Monday 12th November
After checking out of the hotel and grabbling some breakfast, we got on the jeep for Rohtang Pass, meeting our fellow passengers, a group of Indian tourists from Bangalore and Kerala, both in the south of the country.
Shortly after setting off, we stopped at a stall selling 'mountain gear', clothing that we were advised to rent in order to avoid the cold and snow at the top of the pass. We even took along a pair of skiis and boots, and a local man came along for the ride to give us some lessons if we wanted. The idea of skiing for the first time in India was very bizarre.
Again, lovely scenery...mountains...windy roads...mad driver...you get the idea. Once at the top we were offered the use of a donkey to get further up the mountain for about 600 rupees (8 quid) having been warned that it would take an hour to walk, or half that with a mule. This, again, was utter bollocks and we knew it. Jeff and I made it up in half an hour, passing lines of people on donkeys as we went.
Earlier in the day we had taken some Diamox, an altitude sickness tablet, and Jeff seemed to think it made a difference in terms of controlling our heart rate. It was either that or I am ahead of schedule in my attempt on the Iron Man world record. The views from the top were fantastic. The Pyrenees and the Alps are nice but the Himalayas seem to have more mystery to them. Don't get me wrong, it was high (about 4000 metres) but Everest (or, to use it's Tibetan name, 'Chomolungma' as I shall now insist on everyone calling it) is over twice that.
Almost 5 hours of driving to and from Rohtang Pass wasn't enough for me and Jeff, so we boarded the 9-hour sleeper deluxe (or whatever they call it) to Dharamsala. We had our own little sleeping compartment, the width of two standard seats and the length equivalent to my height (a towering kind of under 6 foot-ish). It was comfortable enough but when you're driving over potholes the size of craters, it gets fairly bumpy. You'd have more chance of getting to sleep if you climbed inside a washing machine and stuck it on a spin-cycle.
We got to Dharamsala at 2.30am, taking a taxi to the outer village of McLeod Ganj, the town where the Dalai Lama lives and where the exiled Tibetan government has sat since the start of the 1960s. The roads were so steep that three of us had to get out and push the taxi up with the hill (with four people inside it). I was knackered after that, could have spat up blood!
Once again, with no hotel booked, we trudged around a deserted town looking for accommodation. We finally decided on a hotel, waking up the manager who was asleep on a camp bed behind the reception desk. I got to bed shortly after, promising to myself that - in as far as possible - I would avoid arriving at these remote places in the middle of the night. Whether that happens or not, I don't know: on this trip, you never can tell what's going to happen....
