Monsoon Honeymoon Part XIV: Daytripping in a Muslim Ghost City: Locked Down in Srinigar

 My girl rose for the morning glass on Lake Dal.  Leigh took her special Kashmiri tea on the open air patio on the back deck of our houseboat lodging, while she watched Indian gondoliers row by in their small wooden canoes, called shikaras.  I stumbled out of my cabin at the gentleman's hour, and settled in for a hearty breakfast of poached eggs, toast, and coffee.  As we had arrived in darkness, it was only now

that I could appreciate my surroundings.  Sheer green peaks soared skyward all around us, providing a cradle for magnificent Dal Lake, spanning some 40 kilometers around its circumference.  We could hear the distant honking of city traffic, but our houseboat huddled inward toward a circle of other houseboats.  Here was an Indian Venezia where one could actually live on the water.  It was an unexpected dream, and it's reason enough to visit Srinigar, Kashmir.

A taxi driver rowed us to the cityfront promenade, where we were ready to begin our exploration of the Old City along with our guide Yusuf.  Wherever we went, whether we arranged it or not, we always seemed to pick up "guides."  My emotions about this were mixed, but generally the chance to interact and learn from a local for a small price enriched the experience.

First we vanished into an internet cafe for too many hours, as Leigh placed the final touches on a fellowship application, and I tried to figure out how to cheaply fly us to our next destination and avert a 24 hour mountain ascent by car.  Playing airfare search engine roulette in India stressed me out, and Leigh had to walk me outside to calm me down.  We did find a way to fly to our next destination for a very reasonable price, and it included an extra day in Srinigar.

Our late morning tour of the city with Yusuf finally began. The old city was filled with cobble-stone streets laid out between mountains and rivers.  We drifted through shady alleys, and admired the intricate wooden architecture indigenous to Kashmir.  We emerged onto a broad thoroughfare to discover an old British military complex that had been converted into a United Nations observer base.  The conflict over Kashmir

may be simmering, but it's not finished, and the UN maintains a mission at this exact spot in old Srinigar.


Across the street we entered the grounds of a mosque.  Leigh has had her fill of mosques after traveling in Egypt, Morocco, and Turkey in recent summers, but my interest was piqued. I removed my shoes, folded my hands, and entered.  The space was simple, with no furniture, clean carpets, and a few men sitting in a corner whispering and praying.  There was a feeling of cleanliness, silence, and reverence in the air; it was the first time I had experienced a tangible sense of Muslim spirituality.

We continued on our walk, passing through shady parks, playing fields, golf courses, and broad boulevards.  Srinigar was by far the coolest, cleanest, greenest, and quietest city we had visited in India.

As we moved on into the central commercial district, an eerie silence prevailed.  All the shops were closed! We looked to Yusuf for an explanation.  He said that the previous evening two innocent young Kashmiris had been shot and killed by Indian soldiers, and now the entire region was on strike.  Only pharmacies and food vendors remained open.  

The commercial core was a ghost town, with shop fronts rolled up and dogs drifting through empty streets.  We passed by a lovely tributary of Lake Dal, and stopped in a park cafe for mango smoothies, stuffed Naan, and a vegetarian masala dish.  


On the way back to the Lakefront, we passed a major intersection with a tented encampment of men protesting their exclusion from becoming licensed tourist operators.  They shouted, yelled, and jumped.  Yusuf saidthat they were on Day 4 of a Hunger Strike. Tempers flared and the atmosphere oozed tension as Leigh and I averted our eyes and picked up the pace.

The afternoon hours were full of walking, internetting, procuring water and snacks, reading, and resting. At 7 PM Rafiq loaned us his baby blue-painted personal shikara, and I offered Leigh a sunset boatride. It was pure potential for a romantic coup, but unfortunately the boat had no rudder. I spent the best part of an hour on the water sliding back and forth, to and fro, attempting to avoid collisions with the tens and hundreds of other boats plowing the lake.  To be fair, I earned the attention and respect of some of the other boat taxis, and eventually Leigh was impressed.

We returned to the boat for a home-cooked meal by Rafiq's Muslim wife. Rafiq's two sons approached us gingerly after dinner (they were small and afraid to try speaking English), while Leigh patiently instructed me in the rules of Cribbage.  We ended up cutting our Cribbage short, so we could play a

universally understandable card game with the boys: War!

Later in the evening we rocked in the water, drifting away to sleep on langurous Lake Dal. . .