Parvati chillums

A real smack in the face awaited us just three hours down the road from Jihbi, the Parvati valley. Like most places in Himachal Pradesh a relatively short distance usually involves a steep descent to the bottom of one valley and then steeper climb up another as you work your way deeper into the mountains. The drive to Parvati was punctuated by a rather eerie 3km tunnel through a mountain where truck lights and the thump of our engines were the only real stimulus.

Now Parvati valley is infamous throughout Himachal, and India generally. It is another stunningly located narrow valley, hemmed in by snow capped mountains and dressed with pine forest. More importantly for many though it is home to a swollen trade in marijuana. Parvati ganga is said to be some of the best in the world, and this was immediately apparent as we rolled into Kasol, Parvati's main traveller hide. Nearly every guesthouse, cafe, restaurant is filled with clouds of intoxicating green smoke. Most of it inhaled/exhaled by the resident Israelis population who once again seemed to have shifted base from Tel Aviv to northern India for the summer. Kasol, put bluntly, was a dump. Rubbish cascaded into the river behind every establishment and Hebrew and English signs replaced any Hindi. The locals have been pushed to the fringes here to make way for more guesthouses and falafel bars.

Holly and I felt, as Britishers, massively out numbered here. And the pace of the non-stop chillum smoking was a little too much, and pretty sad really. There were more than a few washed up characters floating around, and the constant shouts of 'BOOM!' every time a chillum was passed was grating even after a few hours. In the name of investigative journalism however, I can confirm the reputation of said intoxicant.

Convinced this was not the reason we came to India, we headed further up the valley the next day with Chaim and Iris who had followed on form Jihbi. Another, gob smackingly stunning ride brought us to the road end at Burshani where we parked the bikes and hiked uphill for an hour to find the wonderfully refreshing village of Pulga. This place is probably how Kasol started out, a small village, with a guest house or three where life more or less carries on as normal, with the odd interruption of trekkers stocking up on supplies or staying a few days soaking up the atmosphere. And stay we did. We had kept a room in Kasol where all our gear was stored. Tail firmly between legs I had to mission back there after our first night in Pulga realising our passports and cash where still there.

Still, once back up on the hillside there was nothing to do but take long walks in the pine forest, people watch in the village, or play backgammon with the other guests at out guesthouse. Here we found the biggest conglomeration of English people (3) we had found anywhere in India! Despite being extremely chilled out here, news filtered through of a trance party some Israelis where throwing somewhere across the valley in the next village. A two-hour walk in the dark awaited those who were after a dance. Myself, Holly, Jamie & Grace ummed and arred for an hour or two. before leaving two lone Israelis two set off in the twilight. Gutted, however we were not when they returned the next morning with news that the party had been busted by the coppers before the first thud of a bass drum had rung out across the valley.