Planes, trains, autos, buses and war – A slight diversion on the way to Ladakh

Dharmashala to Jammu, to catch a flight up to Leh, Ladakh - This should have been easy...

•         A very bumpy journey
•       Nutrition in a crisis
•       Airport safety – Knives yes, memory sticks no

The first 3 hours of the journey were simple.  Then we pulled into Pathankot bus station and there was lots of worried shouting and everyone got off.  I guessed we were just changing bus then I heard the phrase in broken English ‘road to Jammu closed’.  I was soon shown a TV with a rolling news report showing footage of shootings and ‘Jammu’ in big text on the screen.  The next thing I heard was the sky full of fighter jets.  Something was up.  Seems that Pakistani militants had gone on a shooting spree at an Indian military base the day before.  The place was on red alert. 

So there I was thinking the usual ‘everthing happens for a reason’ maybe with my lungs being screwed it makes sense for me not to go fly up to Leh at +3,500m.  The next thing I knew was I was being shouted at and pointed to a waiting bus.  I jumped on assuming it was going back to Dharmashala.  His holiness The Dalai Lama due to deliver a teaching which I had been gutted to miss so  maybe I could give the place a second chance?  Then I had a massive pinch of guilt as I remembered that my friend Robyn was flying to Leh from London to go trekking with me.  It was at that point that I heard that the bus was going to Jammu. 

It made no sense.  Driving along all I could see was the queues of people ‘leaving’ in the opposite direction and a huge amount of military arriving.  Then the bus came to a stop, with my fellow passengers looking straight ahead.  Not one person seemed curious as to what the hell was going on.  As it was crazy hot I jump off and bought a kilo of oranges to hand out on the bus.  This was a classic nutrition test as everyone smiled and declined.  I returned 10 minutes later with a few ice pops and everyone perked up and took one.  Classic. 

After gobbling up the ice pops and waiting another 30 minutes in the sauna bus the other passengers still seemed content to sit and sweat.  It was pretty obvious by simply looking up the road that we were in a road block of at least a few hours.  I wasn't going to sit in a bus not going anywhere so I grabbed my bag and started walking (back!).  I then meet a very good man.  Sunil from Chennai.   Sunil spots me trying to talk to the locals and it appears he is also struggling with language.  He speaks English and Tamil but not Hindi.  He also needs to be in Jammu for a 9am meeting the next day and he has a plan.  He has worked out the trains are still running.  We just need to get to the train station 5km away.  Easy Peezy. 

I assume that my white person skills will work as a hitchhiker and am amazed when in the following 30 minutes not one car stops.  By this stage is was so hot that truck drivers were lying under their trucks just to get shade.  We then saw a few buses turning around and managed to squeeze on one leaving the queue.    It dropped us about 2km from the train station and 10 adults somehow squeezed into an auto rickshaw with me hanging off the side (with 30 kg of weight in my front and backpacks).   We arrive at the train station and queued only to discover no more trains were going.  It appears that since the attack in Jammu there had been a further incident in Mesar killing 9 Indian soldiers.  The trains had been cancelled on that line due to the increased security risk.  BUT there was one train on a parallel rail line about 5km away and it was due in the next 30 mins.  We jump back in the auto and I get upgraded to hanging off the back which means my backpack is inside as opposed to hanging off the side!  I don’t know how this happened but we made it.  As the train departed from a small platform in the middle of a field with a group of about 30 kids all waving at me.  They can obviously sense my happiness - I've made it!

Sunil got general class tickets and we sat in Sleeper waiting to pay the fine.  The conductor never came so we got a 3 hour trip for the general class fee of about 25 cents :).  As I looked out of the window I could see a roadblock, which at this stage must have amounted to 10 miles and the bus I’d left was somewhere in the middle.  When you've beaten the odds sleeper class during an Indian sunset really is paradise, even the stink of pish cannot ruin the views!  

Me and Sunil

The experience reminded me of Raghav in Delhi.  Just two people going in the same direction helping people out.  Pretty amazing in today's world.

We arrived in Jammu and much to my surprise I couldn't get a hotel.  I had the usual horde of punter try to flog me a room at their luxury guest house but upon arrival in the first two they didn't have a C Licence which what you need to accommodate foreigners.  After a long walk I found a dingy hotel down a back alley that ‘did’ have a C licence.  It was grotty and I was tempted to go straight to the airport and sleep it out but it had been a long day and I knew a bed was a better choice.  

I bought Sunil a thank you dinner then headed to an internet café to print my flight ticket.  No Internet.  The military had switched it off for Jammu.  OK, I'd got through the day surely the airport without a ticket would be a breeze.

My sleep didn't go quite to plan as there was a big storm which cut the power and the back up generator was above my room.  I’m sure some people pay extra for vibrating mattresses but it didn't work for me.  I left the hotel at 5am with plenty of time for my 730am flight considering the airport was just 10 km away.  I’d forgotten what rainstorms can do in India.  They can make the drains backup and as the hotel was on a narrow alley that lane was now a river of sewage.  I played hopscotch across and ended in the sanctuary of an auto rickshaw airport bound!

I was not prepared for what presented itself at the airport entrance.  A queue of about 500 people.  It looked as if the city was evacuating.   No-one spoke English and I didn't have a ticket printed out.  Feck.  I then saw a staff member come out of the airport and spotted that he was wearing Nike trainers.  Surely such wealth would mean an education that involved English?   Sure enough.  He was a porter.  His English was perfect. He grabbed my stuff, carried it to the front of the queue and walked me through 4, yes 4 security checks without being checked.   His Nike trainers held quite some power that day.  If it hadn't been for him I’d still probably be in that queue.

At the 5^th and final security check security tried to confiscate my memory stick and vitamin tablets.  Now, I would have understood new measures having been enforced due to a high alert. However, the majority of passengers at the airport were Sikh men and they were all going through security with big knives.

Apologies for the crappy photo (you can see the security tag on the knife) but photography was strictly prohibited at this airport

The Sikh 'Kirpan' is a ceremonial blade that Sikh's carry to show they have been baptised. I'd never seen them before coming to India but read regularly of issues overseas with people seeing them just as blades.  

Once through security as the only white person in the building I attracted the attention of the old Sikh boys and we chatted about how Punjabi food is the best in the world.  To be fair they could have been chatting about the benefits of eating Veal and I'd have quietly nodded - they all had knives!