Say It Right

Srinagar, Northern India

I had packed my bags and left the wintry wonderland, completely high on life and looking forward to taking anything else on. Though as we descended back down to the standard level of living around these parts, my mood plummeted like a fat kid taking a fall, and it didn’t bounce back as I would’ve liked.

I was cramped in the front seat of the vehicle with a random Indian man, who had the gear shifter operated from between his loins the entire 100 minute trip. I had no sympathy for him, and I was caring only to be heading home – even though I still had several days of other visits to go. “ A house boat in Srinegar” was as much as I knew about the next 2 nights and days, and as we pulled up next to Dal Lake I was still in a pretty foul mood.

We were walked down to the boats by Mr Butt… which didn’t even make me snigger to hear, and shown into the front room of our home of 48hours and in 60seconds, I was higher than the kites that circled the lake insistently throughout the daylight hours.

It was like stepping back in time to colonial days gone by in India, a legacy left by the British if you like, a pot belly fire heating the room, couches and a large hard wood dining table partitioned by locally carved and designed wood work. Our personal butler would attend to us at the push of a buzzer and assist us with drinks, food and anything else he had power to muster.

I later found out that many of the groups moods had dropped much the same as mine had but we laughed it off and enjoyed real beer, and high quality cooked food for what seemed like a very long time.

The following morning, we set our alarms to wake us at 5.30am. Fifteen minutes later, we jumped on a smaller boat and were transported though darkness across Dal Lake. We had blankets and hot water bottles provided, that not a single man there was too masculine to decline the use of. Morning prayer accompanied the voyage, which some said sounded like “Little Drummer Boy”, though I reckon Bowie would’ve been hard pressed to see similarity. We observed Kashmiri’s trading at dawn as we sipped tea and ate fresh baked naan bread before heading back across the now highly reflective still waters of the lake. Enchanting, almost.

After some strongly craved internet time, Nick left for Delhi and the Taj Mahal, myself and Chris headed into the main city of Srinegar and the rest of the guys went for a trip around some gardens and a rug factory.

Quite an interesting wander; we saw mosques inside and out, tradesmen applying their livelihoods, without the almost standard sales pressure you’d get almost anywhere else in Asia and, lots and lots of kids playing cricket. I’m not exaggerating here, but they were everywhere, normal places like sports fields and schools, as well as down side streets, car parks and bus depots. They love it.

Despite only eating a bar of milky-bar, myself and Chris somehow picked up a case known in Latin as “Squitum-Vonbellhious”, or as we now refer to it; Delhi Belly. Chris was first to the thrown the following morning with me following in his stinky tracks soon after; only to ripen the smells further.

On a day where I was sick, I wasn’t really in the mood for any more Kashmir, or for that matter; India. The airport run was a serious drag, and after the bumpy (remember the state of my guts) ride, it was time for the highest volume of security checks ever performed at an airport. Now I understand that there is a war on in these parts, but six security checks, whereby you get ‘patted’ down and bags checked is a little OTT. The worst part is the efficiency of the checks; even with a mobile phone, some keys, a fairly solid camera and various other pocket junk, I was never even asked to turn out my pockets. Anyhoo, a quick departure lounge nap, a 1hour flight and a taxi ride in a little rascal of a vehicle and we were back in the Indian equivalent of civilization, less Chris who left for Brisbane.