Ride: Batote to Srinagar

Our plan for leaving from Batote was very simple: leave earliest. We failed; by a good four hours. However, we were happy in a way about this delay as we finally caught up on sleep after the tiring train journey. It was a funny sight while waking up, each one sitting up, proclaiming he woke up early and that others are too late, then when nobody else moved, blanket started seeming much more inviting again! In some time, another would wake up and repeat.

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After overcoming the fatigue, we had a filling breakfast of Aaloo Paranthas and were on our way. Filling up fuel earlier night was helpful to just hop on and rumble ahead. We realized in the daylight what a pretty place Batote is, and Patnitop must have been. Tall pine trees covered the mountains dwarfing even trucks. Small cottages scattered along the highway resembled mushrooms undergrowing a forest. 

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After riding a while, we stopped for photography. A perfect vista for panoramic photography. I intended to grab a few wide shots and move on, but the landscape was too captivating to leave like that. So here, I was standing precariously on a RCC frame… shooting away while still wearing my helmet and of course, all other riding gear. The shooting session went on for a few minutes, and as I got back to the motorcycle, I realized none of us had taken off our helmets. I took off mine, others followed. Just as we were done drinking water and were getting ready to hop on the bikes, we noticed two armed military patrol guys walking towards us with a concerned look on their faces. The rest of the dialogue was of course in Hindi…

Who are you?

Tourists. [ Took off helmet ]

What are you doing here?

I was photographing.

What’s in those bags [ pointing at all our stuff ] 

Clothes, sleeping bags and camera.

Show me.

[ Took my camera out of the tank bag ]

Show me your IDs

[ Took out our wallets and driving licenses, PAN cards to show. ]

At this time, Sumedh handed over his ID and waited for the guy to react. We had missed noticing that he had not taken off his helmet even now! The guard asked him to do so - “How am I supposed to match the face to the photo?” he asked.

Both the guys had a tone of concern and urgency. One was slightly edgy. I inquired if photographing here was an issue or if we were in a dangerous area and should move out. Told the guards I am a photographer by profession and that the landscape was beautiful, so had stopped here. The guys showed signs of relief, and explained to us that they had received message on radio from guards on the mountain I was photographing — four guys in black clothes, wearing helmets are walking around the highway since some time, go check. “It’s our duty to check, since even tourists don’t wear helmets… and nobody walks around for 15 minutes in helmets.” I apologized for raising the concern. One replied “It’s fine, we are here to protect you.”, We thanked them both.

We exchanged a few friendly words after that, the friendlier guy explained that there’s a dam just beyond the mountains and that below one mountain there’s an underground hydropower station. Their concern and reaction seemed very normal after all the explanation. The guards insisted that we photograph the dam as it looks great from a certain point. “Just take off your helmets!”, he reminded as we left.

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At the next town, Banihal, we stopped for photographing the dam, realized there were a few hotels blocking the view, and a bunch of tourists already snapping away. Paused a few meters away from the buildings and grabbed some frames. A local guy was walking past, I gestured a “hello” with my head. He replied with a “How are you?”… a dialogue began, ending with he too telling us about the dam and the power station. Heh, whoever was telling us that this is an unfriendly territory must have had a bad day, or was walking around with a constipated look on his face :-|

While riding around the mountains, constantly turning as the road hugged the curvy topography, with nothing but the purr of my Royal Enfield for music… I soon shifted to driving on instinct and my mind towards more pragmatic thoughts. In a moment of zen, this popped up in my head: “Wise men are like grass.” However, before I could elaborate on that thought while riding, I snapped myself out of the trance and focussed on the road. I’d take that risk when alone, but not when I’m leading the group.

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We had lunch at a Punjabi Dhaba, ordered dal-makhni, rajma and rice. Asked for some Lassi and after a reluctant look from the owner, got what was supposed to be “chaach” — some curd, diluted in water. A badly executed job. We didn’t complain as rest of the food was tasty.

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A little further down the road, we saw stalled traffic. Fearing an accident, we slowly made our way by the side of the road to find construction work underway and one lane blocked. Only one side of the traffic was moving at any time. People were patiently waiting for their turn. Kept the oncoming lane open. Such cooperation can never be seen in rest of India. I’m guessing when the geography and weather are a big and common enemy, people don’t bother fighting each other.

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We crossed through the Jawahar tunnel, a narrow and nearly claustrophobia inducing hole in the mountain that is heavily guarded. The checking guys waved to us and pointed to a board saying something about a check post for foreigners. Our riding gear and luggage might have confused them. After speaking to them, they let us go and asked politely for “If you’d like to give anything… not necessary, but if you’d like.” Heh, these guys seem to be a few decades behind the rest of India in corruption. 

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Scenery changes when you come out on the other side of the tunnel. We saw a lot more fields and open spaces. Saw wild roses, stopped by to photograph. Yogesh spotted a wicked looking lizard. While we stood there, a bulleteer roared past, he did seem too fast for the curves. Within a few moments a car came along, the driver waving his fist at me, I waved back a “hey”. As he drove past, we realized he was exercising profanity. Aha! That guy mistook one of us for the bulleteer who obviously was driving carelessly. Bah, nevermind.

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Ride along some more and we see a board that says “Last view of the Kashmir Valley”. Hordes of tourists were gathered at that spot. We felt odd among them. All the chatter, jumping around and photographing only people with boards of landmarks, while happily ignoring the natural beauty seemed to vilify our understanding of the land we were traveling. Within moments, we left the place to get back to our tranquil states. Also, the sun had nearly set and we were still far away from Srinagar. Wheels kept turning. Through smog, through a land slowly creeping into the grip of darkness. Srinagar arrived in some time.

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We had seen a lot of guards along the highway and were thinking “that’s a lot of security”. Srinagar raised the bar with nearly paranoid security everywhere. We weren’t allowed to stop anywhere for more than a minute. And the guys selling houseboat stays hounded us. Again, it’s possible our appearance confused them as each guy who chased us on bikes and started talking in English had an obviously fake accent. And when one of us replied in Hindi, their faces fell. So did their prices ;-) One guy was so persistent, we asked him a dozen times, politely to let us alone. After he started getting on our nerves, we fought him off and asked him to go away and find another tourist. He still chased us and tried to make a sale another three-four times. A rude warning later, he vanished. Along came another guy, who seemed more polite. We checked hotel rooms, he said he’ll wait. We had a little episode of “unable to locate or communicate” a buddy after the guards shooed us off our planned meeting point into a dark lane on the side. 

The hotels were expensive. Followed the guy waiting for us to an old, no-frills houseboat. Sumedh and Yogesh were not willing to stay in it — because it looked too shady. Shernik and I were okay with whatever arrangements were made as long as we could have some food and good sleep, quickly.

The hotel owner at Batote had suggested us to visit a restaurant named Ahdoo’s in Srinagar, which he asserted was the best hotel in Srinagar. After having “Rista”, a traditional Wazwan dish and other few dishes, we disagree with the fellow. We had had much refined tastes at smaller restaurants and for much less hole in the pocket. We wound up quickly and got back to the houseboat by 11:30pm, others went to sleep almost immediately. Yogesh and I were out photographing. Had a chat with the houseboat owner, an elderly guy with again, a fake thick, almost undecipherable English accent. He said he preferred English to Hindi, the topic soon slipped to separatist movement. He went on for a while before I clarified I’m here to visit his land, not fight. He gracefully changed the topic. We chatted for some more time, Yogesh had left the conversation and vanished long ago. I too took leave and slept, well past midnight.

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None of us were in a state to be woken up by slight movement of the boat. We slept like logs and woke up only somewhere around noon!