OK… I’ll post something!!!!

I’ve been told I need to “Post less, more often.” I’m trying, but, hey! This is my little escape, OK? ;-) Really, I am so appreciative of the comments, emails and positive energy shared with me these past several months. It’s a good feeling to know that someone actually reads this stuff. I feel like I’ll only really be able to appreciate the value of that after I get home and “decompress” a bit.

Can’t afford too much of that “mushy” stuff now: I’m still a big, bad Enfield rider taking on the roads and cities of India!

So for now it’s…

Steven Won, MANALI “0″!

After alternately melting and baking on the plains of India, it’s a relief to be back in the mountains. Summer is approaching here in Manali, the days warm and the evenings comfortably cool, even if the storms that blow through every few days do still bring a chilly rain. Just riding the Bullet on the twisty mountain roads in the foothills of the Himalaya is like a dream come true. I’ll be heading home soon, and it will be difficult to say goodbye to the bike, now that it is running like a striped ape. At home, summer will be coming on, so it may be a case of out-of-the-fire-and-into-the-frying pan, especially when i get back to Louisiana.

Interestingly, Manali and New Orleans are both about 30 degrees N. of the equater, but at about 2,000 meters elevation, Manali’s much cooler. The Beas River runs through the center of the area, captive to the steep hills that define the Kullu Valley; hills covered in tall, dark conifers and sprinkled with the small homes of mountain people now working to harvest the wheat now turning from green to brown in the narrow, terraced fields. It’s still the dry season, but when the monsoon rains come to stay in June, these fields will once more turn green, young rice plants replacing the ripening wheat. Closer to the river, many beautiful birds, most of which I’ve never seen before, fly and sing among the apple trees covering the more mellow slopes. Beyond the hills, outside the valley proper, tall, jagged mountains – many topped with the patchwork gray and white of crumbling rock and dirty, melting snow – add another vivid layer to an already gorgeous landscape.

As I look around this area, I see that in terms of culture, it’s not really India; it’s not Nepal; not Tibet either… Or it’s all three. Things get a little confusing, culturally, because in this part of the world, poplitical boundaries become less important than geographic boundaries. The mountains dominate everything here: The weather, the mood and particularly the culture. As I step down an alleyway leading away the center of town past buildings of concrete and steel, I am quickly out in the hills and away from the honking horns of the main road. Out here, the only horns are the ones on the milk-cows feeding quietly along the muddy path, tended by women with sun-browned faces (I saw one woman with a rosy-cheeked infant strapped to her back). Next to the path, I see many buildings that are built in the old way with materials taken from the surrounding hills: Walls of large stones and heavy timbers sealed with mud. To support roofs shingled with thick slabs of the sparkly granite, these walls have to be strong.

I came to Manali 5 days ago riding with Kristen, who along with Glen and Gopal (our friend and guide), was one of my trekking buddies in Nepal’s Anapurna Himal. That was last December, and this was the second time I’d run into Kristen and Glen since parting with them in Nepal in early January: Once in Varanasi more than three months ago, and then again last week in Dharamsala, home-in-exile to His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. They were looking very relaxed after spending some time in Kashmere, which Kristen desribed as “Heaven on Earth.”

I stayed in Dharamsala (Mcleod Ganj, actually: the main Tibetan village near Dharamsala) for about 5 days. It’s like Tibet away from Tibet, with lots of burgundy robed monks, and apron clad old women in understated gray, woolen coats (baby yak’s wool?). It made me sad to think that this town – along with some of the villages I passed through in Northern Nepal – are now the remaining strongholds of Tibetan culture. But at least here, in Mcleod Ganj, Tibetan culture is very much alive. being about 50% Tibetan, I’m told. While in Mcleod Ganj, I went to the temple where the Dalai Lama sits and teaches, but as I had heard, he was not in town. I did get to see the monks debating the finer points of existance, however.

Kristen and I left Dharamsala the same morning Glen left for Thailand to visit his uncle. We decided to visit Manali – not because it’s the hashish capitol of India, with marijuana growing wild all over the place, but because it is about as far into the Indian Himal either of us could go and still make it back to fly to our respective homes, because we both had limited time left on our Indian visas (Kristen, Glen and I had gotten our six-month Indian visas in early January in Kathmandu). Really. That was the reason :)

As Kristen and I first approached Manali, a severe thunderstorm was moving into the Kullu valley, bringing strong gusts of chilled wind from the upper atmosphere, threatening to tear large limbs off of the tall fir trees that lined the road. A little further from the road the Beas River ran and tumbled its white noise from the bottom of the steep canyon up which we rode. Each “micro-burst” of cold air from the storm lifted another batch of the accumulated leaves, pine needles and dust on the road directly into our path as we rode. The bright flashes of lightening strikes, themselves invisible around a corner of the valley ahead adding to the excitement I felt being part of this this awesome display of nature’s power. By the time we met the storm, Kristen and I’d ridden over two hundred kilometers from Dharamsala. Heading east on National Highway 20, wheat fields and high mountains were provided a view custom-made for people traveling by motorcycle. Local farmers were out tended their wheat, and the day was clear and warm. But here in realtime, as the storm moves in we’re riding fast, hoping to make the final 11 k to Manali before the rain starts. When I feel the wasp-stings of heavy raindrops on my face, I know we need to find shelter fast. The road seems deserted, and I’m sure that we and our gear will get soaked. Luckily, around the next bend there’s a little chai shop, and I aim the Bullet for the empty front porch of the building next to it. As we gain the shelter of the shop, much to the delight of the three local men sitting inside, we notice we’ve scored more than just shelter and tea; they’ve got mo-mos :) A little later, warmed by chai, momos and spicey chutney – and by the fact that we were able to watch the rain fall from a cozy place – we climb back on the bike and ride into Manali.

Kristen left a few days ago to see the temples at Khajaraho and the caves of Ajanta, before flying back home to New Zealand. I’ll miss Kristen and Glen. Good peeps, and I think it was fitting that we ran into each other again just before we all left India, having met imediately upon our arrival on the sub-continet in Kathmandu six months ago. Hopefully our paths will cross again.

I may stay in Manali a while, perhaps selling my bike here to someone wanting to take an Enfield on the Leh-Manali Highway across the world’s highest motorable pass into the Ladakh area of Kashmir.I was thinking of riding my baby across myself, but the pass will be icy and there’s lots of BIG trucks on that high, long narrow road. You know me: I hate to take chances.

Sniff…

That’s why I started taking paragliding instruction three days ago!

By request, photos from Hampi. I hope you enjoy them.

Steven