But first to keep you up to date with the journey.
I waved goodbye to Elrond and Legolass (or Raju and his son Verun as they are more commonly known), headed down to the Kullu Valley, joined the main road to Manali, and then after about 60km, turned into the Pabarti Valley. My destination was Karsog, a small tourist trekking village, nestled on the edge of the Himalayan National Park.
The Kullu valley is much more 'on the map' than the last couple of places I have stayed in. The road is a national highway, which is about the same as one of our smaller A roads. There are only a few sections that are not 'metalled' or tarmacced. There are petrol stations, restaurants, cafes and guesthouses quite frequently. The towns are colourful places, and not too busy.
It made me realise though, how much I enjoyed the out of the way places. How much I preferred it when it was a bit wilder, less populated, and certainly not in the guidebooks.
Since my kindle died, I have been without a lonely planet, with no real information on places to go or where to stay. It has all been by recommendation and instinct. Its harder to travel like this, and much more insecure, and there is the possibility that you may miss something important. On the other hand though, you are open in a way that you cannot be when you are chained to what the guidebooks say. You end up in strange places, meeting odd people and doing something a bit different.
And so on to the pictures.
The first was a queer looking shrine by the side of the road. Instead of a gaudily coloured temple dedicated to Shiva or Ganesh or one of the many Hindu Pantheon, this one seemed to be to the Great Scrap metal God in the Sky. Rusting bits of car, or lorry, some signs, some nuts and bolts, and a greasy looking flag. It looked like something from Mad Max. This was a place far more spiritually suited to Carmen and I.
Next, came a damn. Not very popular round here, as they destroy the local ecology. But it made for a nice peaceful green lake.
Just afterwards, the road went into a tunnel. And went on and on and on. A kilometre or so in, I stopped to take a photo. It felt like we were travelling into Hades itself. Not sure if t he pic really does it justice.
In quite a few places the valley walls have been terraced so they can be farmed. Its mind bogglingly steep, I can't really imagine how hard it was to make them and to farm them. I stopped to consider this in a beautiful river valley for a good ten minutes and tried to imagine what effect it would have on a person. Perhaps over time they would evolve one leg longer than the other?
Stopped at a little hamlet to take a snap of the name sign. The puerile schoolboy in me couldn't resist.
The road wound on through lovely pine forests, the biggest mountains I have seen so far ahead. Any by 2.30 I was in Karsog.
Found a hotel with a great view of the mountains (and very cheap). Took Carmen to a mechanics to see if I could get the speedo fixed, and embarrassed myself by falling over the courtyard outside. Really not cool. I blame the fact I was wearing flip flops and couldn't reach the floor properly.
The mechanic wasn't there to witness my ineptitude, but I met a wise looking old man with a turban and a wrinkled brown face. He then spoilt it somewhat by trying desperately to sell me some hashish (I refused just in case anyone is wondering). Banjar as he introduced himself, was also rather vain, and I had to take 5 pictures of him before he was satisfied.
As the sun was beginning to set, I went for a walk up the river, through some Pine Forests and had a couple of encounters. A donkey came to say hello, but sadly I didn't have any treats for him.
I then saw a queer looking pile of grass, jerkily swaying down the street by itself. Turned out of course there was an old woman bent double underneath. Made me realise though how rustic this area is.
A bit further up stream there was a narrow and unstable looking log bridge. Saw another pile of hay erratically sway across it.
And then two shepherds and a mixed flock of goats and sheep, with parts of their fleece comically dyed red came streaming (no pun intended) across the bridge. The grass was probably greener on this side.
All apart from one naughty brown goat, who had other ideas. He wanted a bit more grass up the bank. So when no one was looking he crept up out of sight. After counting the flock twice, the Shepherd noticed he was gone, and realised what had happened. He spied the goat and tried to catch him, but was led on a merry dance down the banks. When the goat was finally caught, the Shepherd was so incensed, he threw the goat straight into the river!
I caught up the with the Shepherd a bit later. He introduced himself as Nansurej, and said the Goat, Nantooet (I think) was often naughty but was a favourite. There is a parable in there somewhere I'm sure.
The flock was led into town, and caused a massive jam as they were herded beneath the bridge to their sleeping place.
The final picture is the view from my front door, of the sun setting on the huge mountains at the top of the valley.
Next door to me is a German called Riko who looks a bit like a weatherbeaten Val Kilmer. Sometimes English spoken with a German accent can sound really harsh, but sometimes it can be very camp. My neighbour sounds a bit like Leftenant Gruber from Allo Allo. We are going for some dinner together in a bit, so will give a full update tomorrow.
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