THE YEAR FOR LOST TIME (PART 2 - QUIT PRO WHOA!)

Written by Misha Paul, marketing professional, founder of sustainable fashion label Love Again and sustainability advocate. She loves stories- the more vintage or rooted, the better- and always looks for them in her mother's old saris, while reading or even while travelling.

It was 4 am on April 25, 2023. It had been less than a month since I had quit my job. It was also the day I had to finally kickstart my Spiti journey. In that hour of the wolf, I put aside my overwhelming fears and set off from Mumbai for Sol Cafe, Kaza. 

BUT WHERE THE HILL IS KAZA?

Kaza, a town in the remote Spiti Valley, is in the Trans-Himalayan region of India at an elevation of 3,800 metres (12,500 ft) above average sea level. There are various ways of reaching it. None easy or quick. Or overtly comfortable if you are prone to motion sickness. The quickest way to reach though, they say, is Delhi —-> Manali via Kunzum Pass —--> Kaza. 

Probably Relevant Side Note: A fair warning- do not go by the hours it shows on Google because you will inevitably take more time than that. This year, Kunzum Pass, which generally opens by mid-May, did not open until the first week of June because, unseasonably so, there was snowfall even in the second week of June which hampered the snow clearance operations at the Pass.

To make things comfortable, I decided to pave my own, albeit longer, path. 

Mumbai —-- Delhi —- McLeod Gang —- Rampur Bushahr —-- Kalpa —- Kaza.

Because of my fear of the mountains, I’d not done any more research about the terrain than when I had before booking my tickets. My only expectation from myself was to reach Kaza in one piece. To survive. But my first stop- McLeodganj, a suburb of Dharamshala in the Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh, erased all my fears. It was so green, cool and beautiful, I started feeling my fears were all irrational. 

The more I progressed in my journey, the terrain kept transforming- the colours changing from green to white due to snow, and finally to brown (because at a height of 4000+ meters, vegetation is almost impossible.)

It took me more than 3 days to reach Kaza. 

In pic: Established in the 16th century by the second Dalai Lama, Namgyal Monastery in McLeod Ganj, Dharamshala, Himachal Pradesh, is a stunning Monastery rich in Tibetan culture and Buddhism.

In pic: Rampur Bushahr is the last capital of the Bushahr or Bashahr dynasty that ruled the Shimla & Kinnaur regions for a long time. This architectural marvel is Padam Palace which once served as the winter capital of the Princely state Bushair but today it is just a private residence of the royal family and former Chief Minister Late Virbhadra Singh.

My extremely efficient and amazing driver Karthik Rajput. Had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have been able to spend 3 days on the road, in an unknown and quite scary terrain, with confidence.   

From a 35-degree C temperature in Mumbai, as soon as I entered Himachal Pradesh, I first experienced rains, then sleet, then fallen snow and then falling boulders…not to mention two landslides… only to finally land in the surreal town of Kaza surrounded by snow-capped mountains, at a bone-chilling 5°C. 

THE 5-DEGREE DROP 

5°C was just the start. Within 3 days the temperatures had dropped to -10°C. Very soon I also realised that water and electricity were a huge problem in Kaza. Yes, a city girl who was used to comfort travelling had landed herself in quite a thukpa (a Tibetan soup).  

COLD (FEET) OR NOT, I WAS RUNNING MY OWN CAFE!

At 12,500 feet, the Spiti air is so thin and icy, one is bound to be left breathless. My hands and nose were the first to freeze. To add to that the population density of Kaza is 800. I stood outside my room, feeling cold, lonely, and yet taken by the spectacular beauty of the terrain. All at once. What had I signed up for?

But when I walked up to the cosy and warm Sol Cafe sitting adorably amidst the towering mountains, all the fear and (teeth-clattering) noise miraculously cleared up. It must have easily taken me a week to fully grasp the fact that I’d finally quit my corporate job, somehow landed in Kaza and was running my own Cafe, far away from my comfort zone. 

Working at the Cafe was undoubtedly a dreamy affair, but the hospitality industry is not for the faint-hearted. It requires rigour, a lot of running around (imagine doing that when the oxygen is thin), talking constantly, keeping track of accounts and doing it all again the next day- sun or snow, weekend or weekday. To add to the struggles, were the no-water-no voltage- no electricity days in the freezing summer (thank you climate change) that would make the literal uphill everyday walk to the cafe demotivating and frustrating. 

They say that people maketh a place. And truer words have never been spoken. The local staff, the local people, the cafe guests, the neighbourhood cafe owners and not to forget the beautiful friends I made, with whom we cribbed about sunburnt skin and unshampooed hair, generated enough warmth for us to keep going every single day for an entire month and in minus temperatures. There were inspiring stories every day. We had a group of 60-year-old ‘childhood friends’ who were having a reunion at our cafe, a young solo hitchhiker from Slovenia, an old mountaineering couple who defied age in every possible manner, friends, colleagues, love stories and so much more. All brewing at the height and keeping each other cozy and warm even with dropping temperatures outside.     

MY FIRST SNOWFALL

I was still getting used to the beauty… and the beast… when something unreal happened. One evening I’d just stepped out of the Cafe when I realised that the mountains around me had turned fluffy white. I hadn’t even gotten a second to tear my eyes off the breathtaking spectacle when I saw some specks of white on my black jacket. Soon the sky started melting, filling me up with a warmth so deep and white that even the minus temperature couldn’t be a wet blanket - quite literally. The little cafe had lit up with warmth inside, the tiny wood shop right outside had already got a bonfire going, and as I stood outside covered in snow, I knew my moment had arrived. The moment for which I had been fighting my demons and my fears all these years. 

I smiled. It was my first snowfall. I was a fool who had dared to dream, and at that moment, the snowflakes made all those dreams worth it. That night I knew my life had changed for good and I would definitely be taking Spiti home. In part 3 of this series, I’ll talk about how, in retrospect, it was the most life-changing 45 days of my life so far. 

This has been Part 2 of a 3 part series.