Kaza Part 2

13 August

The confirmation came in the morning from the manager of the guest house. " Yes, rats" he said with an amused grin "come in when gets cold", then, as if suddenly remembering that we were non-indian lightweights, his grin gave way to a look of concern and he added "too much?" " no.... not at all" I said, not wanting to look like a wimp, but wondering where you drew the line between "too much" rats scrabbling over your head and an acceptable level of rats scrabbling over your head. We were now a little trapped in in-activity. There was no word of our trekking team yet, so we had nothing with us but the clothes we were in, and we tried not to think about the smell that they were generating, otherwise we would have been too embarrassed to leave the room.
We drifted gently between the guest house and the village centre, had coffees, talked to a number of other travellers and the locals who now started to seem very familiar. The heavy rains over the last week had caused various problems with the roads - snow on the passes, and landslides meant that no traffic was getting through Rhotang, the junction where the road from Kasa splits into the road north up to Leh in Ladakh and south to Manali. Most travellers were heading in one of these two directions, and were now stuck in Kasa. The information about the roads though was very patchy and sometimes conflicting, relying only on phonecalls coming from people that were trying to get past the blockages. We re-looked at the options in front of us. We knew that there was considerable expense in having purchased supplies, and in getting the trekking team, particularly the pack of mules, up to Kibber, and there would be further expenses in getting them back to Manali. These would certainly be at our cost. I had a few conversations with Inder and by phone with Ravi (Inder's brother and the owner of the agency) on whether there were some alternative treks that we could do that involved less altitude (despite doctor's doubts, Jacqui and I were now sure that Tamsin's illness had been her own unique manifestation of a mild altitude sickness), so that we could still make use of the trekking team and supplies. But you cannot get far in the Spiti valley without facing high altitude passes, and now we didn't want to take any risks on Tamsin's health or of starting another trek from which we would have to turn back from, at even further expense. We decided to cut our losses, absorb whatever costs had already been committed and get a bus up to Leh. So we joined the other stranded travellers, eagerly awaiting news on the roads. Any new information passed from person to person - "Rohtang pass is blocked from snow, but expected to be clear by tomorrow".... "there is a landslide blocking the Kasa to Rohtang road just west of Chatru - not expected to be cleared for 7 days"..."I'd heard it would be clear in 2 days" ..... "the buses say they don't expect to pass for next 15 days".....and so on. This was the topic of Kasa - on the guest-house terrace, in the cafes, in the town centre square.We had a priviliged connection - probably the most informed of all was Lote, the owner of the main trekking agency in Kasa, who had fallen in love with Fia and Tamsin and them with him. His agency office was on a small square, which acted as the town centre, and we had also become familiar with the others based on this square: Amit, who ran the internet cafe next door to Lote, and Bapu, the shop next door. We were able to sit in the german bakery having a coffee without worrying, while the girls would float around this small square, talking to Lote in his agency, or playing a game outside. They were revelling in having a little autonomy, and knowing that this wouldn't come often over the next year, we were too.

In the evening we happened to be back in our room at the guest house when there was a knock at the door. It was Dalma, the lady from the hospital, with her two sons, Tenzin (7) and Thinlay (9). We welcomed them in, and they came and sat on the bed. We felt a little uncomfortable about hosting guests in our bedroom, and without a drinks cupboard to serve them a gin and tonic, but we shared out an orange juice that we had, and some biscuits that she brought, took endless photos and managed to have a very warm and friendly conversation, even-though Thinlay, with the best English of them all, had only a few key words. They must have enjoyed it, as they left informing us that they would come back again tomorrow. It wasn't the conventional flow for neighbourly invitations that we were used to, but we were delighted, as we enjoyed being in their company and it felt a privilege to get to know a family so culturally remote from ours. Dalma had a friendly, smiling face, that, as we found with many Spiti women, radiated an aura of warmth and calmness.

14 August

Lakpa and Karam arrived back in Kasa, with all the equipment and supplies, and with our rucksacks. Clean clothes, Kindles, sandals, toothbrushes, torches.....it felt like Christmas. The girls wanted to do a televised interview with Lakpa. They prepared some questions, then I invited him down to our room, where they interrogated him, Jeremy Paxman style, and I followed with the video camera. The focus was his mountaineering exploits, though his life was interesting in many other ways. Lakpa was married at a relatively young age to (by all accounts) an eccentric English woman, Linda, whom he met on one of his treks. He lived in England for some time, which explains his incongruous northern england accent, doing various jobs from farming to garden landscaping. They now live separate lives though remain married, and Linda lives in Kathmandu in a large house together with an unbelievable menagerie of animals (we are dying to meet her, if we get the chance when we go there), while Lakpa married his second wife with whom he had a child. The girls asked about the different mountains he had climbed, what a mounataineering expedition involved and whether he was ever frightened.

We caught up with some maths and french school work but otherwise, we were still floating in our state of suspension while awaiting news of the roads up to Leh. The situation was not looking positive, and the possibility of us being stuck in Kasa for up to 2 weeks was starting to become a real risk. By late afternoon, Jacqui had I had taken the decision that we would cut the loop through Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir out of our trip and head straight for Dharamsala before starting to head down south to Amritsar and then Rajasthan. This was a difficult decision because our hearts had been set on seeing Leh, but the journey there was long and even when the current roads were clear, left us with much more risk of getting stuck, and as our time in India was passing by before our eyes, we were starting to worry about spending too much time up in the north and not having enough for the rest. As a small financial bonus of the decision, we could join up with Inder, Lakpa and Karam in a shared jeep to Manali, which we had already paid for as part of our trek.

Our Spiti friends, Dalma, Thinlay and Tenzin came to visit us in the afternoon, and we settled down again around the bed with orange juice and bisuits. We had been talking for 20 minutes when Dalma asked us if her husband could join. "Where is he?" Jacqui asked, wondering if we had mis-understood. "Outside" she replied - and we raced to the door, found Dorje waiting patiently, and hurriedly ushered him in. He was disarmingly humble and polite but yet friendly and confident, and his English vocabularly, ever-so slightly wider than Thinlay's, gave a little boost to our conversational depth. Time came for them to leave, and imitating the customs that We had learnt from our guests, we boldy invited ourselves to their house for the following day.

Meanwhile, some information had flowed through which generated some optimism that the road to Manali could be clear by the following day, and Inder informed us that we would all leave between 6 and 8 in the morning. It was unfortunate as we had just arranged to meet our Spiti friends, but we were also glad to have some hope of moving, and we packed our bags in the evening to be ready.

Out and about in Kaza downtown!

15 August

I was up at 6:00, but there was no sign of life out of the room where Inder, Lakpa and Karam were sleeping, so I let Jacqui, Fia and Tamsin sleep on. Around 9:00, Inder was up, and there were vague plans of leaving for Manali in the jeep at around 10:00 - we were ready to go, but that was exactly the time that we were expecting Thinlay to come and pick us up to show us the way to their house in New Kasa. When the boys arrived, we went with them, leaving our bags completely packed and ready, and telling Inder to call us if everyone was ready to leave. The call never came though, as further news came through in the morning that the road had not cleared, and was not likely to for a few days more at least. A 4 wheel drive vehicle had indeed arrived in Kasa succesfully from Manali the previous evening which had raised hopes, but the jeep had had great difficulties crossing some areas where there had been landslides, and in addition, further rainfall during the night had caused additional blockages.

We were welcomed by Dorje into the Chhering family residence - a relatively comfortable 4 room single floored concrete house with 2 square rooms either side of a corridor. There were two bedooms, a kitchen and a living area - all immaculately kept, and the four of them lived together with a brother, his wife and their child. On arrival, we we were ushered into the lounge, draped with silk scarves (a Buddhist sign of hospitality and respect that we saw many times subsequently), sat on the cushions against the wall, and given the remote control for the television. We would have been very happy to turn the television off, but not knowing whether the presentation of the remote control to us was a 20'th century sign of respect for guests, and also under great pressure from our children, we played along and chose a Bollywood classic. Dalma was out at work, so we were entertained by the boys and Dorje, and a cute little cousin of about 2 years old. Dorje brought in chai and biscuits and then followed it up with Tibetan chai - a mixture of hot water, butter and salt. We made a respectable effort, but none of us managed to finish our cups!
Dorje was an artist - painting Thangkas (the buddhist silk paintings that hang in many monasteries), and monastery murals, as well as some canvasses. We saw many of these kinds of art in the monasteries, and it always seemed like an art-form lost in history, so it was fascinating to learn that it was a vocation alive in the present. We encouraged Dorje to talk about his work and he brought out various thangkas to show to us - some half done, to illustrate the steps that he went through.There were only 3 or 4 such artists in the Spiti valley - they worked entirely to commissions by the monasteries (who survived mostly on donations), and only during the winter. One thangka could take the whole winter. All the paintings depict Buddhist sriptures in assiduous detail, mostly with established imagery. Murals may be worked on by more than one artist. The house itself was built by a brother of Dalma's, but both he and his wife died in the process when one of the walls collapsed on them. we showed our sympathy as Dorje explained this to us, and sub-consciously shuffled slightly away from the wall which we were sitting against. We left - Fia and Tamsin sacrificing one of the little cuddly key rings that they had attached to their rucksacks, to be able to give something to Tenzin and Thinlay who were absolutely delighted with their gifts, and who had previously presented Raki (not sure of spelling) - whereby bracelets are placed on the arms of girls as a loyal sign of brotherhood.

Our rucksacks were un-packed again when we heard the news about the roads - we had mixed feelings as we felt a little trapped and were eager to move on, but Kaza was growing on us with familiarity and Fia and Tamsin in particular felt completely at home. As Jacqui and I were working on uploading the blog in the internet cafe, I popped next doors to check on the girls who were in with Lote. I saw both Fia and a middle-aged gentleman both standing on one leg, with one arm in the air and their heads pointing down to the ground, with Tamsin in front of them. They had got Rod, a semi-retired Australian teacher, playing "Simon says".

Electricity was almost non-existant in Kaza.

16 August

With the roads going west out of Kasa blocked and with no certitude as to when they would be cleared, we had been considering heading east, and taking the long circular route which curves back south westwards towards Shimla, from where we could get to Dharamsala. It would be a long route, but it was also an adventure in itself - the road was notoriously difficult, dangerous and subject to problems (though ironically was the only road still unblocked at the moment) and the area was only recently opened up to foriegn visitors, and even now requires a special permit owing to the political sensitivity of its proximity to the Tibetan border.

We knew that it would take us more than a week, with stops at villages on the way to avoid 10 hour and more bus journeys. We were also interested in the idea of staying at Kungri monastery - a possible first stopping point on this route - after having had discussions with a French buddhist that we had met in Kasa, and who was staying there, studying the history of Buddhism. Inder was also starting to think that this route represented their only feasible way back to Manali, so in any case, we decided we should apply for our "in-line" permits to allow us the option of this route. The application for our permit took me most of the day - finding the stationery store where you can buy the forms to fill out for the application, finding the Assistant District Commisioners Office to make the application, having to return for a signature from each of the member's of the family, deposing the application at the office, then a later trip to pick up the completed pemits - but by 5:00 I had 4 in-line permits in my hand.
On each route to and from the ADC office, I passed a large concreted recreational area, and stopped to watch a few overs of a hotly contested game of cricket. The game was being played with a tennis ball and some self-supported wickets, and an enthusiastic commentator with a loudspeaker animated the gathering, completely in Hindi except the scores. Despite the rudimentary infrastructure and equipment, the level was truly impressive, with the tennis ball being launched at an immense speed, and I found out in discussion with some of the supporters that it was an official 1 day knock-out tournament between villages. The subject of the test-match innevitably came up (India, from their nbr 1 world ranking, were being humiliated by England at the time) and I didn't linger too long in case they proposed me to bat as a representative outlet for their revenge. Jacqui and the girls spent the morning in a French lesson, and we all met for lunch at our favourite little Tibetan restaurant for momo's (little steamed pastry parcels of potato, cheese or mutton) dipped into soy or chilli sauce.

By the evening 2 other pieces of news had reached us - 1) Inder had changed his mind about taking the longer route to Manali - another closed mountain pass meant that it was even longer than he had thought and 2) the Ladarcha festival was starting in Kasa. This confirmed our plans - we would wait one more day to see some of the festival, then leave Kasa the following day heading east, stopping initialy at Kungri monastery, and then onwards by bus on the long route towards Dharamsala, finding the appropriate places to stop en route.
Lote, from the travel agency, had previously invited us to dinner with him, so we headed off with him and Rod the Australian, at around 7:00 in his jeep. We had understood we were heading for his house, but in fact he took us to a hotel out of Kasa (which we later found out was his) and had a fabulous evening of excellent, seemingly endless, food - rice, dahl, chicken marsala, muttar paneer (curried and cheese and local peas), curried vegetables and chapatis ad infinitum - with very enjoyable and interesting company, and all lubricated by numerous bottles of Kingfisher beer. Rod was a character, and we found that his talent at entertaining Fia and Tamsin at their level was matched by his talent at entertaining us with the amazing stories of his life, told always with a comically laid-back australian tone. At 50 something (can't remember exactly what), he now spends some of his time doing supply teaching in the countryside of australia and his summer on challenging Himalayan treks with only his tent for company. Lote hosted us like royal visitors - he couldn't do enough for us, and ended the night offering us a room in his plush hotel. The girls were begging us to, but as we had nothing with us, we decided to head back.

17 August

This was our last day in Kasa before an extended period on the move, focused us, and we intensively worked on some school work and the blog. Kaza was buzzing though - there were many more street sellers in the main street, that came in from neighbouring areas, and the street was now busy way beyond the bus station where the village normally ended. People were everywhere, and somehow we could tell they were not from Kasa - they found us novel and stared at us even more than the locals would. The Kasa locals crowded around sellers that were bringing something new to them - a shoe seller and a seller of plastic domestic items, washing bowls, jugs etc were getting particular attention.
In between our "work" we wondered down the street and ended up sitting in the warehouse-like concrete buldings of the bus station where an animated game of bingo was in progress. We stepped up, bought some cards and joined in. We needed some special attention from the organisers to fully understand the rules, but the calls were in english - "two fat ladies, eighty-eight", "unlucky for some, number 13", and the occasonal "big shake", and in no time at all we were there yelling our remaining numbers as fervently as the rest, willing the appropriate balls to be selected from the bag. We won nothing, but felt, as everyone does, that we were close, and had a lot of fun.
Our last lunch was in our favourite (at least Jacqui and my favourite) Hindi restaurant - there are only ever two options on offer: a thali (with Dahl, vegetables, rice and chapatis), and the other samosa with channa (curried chickpeas) doused in a chilli sauce and curd. Both were asbolutely delicious (even Tamsin loved the thali), and the chaotic indian atmosphere was special with all sorts of people eating at the little tables, and a charismatic server rushing around shouting orders through to the kitchen, slamming plates onto the tables, and plonking ever more chapatis onto your table. No matter how much we ate at this restaurant, we never payed more than 3 euros, with a large part being the bottles of mineral water.
In the evening we went to the school where we had heard the Ladarcha festivities would be taking place. There was a large playing field with a fixed concrete stage at one end, in front of which had been assembled rows of chairs. We had clearly arrived early as the seats were completely empty and having chatted away to a couple of Italians, it was not long before we were ushered into seats, before we sat through a painfully long series of what seemed like congratulatary speeches of which we understood absolutely nothing. Finally, after everyone had been praised, thanked or informed, the entertainments began: a haunting flutist sitting cross legged in the middle of the stage, a group of traditional dancers and then a number of different children groups, with colourful traditional costumes abounding throughout. Our naivety was clear - we had been more or less alone to listen to the long droning speeches, but by the time the more interesting entertainments started, the place was heaving - the seats were all taken, the floor in front of us packed with seated ladies, and the sides of the stadium crowded. Unfortunately, we had not eaten before coming (we were expecting something much less formal, a bit more rock-concert-like, with stalls to eat food, and music and entertainments in the background) and apart from a little sip of Mountain Dew when they felt guilty handing out to the officials just in front of us - there had been nothing - so we made our subtle exit, and headed to the Mahabuddha restaurant. Lakpa and Karim were there and Inder joined us shortly afterwards.