by Reece Willis
The music was loud, very loud, and the atmosphere was amazing. Everybody was smiling, open and friendly; fused together by this moment in time under the light of the full moon. Through strobed lighting Tyler approached me in staccato movements and passed me a joint, ‘This party’s totally awesome, man,’ he shouted above the thumping bass.
‘Totally,’ I yelled back, nodding my head up and down.
‘Kurt looks like he’s getting into it.’
I looked over to where Kurt was pulling some crazy moves on the dance floor and even attempting break dancing.
We joined him, Neria and Sophie, plus Rutger and Floyd. Although I was not so hot at dancing myself, I really didn’t care, I was having the time of my life. I had no idea where I got the energy from and at 5.30, when dawn arrived, I stood speechless as the silhouettes of three soaring mountains surrounding us gradually came into view. As the light revealed further detail I realised just how close we were to the base of the mountain on our right. It felt so near that I could almost touch the jagged lanes of snow. Small clusters of pine forests dotted the green slopes and an eagle glided above. I was utterly spellbound.
The clock struck nine and the music came to a stop. Everybody let out a huge cheer and applauded the talent of the Japanese DJ crew who packed away their turntables while some of us hung around on a wall with our backs to a small lake. An Israeli guy next to me took a deep toke of his chillum, held it to his head and said aloud, ‘Boom Shiva,’ and passed it along to me. I inhaled and passed it along the line. An Australian guy with blond dreadlocks and a goatee played a set of bongos, a Korean girl played flute and Sophie launched into her didgeridoo. Everything seemed so surreal.
Over to my far right was a Japanese girl. Her complexion was smooth, almost pure white. Had she sat completely still, I could have mistaken her for a porcelain doll. She turned to catch me looking at her and my stomach filled with butterflies. I plucked up the courage to sit next to her, ‘Hi, I’m Sam. Did you enjoy the party?’
She smiled, bowed her head slightly, ‘Konichi wa, I am Harumi. Yes, I have a wonderful time. And Sam, how have you found the entertainment this evening?’
‘Amazing, the best party I’ve ever been to. The music was fantastic and the scenery… wow!' She placed a cigarette to her lips. I leaned in and lit it, holding her gaze for a moment. She smiled again, rose and said, 'I go now. Nice to have met you, Sam.'
Kurt caught my attention and nodded over to where Harumi was now hand in hand with the head DJ. I guess she was his girl.
Kurt, Tyler and I left the venue, walking ten yards or so ahead of the three Japanese DJs and two girls that made up the full moon crew. At the end of the long footbridge Tyler began to bob up and down, sending waves along the wooden planks. In unison, the full moon crew did the same. This went on for a few minutes until Tyler slowed the pace to a stop and to applause from us all. They caught up with us and asked if we would like to share breakfast with them in Vashisht.
Breakfast was a mix of steamed rice, soup and rolled omelettes. We sat on the floor at a low table at the apartment the crew had hired for their stay. I noticed the head DJ’s front teeth were filed into sharp points – strange I thought, but also kind of cool. After an hour or so the three of us excused ourselves, thanking them kindly for their hospitality.
At our house, we talked about the night for a while until the call of our beds couldn't be ignored any longer. It was late afternoon and none of us had slept for over thirty hours. I closed my eyes to visions of the most beautiful place on earth and the sounds of trance filled my head as I gently slid into a comfortable slumber.
It was 8am the following morning when I awoke again. I couldn’t believe how long I’d slept. Impressed by the scenery yesterday Kurt and I decided to walk the same route again hoping to find the party venue, this time armed with a camera.
The weather was warm with a light breeze and the sky blue and cloudless. After a hearty breakfast at the Green Forest Café we hailed an auto into Vashisht. We walked the length of the village and at the end I noticed a wooden doorway with intricate carved circles around the frame. I stopped to take a photo as two pi dogs came along for some attention. One was cream coloured. His brown companion was slightly larger in size. Kurt had a packet of biscuits and fed one to each of them which they gobbled up in no time. They had a soft nature and seemed to like us (or our biscuits) as they accompanied us on our stroll.
The vista was as stunning as it had been the day before; boulders painted with coloured Tibetan script, neck cranking waterfalls cascading and crashing, maize terraces and marijuana fields set against a background of crisp alpine scenery. Around every bend was something new and exciting. The serenity was soon shattered however by the approach of a main road. Trucks and cars roared past, scaring the life out of our little friends. We managed to cross safely, but were then confronted by four ferocious dogs defending their territory. Our brown companion scarpered the way we came, narrowly avoiding an auto-rickshaw as he darted across the road. The cream coloured dog was left to deal with the aggressors by himself.
‘Kurt, I’m going to grab our friend. You scare the other dogs away,’ I shouted above the barking and traffic. I picked up our dog and Kurt ran towards the others, arms waving above his head and yelling at them. Kurt was not a small guy by any means and it was enough to send them scampering in all directions. He came over from the chase and gave our friend a good stroke, him licking us in return. I placed him on the ground and he trotted beside us, looking up from time to time with what appeared to be a smile on his face. We gave him the name Tic-Tac.
Kurt agreed to walk ahead with Tic-Tac along the wooden footbridge, so I could take a photograph of the two of them. It was a priceless moment as I looked out to the mountains and Beas below, and to my friends nearing the end of the bridge. I couldn't believe I was here. As we emerged into the grounds of the party, I noticed that the large fenced off area where we danced last night was in fact a set of tennis courts.
A spectacled middle-aged man stepped out from a house adjacent to the courts and greeted us. He was Dutch and the owner of the tennis club, who occasionally rented the grounds to party organisers. We were invited to stay and have coffee. He gestured for us to take a seat at a modest wooden table and went into the house returning a minute later with a bowl of water for Tic-Tac. After making a fuss of him he commented on what a lovely dog he was and sat down at the table with us. We had just learned that he spent six months a year here with his wife as she appeared, carrying a tray of cups and a pot of freshly brewed coffee. It tasted amazing. I was so grateful for a decent cup of coffee at last.
With Tic-Tac still in tow Kurt and I decided to climb the hill that stood in front of the nearest mountain, hoping it would provide a great vantage point. An hour passed uneventfully, but we then heard something coming our way. And fast. We panicked at the loud growl ahead of us, not knowing which way to turn. Kurt was concerned it might be a brown bear and unsure of what to do he tried to see if he could find an alternative escape route, ‘If we run, it could take chase,’ he said. ‘We must stand our ground, shout at the top of voices and wave our arms above our heads in hope of scaring it.’
‘Are you crazy?’ I said with my heart pounding as the creature fast approached.
Tic-Tac rose on his haunches, growling and barking. Suddenly the beast emerged and we screamed and waved our arms. A local man yelped and fell back upon seeing us, clutching the long, felled tree he was dragging on the ground behind him. We halted the commotion instantly, and Kurt and I looked at each other and burst into hysterical laughter at our mistake. We assisted the poor man to his feet and apologised for thinking he was a bear. He had no idea what we were saying and quite puzzled, was quick to continue down the hill, leaving us chuckling behind him.
It was another hour before we reached the top, but the climb was worth the effort. The opposite mountain was even more magnificent up close. Curvy lanes of snow led down from the rugged frozen peaks and coursed
around the pine trees that shot up from a carpet of emerald. We spent a couple of hours laying back, appreciating the enchanting view and pure fresh air.
The trail back down to the tennis club proved hard going. We slid on our backs for the most part, but eventually reached the courts in half the time it took us to go up. On route back to Vashisht, the territorial dogs had amassed again, this time in greater numbers. I carried Tic-Tac as we cautiously bypassed them and crossed the main road, placing him down safely on the other side. As we approached the carved temple door at the entrance to Vashisht village Tic-Tac wagged his tail and left us where he had found us. I knew I would miss the brave little guy and his smile for a long time to come. Kurt and I indulged in a long, well-earned soak in the sulphur baths before our evening meal with the others at the house.
Tomorrow would be our last day in Manali, having decided to leave our house in the orchards and embark on the next stage of our journey, to Leh. The bus station was busy when we arrived and so we had a long wait in line for our tickets. At the booth, we were met with the disappointing news that the opening of the road to Leh had been delayed due to extreme weather conditions.
With our plans unexpectedly forced to change we had to quickly plan our next move. I asked Kurt if he would like to travel to Agra and Jaipur – I was itching to see the Taj Mahal and Palace of Winds. He had no interest in Jaipur; he had been before and didn’t like it there, but he did have some things he could do in Delhi and friends he would like to visit in Agra. We agreed to buy some tickets for Delhi leaving tomorrow, with the intention of returning in seven days.
Back at the house our guests began to arrive for the farewell gathering Neria and Sophie had organised. Fabian was first, the Australian who’d played the bongos at the last full moon party and a friend of his, Damika from Sri Lanka. I learnt from Fabian that he was wanted on drugs charges in Australia and didn’t know what to do when his Indian visa ran out, which was a matter of days away. If he returned to Sydney, he would be arrested and probably face a prison sentence. I couldn't imagine what it must be like to have been in his shoes.
Rutger and Floyd appeared, followed surprisingly by Daniella and Harper, who I first met in Dehra Dun. The atmosphere instantly became livelier and the evening passed joyously as we all shared stories and laughed at silly jokes.
When I awoke, the house was empty. I walked to the Green Forest Café to enjoy one last set of their delicious momos. While I was there I spoke with a local man called Girish, who I found out also performed massage. He asked if I would like to come along to his premises to watch as he had a client booked in soon. From a small corrugated shack about ten-foot-long and six feet wide he conducted a successful business. Inside was a mattress on the floor, three blankets hung on a wall and a portable kerosene stove and cutlery sat in the corner. His client arrived on time and I watched him chopping heavily into his back with his hands and roughly massaging him. The customer was fully appreciative of his services and paid Girish generously before leaving.
With business out of the way, Girish invited me to stay and share a chillum or two, and discuss the differences between eastern and western massage. I discovered that the shack also doubled up as his permanent home.
He seemed happy with his lot in life, ‘Appreciation is the path to happiness. I look upon those who have less and consider myself blessed, while most in the west look at those who have more and live unsatisfied wishing they were them, never finding real contentment.’
I left contemplating what he’d said, concluding that you need little else in life other than inner happiness and the few basics to live, everything else seeming to complicate things the more one accumulates.
Around a bend at the top of a hill, a man stood with old soiled bandages loosely wrapped around his partially exposed hands and feet. Bone protruded through the rotting flesh of his extremities. I took a guess at severe leprosy. It was sad to see him suffering so much. Why did people have to still live like this in such a modern age, and with so much money in the world? I gave him the last of the notes I had on me and counted them into a cup on the ground as he groaned in pain.
I was confronted by another deeply upsetting sight as I continued on my way. Every now and then on my travels around the town I’d seen a donkey standing in the same place on the way to Old Manali, his front hoof raised from the ground. It looked as if his ankle was broken. Sometimes there was another donkey standing by his side as if shielding him from the passing traffic. This healthier donkey was strapped with reins, and like many donkeys and horses in Manali, he was a working animal. It appeared as if the injured one had been discarded. Lame and malnourished, he was no use to anyone. His short grey fur had bad mange and his large sad eyes looked infected, where flies buzzed a merry dance about them. I could take most things India threw at me, but when it came to the hardship and suffering of humans and animals, my helplessness felt like a punch in the stomach. Here, now, my heart shattered as I looked at the sweet disabled donkey, that had been thrown to one side and left to fend for himself, lying dead under a tree, his eyes wide open, glassy and vacant; not a trace of his spirit left.
That night I lay awake for some time recalling instances from my past that had led me to withdraw into myself and often lose hope. I had felt alone and abandoned on so many occasions; my time in Manali had been like a holiday in more ways than one. It had offered relief from what I’d come to expect and given me a multitude of warm memories to cherish. I hadn’t left yet, but already I missed the good friends I had made, the evenings spent laughing and chatting until we were all so tired we collapsed into our beds. I was scared as to what the next leg of my journey would hold. In just a few hours Kurt and I would be on our way to Delhi, away from the security of this magical place I had come to call home.
21
I wasn’t sure at first if I was dreaming until I heard it again – a knocking on the door followed by Kurt’s barely audible voice, ‘Sam, what time is it?’
It was dark so I guessed quite early. I looked over to the clock, ‘A ten to four.’
‘Okay, pack light. We can leave the remainder of our things here until we get back.’
I pulled back the sheet, grateful for another half hour and gazed at the clock again, ‘Shit, it’s ten to five!'
‘What? Really? Get ready, we have to move quick or we will miss the bus.’
I was with him at the front door within minutes, ‘We’ll go down through the orchards, it has to be the quickest route,' I said.
The soil beneath our feet was damp from the evening rains, making our descent that much clumsier as we worked our way through the twisting labyrinthine orchards. My mind and body were sluggish. The weight on my back was enough to anchor me where I stood. I had to take a breather, ‘It usually takes thirty to forty minutes to get to town, we’ll never make it,’ I panted.
‘It is India, the bus will probably be late. We must try, Sam.'
Kurt took off, too fast for me to keep up. The trails were becoming more evident as my eyes adjusted to the light, but I realised I was hopelessly lost as I arrived at the courtyard of somebody’s house where an elderly man with a straggly beard stood barefoot in dried cow dung. At first I thought it was Pete, ‘Sir, the Mall?’ I asked.
He looked as puzzled by my appearance as I was by his, ‘Mall that way,’ he pointed. I took the path shouting my thanks. It was four minutes past five. This was crazy. Memories of Shimla came to mind and I had visions of chasing a bus with Kurt coaxing me from the doorway.
The Rajasthani refugee camp, the Buddhist Gompas, the Post Office, the Moc Restaurant, out into the Mall – Kurt was nowhere to be seen. I located the bus and strapped my pack to the roof as he came bursting around a corner, ‘Hold the bus,’ he shouted. ‘I’m just coming.’ Luckily the driver was patient and laughed as Kurt clambered on board, sweating and ridiculously out of breath.
With the Beas to accompany us, we wound down through the Kullu Valley leaving the snow caps behind. At a dhaba that had
seen better days we stopped for breakfast. Kurt slurped his way through his second helping of dhal and I signalled to the waiter for two more chais.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the Taj Mahal,’ I began, ‘I’d also really like to see the Palace of Winds in Jaipur while we’re heading down that way too.’
‘Yes, you will like the Taj, it is very beautiful. I cannot say I liked Jaipur much.’
‘How would you feel if I went there by myself for a few days and then we meet up again in Agra?’
‘Good idea. We can meet in say, five days from when we split in Delhi if you like. Give me your journal, I will write the name and address of a hotel where my friend works. We can meet there.’
‘Great, thanks, I appreciate that.'
I was surprised at his casual acceptance of my suggestion, but perhaps he had secretly hoped for some time to himself.
The hills gradually sloped into stretches of reddening farmland as the sun descended in a subtle pink haze. The cool air of the Himalayas was sucked into the sultry plains and windows were opened. We’d been travelling for more than twelve hours with at least five more to go. I was looking forward to a half decent meal, a shower and a period of unbroken sleep.
Night crept in and with it light rain. The windscreen wipers swept back and forth revealing the city lights of Delhi shimmering on the road. A little after eighteen hours from leaving Manali and two auto-rickshaw rides later we were at last in familiar territory, but at Harish's hotel there was a less than cheerful reception and Ashoka was quick to declare that there were no rooms available. We made our way through the Main Bazaar looking for somewhere else until Kurt dived into a hotel and a minute later came out smiling, ‘Sixty rupees.’
The room resembled a jail cell – cold concrete walls, barred windows that let in rain and insects, and an absence of furniture except for the most basic of beds. The fan didn't work and the filthy showers and toilets were communal. It was evident you got what you paid for but we were past caring.