For seven hours straight houses, shops, restaurants, cafes and hotels, no available space left alongside the road. I'm up in the mountain, were demographic density should be small, but I'm India and this isn't a lie, people are everywhere. But one thing remains above all: the Cow. I see one lying down on the ground, motorcycles, cars and buses stop or make a detour to avoid disturbing her tranquility, she won't move a iota and no one would make her. Now it's raining, the Cow protects herself under a roof while man are outside walking and working.
Behind the wheel is Raoul. He drives like there's a race to win, overtaking everyone, everywhere. I listen to the same Spotify playlist in repeat, so am I... Surprisingly, he always skips the same music, I run with the hypothesis that this particular music makes him think about his ex. Raoul doesn't talk very much but that's on me, he probably woke up at 4am and I now have a 7h drive. So, I travel in silence, I mean with the same playlist running in the background. Approximately every two minutes, when Raoul overtakes someone, he 'klaxonne'. At first, I take it for aggression, but after giving it a second thought, it's culture in India, like a 'un signe de courtoisie'. But I don't mind the silence and the sportive driving style, I tend to be the same ahha, I even like the silence at this start of the trip. It gives me room to think. Watching the beautiful green landscape, people working, walking or laughing and the smell of mountains flowers or Indian foods brings a mix of nostalgia and excitement of what future have to bring.
Stolen to the Chinese by a British spy, the infused plants were brought to India in the 19th century. Since then, the technique hasn't change, same old machinery, same medicuselly process. Here they drink it with milk and sugar, which was invented by the French, surprisingly.
In one of the endless town, I stop for lunch. It's impressive how much can be shared with a smile, I don’t speak their language but an eye contact and a smile shared means so much more powerful than words. On the other side of the road, I see a group of women sitting on the ground under umbrellas, hidden from the sun, selling vegs, I mean that's not the only reason watching them laugh and 'papoter'.
Back in the car, I sit in silence with the same playlist repeating again and again in the background, and 'les klaxons' shouting every second turn. I don't think those are aggressive but rather 'un signe de courtoisie a l'indienne'. Some many ideas, thoughts ''. Landscape, smells of mountain flowers are all over.
· Dharamkot
Right before the sun sets, Purple is the place of communion. Short reckonings make long friends. I have spent the afternoon mapping out my adventure (def l'âme et la vie). Ritesh needs only a moment to overturn it all. For the locals, getting to Leh is routine. I listen, take notes, then leave to rearrange every booking.
Back home, I watch gods hurl lightning across the sky. War rages above us. No clan holds back; each fights harder with every exchange. The conflict must have raged for centuries, yet the battle isn't letting up. Turning my back on this living painting is unthinkable. So I stay, sharing the spectacle.
· Dharamkot
I first spot her in the distance, higher up the mountain; all I can make out are her sweeping movements. She wears brightly coloured traditional clothing from the Indian mountains. About fifteen minutes pass. I carry on, not expecting to see her again. But she reappears around a bend. She is no more than 1.57m tall and no less than 77 years old, but she radiates strength. On her back, she carries a third of her weight in fresh straw. I watch, impressed, as she descends the mountain, stepping from rock to rock with such natural ease!
I smile, thinking of my grandmother, who never admits defeat in her battle with time, a battle lost from the start.
Woman of the mountain
· Dharamkot
The sky rages, showing the face of a Monday I wish had never come. Something bad had happened in heaven; God is unleashing his anger on us. But at the end of the day, as if everything before it had been a test, the most beautiful sunset appears. A view unlike any I have experienced before: the entire valley reveals herself and looks me in the eyes. The mountain wears its best makeup, a mix of rose and orange. People leave the tasks that hold them prisoner and climb to the roof to see nature's gift. I share that moment with Katharine, Markus and Tanay. Nature brings me together with them and writes this unforgettable memory in my mind.
Sunset
· Dharamkot
Questions set the rhythm of my weekend: deep, life-changing questions. Choices, responsibilities, embracing the unknown. One word to help me face them: alignment. Walking clears the way: it helps me get past the blank page. Writing allows me to explore my mind, like a spider spinning her web. The sauna, again, brings me into another state of focus: I relax and face the questions from another point of view. Then I try sound healing for the first time. I am open to it; it takes me somewhere I have never been and makes me accept the thoughts I have. The exercise is stimulating and intense. After these four processes, I accept that I am lost and that I need to make changes to find my way again and grow.
Second week-end
· Dharamkot
I pass the gate, walk up the stairs, see children playing around in the large inner court. One last effort, upstairs is the Temple. Today, it is crowded. Monks in burgundy with a touch of yellow: round bald heads, peaceful minds. The mass is surrounding the heart of the Temple, all in gold and bright colours. Only a few privileged monks sit inside the heart. Once the ceremony ends, the temple empties; only the most committed walk five or six times around while turning the prayer wheels: Om Mani Padme Hum.
Dalai Lama Temple
· Dharamkot
Everywhere I go, I bring my stick. He helps me go up and down the town; he protects me against hungry dogs at night; people recognise me in the street and when I enter in the room. Once inside, I lean it against the wall on the right. When I turn round, I see it, 'La beauté du geste'. The concentration committed to the movement brings me into a state of meditation, where my brain partially disconnects from the physical world to become the king of his realms.
When the drums 'resonne', the party starts; I feel this unique sense of freedom. He adds the ingredients with precision, mixing them with velocity. Pouring water to make them all as one. Transforming into a unique new 'being'. And the calm comes. Three times I join in folding the dough, each time separated by an hour of silence. It's only then I help give it its final state, putting it into its bed till the next morning for cooking.
The daily process of Focaccia making at Purple
· Dharamkot
Once I'm sat, he comes, first lowering himself to eye level; he doesn't take orders in the usual way, but spends time learning my preferences. Passion, kindness, a commitment to providing perfect hospitality: these are my first thoughts when I meet the man. A quick look into the kitchen - my curiosity - it's from the previous century, austere. But, like an old sage, he doesn't need more to pull out all the stops. He's obsessed with bread - especially with focaccia & brioche - he keeps trying a new approach, adding and removing a few grammes here and there to find what tastes best. From the very first bite, I can taste the love he puts into making it, then comes the moment to pay him a compliment, transforming his eyes into stars.
Ritesh
· Dharamkot
I've been in India for a week now. The week has flown by... and yet it feels like I've been here for a month, so much has happened.
It all starts on the road from Dharamshala to Dharamkot, the village where I'm staying, high up in the Kangra Valley. As soon as I arrive, I get a good feeling, with the mountains all around and this little village where I keep running into the same people until I naturally start chatting. I've met maybe twenty people in a week, and everyone knows everyone. It reminds me a little of Belgium: a small world after all.
Less than 3 km from here is the Dalai Lama's main residence. His temple is in McLeodGanj, and last Saturday, I visit it. I get really lucky with the timing! I arrive right in the middle of Palden Lhamo, a very important period for Tibetan monks. I catch the end of a large ceremony with hundreds of monks and practitioners. It is just beautiful.
I can feel the spiritual atmosphere in Dharamkot. People are peaceful and open. There's a mix of Indians and people from all over who have come for yoga or meditation retreats. And then there are those who never went home... I get the impression the village has that effect on quite a few people: people come for a retreat or a trek in the mountains and end up staying.
For example, there's this Russian man who built a beautiful sauna in the forest. He offers three-hour sessions with four rounds, each with its own purpose and specific oils (lemon, cardamom, cinnamon, lavender), finishing with eucalyptus crystals. I think this is going to become my Sunday ritual ahhah
I work a lot during the week, but I'm lucky to have two incredibly kind cooks who prepare feasts for us (for €2, welcome to India). The house I've rented also has the studio of an Indian artist who moved here two years ago. She knows everyone!
On Saturday morning, I get up at 6:30 to head into the mountains. I go all the way to Triund, a campsite at 3200m. I'll let you admire the photos:
And next week, or the week after, it's off to Mun Peak (4650m). I've found the best guide in the area!!!
PS: As I write this, it's the third and final day of one of my neighbours' weddings. There's singing, shouting and celebrating, and I'd love to join them to dance and enjoy it all. I haven't been invited yet, but give me a month and I'll be there ahahah
· Triund
Kings of the mountain, dominating the sky. They haven't flapped their wings. Sitting on a rock, I discover my own relativity of time: their dance goes on, but my time has stopped. I can't take my eyes off their dance. I wonder what they see from up there; do they also look at me?
Eagles from Triund
· Dharamkot
I take in the atmosphere of a late summer night with lifelong friends. A little white girl, surrounded by Indians, is part of the group. She is French, but the moment she speaks English, she becomes Indian, accent and all haha. The pizza is in the oven; its smell takes over the place. Markus is delighted and so proud to wear his new blue cashmere jumper bought a few hours ago. Smaller groups form, each with its own conversations, each laughing louder than the others.
Little bird cafe
· Dharamkot
The place doesn't look like much from the outside. I step inside, and the magic happens. First, the endless view hits me in the stomach. I look around. no chairs, only cushions at floor level. No paper menu, only a blackboard with today's dishes. No showing off, only the essentials.