Chasing white powder on the slopes of Gulmarg
Stepping out of Srinagar airport, I was greeted by the crisp, cold, February air. En route to Gulmarg, the sparse winter-vegetation around Srinagar dissolved into an endless white cascade of snow. As I ascended, the cold rain turned into fluffy snowflakes and white walls of snow and ice formed the natural boundary of the sinuous, snow-covered road to the winter sport capital of the country.
As a snow-virgin, Gulmarg was a sensory overdose in the most positive way. The mushy feeling of setting foot in pristine white snow for the first time was a magical experience. The landscape was shrouded in a thick layer of fresh white powder in almost any direction the eye could see. Before I had the opportunity to take in the whiteout landscape, my guide and ski instructor, Malik, took me to a ski shop and got me kitted-out for my first day of skiing. I awkwardly kept pace, attempting my best to avoid slipping on the ice-covered road.
Stepping into the world of skiing is in many ways similar to other hyper-specialised sports like competitive cycling or triathlon. After getting a set of skis and figuring out my ski-shoe size, I found myself taking in the rudiments of the sport. I was soon taken to the gentle bunny slope, right after learning a simple snowplough aside from the other basics. Mentally, I prepared myself for a series of falls. Yet much to my amazement and the astonishment of my coach, I managed to descend my first ski-slope maintaining balance and getting to the base without a fall, on my first attempt. Riding the button ski-lift to the top on the other hand, proved to be an exercise in humility. My first day consisted of managing many successful descents, tumbling a few times and fumbling on the ski-lift. In between ski sessions, I fortified myself with Kashmiri Kahwah chai and Maggi noodles with a deconstructed samosa, improvised courtesy of Kashmiri ingenuity. Even as I fought a losing battle with verticality while riding the button ski-lift to the top, local Kashmiri children with rosy cheeks doled out advice on how to maintain an upright posture. Winter sport is taken very seriously in the Valley and I learnt that Arif Khan, a local legend, was the country’s sole representative at the Beijing Winter Olympics. By the end of the day, the sky turned grey and a heavy snow descended on the vast white field.
Aprés Ski involved downing a strong black coffee in the company of my ski crew. If there’s one thing I learnt on day one, it’s that winter sport, carbs and greasy food go hand-in-hand, as my ski crew devoured a large portion of fries. Aside from the usual passionate banter about the esoteric world of skiing, my Kashmiri compatriots opened up and expressed sadness about the portrayal of the Kashmiri people in the mainstream media. This was a recurring theme, every time I interacted with the incredibly warm and gracious locals, whether they were taxi drivers, ski instructors, well-travelled business owners or restaurant proprietors. Far from their villainous portrayal in the media, there is a yearning for peace amongst most people of the Valley.
Nightfall and the subsequent snowfall descended upon Gulmarg like a fluffy white blanket. As the temperature plunged further, I found myself taking refuge by the traditional stove inside the reception cabin of my hotel. As the layers of snow began to pile up, a muted silence took over the night. The fresh snowfall brought about an indescribable quiet. The gentle crackling of the embers and the rumbling of the stove pot were the only sounds that could be heard. Later, whilst conversing with a software professional from Himachal Pradesh, the topic of boisterous tourists from the plains came up. The IT lad sighed as he described how pig-headed drivers from the plains refused to give way or pay heed to the unwritten rules of driving in the hills and more than often, drove themselves off cliffs.
I was truly amazed that even in the sub-zero temperatures, the plumbing functioned flawlessly and clean water flowed freely through the taps. Exhausted from the travel and a day of skiing, I didn’t have the patience to wait for the water to heat up and proceeded to shower. Despite shivering as if I were having a seizure, I found the freezing cold shower to be a surprisingly pleasant system shock.
Day two of Ski Life.
The next morning I was woken by a gentle tapping on my window. Peering outside, I found two plump birds on my windowpane. Trotting to a nearby restaurant, I requested the traditional ‘Noon Chai’. I was warned that the tea was not sweet, but salty. The owner, clad in a traditional Kashmiri pheran proceeded to explain to me how most domestic tourists accustomed to sweet, milky tea back home, were unable to stomach the savoury Kashmiri tea in the morning. While I sipped on my tea and quietly devoured my breakfast, the owners of the nearby shops cleared the accumulated snow. The vehicles parked just the previous night were completely cloaked in snow. Had I not seen them the previous night, it would have been easy to surmise that the vehicles had been abandoned and left out since the beginning of winter.
While sipping on some coffee back at my lodge, I struck up a conversation with a suntanned local ski instructor waiting for a student. When I explained my misadventures of attempting to ride the button ski-lift the previous day, he explained to me that during his training with an army ski instructor, he was afforded no such luxuries. Training included the painfully slow ski shoe trudge back to the top of the slope, skis on his back, somewhat reminiscent of the ‘Karate Kid’ training scene. One thing which struck me about most local Kashmiris was their passion for the outdoors and genuine appreciation for nature. This ski coach went on to explain to me how he trekked and climbed mountains during the summer months.
Before making my way to the cable car that would take me up to phase one, my ski instructor suggested I get a pair of ski pants. Much to my horror, the only option was a baggy pair of red ski pants, straight out of the eighties. Stepping into the cable car, I took in the view of the majestic pine trees of Gulmarg. At the top, a heavy snow swirled soundlessly through a grey sky. A brief ride on a snowmobile through blizzard-like conditions brought back childhood memories of what I imagined the Yukon would have appeared like in Jack London’s “The Call of the Wild”, albeit without the sled dogs.
After a light snack washed down with some piping hot, dry fruit laced Kahwah chai, I set off to begin my descent. With limited knowledge of the conditions up at phase one, I wore multiple layers, in addition to an overcoat. Aside from appearing somewhat ridiculous, juxtaposed against my bright red ski pants, the superhero cape like overcoat that shielded me from the weather on phase one turned my descent into a sauna session, given the intense physicality of skiing. In the whiteout landscape, with the sun peaking through the clouds, I truly came to appreciate the value of polarised sunglasses.
To be quite honest, I did not have the faintest idea about the gradation of the slope or the distance I’d be covering. With my basic knowledge of a snowplough and constant instruction from my ski coach, I began my descent. Gradually, I began to learn about the basics of shifting body weight to change direction. Arriving at the first steep slope, I began my controlled descent, heart in mouth. Despite having terrible body coordination in the best of times, I managed to stay fairly well coordinated and follow instructions from my coach at the same time. I’m not sure whether it was my brief stint of rollerskating as a kid or plain rookie luck, but I somehow managed to complete the descent from phase one without a single fall. Upon completing the course, I was was drenched in sweat and oblivious to the significance of my accomplishment, but my coach was ecstatic and proceeded to congratulate me. He did confess that he did not expect me to complete the descent, given that most beginners spend the first few days on the gentle beginner slope. After replaying some of those descents in my mind, the magnitude of the feat finally dawned on me.
Aprés Ski on day two consisted of feasting on the traditional Kashmiri fare with my ski crew. Kashmiri lamb is quite unlike anything I had ever tasted up to that point, from the Ristha to the succulent kebabs. After a long day of skiing, nothing is quite as satisfying as traditional Wazwan. I spent the remainder of my last evening taking in the stunning white landscape while fresh snow gently descended.
Dark clouds hung in the sky over the course of my two-day stay in Gulmarg. However, when it was time to leave on the third day, sunlight spilled through my window in the morning and I was finally able to see a gleaming mountain. The name of my guest house, “New Mount View”, finally made sense after two days of limited visibility.
When I planned my three-day trip to Kashmir at the eleventh hour, never would I have ever imagined that I’d be skiing, let alone descending from phase one of Asia’s longest ski slope on my second day. I am indebted to the the kind, solicitous Kashmiri people who ensured that I had the best possible winter experience, right from my driver to my guide and ski crew. People of the valley accept the harsh winter conditions with equanimity and this general sense of calmness and composure is truly inspiring.
