First stop – or rather after 20 hours on a bus – is Vashisht. A smaller tourist hot spot next to the larger tourist hot spot of Manali. But despite the tourists – just like me – I like it. I would love to see it without 'us' though; to see the natural beauty; free from the 'ethnic' shops selling nothing ethnic, and overpriced restaurants selling Israeli hummus and Italian macaroni. However, the natural beauty is still very much present as Vashisht is the last hill station in the Kullu valley of Himachel Pradesh. It is surrounded by lush green climbing hills, which climb into the invisible mountains which blow their fresh air down onto the town.
However what has amazed me the most is was something I found hidden inside an ancient stone temple. The stone temple sits in the middle of Vashisht – at the bottom of the many steps leading up to my guest hose. The temple is surrounded by the lush green hills of the valley that is in turn ringed by the Himalayas. Inside the temple are holes in the ground from which escapes bursting piping hot sulphur water – heated from inside the earth, and steaming out to fill the air with its chemical liquid vapour. Inside the temple, the water is channeled into two separate chambers – one for men and one for women and inside those chambers there is a line of pipes and a set of small stone steps leading down to a brick pool.
The temple bathing was the highlight of my mornings, and each day I learned a little more about the local community and relations between the women who washed there. The baths are clearly a social meeting point, with entire families gathering to wash together – small children scrubbing backs of mothers, aunts, sisters and even strangers who squat together naked under the water laughing and talking and soaking. Meanwhile, the odd tourist – just like me – would hesitantly peel off the layers of woolly clothes and try to find some personal space in a place where there is no space to be personal but just communal. After nearly one year of cold showers in Thailand and Kolkata, the hot steaming previously bubbling earth heated water felt incredible. The millimeters of grim embedded in my cracked heels seemed to dissolve, while I imagined any remaining lice fainting from heat exhaustion. After crouching under a tap I shared with a small girl and her infiltrating baby brother, I stepped my way over washing bodies and sat on the stone steps leading into the pool. I watched the young women and their beautiful figures, feeling smug knowing of all my male friends who would do anything to exchange places with me for just one 'bath'; I saw one women covered in yellowing bruises across her chest, and old women dripping in precious stones of coral and turquoise and strung with string through her ears and round her neck, wrists and waist. There were two large gold nose studs occupying both of her nostrils. I tried to fully submerge myself into the water, wanting to swim for the first time since Thailand but unable to train my body to accept the heat.
I dressed by the side of the pool, facing the ancient stone wall, as steam evaporated from my body and from the mass of water around me. How different life would be for the women on the streets of Kolkata if they had a natural hot springs? I never once saw a woman washing but only groups of men – for the public water fountains are far too public for the conservative city culture. Skin infections and diseases are rife precisely because of the lack of hygiene – of water pumps for women to wash, for water pumps which do not stand above the open sewers of the roads, and for water pumps which pump fresh water which is clean and safe.
Already the distance from the city has reminded me of the comparative social cohesion of the villages as well as the health benefits of nature, which our 'development' and 'progress' continues to break, discard and to destroy. Although my mind is still attached to the work I have abandoned and I am feeling self critical of tourists just like me – I am excited about the explorations to come; about meeting new people, learning, listening and seeing.
However what has amazed me the most is was something I found hidden inside an ancient stone temple. The stone temple sits in the middle of Vashisht – at the bottom of the many steps leading up to my guest hose. The temple is surrounded by the lush green hills of the valley that is in turn ringed by the Himalayas. Inside the temple are holes in the ground from which escapes bursting piping hot sulphur water – heated from inside the earth, and steaming out to fill the air with its chemical liquid vapour. Inside the temple, the water is channeled into two separate chambers – one for men and one for women and inside those chambers there is a line of pipes and a set of small stone steps leading down to a brick pool.
The temple bathing was the highlight of my mornings, and each day I learned a little more about the local community and relations between the women who washed there. The baths are clearly a social meeting point, with entire families gathering to wash together – small children scrubbing backs of mothers, aunts, sisters and even strangers who squat together naked under the water laughing and talking and soaking. Meanwhile, the odd tourist – just like me – would hesitantly peel off the layers of woolly clothes and try to find some personal space in a place where there is no space to be personal but just communal. After nearly one year of cold showers in Thailand and Kolkata, the hot steaming previously bubbling earth heated water felt incredible. The millimeters of grim embedded in my cracked heels seemed to dissolve, while I imagined any remaining lice fainting from heat exhaustion. After crouching under a tap I shared with a small girl and her infiltrating baby brother, I stepped my way over washing bodies and sat on the stone steps leading into the pool. I watched the young women and their beautiful figures, feeling smug knowing of all my male friends who would do anything to exchange places with me for just one 'bath'; I saw one women covered in yellowing bruises across her chest, and old women dripping in precious stones of coral and turquoise and strung with string through her ears and round her neck, wrists and waist. There were two large gold nose studs occupying both of her nostrils. I tried to fully submerge myself into the water, wanting to swim for the first time since Thailand but unable to train my body to accept the heat.
I dressed by the side of the pool, facing the ancient stone wall, as steam evaporated from my body and from the mass of water around me. How different life would be for the women on the streets of Kolkata if they had a natural hot springs? I never once saw a woman washing but only groups of men – for the public water fountains are far too public for the conservative city culture. Skin infections and diseases are rife precisely because of the lack of hygiene – of water pumps for women to wash, for water pumps which do not stand above the open sewers of the roads, and for water pumps which pump fresh water which is clean and safe.
Already the distance from the city has reminded me of the comparative social cohesion of the villages as well as the health benefits of nature, which our 'development' and 'progress' continues to break, discard and to destroy. Although my mind is still attached to the work I have abandoned and I am feeling self critical of tourists just like me – I am excited about the explorations to come; about meeting new people, learning, listening and seeing.
1 comment:
as i read this i was not aware of my computer, i was not aware that i was reading
i really felt i was there, seeing as you saw.
thankyou.
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