The I Factor

Since I’ve arrived here, I’ve learned one thing: anything is possible in India. Things happen beyond (or just different from) expectations through a phenomenon called the Indian factor, the infamous I-factor.

My trip to Himachal Pradesh bordering the sharp and breath-taking Himalaya Mountain range showed me why this is so. We visited Dharamsala, and the city of McLeod Ganj where the Tibetan government and community in exile reside. Then we headed over to Manali honeymoon capital of India with the majestic snow mountain as a backdrop. Overall, the scene of the white and blue mountains reminded me of the North Shore Mountains in Vancouver, the extension of our very own Rockies.

At the beginning of our journey we boarded the bus from Hoshiarpur to Dharamsala by fighting our way through tightly knitted Indian crowds. Before I was able to even sneak a peek inside, a man told me to purchase seats so I went on a search for tickets. When I returned to the bus, my friends were still half-seating and arguing for a spot. The locals apparently didn’t know that there was assigned seating and were soon turned down by the conductor. Later, we saw people scrambling for seats on another bus by throwing their bags onto seats through the window as the bus was parking so they could claim the seats upon boarding.

McLeod Ganj was itself a surprise as we felt that we were magically transported out of India and dropped off at a backpackers’ resort with great service and menus that met all the appetite needs of foreigners. Most of the locals were Tibetan or Kashmiri or Nepali – Indians were a minority. This was perhaps a non-I factor.

On the way to Manali, our i-adventure truly began with an overnight bus ride crammed in seats made for two skinny third-graders - we try to tuck our legs to secure ourselves. And then the driver stepped on the brakes. The noise was unforgettable – like the screech of a million seagulls in symphony with intense grinding of metal against metal. As our road took us through hills and winding turns, the bus braked once and again. The bus, dramatically swaying its tail left and right, pulled passengers from side to side. Passengers like me, half perched at the edge by the aisle, I was lifted out of my seat perilously, almost falling into the dangerous aisle of heavy bags and other passenger’s feet each time. To secure myself, I had to hold tightly onto the handle bars directly in front of me throughout the 11 hour journey into the night.

Then we arrived in Manali, where newlyweds start their lives together, where they get to know each other after their brief meeting at their engagement and wedding. The toilet in the honeymoon suite given to us was a hybrid one giving users the hard decision to sit Western style or squat the good old-Indian way. The romantic Hot Springs in nearby Vashisht was so hot that you can only dip your toe in or say a special mantra before going in and out. Most local prefer the shower method, where the water can be adjusted by showerheads by the pool. Other Manali attractions included skiing at the mountain base with no ski-lift. 80s style snowsuits and faux fur were available for rent, hard hat helmets not included.

Looking forward to more I factors to come. . .