Karin: The 4.20 alarm call was most unwelcome this morning. Both Dan and I endured an ice-cold morning wash with stoicism but when we finally emerged at 5.00 the heavenly sight of a myriad twinkling stars in a huge, jet-black sky made our pains worth all the while (Dan: well, sort of!). The air is so clear at this altitude that the night sky is really magnificent. We awoke Sundar who had taken to sleeping in the car as a way to pocket his Rs 200 per day allowance and before long we were winding our way back down to the valleys.
Dan: One thing I've noticed on our road trip so far, is that 90%of the cars are made by a company called TATA. And this one company makes a massive range of cars - imagine if all the different cars you see on a normal day at home (all the models and makes) were made by the same company - and that's what it's like. It turns out that TATA (who also do phone networks) are a division of Hindustan Motors, who make the Ambassador. The only other car manufacturer in India is Mahindra, who make jeeps - TATA make everything else - the cars, the buses, the trucks, the vans - you name it.
It's very rare to see anything other than a TATA car - and if you do, it is likely to be a Suzuki.
Karin: The place that Bhuta Ram had selected for us as our final taste of Himalayan beauty was a walk from the small village of Sari to an area called Deviatal with a famous view of the mountain range mirrored in a lake. We had set off so early because it is only early in the morning that one can see these views. Thus it was that at around 6.30 am we again set off up another mountain, this time with a local guide called Mr Negi. Mr Negi was a very endearing fellow. As we walked up we were accompanied by a large number of village women from Sari, carrying large baskets on their backs to fill with fallen leaves, to use as winter bedding for the cattle. The sight of all these joyfully colored sari-clad women climbing the hill with their baskets and rustling about in the leaves in the early morning sunshine was like living poetry. Mr Negi stopped on occasion to talk to them. As we walked up, an elderly man passed us who evidently, had a small café at the top and had decided that our potential trade was worth the climb up.
Women collecting leaves
The view over the lake as we came over the brow of the hill was well worth our strenuous climb and in spite of filming restrictions by order of the Indian government, Mr Negi was keen to give us a filmed narrative of all the peaks he had climbed.
Views from the Reflection Lake at Deviatal
After offering our patronage to the café owner we began our descent via Mr Negi's plantation where he explained to us, in depth and with great enthusiasm, that he was working on a project involving a plantation of special medicinal plants. He insisted that on returning to England we should mention the project to our government as he had great hopes to heal the world. He gave us a few samples of his magical plants.
Mr Negi in his plantation
Dan: Mr Negi also showed us round his climbing school, where he teaches children how to rock climb (and gave us a demonstration).
He was very proud of his qualifications and experience (as he should be) and explained how he's climbed most of the peaks we could see from the top - what was fanatastic is that he knew the name and story of each and every one.
Mr Negi demonstrating rock climbing
Karin: By the time we returned to the taxi and our driver, we were thoroughly charmed by Mr Negi and his enthusiastic and altruistic vision so we gave him Rs 1000 (a small fortune in this part of the Himalayas) as a donation to his enterprise. This he received with much gratitude and sent us off with a bunch of marigolds picked from his garden.
The return drive to Laxman Jhula lasted about 7 hours and seemed to go on forever. When we finally arrived back we parted ways with Sundar, his Ambassador and yet another large tip. It was with much gratitude that we walked back to our room and the promise of hot water, clean clothes and a more temperate place to spend the night.