Random storms can pick up in Kashmir in a matter of minutes. They last for a few hours, can drop the temperature rapidly, cause power cuts and make travelling off Dal Lake impossible with high winds. They never last very long, and are nearly always accompanied with thunder, lightning and a downpour of rain.

In the summer, the temp can drop from 26 degrees C down to 12oC in an hour, then by night time, the stars are back out and the the eind has gone - everythig back to normal - the most random weather I have ever seen! Here are a few pics of a storm and it's build-up.

this is a very nice place to visit and a homely atmosphere the houseboat is fantastic especialy de-laila it is the most fabulus houseboat in whole lake . after doing my reserch . we met many houseboats during our stay but this one is the most comfortable with a high lever carving done inside . the rooms are very big and comfortable .

I've been in Srinagar one week now. The jeep journey up was long (8 hours) but very interesting and def better option than the bus which took me 17 hours last time! I'm staying on a house boat on Dal Lake with a family, having a really nice time and seeing many places.

This week I have visited Old Srinagar and Roza Bal, the crypt/shrine of Yuz Asaf, also known as Jesus - many resources confirm that Jesus fled to Kashmir after the crucifizion. It was a moving experience - can't really be put into words.

I also have seen Lal Chowk, known as New Srinagar and surrounding areas. On Saturday I climbed the Shankaracharya hill to see the Hindu Tempe, built on a site known as the new Takht-I-Sulemein. On Monday I travelled to Harwan, a village 12km North of Srinagar to see a 2000 year old religious site - attributed to buddhist monks, was a beautiful walk to the site and nice gardens/parks nearby also and the baute reserve and lake there.

The Mughal gardens (Shalimar) and Pari Mahal are very beautiful and worth the trip, its also refreshing to pay the same price as everyone else for entry (not the usual: indian price 10 rupees/foreign tourist price 200 rupees).

If you plan to visit Kashmir I can recommend you to stay with Rahim Langoo in his Houseboats. On request Rahim will pick you up at the airport. My entire stay with him was a real pleasure and I highly recommend everyone to stay with Rahim! His houseboats (Fantasia plus two more) are located in Nigeen Lake, a much more quiet and beautiful location than Dal Lake. If you wish, Rahim will also organize your sightseeing tours. You can contact him by email or mobile phone: Rahim Langoo, Houseboat Fantasia, Nigeen Lake, Srinagar. Mobile No. +91-9906737847 email: rlangoo@hotmail.com

Gurkha Houseboats are greatest attractions of Srinagar. They are like floating hotels on the lake. Gurkha Houseboats in Srinagar are located at Dal Lake. Travelers in Srinagar prefer staying in houseboats rather then hotels. The houseboats are available in all ranges from budget/luxury houseboats to economical houseboats. The appearance, quality and maintenance of gurkha houseboats are perfect. For the honeymooners the houseboats deep in the lake are ideal. The romantic settings of the lake in Kashmir together with the royal setting of the houseboats create magic.

On Sunday morning we flew into Srinagar - that has got to be rated as one of the best flights with views! Flying over the Himalayas is spectacular, what a beautiful view!

I arrived at Dal Lake in the afternoon, and was dropped off at the house boat I would be staying on. It was fab, lovely wood carvings, not something like I have ever seen before. I spent a lot of time seeing the market, the floating market, the botancial gardens, Srinagar town etc and the Kasmiri people are very handsome/pretty. It was lovely to wake up to hearing prayer being called from the mosques all around the lake, and the night markets are fantastic, all lit up with lanterns at night.

I had a visit from the spice man who called by on his boat, so bought some Kashmiri tea, spices and some other herbs. On the third day I spent time with a family. We had a fab meal cooked, and sadly got my first case of food poisoning. When I was told that the water was filtered, I was happy. But not when I saw what they meant - that basically an old sock had been tied over the tap, that took the water from the lake!! The same lake that people showers and toilets are being emptied into!!

On Thursday I caught the bus to Jammu, not good when you are not well. It was a hair raising adventure to say the least. The sights were worth the trip, but I was terrified the whole time. 12 hours on a bus that was hurtling around the corners of mountains with 1,000ft drops!! Aargh.. We got held up by an electoral demonstration - that took 4 hours before the police cleared the roads with water cannons. Udamphur is an interesting place, stopped for food and drinks there.

Finally made it to Jammu, what a temperature difference! Found Jammu to be hot and clammy, very humid. However was relieved to get medical help, 2 courses oif antibiotics over the next 2 weeks cleared up the Giardia and Amoebic Dysentry!! Nice! I don't have much to say about Jammu - I spent three days there when i was ill, and hope i don't need to go back there again. There is an open sewage system running through the city, and flies everywhere. The people are lovely and very helpful, but I didn't eat for 2 days as the nowhere looked clean enough (flies all over the food), so best advice is to catch a taxi to the business district called Bahu Plaza at Ganeli Najero where they have a pizza place lol.

Left Saturday 14th  to catch the bus to Dharamsala, and another 7.5 hour journey, again lovey views, and you get to meet some really nice people on public transport that would miss by flying! Life is never boring in India!!

Srinagar was an interesting experience. the army guy who looked super angry tried to get me to go back on the plane before i even set foot on kashmiri concrete. he was like shouting at the stewardess in unknown language and pointing at me - probably something along the lines of "get this white girl out of here." or something. well eventually after pointing at the word srinagar on my ticket he gave up and gruffly pointed for me to wander in front of runways to get to the arrivals hall. then of course i have to go to the foreigner counter - to fill in one of many foreigner forms. Already having filled in the form - accomadation became the thing on Kashmir.  The lake is filled with houseboats - which, once, were also filled with tourists - but with over ten years of conflict in the region, the tourist trade has dwindled and competition has become, as I found, very aggressive for the slowly renewing numbers of tourists and their cash.

There was a gauntlet of houseboat owners and taxi drivers/guesthouse/boat owners in one who literally chased me along to where the bus left.  I held my ground and insisted I would wait for the bus for 35 rupee rather than the 150-200 rupee they would charge me to not take me to the hotel - but most probabky show me their/their friends houseboat/guesthouse - even tho they say if i dont like i can go to my choice of hotel.  I had 15 of them shouting. i told them that i knew it was hard not having many women around but get off and move on. After avoiding yet more supposedly friendly helpers who then became touts in their own right, I managed to get on the bus.  However, before the bus had properly stopped at the tourist reception centre, the touts had already climbed onto the bus.   Battle with the 5 more ruthless touts commenced, who followed me to my hotel and actually almost into the hotel room telling me they owned the hotel and i should come on their better houseboat! Ruthless tactics.  The hotel staff couldn't do much about it, and allowed them to spin their mad spiel to me while I was filling in the forms.  An intense start to my stay - and I was pretty wary and a little scared to go back into the street in case they were waiting for me.

However they weren't outside when I left to do some sight-seeing.  Wandered around being told the wrong way until I met some 18 yr old flashy kashmiri boys - obviously rich - ones dad was in local council, others was a businesman with "many western friends". they showed me round lake and bought me lunch - even though they were in ramadan and not supposed to be eating - in honour of their new western woman friend. hmmm. suspect, but at least i had a guide. They were pretty helpful. if a little in awe of such a normal thing as sitting wiht me in a restaurant.  In India, men and women do not have friendships.  They are friends with their own sex, and then they are married to each other.  Apart from family members, and obviously in more modern areas this is changing, they dont seem to conceive platonic friendships between men and women.  A bit of a shame really.  And a source of various problems for the female traveller.

Anyway after seeing the lake with my new found friends, I left them to go refresh in the hotel.  I then wanted to go see the old town, but ended up in the little boats that are hand rowed round the lake for about 3 hours.  It really was stunning, you can see the pictures.  A new life was centered around the lake where people lived along the banks and used boat to go to shops perched in the lake and also there was floating markets of boats with veggies for sale.  This apparently is in the early morning and many tourists come to see it.  I have heard of similar things in Thailand and Laos so will check it out there.  Really enjoyed the lake - so peaceful.  And saw the sunset over it as well.

Went back to the hotel - the boys had told me that even tho it was friday night, people didnt really do much except eat with family in the evening.  Also, the old town is apprently still a bit dangerous at night with the terrorist activity so I decided to watch some TV in the room with snacks.  Ramadan probably isn't the best time to visit a muslim place, most of the restaurants arent open as most of the people here are fasting all day.  So I decided to get the two day bus the next day to Leh, Ladakh.  This is the eastern part of Kashmir - completely different as it is up in the Himilayas and cold and full of exciled tibetans who practice Buddhism rather then Islam.  Read the next two entried for detaisl fo the two day bus trip and the stay in Leh, which was much more relaxed and easy.

In all I enjoyed the beauty of Srinagar, the lake was stunning with the surrounding distant mountain back drop, but I just feel for a white woman this is not so great a place.  Would have been better to be with a guy!  The society just doesnt respect women in the same way as in the western world unfortunatly.  But it was worth seeing it, and the conflict, although still present in the form of masses of army soldiers patrolling the streets and the odd barbed wire road block, is obviosuly starting to reside.  But it does remain in the background and was interesting to see it.

Chris and I spent day after day exploring the back waterways of Dal Lake with our shikhara. With only one massive, heart-shaped oar, we took turns paddling the classic transport. I preferred paddling from  the aft end; she, the bow.

Seeking out houseboats under various stages of construction, and as days passed, we got to meet many of their owners, builders, and craftsmen. The massive vessels were entirely built by crude hand-tools and traditional methods. When launching day arrived, the new owners would put on a feast, usually lamb, and a hundred or more friends and family would gather to manually slide the hull into the lake. Walls and interior were completed afloat.

The grassy weeds growing from the bottom of Dal Lake, in an attempt to reclaim it, were harvested by both man and machine. A floating Swiss-built contraption, resembling a John Deere combine on a mid-west farm, pulled the murky weeds by a conveyor-type collector. After several passes across the lake, the machine would off-load its sea weed-like cargo onto trucks that hauled it away to backwater landfills. Lotus gardens.  The narrow water-ways, channels, wound for miles like a maze but we were always able to find our way back to the lake.

Along those back-waters, Chris and I stopped to chat with those who spoke English or just nodded and waved as we glided by.  All the Kashmiris were surprised by our presence but curious and friendly. It was an entirely different culture from its governing India and very relaxed and down-to-earth; a whole new world.

The southern end of Dal Lake, about a mile from the Nehru Park area, had a spit of land jutting far into the water and lined with towering poplars. It was the private driveway of the Maharaja of Kashmir who made infrequent visits to a summer home or cottage somewhere on the lake. He would drive his car out to the point then ride a shikhara to his retreat. One afternoon, Chris and I were shocked to see the tall trees falling, one-by-one, so paddled over there to find out what was going on.

Crews slowly worked their way from the outer point of the drive, which was just wide enough to turn a car around on, toward the shore. While workers cut its trunk with two-man saws, two more heaved on a rope which was tied high in the tree. That looked like a one-way tug-of-war but directed the tree's  fall.

They hit the ground with a swishing crash and slight bounce by their thick branches.  Just about every one of the full-grown trees had hearts with initials of newlyweds and lovers carved into its gray-white bark from distant decades past.

Other groups trimmed branches containing green buds that would never blossom. Brush was hustled to the waiting shikharas that delivered the fresh firewood to customers all around the lake. As the cutting crew  stoked a fire for afternoon chai and Kashmiri bread, others loaded precious soil onto flat-bed trucks to be hauled off to various land-fills. For some reason the government had ordered the drive removed and day by day it eventually disappeared.

As springtime warmed, the buds of trees began to slowly blossom and tint the landscape green. Eager owners anxiously prepared for the approaching summer season by scrubbing their houseboats with bristle brushes, brooms, and buckets of lake water. Docks were painted and Dal Lake took on a fresh appearance.

Four large swim-boats were positioned onto the middle of the lake. They had the same hull and flat-top roof as the massive houseboats but no walls, their sides open. Swimmers would spring from diving boards and water-skiers be jolted from water-line platforms. Sun-bathers would crowd the flat-topped decks to munch ice-cream and soft drinks from onboard snack-bar huts.

Brightly colored wooden ski-boats with 6-cylinder Chevrolet engines cluttered the docks at Nehru Park and prepared to churn the lake at four Rupees per minute.  And travelers began to trickle in.

While the surrounding Korakoram Range of the Himalayas were blanketed, only patches of snow littered the gray shores of Dal Lake as a taxi-boater paddled us across its glassy waters in a shikhara . Miles of elaborately trimmed house boats lay vacant, absorbing sunshine in the chilly air, awaiting the summer season. As we approached the Erin, Rehman Langoo ran out to greet us. Rehman had aged considerably more than the seven-and-a-half years since I had last seen him. He still maintained a toothy smile, but his thick head of curly black hair had grayed; his face, wrinkled and weathered. He didn't immediately recognized me, but  was exhilarated to have been remembered, and returned to; especially so early in the year.

He proudly showed us the super deluxe houseboat Erin, built in the early 1960's; the flagship of his small fleet. Creaking, carpeted floors led us through three sleeping chambers which were furnished with wide, four-poster beds topped with colorful quilts. Nightstands and mirrored dressing tables were adorned with shaded lamps, hand-painted flower vases, and white doilies. Attached baths included four-legged bathtubs which were filled by buckets of hot water from an outside source. The dining room boasted a thick table, six chairs laced in leather, embroidered tapestry walls, and elaborately hand-crafted furniture. Delicate white curtains dressed windows which flooded a parlor with daylight and provided spectacular views of the lake and nearby mountains.

The smaller houseboat, Young Erin, was more modestly decorated, furnished, and priced. It replaced the vessel which I had stayed on years earlier, the New Erin, now resting on its starboard side, submerged, behind the Erin. But, Chris and I opted for the low-budget hut which was built on a narrow spit of land between the boats. Our simple room included a king-sized bed, heavy quilts and blankets, a small table, two chairs, a dim yellow light bulb, and a pot-bellied wood-stove. Our ten dollar a day price included

 breakfast, an afternoon pot of tea, dinner, firewood, and unlimited use of a shikhara.

After settling in, Chris and I lounged on the sunny dock while Ali served a ceramic pot of tea on a silver tray. He cooked for Rehman and Rehman's  young daughter, ran errands, and performed cleaning and maintenance duties. Rehman referred to him as 'the boy' but always called him by name. In his late teens, Ali was from a small village near Gulmarg, in the snow-covered mountains and like most Kashmiris, of Pakistani descent.  We didn't know if Rehman's wife had left him, divorced him, or died, and we didn't ask.  His daughter lived with him and was gone most days attending school somewhere across the lake.

Numerous merchants approached our dock; one selling groceries; one, small packets of saffron, and another, boiled chestnuts. But Mister Mir caught our attention. His shikhara was loaded with bundles of heavy woolen fabrics. Chris and I placed orders for farons which were the poncho-like, knee-length outer garments the Kashmiris wore to keep warm. I chose a dark colored plaid one with a buttoned, collared vee-neck; Chris, solid maroon with a short zipper. Their long sleeves were tapered to easily allow retracting the arms.

The faron would not be complete without a Kashmiri fire-pot and we paddled the shikhara over to Factasoon's waterfront market to purchase those. That red clay cauldron was contained in a wicker basket which had two handles allowing easy passage from one hand to the other if the coals became too hot. Carrying it under our farons, we could feel heat coming out from around our necks. In a sitting position, the fire-pot would be placed between the feet, eliminating the need to heat our entire hut. Our farons included cotton liners which could be worn alone, in warmer months.

Srenegar's old city offered fine crafts of wood, leather, carpets, cashmere, furs, and paper mache products. After leaving Chris to shop for embroidered table cloth sets, I set out to explore one of the narrow back-streets.

While loading film, I heard the word "photo" chattered excitedly from behind closed doors and walls as neighbors passed gossip. I had no idea what was being said, and wondered whether I was in a bad area until a door creaked open and a young Kashmiri woman stepped into the narrow lane. Her black hair was pulled back tightly and her rounded cheekbones framed a beaming smile as she motioned alluring brown eyes toward my Minolta. After several photos, as her sister looked on, she clutched my arm and led me through the doorway. My heart melted under my faron, which matched hers, and my mind raced.

Upon entering the courtyard, about a dozen children, ages four to fourteen, ran up to me, cheering wildly, and reached out to shake my hand. I felt like a Pakistani Pop star. They wanted a picture taken and when I gestured to the steps leading to the brick building, they practically climbed over each other racing for position, several falling down. At the click of the shutter, the kids broke into a loud cheer. I couldn't believe their  excitement.

As I made my way toward the doorway, they once again reached out to cling to my arms and legs, and to shake hands. One of the girls wrote down an address and I assured her they would receive copies of the pictures. I judged the place to be some kind of children's hospital or an orphanage. The brief visit made their day and certainly enlightened mine! Back in the narrow street, two neighbor ladies who heard the commotion opened their door and seemed surprised that I wanted their photo too. That turned out to be one of my favorites.

It wasn't difficult to find Chris; after more than two weeks, we were still the only westerners in town and a shopkeeper nodded towards the Government Emporium. That was an ideal place to see what crafts were available, and their going prices. Its prices were fixed, eliminating the need to barter, and we used them as a baseline to haggle with the local merchants. Except for our farons, which were more of a necessity, we would wait until we were ready to leave Kashmir to buy most of our souvenirs.

Their hefty weight made shikharas very stable and the wide paddle produced enormous torque. Sitting as far aft as possible, and after weeks of practice, I learned to control speed and path as well as most of the locals on the lake, paddling on either side.

I spotted my target a half-mile out and set up a trajectory for an interception close to the houseboat Niel Armstrong. A pair of cargo boats, tied tightly together, were loaded with cases of Thumbs Up and Campa Cola, their sides just inches above the waterline. Bhul-Bhul squatted at the bow of one, making surprising speed for home. "How was Gulmarg?" he shouted as I approached at fifteen yards. "Beautiful!" I responded, “… But it's good to be home!"

I steered his course and closed beside him at three feet, paddling on the outboard side so that our paddles wouldn't meet. In close formation, we reached a narrow channel off the back side of the lake and followed it along green lotus gardens to his red brick, two story house. Bhul-Bhul reached under the gray tarp covering his moored grocery shikhara and pulled out a blue pack of cigarettes. "Only Charms?" he asked. "Only  Charms..." I responded, with an odd sense of guilt and pride.

Bhul-Bhul operated his grocery shikhara all over the lake. Chris and I would often paddle out to him to buy Charm cigarettes or one of our favorite snacks: Amul which was a white cheese in a blue can, several rolls of a French-type bread, and oranges to quench our thirst. 

Hi Friends

As you know Tracy and i are doing our own thing at the moment, which means im on a hired 500cc Royal enfield designed in 1950 and build up to the present day. The gear change and rear brake are on the "wrong" side which is interesting in the many emergency stops you have to make. I am with Adam and Danny from England who are riding RTW on thier BMWs, two great guys who spend alot of time waiting for me me to chug along behind them.

We have travelled from Manali in Northern India thru Ladakh to Srinagar. The journey starts in the green verdent valley of the gods and then climbs over the highest motorable passes in the world the highest being 18830ft then across high mountain desert which is achingly beautifull until you reach the land of the Gompas {buddhist temples} at 3500m the weather is cool and the people warm . The days rides wouldnt take so long if you werent compeled to stop so often for a picture or two. It is the most beautifull part of our trip so far and think i might do it again this time in the truck with Tracy.

The roads are generally ok [For India} but the passes are subject to avalanche mud and land slides so care needs to be taken specially when a convoy of army trucks race at you flat out, it took a while for me to understand the traffic rules"might is right" i learnt this after nearly plunging down a cliffside courtesy of the Indian Army.

We are currently in Sringar Kashmir where it has rained non stop for 72 hours and the roads are impassable so weve all got our tired feet up on a house boat on Dal Lake. There were some bombings here last month and so there is a very large police and army presence. A dutch couple came round to our boat last night but had to leave early...why? Well there is a 10pm curfew and were told they would be shot as militants if they wre seen out after this time!!!!!!!!!!!! Nice place this!!! just ashame about the troubles.

Tim