With almost no sign of the poetry that played out the previous night, we woke up to this view, and as you can see, it was simply beautiful.
Much as I wasn't keen to pack up and roll out, because it was one of those places that you could just kick back and relax in, I managed to get myself to get on with it; and somewhere between sipping my morning glass of hot water, a shower, and a slightly creepy encounter with a large brown spider that looked like it was giving birth to a white ball of putty, I did get the job done.
Considering it had been way over 2 hours since I last ate, we had a long journey ahead of us, and that missing breakfast isn't really an option as far as I'm concerned, the four of us then loaded up on a nice and wholesome meal. In true 'me' fashion, I had carried my own coarse ground, 20 day supply of coffee (yes, it was a 12-day trip, but I was prepared for the eventuality that the people I was with were worth sharing my coffee rituals with), and a travelling french press mug. The hotel had an electric coffee filter so I just used that, and that already beautiful and sublime morning instantly became better by more than just a few notches (yes, I will always take the time for coffee-related details because, well, coffee is coffee, and there's a rampant ongoing love affair between coffee and me).
Bidding Thanedar adieu, we set off in our car, with our very good, but absolute twit of a driver who suddenly became the most brilliant local tour guide when either of the ladies asked him questions and was the source of so much random bullshit entertainment for the days that followed.
Our next stop, this time for 2 nights, was to be in Sangla Valley, at one of the more polished campsites, Kinner Camps.
As we proceeded deeper into the folds of the Himalayas, they literally rose up around us, engulfing us with their majestic, ancient, and everlasting presence. There were breathtaking views at literally every point, where one wanted to stop and take photographs.
The whole idea of capturing everything on camera was a new one to me. I've always thought of myself as a little stunted when it came to visual aesthetics, and I feel like I'm a lot more well-versed with things that have to do with the auditory senses; but on this trip, I was determined to visually capture what I could, and possibly write about it too, and it seems like I did decently on both fronts.
However, the reasoning behind me not being trigger happy with a camera in the past stands true till date: you simply CANNOT do justice to what the eyes see when you try to capture it on camera (and I'm not referring to the pros and junkies who literally travel with an entire store full of lenses and cameras with them).
Two initial stops, one for a quick bite (yes, two hours after the last meal), and the second while we were queued up, waiting for the HP roadworks to clear debris after they were done with some blasting. There was some serious roadwork happening throughout the region and we did traverse some pretty dicey looking roads. Needless to say, I was completely trigger happy, shooting every snow-capped mountain in the distance, and I'm not really sure how much of that footage actually made it to my trip archive.
Our main meal happened a little after what one would normally consider lunchtime, at a rickety little dhaba in a town called Tapri. The place looked like it would fall apart any second, served very basic food, but that meal had us ensnared, in its clutches, and by telling ourselves that we didn't know when we'd eat next, we went full-frontal assault on the unlimited thaali style meal. Eventually satiated, we did manage do get back into our car and plod on. From here on, the slightly straighter and simpler roads gave way to the more twisting, narrow, and rough mountain roads.
As we crossed JSWs gigantic hydroelectric plant at the confluence of the Baspa and Sutlej rivers, marked by the very sophisticated Karcham Wangtoo Dam, we took the right fork to Sangla Valley, and our destination, Seringche.
Driving down an extremely steep incline, we reached the campsite which was pretty much on the banks of the Baspa river. Greeted at the entrance by this grumpy old man, we checked in to our tents, and that 7-hour journey had us all wanting to stretch out and sip on some coffee.
My plan, however, was to head down to the riverside and sit on a bridge over the river Baspa (see what I did there) and marvel at the mountains, the sunset, listen to the flow of water underneath.
The reasonably dry day was more than amply made up for by the surroundings of the campsite. A few steps down and I was walking almost on the river bank itself, with tall, ancient fir trees lining the bank itself. Almost as it is with the mountains, these trees were high, in some cases gnarled and twisted, as if nothing at all could ever have hindered their growth, because nature always finds a way; and ancient in their own context, once again filled with stories, tales, and a very different and real take on how history, myths, and legends played out.
I walked quietly along the river bank towards a bridge that would take me to the other side. In a case of something that was quite the opposite to my norm: no trademark earphones were sitting in my ears, no music playing, no bobbing of my head to whatever the beat was, and however intense.
It was just me, walking, listening to the river flowing: quick, determined, unstoppable; and the light swishing of the trees every time the wind puffed or gusted through them. A bird made its presence known now and then, here and there, but each time I looked up, I didn't see anything.
Eventually, I reached a solid little bridge, spanning the width of the river, with prayer flags on it. The foliage cover was a lot wider now that I was literally in the centre of the river, and I felt the might of the mountains even more, as they rose up around me, behind the tall trees that were the immediate line of foliage.
I turned to face the sun, already on its descent, casting the most amazing light on my surroundings, and bathing what I later found out was the rear side of the Kinner Kailash range, in a warm, engulfing, and absolutely stunning glow.
Sitting there, quietly, watching the sun go down, while the river flowed beneath me, there was a sense of calm, and peace, with everything else left behind. It was almost as if in a moment, I was saying, "Here, ten days, I'm yours now, show me the magic, show me the wonder, show me the beauty. Be kind and show me peace".
The night that followed was all about planning a trek the next day, a couple of drinks to go with the ambience, the customary bonfire, a good hot meal, and what would be a much needed night's rest to be fully ready for the morning trek.
Much as I wasn't keen to pack up and roll out, because it was one of those places that you could just kick back and relax in, I managed to get myself to get on with it; and somewhere between sipping my morning glass of hot water, a shower, and a slightly creepy encounter with a large brown spider that looked like it was giving birth to a white ball of putty, I did get the job done.
Considering it had been way over 2 hours since I last ate, we had a long journey ahead of us, and that missing breakfast isn't really an option as far as I'm concerned, the four of us then loaded up on a nice and wholesome meal. In true 'me' fashion, I had carried my own coarse ground, 20 day supply of coffee (yes, it was a 12-day trip, but I was prepared for the eventuality that the people I was with were worth sharing my coffee rituals with), and a travelling french press mug. The hotel had an electric coffee filter so I just used that, and that already beautiful and sublime morning instantly became better by more than just a few notches (yes, I will always take the time for coffee-related details because, well, coffee is coffee, and there's a rampant ongoing love affair between coffee and me).
Bidding Thanedar adieu, we set off in our car, with our very good, but absolute twit of a driver who suddenly became the most brilliant local tour guide when either of the ladies asked him questions and was the source of so much random bullshit entertainment for the days that followed.
Our next stop, this time for 2 nights, was to be in Sangla Valley, at one of the more polished campsites, Kinner Camps.
As we proceeded deeper into the folds of the Himalayas, they literally rose up around us, engulfing us with their majestic, ancient, and everlasting presence. There were breathtaking views at literally every point, where one wanted to stop and take photographs.
The whole idea of capturing everything on camera was a new one to me. I've always thought of myself as a little stunted when it came to visual aesthetics, and I feel like I'm a lot more well-versed with things that have to do with the auditory senses; but on this trip, I was determined to visually capture what I could, and possibly write about it too, and it seems like I did decently on both fronts.
However, the reasoning behind me not being trigger happy with a camera in the past stands true till date: you simply CANNOT do justice to what the eyes see when you try to capture it on camera (and I'm not referring to the pros and junkies who literally travel with an entire store full of lenses and cameras with them).
Two initial stops, one for a quick bite (yes, two hours after the last meal), and the second while we were queued up, waiting for the HP roadworks to clear debris after they were done with some blasting. There was some serious roadwork happening throughout the region and we did traverse some pretty dicey looking roads. Needless to say, I was completely trigger happy, shooting every snow-capped mountain in the distance, and I'm not really sure how much of that footage actually made it to my trip archive.
Our main meal happened a little after what one would normally consider lunchtime, at a rickety little dhaba in a town called Tapri. The place looked like it would fall apart any second, served very basic food, but that meal had us ensnared, in its clutches, and by telling ourselves that we didn't know when we'd eat next, we went full-frontal assault on the unlimited thaali style meal. Eventually satiated, we did manage do get back into our car and plod on. From here on, the slightly straighter and simpler roads gave way to the more twisting, narrow, and rough mountain roads.
As we crossed JSWs gigantic hydroelectric plant at the confluence of the Baspa and Sutlej rivers, marked by the very sophisticated Karcham Wangtoo Dam, we took the right fork to Sangla Valley, and our destination, Seringche.
Driving down an extremely steep incline, we reached the campsite which was pretty much on the banks of the Baspa river. Greeted at the entrance by this grumpy old man, we checked in to our tents, and that 7-hour journey had us all wanting to stretch out and sip on some coffee.
The reasonably dry day was more than amply made up for by the surroundings of the campsite. A few steps down and I was walking almost on the river bank itself, with tall, ancient fir trees lining the bank itself. Almost as it is with the mountains, these trees were high, in some cases gnarled and twisted, as if nothing at all could ever have hindered their growth, because nature always finds a way; and ancient in their own context, once again filled with stories, tales, and a very different and real take on how history, myths, and legends played out.
I walked quietly along the river bank towards a bridge that would take me to the other side. In a case of something that was quite the opposite to my norm: no trademark earphones were sitting in my ears, no music playing, no bobbing of my head to whatever the beat was, and however intense.
It was just me, walking, listening to the river flowing: quick, determined, unstoppable; and the light swishing of the trees every time the wind puffed or gusted through them. A bird made its presence known now and then, here and there, but each time I looked up, I didn't see anything.
Eventually, I reached a solid little bridge, spanning the width of the river, with prayer flags on it. The foliage cover was a lot wider now that I was literally in the centre of the river, and I felt the might of the mountains even more, as they rose up around me, behind the tall trees that were the immediate line of foliage.
I turned to face the sun, already on its descent, casting the most amazing light on my surroundings, and bathing what I later found out was the rear side of the Kinner Kailash range, in a warm, engulfing, and absolutely stunning glow.
Sitting there, quietly, watching the sun go down, while the river flowed beneath me, there was a sense of calm, and peace, with everything else left behind. It was almost as if in a moment, I was saying, "Here, ten days, I'm yours now, show me the magic, show me the wonder, show me the beauty. Be kind and show me peace".
The night that followed was all about planning a trek the next day, a couple of drinks to go with the ambience, the customary bonfire, a good hot meal, and what would be a much needed night's rest to be fully ready for the morning trek.
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