Amritsar, Punjab, India

Day 1: Amritsar > Chandigarh > Manali

Part of the Ladakh 2017 Trip series

2017-08-05, 17:19, JASON

BUDGET, STAY: Random Hotel in Manali

It's a bit strange that there is no one touting us outside of the airport. We arrive on a Tuesday morning, and most of our flight (Indian nationals) disperse into their own vehicles for transportation. Eventually, a man comes up to us and asks us where we are going in a quiet manner. He quotes us 550 Rupees for the bus stop. We try to bargain it down, and he politely declines. A younger man next to us speaks to us in English and asks where we are going, and tries to bargain for us. 500 Rupees to the Bus Station, then. The man then takes us to the taxi rank and we get to Amritsar bus stand. Curious that they call it "bus stand" as opposed to "bus stop" or "bus station." India's retained some older colonial expressions, but I like that.

For the first leg of our journey, we traveled first to Chandigarh, which is about a 5 hour journey. From Chandigarh to Manali is about a 10+ hour journey, depending on road conditions. As such, most of this post is pictures of stuff we saw along the way.

In short, though, driving through Punjab state was beautiful. You can stare out the window for hours and let yourself be distracted by either the beautiful landscape or the local folks getting on with their lives. In some corner of India, something is always happening.

A heavy rain set in about 2 hours into the journey, and the public bus we had taken began to leak on both sides. As a result, many people began cluttering into the middle aisle, preferring to stand rather than get wet. Instantly, what was a bus ride full of strangers seemed to liven up and be a social gathering. Strangers began smiling at each other, tacitly acknowledging the ridiculousness of the rain, yet accepting the fact that this is just how it is. They bonded instantly over the common nuisance of the bus ride -- why suffer in silence? Strangers offered us their seats in hopes that we wouldn't get wet, but how could we in good conscience, knowing it was at the expense of our brother? So, I sat there with the rooftop leak dripping on the seat behind me, my pants soaking it up. But I still stared out the window. The rain added a different dimension to the landscape. It added a layer to everyday life, and the bus continued on.

When we get to Chandigarh, there is a ticketing booth with one man on one side, and a mob of Indians on the other side, trying to buy a ticket. Our plan was to spend a few hours in Chandigarh, and then take a later bus into Manali so that we would reach there in time for our connecting bus from Manali to our final destination, Leh. If we've learned anything traveling through populated cities, it's to always buy in advance if you can. Try to secure a seat so you don't go off schedule. Of course, this only applies to if you're sticking to a schedule, as we were. Our bus from Manali to Leh departed the next morning at 10 am. If we did not make it, we wouldn't make it to Leh. So we waited in this mob to try to buy tickets to Manali.

We're confused. The cluster of people isn't dwindling and we're in the same spot. A man pops up again. He asks me politely where I'm going, and I try to ask if he can get it for a later time, but I'm not sure the message translates. He yells to the ticketeer "Two tickets, Manali!" and in about 10 seconds, he quotes us the price, takes our money, gets change, and hands us our tickets to Manali. I ask him if we can use it for a later time but he says "No, sorry, you have to use this now." Shit. I guess my message never made it to him. Guess we were on a bus to Manali. It was about 14:00. We would arrive at 00:00, midnight. As all things go though, it doesn't hurt to have some flexibility. Whether we got to Manali at 20:00 or 00:00 really made no difference, the fact was that we would get there. And, I was gracious for that man's help.

From Chandigarh to Manali, it's not too long of a distance (maybe 270km), but since most of it is mountain roads it ends up taking quite a while. Not only that, we're on another public bus which is pretty crammed. There are two people manning the bus: the ticket collector, and the driver. The driver is a heavier set man, and a Punjabi, who wears a bright pink turban, unmistakeable for when you make a pitstop and need to get on the bus before the driver does. When we hand our tickets to the ticket collector (after we had taken off), I tell him we are going to Manali. He gives us a questioned look, "Manali...?" and proceeds to make it seem that we are on the wrong bus. After soaking in a our moment of slight hesitation, he smiles through his aviator sunglasses. He does an Indian headshake, maintains the smile, and says, "Manali, OK." Playing on my weak, tourist heart.

The scenery keeps you pleasantly distracted, as do the various people coming on and off the bus. It's like a round of musical chairs: when we get off at a pit stop, there are no more assigned seats. Where you were sitting before is a mere reference point for the place that you probably should sit near, but are not guaranteed a spot. We learn this after the first stop, whereby a man decides to take our spot near the window. There's nothing we can do but roll with it. We shift down two seats, occupying the aisle and the middle. The man who was previously in the aisle moves up. Everyone shuffles around, but there's still enough room for everyone. In the end, this is a small concern. I'm still focused on the range of looks of the people utilizing the bus: from Kashmiri, to Tibetan Ladakhi, to more North Indian. I forget that I'm in a huge country with just as much diversity as say, China. I want to sit and admire the people coming on the bus, until I realize I become that creepy guy 'admiring people coming on the bus.' More pictures of our journey from Chandigarh to Manali:

I'm blown away by the mountains. I'm also blown away by the aptitude of these drivers. They're scaling the side of mountain roads and passing other big trucks without hesitation. Sometimes I look over and it's just a sheer drop to death, but the drivers pay no attention - they've driven these roads before. Occasionally, we go through some passages of mountain that are full-on with the smell of weed. There seems to be no one nearby smoking it, but it's potent enough to permeate the bus. Reminds me of Haight Street, San Francisco.

We make a final stopover for dinner at around 21:00 before the last leg of our trip. We dine with the few folks that have been with us from Chandigarh, which is probably around 4. The meal's a lovely chappati with dal, just right for the bus journey ahead. The bus driver and his ticketeer are dining together and chatting -- they seem like great friends. They smile at us but say no words, almost appreciating the fact that we've been on this journey together for most of the day.

The last leg is a bit rough: there's nothing to see but the occasional passage through a small town, which starkly contrast the still night in the mountains. These moments are worth the wait. At one point we pass by a mess hall that is filled with people, who knows where from or doing what (is this a normal activity on Monday nights?) and then darkness again. We doze off until we reach our destination.

We punctually arrive into Manali. It has a feel of a ski chalet town, with that mountainous air, kind of ski-chalet architecture, as well as the coldness. It seems a bit sketch to us, too. There are only men around. Most of them are drunk and wandering around aimlessly, and there are stray dogs everywhere. It's a little disconcerting, but it's not bad, as the dogs are docile and the men are just enjoying themselves. Most hotels are shut, but we manage to find a random one along the road which we drove up. The hotel concierge oddly takes a photocopy not just of my passport particulars page but also of the page with my Cambodian visa in it. I shrug. It's 00:30 or so, and all I want is to sleep. I'm glad we spent these extra hours sleeping and not on a bus, which would've been the case had we spent more time in Chandigarh. All of my gratitude goes towards that man at the Chandigarh bus station ticketing booth who saw the struggle of two tourists, and helped us purchase tickets. A bit also goes to the ticketeer and the driver for helping us arrive safely, and making us feel comfortable on our ride up. I will never forget aviator ticketeer man.

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