THE LOWER FOOTHILLS
Our living quarters and home for the first two days could not be prettier: a rural stone house painted in familiar Farrow & Ball tones with a toasty wood burner at one end of the rush-matted sitting room. All the guest-houses we stayed in were similarly lovely – simple but immensely comfortable and in the heart of a village so we got to interact with the locals, whether that be cows straying on to the terrace or laughing children shyly saying ‘namaste’.
On our first morning, we awake to the sounds of bleating goats and distant drums from the adjacent hilltop, where a wedding procession of villagers is collecting the bride from her home. After a cup of thyme tea in bed followed by breakfast – either Western (eggs, muesli, fresh fruit) or Eastern (dosas and spicy vegetables) – we set out for Kumaon’s capital, Almora. The Lala Bazaar – its vibrant main street, the colour of a dusty pack of dolly mixtures – is full of action behind the intricately carved shop doors and shutters, with shops selling beautiful angora clothes and copper vessels.
Later, and for the next few days, we walk, the peaks of the Himalayas towering all around us. Along the way, we encounter plenty of other walkers – women in vivid saris balancing preposterous loads of firewood, men with cracked leather faces laden with burdens of cement, and children commuting the day’s water from the local well or tap. We also tramp across arid forest floors strewn with brown pine needles and sandy pathways that kick up dust as you pass; these are actually the world’s youngest mountains and still beachy in parts.
Our second night is spent near the pilgrimage village of Jageshwar, which has a pleasingly Jungle Book- like temple dedicated to various gods. Here we receive a blessing – the anointing of sacred sandalwood, ash and crimson turmeric – from a disciple of the goddess Pushtimata, granting protection, prosperity and wisdom.
Our route is dotted with small temples in which Hindu icons, ranging from men with elephant heads and monkey gods to purple-faced goddesses, line the pathways.
The next day, we wend a modest 12km to a village house in Jwalabanj, where an animated cricket team goes into bat, cheered by bushes of white-throated laughing thrushes. From here, we take a path through pine and rhododendron forests, stopping for a drink by the temple of Goura Dev, then along the valley floor following an aqueduct for miles. The path continues through fertile pastures and trees garlanded with bundles of hay drying in the sun. We help the villagers shoo away a cheeky band of monkeys scurrying around looking for opportune moments to steal crops.
It’s one of the best day’s walking of my life – it’s such a joy and privilege to share this mountain land with its people. I return, elated, to a warm fire, comfy bed and a delicious dinner of vegetarian thali.