The Chamba Valley
And so to the chamba valley. Where? Exactly! I didn’t have a scooby doo about the place more than 1 week ago. I needed to get out of mcleod ganj, its not that I didn’t like the place. It was great, too great! If I didn’t scarper when I did I would still be there and could find it hard to leave ever, they don’t check for passports up there hence all the tibetans so I could theoretically have put up shop there, opened my irish bar (still haven’t seen one in india) and be happy out. I read through the guidebook and the most popular place in the state was a place called manali which is meant to be beautiful by all accounts but also overrun by backpackers like myself. I fancied a bit of a challenge so started to look off the beaten track so to speak. So instead of heading east to the kullu valley I headed north to the Chamba Valley, my plan was simple as. I go to the mouth of the valley to a town called Dalhousie and work my way up the valley as far as I could go.
Of course plans are plans and in this country they rarely resemble the eventual outcome. As I sat in some backwater town waiting for the bus to dalhousie I was informed by the one person that had some english that the next bus wasn’t until 4pm. It was currently 10.30. Screw that!! I asked where the bus across the road was going and they told me it was going to Chamba town itself. The guidebook didn’t have a whole load to say about the town other than list a few places to stay, it was halfways up the valley so I decided to give it a lash.
On the bus I witnessed something quite horrific. The way indian buses operate is that they have a bus conductor and a driver. The conductor tells the driver to stop for passengers via one toot of his whistle, two toots indicates that the intended passengers have gotten on the bus safely and the bus takes off. An awful lot of the time the conductor toots twice very early and its up to the person be it a young child, an able bodied man or an old lady to chase the bus and bound their way aboard. This time a man, he looked poor and probably homeless and only partial use of his legs was trying to board the bus. I only know he had this disability as I remember glimpsing out the side as the bus slowed down to pick him up. Sure enough he was only half on board when his hands lost grip and he fell out the door. The noise that emanated from his contact with the wheel of the bus was sickening. I was sickened not only by that but the apparent apathy shown by the people who saw what happened. Not one person called for the bus to stop as the poor creature lay strewn on the roadside. I instinctively let a roar to ‘stop the fckn bus’. It took ages for me to get someone to call for help, I couldn’t alight myself as all my luggage was stored aboard and I knew right well that if I did the driver would just take off. I don’t know if that man is still alive, i’d be sure to say that best case scenario is that both his legs are badly broken. Shocking stuff. I didn’t feel right for hours later.
Somewhere along the way to chamba I saw the another bad sight. A truck and a car meeting head on on the windy mountain roads. The car not standing a chance was sent tumbling into the ravine, it didn’t fall far and it looked like the people inside might have escaped. I read the local papers for the next couple of days to see if there was any report of people dying in the chamba district but nothing was reported. In a country where 70,000 people die annually on the roads that is hardly a surprise.
Apart from those two incidents Chamba has been amazing. Chamba town itself is a lovely little town, perched above the ravi river you have wonderful views to the east of some unnamed snowcapped mountains. My second evening there was dominated by a massive thunderstorm, it was bloody scary and spectacular. Whatever it is about the mountains they attract lots of them. Chamba, in a funny kind of way it reminded me of home and cavan in particular. Somewhere which is beautiful but for one reason or another stays off the tourist trail. I guess that makes places like this that much more attractive to the likes of myself who grows weary quickly off tourist centres. My hotel was lovely and cheap, the town itself shuts down at 8 so unlikely to fall asleep at such an hour the tv in the room was a welcome addition.
The next port of call was a town called Bhalmore, which could easily be an irish town name. Its 50 km from chamba but the bus took 6.5 hours to travel that far. Deep deep into the chamba valley we went. The scenery was stunning, I will post pictures as soon as I can. The road was notorious for landslides, given the steepness of the slopes its no surprise. The top of the valley on both sides was snowcapped while at several junctures you could be up to a mile above the ravi river below. Makes you kinda glad that you have packed extra clean underwear. One of the landslides required us to get off our bus and climb over the debris, and across a wooden bridge (strong wood indie, strong wooooooooo) to a bus that eventually arrived to take us the rest of the way up the valley. The trip was to take just 2 hours, so it was well into the night by the time I got there. The place looked bleak, the streets were dirty and many places were still closed down for the winter. Everybody stared, I found out later that they get about 1 foreigner a week up here and thats at peak season. I eventually found a place. It was cheap but easily amongst the worst of places where I have layed my head for a much needed kip. I had 4 blankets on me and I still woke up several times shivering. No wonder really, the streets still had snow on them and I was after all at 2,500 metres above sea level.
I got up early the next day and went for a wander, it takes about 0.0000001 seconds to realise why people come here. It is stunning, my gawd the views, the mountains, the valleys, the rivers, the forest. It was amazing, like something you would expect to see in a heidi film, Heidis revenge I think is the one I am thinking off. I thought to myself yes this is a nice place to spend some time, to read my book etc etc. I took a short walk up the town, the streets were pretty mucky it has to be said but everyone there was so friendly. Even the women, shouted from their houses, often the rooftop with namaste (hello) to the salmon skinned boy in their midst. Above the town is a place called chausari which litterally translates as 84. 84 hindu temples dedicated to Shiva (one of their gods), and guess what today was??? Shivatri – Shiva Day, nationwide. People from all around had the day off and so converged into chausri. I of course was a massive attraction – every man and his dog came over and welcomed me to the place. The police Sargeant came over and asked me my name, country and wished me a pleasant stay. Offered me any assistance I needed etc etc – You wouldn’t get that in kilnaleck. I wandered around some more having plenty of fun with my camera and took the time to take in the scenery for hours on end, I planned the next 3 weeks or so (which I hope at some point I can get my hands on a passport of some description, at this rate I will need to take up my right to an american one – will have to work on the accent first me thinks). I cannot count the number of people that I had a chat with, each of them offered me a place to stay when I complained that my hotel was cold. Twas funny as I sat on the square you could see people lining up, taking their turn to talk to me. Twas as if I was in a doctors surgery. They all pleaded with me to join them that night at the festival party. I reckoned sure whats the harm.
After some time reading my book and getting something to eat I headed back on up to the square with the 84 temples (funny thing is, its not that big at all – the size of a soccer pitch i.e. the temples are pretty small). What I witnessed was just plain bizarre. About 6 or 7 of the temples had fires in them, controlled camp like fires it has to be said. Inside each of them sat dozens of men and women, kids as young as ten – all of them stoned. Apparently Shiva himself liked a bit of the local produce himself and so in his honor they had this ritual get baked ceremony once a year. I guess whats the difference between us christians drinking wine at mass and them consuming what they had. I didn’t spend long here, twas kinda like walking around in a Romero movie. Bhamore is an amazing little town, if any of you ever find yourself in himachel pradesh I urge you to make the effort to go there, the people are crazy but so friendly. The ride there alone is an attraction. I left there this morning and encountered a few more landslides. I am back in more civilized terrain in dalhousie, the town i left for on monday. It has been quite a trip here so far in the chamba valley…. More to come
Tags: Himachael Pradesh, India
Phil Gill
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