Srinigar, in the Kashmir region of northern India, sits on a big, shallow lake at the edge of the Himalayas. Most ‘hotels’ are houseboats, reachable only by hand-paddled gondolas. Central Srinigar is like a cross between Venice Italy and a Louisiana bayou.
The history of the houseboats is a quirky rule dating back to the 1800s when the area was a British colony: the Brits were prohibited from owning property, but were free to float a fancy boat on the lake.
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.
I’d planned a trip to Kashmir in 2016, but local political “unrest” (with daily stonings on the streets of Srinigar, and a governmental no-travel order) sent us elsewhere. Kashmir is far-north India, at the Pakistani border — the one mostly-muslim region in mostly-Hindu India. India and Pakistan have been fighting over the region for 70+ years. Even Google Maps just shows a bunch of dotted lines for the disputed borders. The population’s loyalties are split, too.
Because of all that tension, the area is patrolled by thousands of police and military troops. Indian “National Guard”-like troops are EVERYWHERE: driving through Srinigar, you’ll see a pod of these camouflage-wearing machine-gun-toting troops every minute or two. We were advised not to talk to them or photograph them. Those 2016 stonings were local teens (likely prodded by Pakistani separatists) throwing rocks at those heavily-armed Indian troops in the streets. Not a good scene. Happily, that’s all calmed down (for now), so I had no qualms about visiting.
Much of the area’s culture is shaped by its muslim population. We visited multiple mosques (some stunning; some not; most not allowing photos inside). In Kargil, we saw part of the Ashura rituals (where they mourn and symbolically punish themselves over the death of Muhammad’s grandson Hussein (in the year 680) – an event that largely gave rise to the split between Sunnis and Shias. The big crowd and the black banners were from those somber events.
