Joshimath
The driver came 7:40; he was meant to come at 7, but India seems to be on Africa time. If I'd known, I'd have tried sleeping in. Got very little sleep last night, reeling from the news that I did not get the job in Luleå. ...Which would be for the best if A. is interested in dating, but I've heard nothing from him since I left his place Wednesday morning.
There was no one to make coffee at the hotel while we waited, so I had nothing in my stomach till we stopped after a couple hours for breakfast -- forgot about the apples in my pack.
As the morning proceeded, I was thinking that I had read about this road -- or one very much like it! in this same corner of India -- in a "world's most dangerous roads" article a couple weeks ago. So this was why Swagata was so keen for us to get off early, and so concerned about the weather. The twisting narrow road clung to the side of insanely steep canyon walls with -- for a while -- something like a 1000-meter drop straight down. Sometimes there was a guardrail, if not very adequate; often there was nothing. Indian drivers are aggressive and fast, and the thought of tumbling to certain death does little to put them off. Sometimes our driver would remember to honk the horn going around the endless hairpin curves, sometimes not. Lots of monkeys, lounging by the roadside, watched our fun.
At the bottom of the canyon was the Ganges, which we followed for a number of hours, then one of its tributaries. In places the asphalt was entirely obliterated, apparently by rock falls that had been cleared away: a common occurrence, it seems. During a rain storm, the road would be beyond terrifying. With last night's insomnia, I felt like a nacrolept, except I would nod off to be woken moments later by the next violent jerk of the car. I was nervous, too, because Snig and the driver were occasionally passing back and forth a joint -- I wanted full attention on the road! Maybe I've spent too much time in risk-averse Sweden.
"Lunch" was around 3-3:30 at a restaurant Snig had stopped at before and liked. Arrived Joshimath 5:15 just as the skies were threatening rain, though none has come as yet. The driver took us to a guest house Snig knew, then we paid him (7000 rupees, or 1000 Swedish kroner) and sent him on his way.
We checked in and had a coffee in our room, then wandered up the hill to town so I could buy this notebook, and Snig could buy... a torch, batteries, a hat, cigarettes, rolling papers, and hash. I had dinner -- some kind of Tibetan potato dumplings and some kind of fried potato cakes with beans -- hoping, as always, that I'd chosen wisely for sake of my stomach.
Would love more than anything to hear from A. Strange to have a moment so intimate and then be left wondering quite what happened or what it all means.
There was no one to make coffee at the hotel while we waited, so I had nothing in my stomach till we stopped after a couple hours for breakfast -- forgot about the apples in my pack.
As the morning proceeded, I was thinking that I had read about this road -- or one very much like it! in this same corner of India -- in a "world's most dangerous roads" article a couple weeks ago. So this was why Swagata was so keen for us to get off early, and so concerned about the weather. The twisting narrow road clung to the side of insanely steep canyon walls with -- for a while -- something like a 1000-meter drop straight down. Sometimes there was a guardrail, if not very adequate; often there was nothing. Indian drivers are aggressive and fast, and the thought of tumbling to certain death does little to put them off. Sometimes our driver would remember to honk the horn going around the endless hairpin curves, sometimes not. Lots of monkeys, lounging by the roadside, watched our fun.
At the bottom of the canyon was the Ganges, which we followed for a number of hours, then one of its tributaries. In places the asphalt was entirely obliterated, apparently by rock falls that had been cleared away: a common occurrence, it seems. During a rain storm, the road would be beyond terrifying. With last night's insomnia, I felt like a nacrolept, except I would nod off to be woken moments later by the next violent jerk of the car. I was nervous, too, because Snig and the driver were occasionally passing back and forth a joint -- I wanted full attention on the road! Maybe I've spent too much time in risk-averse Sweden.
"Lunch" was around 3-3:30 at a restaurant Snig had stopped at before and liked. Arrived Joshimath 5:15 just as the skies were threatening rain, though none has come as yet. The driver took us to a guest house Snig knew, then we paid him (7000 rupees, or 1000 Swedish kroner) and sent him on his way.
We checked in and had a coffee in our room, then wandered up the hill to town so I could buy this notebook, and Snig could buy... a torch, batteries, a hat, cigarettes, rolling papers, and hash. I had dinner -- some kind of Tibetan potato dumplings and some kind of fried potato cakes with beans -- hoping, as always, that I'd chosen wisely for sake of my stomach.
Would love more than anything to hear from A. Strange to have a moment so intimate and then be left wondering quite what happened or what it all means.