The Rohtang Pass

The second day was taken up by a visit to the Rohtang Pass. This 13,000 ft.-above-sea-level pass is the Kullu Valley's only access point to the cities further north in Himachal Pradesh. Tourist buses (Rs. 210/- roundtrip) take visitors up to the pass, then bring them back to Manali. The day I visited (Nov. 14th) was the last day it was open to tourists because of heavy snowfall the night before. After that, only commericial vehicles can pass through it - and at their own risk.

The fresh snowfall made the place very serene. But its ability to erase tracks quickly gave an inkling of how forbidding a place the mountains can be. As soon as we got down, I moved quickly away from the bus (read: other people) and into the mountains. The 10 minutes of silence was stunning, for lack of a better word. The only sounds were my feet crunching the fresh snow, and the wind blowing more snow over my tracks. I came across some powerlines upon which hundreds of prayer flags had been hung, but further up, there were more, tied between rocks - tattered by the wind, their colors long since faded. A local riding a tatu (mule?) came up. I asked in my broken Hindi how long these prayer flags had been there. He held onto one strand and pointed to a date on written in tibetan (?). 1906. Damn.

Our silent amazement at the journey someone made up exactly one century before, most likely on the back of a mule was interrupted by the gleeful shouts of a newlywed couple frolicking in the snow. I was tossed into an impromptu Hindi movie as the husband began singing (very poorly) some love song to his wife who, despite her brownness still blushed. While definitely cute (and ridiculously sappy), it totally ruined my desired ambience of silence. I decided to make a snowman while I waited for them to go away. Bad idea. My hands froze immediately in the loose snow (that doesn't pack), I couldn't make a snowman, and the people didn't go away. The worst was yet to come though. Turns out Indians are their own worst tourists. As more of the people from our bus made their way up the hills, they brought with them bags of potato chips, bottles of coke, packets of biscuits and cups, all of which by the end of our visit, were sad reminders of recent human presence in the fresh snowfall.

And for as much as they complain that their cities are noisy and polluted, they came to the silence of Rohtang and instead of enjoying the silent and fresh air, they brought radios blaring bhangra and lots of cigarettes. My two Italian acquaintance, Marco and Tom, both avid smokers themselves, couldn't believe it either.

I am realizing that I really enjoy the sounds of nature and her silence. Even when she's noisy, she's not loud. And even the cacophony of the wind over the snow and the snort of the mule has a certain harmony to it. Maybe I'll buy a secluded hut in the mountains.