Kashmirimiri

So, now back to the Boathouse. What the hell were Nechama and I involved in. Man. Because of Bashir's good feelings towards me we were invited to a feast he held to thank God and to commemorate his late father. The day before the feast we had the privilege of visiting Bashir's house to see how they prepare the food. What we did indeed see was the Halal slaughtering of two goats, the livers/stomach/gizzards/furs of the already slaughtered sheep, and ten men sitting on the opposite side of the yard in a row with meat mallets, tenderizing the meat. Pots were bubbling with yellow and white and green liquids (saffron, yoghurt and spinach perhaps?) but the mood was unusually subdued and methodical. Inside the house there was some chaos going on - people looking for eachother, for other utensils, serving tea, finding more carpets to roll out beneath the tents pegged in their yard. I have never seen an animal slaughtered before. And i think, to be quite sure actually, I don't want to see it in the future. The water that followed along the drain by the house ran red. Like the ten plagues.

The feast the next day was a treat. To say thankyou a small group of tourists (Nechama, myself, a British girl Kate with whom we are travelling Rajasthan and an older Danish couple) brought lollies from the local store and shared it with the scores of children running around the place. Once they all got their fare share, some adults approached us and asked us for some sweets as well. Even the men who spent the night cooking the feast asked us for some - which we gave them gladly.

I think that's th eonce thing that I don't think I will get used to in India. The caste system. Or no, perhaps not the caste system, but by the way people (Indians) who have travelled to the West, and have experienced freedom of choice and abolishment of slavery in other countries, still treat their servants with no respect at all. And i think it hurts when one becomes friends with Indians in a lower caste. As soon as someone from a higher caste comes along and has the right to order our friends around - then it becomes EXTREMELY uncomfortable. We especially became good friends with our guide, Remi, our waiter Shaban, and our driver, the gorgeous looking Fayaz (who was the only one our age and played pop music (along with Kashmiri trance) in his jeep). And when someone like Naz's brother (you remember Naz? The oily travel agent from Delhi who sent us to Srinigar from a previous post? Well, his brother is just as oily. And doesn't like it when we don't find his jokes funny and can't really get into the jokes we share with the rest of the group) comes in and the dynamics shift dramatically - it's a real shame. I suppose I ought to get used to it, but I know it's going to be very difficult. I know I even feel so uncomfortable when Pani Mirka is cleaning up around me - I feel I have to help her (and I do, Mum :P). I think it's all about respect. Respecting and appreciating those around you, no matter their relationship to you.

I'm getting a little too sentimental there, pardon me. Now, I haven't written a word about the Trek. I've mentioned the Boathouse a couple times, but not the Trek. Well, we gained Remi's and Fayaz's trust and hope for a good time during the trek. Nechama and I ventured out into the Himalayan mountains for a four day/three night trek to the Lakes Krishna and Vishna, in the direction of the Pakistani border. (I wasn't supposed to tell you that, in case anyone got worried, but now I'm safe here in Dharmasala out of harm's way.) It was Nech, myself, Remi (guide) and three horsemen who took care of the food, the horses, the equipment and the tents. Their names were Manzur, Zahur and Rashid. Manzur was only trekking with us to replace his brother who usually travels with Remi and he wasn't born to be a trekker for the rest of his life. His understanding of English was the best and he could also read and write which was much more than anyone else we had met (aside from Bashir and those of that echelon). I will try to add photos asap, when I can get to the computer that holds them (it's been busy these past couple days).

We hiked through mountains and herds of sheep and cows and gypsy villages (where we were invited in for tea a couple times - I must admit I'm not so partial to sheep's milk. But it is rude to refuse hospitality, and so, like a good girl, I accepted everything gladly. This incident also occured in Bashir's house where we were invited for dinner on the first night of our stay in Srinigar. Bashir kept telling us of his mother's magnificent custard, and that we must try some. Well, when it was served, and his mother served very large portions, it tasted of scrambled eggs and watery sugar/maple liquid. It was awful. Nechama couldn't bring herself to finish it, but there I was, quickly shovelling it down my throat so the faster I ate, the more I didn't have to endure - and when asked- "do you like it?" I replied "Of course! I wouldn't eat it if I didn't like it." Urgh.)

We played cards for hours on end (Rummy, mostly) when the weather became freezing (it startedto snow as we were walking back, and most nights it was minus degrees) and learnt some Kashmiri words and sayings. The horsemen called Nechama 'Zuni' after the moon (she was very very white, and then during the trek she got burnt and became quite pink) and also Lo-Kariel, which mean an Auto-Rickshaw that carries fruit. Why? Because she kept falling over like a Lo-Kariel, this way and that - nothing stopped her from falling. We had such a wonderful time - it showed me that I can cope with high altitudes and cardio stuff (even though I haven't exercised in god knows how long!).

We're going to part ways now, I have spent too much time letting you know what's going on right now with me, and it's a gorgeous day outside. So toodle doo and goodbye to you! And if you like what you read, or have anything to say about it - give me a buzz! Stay safe and Shana Tova