Lost in translation

It came to my mind to turn east towards Spiti instead of enjoying the pleasures of Rohtang Pass one more time; however, when trying to get information on the road conditions I was told that that the Spiti road is blocked on three spots, another source said four and yet another told me about two big landslides. If I take the statistic median of these 9 alleged landslides, that makes 4,5. Instead of verifying the numbers we made our way early next morning to Manali, hoping to see Spiti and Chandratal Lake on another trip.

Our little convoy mae good progress and when we arrived to the first northern slopes leading up to Rohtang, weather improved a little bit. We stopped for having our passports checked and coffee at Gramphu where I took a few portraits; and this s a good time to apologise for the photos in this post because I screwed up something while converting them from RAW and hence they look like washed out. In general, I have a problem optimising my photos since I purchased my new screen. in PS and RAW Shooter they look perfect but much less so on the web.

At last we saw blue sky. Time for a roadside breakfast. By the way... I was suprised that my compact Panasonic Lumix LX3, used at an amateurish P setting with 1 stop underexposure, had much less difficulties in dealing with such bright sky-dark valley situations than the EOS 5D (the 5DMkII I used last year wasn't better at all).
Canon version, ISO 50, 1/100, f=7 + Cokin ND4 NG:

Lumix version, ISO 80, 1/1000, f=4,5:

Life is great, Dominique said, and I couldn't agree with him more.



I also took a few shots of Mobsingh, Soni's fellow-driver from Rajasthan 4WD. Being a Rajput, a people famous for their martial past and pride, he was a very different character from Mr Soni. To put it this way: in the client-driver relationship he obviously meant harder business for the client. His photos didn't work out very well until I told him he's looking in the pictures like a drunk Shahrukh Khan. Oh dear, did he laugh.


Rohtang was covered in mist and fog and rain again but descending was much easier business than toiling up on the muddy road (if it can be called a road at all).



Misty landscapes do have their poetry too...

...and are extremely useful for the digital photographer because one can clearly see when it's time for sensor cleaning :)

We even saw a Bollywood movie in the making. Actually it was a scene of a Punjabi soap opera showing the hero and the heroine driving around. Such bad luck. I had better enjoyed some action movie with people blowing up things or at least the compulsory wet sari dance, but then one can't have everything.

Arriving in Manali with aching bones, tired and hungry the best thing to do was to st down on the hotel veranda with a pot of tea and think about a new itinerary.

The Lokotars invited me for dinner at Manali's best, the Mount View. At last some food without dhal and spicy gravy. While we bid our time in the crowded restaurant, the local Tibetan community held a memorial service for the victims of the flashflood in Leh; it was quite touching with a long line of Tibetan women lined up with candles, singing a slow and sad song of which I only understood "om mani padme hum", with a huge crowd of locals and tourists on the other side, some of them lighting candles but wth the majority takng photos and movies; I wonder what the Tibetans were thinking of all this. It was all the more weird because I watched the scene and lit a candle too but my mind was rather occupied with the food inside the restaurant than compassion. I have to admit that. A strange mix of emotions - the sad Tibetans and the tourists, both foreigners and Indians, for whom this was nothing but just another occasion to take photos, as the flashes were sometimes brighter than all the candles.




(The boy in the clip is Timothy Lokotar.)

Next day we separated from our travel companions and headed south to the Kullu Valley, Jalori Pass and Rampur, backtracking the route we had taken last year. At last there was no rain and driving through the lush, green forests of Kullu along the Beas river was pure pleasure.

Again, a 5D vs LX3 match:

It was shortly from the top of the Jalori Pass (a steep ride but a piece of cake compared to the Rohtang) that I saw a girl carrying firewood. I asked Soni to stop the car, ran after her and prayed she's not camera-shy.

She wasn't. Her name was Usha (giving this name a new meaning and making us forget about her arrogant counterpart from Kinnaur) and she was a very kind person. To my surprise, she suddenly asked me in nearly impeccable English and a voice that was sweet, innocent and prematurely sexy at the same time:

"Why do you take photographs of me?"

Oh dear, that's a good question I thought. Usually I reply: I take your photo, upload it to the internet, my buddies tell me it's nice and this makes me feel good. I could have told her the truth, too: I take it as a trophy for my own narcissistic pleasure. Or: maybe one day I'll publish a book about your beautiful hills and people and you will be in it. I was prepared, however, because I've been asking myself the same question for a while and had a honest answer ready.

"Dear Usha, you are a khub surat larkhi, bahut sunder indeed! But who will see your beauty? Your family, your friends... I take your photo and hope that many, many people will see how beautiful you are, and be happy to see you, just like I am happy now."

She looked at me with a hint of skepticism...

...and then reached into her pocket from where she took a battered English-Hindi dictionary, looked into it and replied:

"I am sorry, I don't speak your language."

"Nevermind, Usha, nevermind", I murmured and took a polaroid shot which she gladly accepted. I felt a sudden sadness as I walked back to the car, waving good-bye to Usha who waved back at me with a smile until she disappeared in the woods.

Last year, I could admire the great Himalayan Range from the top of Jalori Pass (about 3600 meters) but this year it was foggy and cloudy; a perfect time to have tea in Mr Dollodrum's dhaba. When not serving tea, he is the pujari (resident priest) of the Hadimba Temple atop the pass.

Our ascent led us through dense, misty jungle where it was obligatory to take long-exposure waterfall shots, more for the pleasure of enjoying the fresh air and quiet than photographic creativity.

Early evening we passed through Ani, where we met the israeli couple last year. This time we only stopped for ... who first enjoyed being photographed...

...but since light condtions were tricky - the usual dark valley-empty sky combo, dark-skinned model and all this at dusk - I took many photographs with high ISO, then low ISO+flash, filter on, filter off and she got hopelessly bored.

Anyway, Usha had already made my day as far as photography and memorable encounters are concerned; and after 12 hours of driving, at last we made it to Rampur and the Sutlej valley.

A most beautiful soul

Keylong is buzzing with activity. There's a lively red-light district, famous for its pole-dancers imported all the way from Pattaya, a bar selling 247 different kinds of beer, and a famous wellness spa with hammam, sauna and a heated swimming pool around a floating cocktail bar.
At least in my wet dreams. Actually there's nothing to do in Keylong except a hike to the 800 years old Khardang gompa (monastery) across the river. The way to the gompa is long but the views over the valley are superb.
On the way up we passed a camp of road workers from Jodhpur, Rajasthan. The women happily flirted with the camera and their children performed a show of incredible misbehavior.






It was here that Soni, the always cheerful, polite and tactful Soni almost got us beaten up. When he asked one of the women (the colorful lady wielding the hammer on the image above) chalo Jodhpur? the mood suddenly froze and the women were not friendly anymore. As a matter of fact, they became angry.
"What happened, Mr Soni?"
"I asked lady if she wants come to Jodhpur."
"I guess she didn't like the idea, did she?"
"No sir, she was thinking we mistake her for prostitute, and the other ladies called their husbands."
"In this case, maybe it would be a good idea to get the hell out of here?"

In the end we made it up safely to the monastery on a long but beautiful road. It was very peaceful up there with a rewarding panorama of Keylong and the Bhaga valley.




Interestingly, the monastery was inhabitated by both monks and nuns, I must say very camera-happy nuns. They were grea fun to photograph and to talk with. Language didn't mean anything - they talked to me in Ladakhi (I guess), I replied in Hungarian, again making me aware of the two layers of communication - talk is important to exchange information but understanding is built by mimics and gestures. For example: I don't ask "can I take your photo please?", only approach the "model" with a face that has the question written on it. Approaching strangers with the intent of capturing their soul is a precarious thing; on the photographer's side there's the hunter-gatherer instinct, on the model's side it's a mix of vanity, pride and sometimes honour but distrust and pride too, and what a photographer has to do is to approach the model carefully and respectfully enough to strengthen the model's vanity and dispel the distrust. Like dealing with a butterfly - holding it for a moment but not too tightly, without removing that fine powder from its wings that makes it so beautiful.

There must be something to Buddhism. Just like last year, the Buddhists I photographed had a much more relaxed attitude than Hindus or Muslims (Sikhs are in general very vain and love to pose, and are therefore a different matter). They love to have fun and are easy to joke around with. And as usually, the polaroid does the rest. Look how the stern and mysterious lady from the above picture transformed into pure fun (she's the nun in the middle holding the polaroid).

I wanted to enjoy the beautiful views on my own and told Soni to drive back to town without me.

Walking down the path I saw something interesting - it was a lonely figure sitting on a hill, and I immediately got attracted to the juxtaposition. Quietly, I sneaked up behind and tried to capture the feeling I sensed when I saw this lonely human, his small silhouette in such strong contrast to the impressive mountain.

Sneaking closer...

It was tempting to keep this encounter as it was, just to capture the human vs mountain juxtaposition without knowing the face, the name, without actually meeting the person, keeping him unknown. But then my curiosity prevailed (and maybe guilty conscience for sneaking up him behind, too) and I said, "hello".
And then the man looked at me and he turned out to be a woman, a nun, and with a smile on her face that said "I knew you've been sneaking around me the whole time" she replied, "hello!"

I was immediately stunned by a strange feeling, as if confronted with unexpected beauty and calmness, staring at her face that reminded me a little bit to the girl with a pearl earring, of course with a face scarred by cold winters and whatever; I couldn't even guess her age but there was such a beauty emanating from her features that overwhelmed me.


Her name was Padma and for a moment I wished I could stay on that hill with her forever, living off for the rest of my life from that stream of beauty that could have only come from her soul, but then on the one hand I could not and on the other, she was a nun. However, if she had told me "stay, I'll teach you all you need to know about tantra" I would have done so with pleasure, but she didn't say and I didn't ask; maybe it was a mistake. I took one photo after the other, she even removed her cap when I asked her to, and hoped that at least the photographs can mirror a fraction of her most beautiful soul.

Later on I was lucky enough to photograph many girls of great beauty, ranging from innocent village girls to outrageously flirtatious and sexy starlets, but none had made such a deep impression on me than Padma the nun with her shaved head and winter-scarred face. And already when I walked away from her with a futile sigh, I was longing for the moment when I will meet her again in this or another life.