I had no intention of going to Kashmir.It wasn't part of my non existent itinerary.The lonely planet warns against it,a Canadian went missing there nearly eight years ago after setting off on a trek only to be ambushed by some rebels.So why go to Kashmir?
My bus set out an hour later than the scheduled time.On the advice of Dangola I hurried so I could secure the back seat.The bus ride to Srinagar was going to be no less than 24 hours and anyone that has taken a long bus ride knows that the back seat is golden when it comes time to getting some shut eye.To my unabashed surprise the bus was only half full with me being the only westerner.Up to now I hadn't seen any westerners.Our bus driver looked like the Indian version of Ralph Kramden only with a bidi sticking out of his mouth.
After sleeping for who knows how many hours I woke up to that feeling you get when you fall asleep in a plane and look out the window only to see a blanket of white.Only this time it was a three hundred foot drop off a cliff.Our bus was roller coastering up the side of a mountain,hugging the edge than rolling down the other side with on coming traffic barreling our way.Every news article that I had ever come across over the last ten years concerning buses flying off cliffs in India killing all 28 Indians and the one Canadian came flashing before my eyes.All I could do was stare out the window and down into the Valley admiring the beauty trying to forget about the bidi smoking madman behind the wheel.Attempting to sleep I was cajoled from my waking sleep into the realm of travelling by bus in India,which ended up being more contemplative than meditative.Flying through the air like Charley Brown getting knocked off the mound by Lucy,my backpack landing on top of me wearing a crown of kingfishers circling my head while snickering.
My bus set out an hour later than the scheduled time.On the advice of Dangola I hurried so I could secure the back seat.The bus ride to Srinagar was going to be no less than 24 hours and anyone that has taken a long bus ride knows that the back seat is golden when it comes time to getting some shut eye.To my unabashed surprise the bus was only half full with me being the only westerner.Up to now I hadn't seen any westerners.Our bus driver looked like the Indian version of Ralph Kramden only with a bidi sticking out of his mouth.
After sleeping for who knows how many hours I woke up to that feeling you get when you fall asleep in a plane and look out the window only to see a blanket of white.Only this time it was a three hundred foot drop off a cliff.Our bus was roller coastering up the side of a mountain,hugging the edge than rolling down the other side with on coming traffic barreling our way.Every news article that I had ever come across over the last ten years concerning buses flying off cliffs in India killing all 28 Indians and the one Canadian came flashing before my eyes.All I could do was stare out the window and down into the Valley admiring the beauty trying to forget about the bidi smoking madman behind the wheel.Attempting to sleep I was cajoled from my waking sleep into the realm of travelling by bus in India,which ended up being more contemplative than meditative.Flying through the air like Charley Brown getting knocked off the mound by Lucy,my backpack landing on top of me wearing a crown of kingfishers circling my head while snickering.
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