Keylong, Himachal Pradesh, India

Day 2: Manali > Keylong

Part of the Ladakh 2017 Trip series

2017-08-05, 17:19, JASON

BUDGET, STAY: Himachal Pradesh Tourism Hotel in Keylong

We wake up and have a few hours before the bus departs from Manali to Leh, and so we spend the morning in the mountainside town of Leh.

The dregs of last night have washed away. The town is still quiet, but people are slowly opening up shop. Easily the busiest part of town is the bus stand (the Indians have maintained some archaic English vocabulary -- bus "stand"). The hubbub of people getting from here to various parts of the north is not as jarring as the big cities, though. It seems the vastness of the mountain surrounding us can even swallow the bustle of India.

The town is called a "hill station", which serves as a transit point for passengers heading to other parts of India. It's cold up here, maybe 15 degrees, and there's a light fog scattered over the dense green brush on the mountains. It's a really deep green. But it's not deep green like the Malaysian and Singaporean tropical forests, it's deeper, and noticeably pricklier: here, evergreens grow on the mountain. It's been a while since I've seen green like that. Houses are tucked into the crannies of the mountain, and the fog also sets gently on the rooves. The mountains feel about 50 feet away just by their sheer size.

The layout of Manali center is one large walkway, and lined along the walkway are various shops selling all kinds of Indian cuisine - Northern Indian, Southern Indian, Tibetan Indian, etc. I've come to realize and appreciate the diversity to "Indian Food," as we call it in the west. I was so used to eating Indian buffets and Chicken Tikka Masala that I had not realized that "Tikka" in fact means spicy, and there is nothing spicy about Chicken Tikka Masala. Nor had I realized that a Vindaloo in fact is not a spicy dish, it's in fact pretty mild. I've developed a soft spot for South Indian food, the most common kind you get in Singapore. Something about it is comforting, not only in the ingredients but in the way the Tamil folks eat, and how they serve you. The use of hands -- so you taste the freshness of your food. The casual nature of the service, and the server who smiles and does the Indian head shake. The unlimited rice, which has come oftentimes as a blessing, but sometimes a curse (carbicide).

Thorin and I go to an offshoot of the main street and drink some Masala Chai. There is an auntie tucked in the shop, wrapped in a blanket, as well as some laborers standing outside. They give us a weird look. In the Northern parts of India, you get a shift in what an "Indian" looks like. Some of them could be Ladakhi, which have a more Tibetan look (but are Indian by nationality), and some are more classically Indian (read: Brown). They give me a weird look since I somewhat pass as Ladakhi -- and odd, unsettling, yet privileged position to be in. When they speak to me in Hindi, though, I stare blankly. We somehow get our tea. We're huddled there outside with the laborers and the lady. It's a nice morning, oddly quiet for India.

We go 'take our breakfast' (another Indian colloquialism, using "take" instead of "eat" or "have") at a stand nearby the bus station. There's flies buzzing about, and an auntie in a hearty voice asks us what we want. There's a local Ladakhi dish called Momos that we try, as well as some other chappati-style food. The Momos are a bit like dumplings, except inside is purely chopped up vegetables, giving it a crunchy-ish texture. But, that's not the best part. The best part is the sauce you dip it in. It's like the Ladakhi version of spicy sambal sauce, or Tabasco sauce (for my American audience. Actually, who am I kidding, I don't have an audience). Whatever it is, it's like salsa fresca but even more fresh and spicy. The Momos, although small and unassuming, are strangely filling. We're happy - we've had our tea and taken our breakfast. Time for the bus, if we can find it.

Indian bus stops are arranged more in suggested as opposed to regulated fashion. There are general areas where you can find this bus or that bus, but there isn't necessarily always a depot or platform you get on. Manali, being a smaller town, fits into that category. We ask around for our "Himachal Pradesh Tourism" bus (Himachal Pradesh is the name of the province we're in in India), and eventually someone points us to it. Right before we get on, a man yells, "Hello!" to us from a few meters away. Guess who it is? It's aviator man (from the previous day, feel free to read the entry)! He smiles at us and asks where we're going, and we tell him we're on our way to Leh. Himself -- he's about to do the long journey back from Manali to Chandigarh, the same journey we had taken yesterday. Tough job, it's not an easy road and it's definitely not a short drive. But, the hustle moves this city onward.

When we get on the bus, we notice a few things. First, there are white people on this thing. OK, good to know we're going to a touristy place. Next, there are some darker Indian folk with mustaches -- what we have coined the "quintissential Tamil look" -- probably South Indians is our best guess. And, there are East Asians. A group of Korean tourists have decided to take the bus as well, and they have done some duty free shopping as well. There are a few middle class Bombay families as well, which we have come to have a slight distaste for given their entitlement (as we realized on the trip). Anyway, it's a very diverse bus, and it drives out of Manali at 10:00 in the morning. A light rain has just started to fall on the town.

The road journey is absolutely amazing, but indescribable in words, so here are a selection of pictures I've taken along the way.

There are a few pit stops that the bus makes along the way which are tourist stops. Stops that the BRO -- Border Roads Organization, India's road-building and maintaining organization -- have built and made for some good pictures. Usually they'll involve some signage in bright yellow that says "Rohtang Pass" that display the altitude of the current location. There will sometimes be a monastery located at the station, and the multicolored string of Buddhist flags will be hanging nearby en masse. All along the way, we see random folks in groups working on small construction projects, walking their herd of cows, or resting. Most of them are Tibetan looking, but some are more Indian looking. I wonder what their stories are, but our tour bus zooms by, sometimes with only a few feet between our wheels and them. When the bus goes by, the people look at the people on the bus. You would think enough buses and tourists go by that it's not really an interesting sight, but there they are, curious.

We make it to Manali at around 17:00, and check into a hotel that is coordinated with the Himachal Pradesh Tourism Board. The two darker Indian guys with mustaches on the bus become our roommates and confirm that they are Tamil. Like I said, after living in Singapore for a while, I have a soft spot for the Tamil guys and culture. There's something about them that's inviting and more relaxed compared to their Mumbai and Delhi counterparts. There's a friendliness to them too and humor that seems bred into their culture, so we befriend them. We have a chat and the common topic always is: "Why Ladakh?". Turns out, they're best university mates and this is the biking trip they've always planned to do (many folks rent motorcycles and cycle through Leh and nearby tourist spots -- it's kind of an 'old school adventure', similar to taking the Trans-Siberian. Think Motorcycle Diaries). One of the guys was going to get married next year and he said before he did it, he always promised himself and his friend that he would do the trip. Great guys.

The stopover town is called Keylong, and there is a small town center below the hotel, and Thorin and I take a look. There's not much there: the bus stand, a few shops, and a market selling some fruit. We find a man selling some fried chicken on the side of the road and cannot wait until dinner, so we order some -- easily some of the best comfort food we've had. And the sauces! My god, the sauces, always spicy and fresh up here. We pick up some apples from a man who has them displayed in his stall, and while we do so a young Ladakhi girl also comes to order fruits. She's coy and shy, but cannot look away from my camera, so I snap a picture for memories.

Dinner is a buffet provided by the hotel, and the Tamil boys continue chatting with us. They tell us about all the cool spots in Chennai and the town not-too-far from Chennai one of them lived in (forgot the name), and the places and activities that they're fond of. Things ranging from driving 1.5 hours to the nearest getaway spot from the city center just to have a coffee with friends after a long days work, to a 23 km stretch of road trail they used to take their motorcycles on, which was closed off during parts of the day so that the elephants could cross the roads in peace. They talk very fondly of their state - Tamil State - and all of the great things it has to offer. It's not necessarily historical or cultural things, but it's activity based. But I kind of liked that about them. Going on a bike after a long days' work to have coffee, cycling on an open road full of elephant shit.. these are activities that encompass a certain amount of freedom. And, therein lies a bit of that Tamil spirit I was talking about.

Thorin and I sit on a block of concrete outside of the hotel. One guy stops by and asks how we are, and invites us over to have a bonfire with him. He's a part of our tour bus but since he did not book in advance, he did not get a hotel space, nor did he get a car seat. Instead, he's sitting instead right next to the driver in a small enclosure, along with his friend. But, that's how it goes in India. Just because you didn't get a seat, doesn't mean there isn't a place to stay. Just because you don't have a place to stay, doesn't mean that there isn't one. They've rented out a tent across from the hotel, and have decided to do a bonfire since it gets cold in the mountains at night. We go because, well, it's an experience.

We walk across the street and traverse across some fields to get to the tents, getting lost along the way even though the tents are in sight since it's pitch black. When we get there, these guys are eating in their tent. There's an odd calmness to it, since all you can hear is the clinking of forks and knives on their plates, and not much else. These guys are also middle class folk from Mumbai. One is planning on studying in Canada, and the other is -- well, the other one is (I think) studying philosophy and part of a society called the "New Acropolis" -- one of these new-age societies of free thinkers or something. It was a bit weird chatting with them, it was almost as if we were in a high conversation without actually being high. They could've been, I don't know. Anyway, we sit around a bonfire chitting and chatting, and as the fire burns out, we decide to head back to our hotel. One Tamil guy is asleep, and the other is on his phone. We don't want to make too much noise so we tiptoe around, guided by our phones for light. The guy on his phone decides to turn on the light and say "Need some light?" and the other Tamil guys wakes up, going like, "what??" but is ultimately unphased. He puts his head under the blanket. We apologize profusely for coming back late and he says not even to worry about it since "he sleeps like a log." Soon after, we fall asleep. Call is at 04:00 in the morning, and the journey will take us to Leh by 19:00. That's a 15 hour bus journey. We're braced for the worst.

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