Hello,

We've been exploring the Kullu valley for a week and a bit now. It's been a relief to settle in one area and relax for a short while after the gruelling schedule we set ourselves earlier in our trip. We covered a lot of ground - about 2000 miles, maybe - and it was knackering.

Having said that, Joe and I returned from a trek to a frozen lake in the crater of a dead volcano yesterday. It was a three day trip - on the first day we climbed up to the snowline (about 3700m) and camped there, the next day we climbed up to the lake (4200m) and back down to another campsite on the snowline, and then on to Vashisht on the third day in a final assault on our poor defenceless knees. Walking above the snowline was an entirely new game for me. We had to make some steep climbs and hairy traverses on the powdery slopes, and it's very easy to lose your footing - you have to jam your foot right into the snow to get a purchase. I slipped traversing a 35 degree slope, and it's very hard to stop sliding. I was clawing at the snow and trying to dig my heels in to slow my descent, to no avail; digging my walking stick into the ground halted me in a couple of meters, and then making back those few precious meters of progress, inch by inch. Trudge, trudge. It was truly taxing. On the other hand, when you're wearing sturdy waterproofs, top and bottom, and you're faced with a climb down a snowy slope, you've got to go on your arse. I woke up yesterday morning to a fresh dusting of snow outside the tent, thick fog... thinking about it, we must have been inside the cloud which bore the snow. And there's some amazing flora and fauna up there, grassy slopes alive with small, bright flowers - white, yellow and vibrant reds and pinks - and vultures circling above us, which was a tad unnerving.

The rest of the time, little Vashisht has been our delightful host, a pearl in the oyster that is the Kullu valley. This morning I got up at 5am to visit the hot springs. Set in a temple, you take your shoes off at the door and enter this wonderful little pocket of calm, right next to the vibrant village square with its snake charmers, candy floss (you heard me) and camera-happy Indian tourists. You walk through a narrow, dark stone corridor and into the spa, an open square space, steaming deliciously and a little sulphurously. You hang your clothes on hooks around the side, teetering around the narrow walkway surrounding the two baths. You wash in the first so as to not contaminate the water as you immerse yourself in the second. The water is quite scummy - I think this has something to do with the sulphur content - but it's deliciously, perfectly, revivingly hot.

Relatively few tourists go in the baths, and this was one instance when I was particularly aware of being the minority, with my chicken-white torso. It's not uncommon to be the subject of curiosity at any time in India, and we often recieve perplexed and unflinching stares, as if examining a specimen, but it's very rarely intimidating. A few days ago we visited a particularly dilapidated dhaba (cheap traditional 'cafes' where the best food and the dirtiest walls can be found) and we were made to feel quite unwelcome. Perhaps it was our social incongruity with the usual clientelle of this extremely basic shack kitchen. Maybe they were just unhappy in themselves, I don't know. It's rarely an issue, but an interesting one to face.

It seems that for many tourists, one of the valley's primary calling cards is the ubiquity of charas, an unadulterated variety of hashish which is produced in some of the smaller rural villages. It's so prolific that it's become normalised. People openly roll and smoke joints, even chillums, in cafes, restaurants, guest houses, and the propietors don't bat an eye. In fact, they give you a palmful of crumbs and ask you to roll a joint to share with them. Normalised, yes; illegal, absolutely. I would be telling a great big fib if I said we'd left it well alone, but we've been very cautious, and we'll be leaving it behind when we go North tonight.

We went rafting the other day, which started off cold, bumpy and exciting and quickly became merely cold and bumpy. The rapids here are nothing to write home about, despite the fact that I'm doing exactly that. The ride home however was a huge thrill. I would even say it was a dream come true. All this time, somewhere deep within me I have been harbouring a strong and quite inexplicable hankering for a ride in the back of a pickup truck, and I'm sure you'll be very glad to learn that I have finally achieved this goal. Sat on a pile of oars and lifejackets, with the raft strapped on the frame roof, dripping little bits of the river Beas on my shoulder. The view out the back was an enlightening insight into Indian driving habits, which you become acutely aware of when you can't see what's coming up ahead, and your jeep has swerved into the opposing lane, and the horn is blaring, angrily shoving our way through the pack and shaving one or two precious seconds off our journey time. The reason for the apparent hurry is beyond me. Yes, much more exciting than the rafting itself, but probably a fair bit more dangerous, too.

We leave for Leh tonight. The jeep sets off at 2am and arrives the same time the following day, having traversed some of the world's highest motorable passes, right the way up to 4800m. It's extreme terrain, and it's going to be an epic journey. A little scary, even. When we're there, we'll probably need a day or two resting while our bodies make more blood cells to compensate for the thin air at 3700m. Oh, I cannae wait!

I'd best be off. Keep writing y'all, and I will too.

All the best.
Nick x