'Ride my curves gently'

If Pahar Ganj in Delhi is chaotic, dusty, crowded mayhem, Srinagar, Kashmir is the polar opposite. We ended up here by accident, a combination of worries about a Chinese incursion into Ladakh, an airline strike in Delhi, and a series of chance meetings with helpful, friendly strangers. Srinagar does not disappoint. Dal Lake, where we are staying on a houseboat, has put us on aesthetic overload.



At 4:30 we're woken by two hours of chants in celebration of Ramadan that give way to the sounds of water birds and shikara (water taxi) drivers paddling by. So far our Kashmiri hosts and guides have been a wealth of information that paint a picture of this beautiful country unlike what we hear in the US. As is the case most of the time, governments are not truly representative of the culture and values of real people on the ground (or in this case, on the water.)


Part of getting on travel time is routine, in this case, pumping water then taking Doxicycline...


finding yummy street food (giant parantha) to try...


and meeting locals along the way



We dropped in on a trip to Gulmarg which, among other things, hosts a resort for visitors from India in need of gondola rides, skiing, or what they proudly bill as the world's highest golf course.


Z with some freshly-picked neem, a veritable cure-all plant that grows in the forests in India (which W. R. Grace outrageously tried to patent; fortunately, it failed)


There be goats

Some other images from Srinagar


The nephews of Shefy, the man who owns the houseboat we stayed at


The charming textile merchant who sold us some fabric for a project back home

A common sight along the way

PS: the title comes from the thoroughly uncynical road signs that lined the route up to Gulmarg (not far from the famed 'line of control' with Pakistan.)

PPS: Salman Rushdie is one of our very favorite authors. From soccer to rock and roll to the state of Kashmir, he's never short on words. Check out 'The Imperiled Paradise'