve Harkless
Last modified: June 20, 2003
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