Tirthan Valley, Day 1 (October 9, 2014)
I found this unspoiled secret valley while looking for a
good stopping point between Manali and Shimla. Google maps showed a place called Great Himalaya National
Park, and a bit of research on the Internet led me to Tirthan Valley.
I had almost given up going because all I could find were
home stays that looked too rustic and basic. Indian standards of hygiene are, to put it bluntly,
seriously lacking. Even in really
good hotels, we encountered carpets that weren’t vacuumed unless we asked them
to, faucets with water spots from prior guests, and a general lack of attention
to detail. India may be a
spiritual country, but it certainly didn’t invent the phrase, “Cleanliness is
next to godliness,” and it doesn’t appear to believe that either. I think this
is in large part due to the fact that men are now doing jobs traditionally done
by women. When was the last time
you met a straight man who thought a carpet needed vacuuming?
But I had my heart set on exploring this beautiful valley so
I kept looking and emailing places until I stumbled on a place called
TheHimalayan Trout House (HTH), which luckily had availability for two
nights.
The room was chilly but with a lovely veranda overlooking
the river, and very artistically decorated. I’d been queasy from the drive so we didn’t do much of
anything that evening other than sit on the veranda and enjoy the sound of the
river just outside our lodge rushing over the large rocks.
Dinner was served in a communal area of wooden tables and
stone benches with cushions, all encircling a fire. This is where the magic began. First we met Christopher, the co-owner of HTH with his wife
Shefali. A former schoolteacher,
he regaled us with a few stories.
He explained that all the construction was done by him and the four men
on staff (“except the fat cook”) when they didn’t have guests, including the
woodwork, i.e., the dining tables, bathroom sink supports, and rustic
cupboards. The land itself was
owned by relatives of the men working for him: “They are my landlords,” he said. “I’m not building this for my son. He’ll probably want to do something else.” Christopher spoke in a clear
matter-of-fact way and I imagined him in front of a room of rapt students.
Soon we met our fellow travelers at the next table, and we
took instantly to a lovely family. The father was an Indian man with a voice I
could have listened to all day.
Imagine the most genteel British accent you have ever heard and blend it
with just the right amount of Indian to make it understandable, now add a
soft-spoken baritone and a deep knowledge of everything from fishing and polo
to art, architecture and ancient history.
Raja is well read, well traveled and unfailingly polite. He let other people speak instead of
interrupting them because he wasn’t interested simply in getting his point
across. He looks like a big bear
of a man, imposing and regal, but he has the most gentle soul.
He met his wife Masja, who is Dutch, in Delhi. They have two children, a 13-year-old
girl and a 16-year-old boy. The
young girl is charming, personable and wise beyond her years. Both the children have been
home-schooled by their parents, primarily using documentaries, and raised in
the Summer Hill schooling philosophy out of Britain. Over the course of the next few breakfasts and dinners, we
exchanged ideas and stories with Raja and Masja, and looked forward to
mealtimes.
No comments:
Post a Comment