A day in McLeod Ganj: Defeating the rain clouds
Iopen my eyes to a little ray filtering through a crack in the curtain and lighting up a bump on my blanket. It rained all day yesterday and there’s a biting nip in the air now. I regret leaving my thermals at home. There’s another rain forecast. And to think this is the last day of my first trip to McLeod Ganj.
Outside, our homestay’s terrace, overlooking the majestic Dhauladhars, is taking a swig of morning sunshine. I’m witnessing a glorious sunrise not far from the Sunset Point, Naddi. The mountain right in front cradles a little village with red rooftops. Red and green are the colours for rooftops in these parts. But rain looms near, and we need to hurry if we want to make the most of this day. A forecast online says we’re safe till early afternoon.
We walk up to the taxi stand, flanked by a sahaja yoga meditation centre. Tourists and yoga trainers throng the tea shops and shacks scattered around the place. A cabbie directs us to his vehicle as if by telepathy. He obviously knows about the rain.
The taxi speeds away to Bhagsu through the local market, negotiating turns with the aplomb associated with India’s pahadi drivers. We pass state transport boards, foreign hikers, and shaggy dogs. The taxi leaves McLeod Ganj behind and finally pulls over near a couple of buildings painted in ochre. We follow our cabbie’s instructions to find the Bhagsu trail. All around is a predictable, yet striking collection of sights — the Bhagsu Nag temple; a pool meant seemingly for holy dips; stores selling local woollens; and kiosks selling curios, tea and homemade muesli.
The main street of Bhagsu village is usually full of cafés serving Israeli breakfast, centres for meditation and skill-based classes. Stalls selling paraphernalia — carpets, jackets, masks, trinkets and prayer flags — abound here, too, as do Israeli migrants talking in Hebrew.
The trail is now before us. A long stretch of flat slate rocks glints in the sun. A stocky man in a cap is perched on a rock by the trail, getting his next display picture clicked. Selfieseekers are common here.
We pass cafés throughout the trek. Some are empty, ready to double as reliable rain shelters if the skies open up; some are up and running, covered in a bright mélange of colours, decked with all the latest in drinks and snacks.
My tired partner wants to rest at a café that has a direct view of the waterfall, but I cajole her into walking on.
The base of the waterfall has a little lake, surrounded by a few eateries and a dozing mutt. A couple of hours pass, and we make our way back to McLo, for the next item in our series of exploits. We decide to shop and zero down on what we want: eating at least one memorable meal; buying a Tibetan chuba, prayer flags for my bookshelf; and a nice walk down the bustling area. Some divine Irish cream coffee and lemon tea at a café rounds up this happy list.
We return to Naddi via an entirely different route. Our tuk-tuk scoots past a dense cedar jungle that shelters a brooding church adjoining a quaint cemetery on the road to Lower Dharamsala. We’ve missed this. Or have we? We decide to come back later.
Back at the homestay, we stoically sacrifice an offer of tea and dress in windbreakers for the final conquest. Then we take one long, hard look at the clouds rumbling ominously above: deal with us, Zeus.
By now, a cool evening has descended prematurely on the lanes of Naddi. We reach a point that overlooks a sea of rooftops. It’s a sight to behold.
Tearing ourselves away from this view is hard, but doing so leads us to another gem: the quiet, mossy Dal Lake of McLeod Ganj. On the banks of this lake stands guard a proud thicket of pointy conifers.
Everywhere, one can spot approachable police officers — mostly young Himachali women taking a stroll. One such cop guides us towards a little trail that cuts away from the road to McLeod Ganj. A serpentine flight of steps end in another road that leads us to the gates of the St John in the Wilderness Church. This is like sighting land after months of seafaring. The church is a sublime sight, made even more melancholic by its ancient-looking stained glass windows. The façade reveals a solitary tower in the Gothic style. We consider entering, but then walk on towards the adjacent open area. A man strums away on his guitar to a sad old Bollywood song. A bunch of onlookers surrounds him, recording the song.
By the way, the rain is still not here. We have defeated the forecast, and the conquest is complete.
WE SACRIFICE AN OFFER OF TEA AND DRESS IN WINDBREAKERS FOR THE FINAL CONQUEST. THEN WE TAKE ONE LONG, HARD LOOK AT THE CLOUDS RUMBLING OMINOUSLY ABOVE: DEAL WITH US, ZEUS