Kashmir is the summer home to an ethnic ‘tribe’ known as the the Bakarwals (which means “shepherds” in Gojari). They’re semi-nomadic herders of sheep and goats. In rural areas and around the edge of Srinigar, traffic stopped pretty regularly for a herd to come through.

Small groups live in makeshift tents that look (to Americans) like homeless camps. But being homeless and being a nomad are two very different things. A group we visited (who seemed like one extended family) lived in tents made of tarps and sticks, but they owned and tended a pasture-full of healthy sheep.

Even so, since they’re always on the move, the kids don’t often go to school (or the doctor). It seems like a tough (and odd) life, but they’re living much as their ancestors did for centuries. And they were friendly and open to meeting curious Westerners with tons of cameras (especially after we handed out juice boxes to the kids).

Also: Some images of what farms and ‘agriculture’ looked like in Jammu & Kashmir / Ladakh India, in the shadow of the northern Himalayas. This was September. Oklahoma friends: notice how these folks ‘haul hay’ (via motorcycle or hand-carried!). And imagine harvesting grains by hand.

This year was a key window of opportunity to visit Zanskar. Until the last year or so, there was no road through the valley. So for 1000 years people have had to walk or ride animals for 2 weeks across paths built in the “Silk Road” era of ancient Asian history. Or wait for winter and walk down the surface of the frozen river itself. No thanks. But now there’s a road! The Indian government decided it needed the ability to move its troops through the area to defend against Pakistan and China, so the roadbuilding effort is sudden and massive. It’s not finished (or safe, honestly). Soon tourists (and more) will come down these almost-finished roads and the place will never be the same. Now was the time to visit.

For a millennium or so before it became part of India in the 20th Century, Zanskar was a kingdom. We’d heard that there was still (technically) a Queen — living in Zagra. We joked whether she might be single and went looking. We found her — a 90ish year old lady sitting cross-legged in the middle of the road thrashing barley on a tarp. Not super-regal. Our guides talked her daughter-in-law into showing off a royal traditional headdress and answering a few questions.

Soon up walked an young man (fluent in English) volunteering answers and information. It was the Prince of Zanskar — the queen’s grandson. After college in Hungary, he’s returned to Zanskar eager to preserve its culture and promote visitors once the new road gets done. He said he had the keys to let us look around the 10th Century palace on top of the mountain. We gave him a ride up the hill, hiked the path the last quarter mile or so, and got a tour.

As you head east from India’s Kashmir Valley, across the mountains to Zanskar, the Muslim influence gives way to a Buddist world. There are lots of monasteries. Most have elaborate paintings and tapestries. Sometimes we were allowed to quietly sit and photograph even during prayers; sometimes we couldn’t photograph anything at all. The monasteries often seem like a combination church, old-folks home, and orphanage, as well as art museum and (run-down) palace.

            The Golden Temple in Amritsar, India, is the Sikh religion’s version of Mecca or the Vatican.  Devout Sikhs make pilgrimages to the Temple to bathe in the huge surrounding Pool of (holy) Nectar.  They claim that about 100,000 people show up every day.  The Temple really is Golden:  it’s plated with nearly a ton of actual gold.

            Sikhism originated in this region – the Punjab state in northwest India — around 500 years ago.  Like Jews in America, the Sikhs are thought of both as a religious group and a distinct ethnicity.  They tend to be physically larger than other Indians.  Traditionally, Sikhs are India’s warriors and they take pride in their military history.  Most Sikhs have “Singh” as their last or middle name, and devout Sikh men wear five special symbolic items at all times:  the distinctive turban (covering long, never-cut hair); a wooden comb; a bracelet; boxer-short-like underwear; and a small dagger.   

            Punjab sits between (primarily-Muslim) Pakistan to the west, and the mostly-Hindu heart of India to the east.  The entire area had been a British colony (the “British Raj”) since 1858. The Amritsar area was the epicenter of the tumultuous partition of Pakistan from modern India in 1947. 

            Sikhism was an offshoot of Hinduism.  This may seem a little odd: Sikhism is monotheistic, but Hindus are famously polytheistic, with thousands of different gods.  Or so we’re told.  But with a billion followers of Hinduism, there are several subgroups with different views on lots of topics.  And while Hindus generally do recognize lots of “deities,” many believe that there is one supreme god (or maybe a three-part ‘trinity’) and that all the other deities are just embodiments (“aspects,” or “avatars) of that one over-arching supreme god.  It’s one real god that appears and acts in and through lots of different forms.  Compare this to Christian “monotheistic” beliefs in a three-part holy Trinity (“God in three persons”), supernatural angels, miracle-inducing saints, and a heavenly-ascended Mary.  The line between monotheist and polytheist isn’t always clear.

            Notwithstanding the Sikh’s warrior reputation, the Punjabis were as conspicuously friendly as all the Indians I encountered.  I recall four different locals wanting to talk and tell me about a family member working in America: one was a doctor; one a computer person of some kind; and two managed convenience stores.  I had to chuckle a little; sometimes stereotypes are true.

           There were “No Photography” signs everywhere around the Temple’s gigantic Pool of Nectar, and we’d received a cryptic warning to that effect before we first went in.  I saw a handful of folks get scolded for using the phone cameras.  But I was walking around with gigantic cameras hanging from each shoulder!  We quickly got comfortable that it was fine, so long as we were respectful (and of course we were).  Mostly they just wanted to make sure teenagers weren’t out there broadcasting a TikTok (whatever TikTok is).  The picture below, of two spear-bearing men in yellow turbans, is the last one I took before leaving Amritsar.  They motioned me over, posed together, and urged me to take their picture.  They’re two of the guards whose job was to enforce the “No photography” rule.