Kashmir

March 2001

After twenty four hours on the bus from Dehli, I arrived in Kashmir.
It is a totally different world to the rest of India: climate, people, religion, socio-economic conditions, food, everything is different.

I spent one night on a house boat on Dal Lake. Nice idea, but very claustrophobic.

Possibly the best photograph I took during all my travels..

"Damn fine show, Old Boy." I can just see the Colonial Brits farting about on the
lake in these boats while they spent the summer up here in Kashmir.

A local fisherman on Dal Lake, except it's not really fish he's after,
but this strange vegetable root. Looks delicious (not), doesn't it?

In the local market. My intergalactic communicator sometimes goes off at the most inconvenient moments.

A local Mosque

It's a pity the columns were so far apart. I would love to have died like Samson.

Poncing about at some gardens in Srinaga when a wave of ugliness swept over me.

Because of the politic tension in Kashmir (Pakistan wants to own Kashmir, but most Kashmiris I spoke to want independence from both Pakistan and India), the military is omnipresent. Wherever you go there are solders on patrol, security check points, vehicle searches, metal detectors and so on. At most tourist sights there was a security check of some kind and we had to go through the usual series of questions: "Where are you from? Why are you here? What is in the boot of your car? etc..." The soldiers were consistently amused when I told them my name was Mohamed Saleem Hussain, a militant from Pakistan and that I had only a few rocket launchers in the back - nothing for them to worry about.

With a (little) friend at a lookout over Srinagar.

Up in the Himilayas for the day. Amazing scenery.

Kashmir is not well known for its skiing. There is a good reason for this.

Security guards who look very vulnerable in this little cable car.

I met a chap called Harry Farruk on the bus on the way up to
Srinagar and he invite me to stay with his family at their home.
They made me feel very welcome and treated me like a son of their own - beating me regularly if I came home late and so on.

Wandering off the road one day (much to the disdain of Mr Farruk),
I stumbled into a village where everyone had the same name.
They were very friendly so I brought them some Torfa sweets the next evening.

Indians and Kashmiri people still have a little to learn about driving. Because of an accident ahead, the traffic was slow, but people on both sides of the accident got impatient and drove on the either side of the road. This meant that no one could move in either driection for three hours after the accident had been cleared.

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