MANALI MEANDERINGS
The first piece I wrote for this blog
was about Hans Humpy Peter up in the hills of Manali, his organic farm, his
Himalayan cows and the fabulous Swiss cheese he makes, the rich ghee he makes
for himself and presents some only to a very few people, the wonderful bread he
makes, also for himself only, the dogs, cats and geese that have the run of his
farm and more. Naturally, he was first on the list of people I had to meet and
a visit to his farm was the first must-do on my Manali trip. But you can’t always
get what you want; there were other priorities that needed attending to. I
first heard of Peter accidentally last year and managed to make my way to his
farm up on the hills above Nashogi village for a wonderful experience and though
we had been getting his Swiss cheese regularly I was hell bent on repeating the
experience. The visit this time to his
farm happened accidentally. We were
staying at the newly opened Vivaan-The Sunrise resort up in the Kanyal Hills
with its breathtaking views (much more of that later) and everyone kept talking
of the hiking trails from the forest adjoining it to the ancient Hadimba Temple
atop the hill on the other side. A couple of days later we- the spouse and I-
managed to find time and started out for the hike. Since we didn’t have a guide we took some
wrong turns which meant regular steep climbs and going down, which let me
assure you is not an easy task with fallen dried pine needles making it a
dangerous slippery affair. It was much later that we realised that right at the
beginning we had taken a wrong turn and that instead of simply going uphill all
the way to the top and walking the trail that everyone takes, we somehow
managed to cross over the barbed wire fencing and took a mid path. The worst
was when we came across a tiny stream, a really minuscule one, running down the
hillside. The small barely there water going downhill could have been child’s
play but for the miserable fact that quite a stretch of land around it was
extremely wet and watery. If there is one thing that I detest, it is soggy land, the kind where your feet sinks
and there is nothing more disgusting than have water seep inside your hiking
shoes ugh! There was no stepping stone,
nothing, just wet marshy ground. While the spouse dexterously managed somehow
to get to the other side, I had to do some going down and coming up and then
going down and coming up again while some thorny bushes had a field day scoring
some ugly lashes, on my arms in particular. But well you can take the girl out
of the hills but you can’t take the hills out of her. You know there is always
another way and finally, I was safely across.
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The view from where we started our hike
To walk through a virgin forest with not
a soul in sight is without doubt one of life’s greatest pleasures. As we grew
accustomed to the hilly terrain and more comfortable with our pace, we looked
around and just took in nature at her best. We had been told that once we
managed to reach the hiking trail all we had to do was just keep walking till
we came across two villages and that from there, Hadimba Temple would be a
stone’s throw. By the way when hill folks tell you that the destination you are
looking for is just there, take it with a huge sack of salt and multiply the
‘just there’ several, several times over. What is just there for them is
killing distance for city dwellers.
After more than an hour we came across a little water fall lilting its
way further down and right in front of it the dense canopy of trees opened up
to let us take in our fill of a view that could have been painted only by a superior being.
Stunning would be a poor word – across in the horizon the snow capped peaks
glistened in the hazy sun over another row of green hills. At one point, as we
began another round of ascent, one looked across to the snowy peaks again and
it was a trance like moment, right in front me at eyesight level was the branch
of a Deodhar tree, its deep green needles spreading like a lacey tablecloth and
just beyond it the snow peaks, not very clear, rather hazy and all the more
dreamlike because of it.
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It was quite a climb up
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Deodhars that reached up the skies
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How peaceful can it get
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The mini waterfall
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The snowy peaks across the lacy leafy branch
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Does it look like there is a hiking trail here? Well we found one
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Up down and down up, we walked and
walked and suddenly we came across a lady carrying a conical cane basket with
the strap across her head like a fat headband, the basket laden with fodder for
her cattle. We had been hiking for about two hours. The lady seemed extremely
amused, I guess at the sweaty sight we presented. For the Hadimba temple you go up further she
said, while she nimbly scurried down a narrow path to her village, way
down. There were two other ladies, this
time walking into the forest; they said they were looking for firewood. Another
bit of a somewhat steep climb and we could see some houses on our right. We
began to hear human voices. They voices turned out to be those The of three
women washing clothes next to what appeared to be a covered well. They were
only too happy to pose for pictures; I guess that was an interesting interlude
in their busy lives, what with tending to homes, farms, cattle and such.
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Houses on the way
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As we
moved further up, there was a sense of déjà vu, the surrounding areas seemed somewhat
familiar as if I had trudged through it before. Then wham it hit me, somewhere
higher up the hills was Peter’s farmhouse. Was it serendipity? There could be
now no turning away without dropping in to say hello to the Swiss farmer. The spouse
had had enough of hiking for the day; there was no way he was going to make the
final scale to Hampy’s farm, no way. So while he began to hike towards Hadimba
Temple, I moved further up. On the way I saw a lady dressed in the traditional Himachali
attire (Pattu) combing through the thick foliage. Then with a smile she stood
up holding some ‘lingdi’ in her hands. The
fern like greens that grow in the wild is much sought after in Manali and is
usually pickled. Another climb up,
thankfully a short one and Peter’s farm appeared in sight. From last year to now nothing seemed to have
changed. The three floor building was still incomplete (if you make the mistake
of asking why be prepared to listen a long litany of an irate Himachali
ex-wife, court cases and more), some his Himalayan cows were as usual lazing in
the sun while the rest were grazing further up the hill, the smell that says
loudly you are at farm was still strong; everything seemed as it was. Incidentally Hampy is the only person in India
to rear Himalayan cows, a fact confirmed by the certificates he showed and the
official communication from animal husbandry department of some states,
particularly Odisha, who were keen to collaborate with him on how to rear
Himalayan cows. The rest of cow rearing farmers in India seemed to have
succumbed lock, stock and barrel to the charms of the imported Jersey cow as
apparently they believe they get more milk, a point Hampy vehemently denies. Incidentally Hampy’s official name is Hans
Peter Weuthrich and he has been living in Manali since 1974. The last visit
that the sixty year old made to Switzerland was in 1989!
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The Lady with the Lingdi
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Finally the entry to Hampy's farm and some of his Himalayan cows
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A little walk, a left turn and something
new caught my eye. Peter had finally put up a little board announcing ‘Local
Cow Milk Cheese available; Made by Swiss Farmer’. The farmer in question appeared
and he too looked the same at first glance. At second glance one realised that
he looked better and more filled out. Initially all conversation were lost in
the cacophonous din the geese raised. I don’t know whether they disliked my
presence or were welcoming me or simply putting in their bit into the
conversation. The more one shushed them, like naughty kids the shriller they
got. And to think there were just five of them in the pen, later I realised that
the others in another pen below had contributed too. Remember his dog,
strangely named Vajpayee, well the bloke way past his tenth decade was also
part of the welcoming committee as were other dogs. The only canine missing
seemed to be Michael and Hampy knew where exactly he could be found. Well Mr Michael, nearly 17 years old (honest
to god that’s how old he was insisted Hampy) had found himself a cosy corner
among the greenery and he was not going to budge an inch, whatever the cajoling,
he preferred his nap thank you! The new addition this time was the rabbit hatch
with some really heavy inmates and unfortunately, they were not pets, they were
for his dining table. My pleas to let them go away and not go under the butcher’s
knife seemed to highly amuse Hampy. I can’t believe how can anyone even think
of dining of bunny rabbits? The cats as usual were countless and as usual they
were their arrogant selves, least interested in what was going around, the only
concern seemed to how to sneak into the cheese making room.
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The cacophonous chorus!
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Hans 'Hampy' Peter Weuthrich
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Vajpayee!
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The sleepy Michael
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The poor bunnies
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Manali had some rains before we landed
there and its effect was to be evident in the abundant greenery around. Hampy
has now taken to growing his cow feed, tallish wheat like grass which he
claimed was the best organic fodder ever and that he had got the seeds from
Switzerland. The Kiwi flowers were in full bloom and clearly he is going to
have an abundant crop this year. In the garden patch there were spinach, leeks,
onions, asparagus, dill, coriander, carrots and what have you. As if having
flowering kiwis and chestnut trees were not enough, Hampy has grown some grapes
too and the grapevine, sorry Hampy’s firm assertion is that he is in for a
bountiful crop. There were also rosemary’s in pots, chamomile blooming
everywhere, a strange berry of which he knew only the German name and whose pronunciation
I couldn’t latch on to for all my efforts and wild strawberries. There’s one
thing you must know about wild strawberries, don’t just pop them into the mouth
blindly, first ensure that none of the berries have any seed popping out the
fruit, if it is there discard it pronto or you will be the victim of the mother
of all headaches. Call it folk tale or whatever but believe me, Hampy was not
the first one to tell me about it. In the hills that’s accepted fact as is the
fact that you do not go anywhere near wild mushroom that are not all white, a
touch of colour and its poison.
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Cow feed!
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Kiwi blooms
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Chamomile tea anyone?
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Dill, coriander, spinach
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Rosemary
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Anyone recognise these berries? And please don't say gooseberries!
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Heard anything from the grapevine?
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Wild strawberries
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The incomplete house seen from the vegetable patch
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The cheese making room seemed cleaner,
more organised and the shelves more packed this time. Some had aged, some were in the process, some
of still babies and some more were in the making-process with milk cooling in a
huge pot. From an ancient fridge Hampy
took out some cream cheese- fresh, luscious, naturally sweetish and melt-in-the-mouth
affairs that no money can buy. Unfortunately, he doesn’t sell them; too much of
hassle he says. His staple homemade ghee packed in tiny plastic bottles, only
for his consumption, were plentiful too. Yes he gave one bottle gratis this
time too. By the way if he goes out to town or meets up with friends for a
meal, which he rarely does, Hampy always carries a bottle of ghee which he pours
liberally over his rice/chapatti/dal. The next day he was gracious enough to
come all the way to Vivaan-The Sunrise Resort and during lunch time the ghee
bottle popped out of his bag, only this time he had little of it because others
around the table helped themselves generously!
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I'll say it again- How Cheesy!
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Its universal rule that one can’t have
too much of a good thing and it was time to leave. The idea of trudging first
to Hadimba Temple and then all the way down to main market was a bit dampening.
What I had forgotten was that in the hills there is always a way and there are
ways and ways. In Darjeeling, Sikkim and Nepal such ways are called chor-bato (literally thief road! In
ordinary parlance known as short cuts). It is as if the hill folks watch the
authorities cleave a decent path/road through difficult terrains and then
disdainfully ignore them and forge their much worn, much walked, much, much
narrower ones that cut walking time by more than half. As I complained about
the bright sunlight and hours of walking, Hampy had a good laugh. Pointing to the
little nulla (teeny-meeny stream) that descended from somewhere in the hills
above and flowed down past his property , he said just follow it and walk by
its die, at one point it turns left naturally and you do the same and you will
be in the market in a jiffy. A little sceptical but accepting he knew better I stuck
to the nulla faithfully and hey very soon I neared a village and before long I could
traffic noise and the market buzz. Once I hit the village I had to however ask
my way down, as the tiny lanes seemed to be snaking around, at one time it led me
to a beautiful sight – an unattended weaving loom sporting bright magenta,
orange and green threads, someone must have been working on it and must have
gone out to attend to some other chores as the green door of the little room
sported a huge lock. But the weaver need not have worried; a local dog was
sitting guard! At one time I came across a delightful scene, three little
bright eyes girls, in school uniform (red checked kameez and white salwar) were
taking turns to drink water from a public tap. A public tap yep! Can you
imagine us letting our kids ever do that? When did we city folks began to shy
away from drinking tap water and if we do so today, would we have to be hospitalised!
Ah the price of civilisation. When I asked for directions, all three chorused
chirpily.
I could hear their laughter and chattering
long into the night.
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The unattended loom and its guardian dog
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By the way, it took me all of 16
minutes- yes just 16 minutes; I timed it – to hit the market in town. Hampy
knew what he was talking about; it was as he said just a matter of scrambling
downhill. Just watch out for your knees but.
