On my last day in Kasol I walked along the river, following the path to the town and beyond. It would’ve been nice to have more time just to hang out and enjoy that landscape, but I didn’t want to stay at the Nest any longer, and I felt that I’d achieved something on this part of the trip and could move on. I’d seen a bit of river/mountain-life, both the holidaymakers and the locals. I’d got some fresh air and escaped the city noise. I’d become accustomed to sheep and all the rest; on that last walk I followed a woman driving two cows along the path. She deposited them in the bushes, but was then shouting at one of them because (i think) it was eating the wrong bush. I can’t say that I’ve learnt a huge amount about the details of village life, but at least I had a few days to see what was going on there.

There was another hostel in the village which I’d walked past a fair bit. It looked like a friendly place, so on my last evening I thought I’d stop by there to have a drink, see what was going on, avoid being stuck in the nest. I was standing on the rooftop looking at the hills when I saw Amir the Iranian arrive at the hostel. He’d returned from Manali, with an English girl. They planned to do the hike to Khirrganga which I’d done a couple of days before. So instead of having an early night I actually had quite a fun night talking to Amir and Shannon. I was happy to see them and have some company in a relaxed place- the manager was around too: quite a funny guy, and a few other guests were milling around. There was a mini-table-tennis table which was surprisingly enjoyable to play on. We drank a bit of rum, and it was nice to have an almost-normal evening of joking around. It was refreshing to talk to an English person, not something I do very often. So I left Kasol on a high-note, having managed to put in a few hours’ worth of socialising.

I got two bangy-shaky buses to Kullu- a random town where I was stuck with my bags for a few hours. I found a place to eat (Chinese-style), left my bags and had a walk around. It seemed ‘out of the way’- a hill town, but with a lot of activity. There was a long narrow market lane which was fascinating to walk up and down: such variety in people’s faces. Again, ignorance reigns- I don’t know about this region. But I liked the atmosphere of this place, and I liked seeing this mixture in appearance. Hints of places I would never visit.

I walked past a shop selling clothes. I bought a jacket, a scarf and a hat. If I ever need to go a formal event in north India in the guise of a local I am sorted for an outfit. Some would call that ‘cultural appropriation’. I just call it high-quality International fashions at a reasonable price. The shopkeeper was a real gentleman (I have his card). I feel that I’d found the Saville Row of Kullu. And will definitely be finding excuses to dress up in the future, although I admit the traditional hat might be hard to pull off- despite its attractiveness.

After a wait beside an incredibly dusty road, trucks driving past, the bus journey to Haridwar started off a dream: I was the only passenger on the Volvo semi-sleeper (Himachal Road Transport Corporation). Quite eerie to be twisting and turning through the twilight into the night, past lonely food-stops all lit up. Semi-supine, semi-awake, the coach making that strange whiney sound that coaches make. Sounds of the road: horns, horns, construction work, half-dulled by earplugs. Unfortunately, some other people got on, including a man who sat down in front of me, immediately reclined his chair into semi-sleep position (so his head was in the vicinity of my chin) and began snoring deliberately and gratuitously. Luckily I was able to scoot back three or four rows. Tried to carry on with the ‘Iliad’ on audiobook, which puts me to sleep in about 10 minutes. The endless hairpins, the semi-consciousness, the sound of Derek Jacobi narrating epic war.

Arrived in Haridwar fairly brain-fried, but just had to get to the guesthouse. There was a very comfortable-looking bed, the first since Hanoi. Had a quick walk around to get the lay of the land, eat some samosas, drink some tea, etc. Had a doze until mid-afternoon, skipping the midday dazzle and heat, and went out to explore- I’d seen the Ganges and the ghats and the people bathing as we came into town on the bus, so I wended through the market street (avoiding the chaotic main road) in that direction. Found a street-cafe, silver pots of delight all gleaming in a line. Really enjoyed talking to the owner, who was pretty entertaining and served up a brilliant thali. If I’m wandering, feeling dazed and detached, that little burst of interaction can help to jolt me into a more engaged mood, and allow me to feel that I’m more present in the place, not entirely absent, floating through. So India is good for that. Mostly I’ll be interacting with people in short bursts, generally feeling quite dazed and out of it, but if I’m not caught totally unawares and have a bit of time to ease into a chat, then it’s easy to have a mood-uplift. And any situation is improved by those spicy little dishes, with side dose of pickle and onion, extra chapatis floating down.

I arrived at the river and for a long stretch people were gathered on the steps, bathing, dunking, swimming, playing, taking photos. It got more crowded as I approached the temples. I took off my shoes and gave them to the shoe-guardian and strolled around the cold wet marble steps. People offered me small bowls of flowers to release into the river. A man in a holy grotto gave me a blessing and tied strings around my wrist. Families sat on the steps, waiting for the prayers to begin and the spare space lessened. It took me a while to get used to it, but after a long stint of sitting on the steps watching, and talking to a few people (and getting involved in a few selfies) I felt vaguely part of the milieu. I think this happens here every evening, but it was a Sunday and as far as I could work out ‘Vaishakha’- Indian New Year (one of the days connected to it), hence the large crowd. I was lucky to arrive in India just in time for Holi, and lucky again to find this at the end of my wander to the river. I had a dim idea that something would be happening, but I didn’t realise it would be so impressive. The prayers, singing, music seemed to grow in intensity as it got darker. The river glowed with the offerings and fire and incense hung in the air. Later on, having a tea nearby (allowing the senses to settle) I met three siblings (one had come from New York) who had their mother’s ashes with them (“in that bag, over there”) and would give them to the river the following morning.