Every person has a different reason for traveling. Some want to try the best local cafés at a misty hill station, some want to clear the mind fog while sipping wine at a luxurious beach hotel, and some just want to hike the biggest and baddest peaks in the world for a moment of solitude that no other place can provide. I have my own reasons, and while they change depending on who I’m traveling with, what I’m trying to escape, or what I’m trying to achieve, one thing I have caught myself always aspiring to is to feel small. I like to be in a place where my presence and my problems seem insignificant – where life is beautiful no matter how difficult the turns get.
However, I must admit that in the process of finding new ways and places to travel, I sometimes forget my reason. I would still enjoy the places and experiences – just not enough to remember them years later. Such moments are rare, and one such experience was a humble bus ride in Kalpa.
Last month, I was supposed to be in Nepal on a long-awaited solo trip. I was super excited since I had never been to Nepal before. I wanted to do it all – Pokhara, the ABC base camp trek, live in the quaint towns overlooking the tallest peaks. And then life reminded me that life happens. I got to the airport and was denied boarding: my passport had water damage and would not scan. I stood at the counter hopelessly requesting the airline personnel to let me board, but the flight took off before I could even absorb what had just happened. Thankfully, I was with my wife who held me and reminded me that Just Go was never just about planning the perfect itinerary, it was about not giving up on the moments that make you happy in a way only you know. So, I went home, repacked, and booked a bus to Spiti instead.
The last time I was in Spiti was ten years ago, when my heart and body were much younger than they are now. My journey started with a badly delayed bus ride, then a shared cab with some like-minded people I met along the way. It took me 16 hours to reach my first and most awaited stop – Chitkul, my favorite place in the world, no exaggeration. And yet I spent two days there half-present, still thinking about Pokhara, about the plane ride to it, about the trek I was supposed to be on. I had gotten so sucked into the what if that I could not fully see the what is, even in the one place that should have made me forget about Nepal.
I left Chitkul after two days for Kalpa, carrying a bit of hopelessness – partly because of how commercialised my favourite place had become, and partly because of my own inability to live in the moment. But like on every other trip, something beautiful happened.
I reached my guesthouse in lower Kalpa around 5 PM. I had only that one evening to see Kalpa, since I had planned to leave for Kaza the next morning. So, I dropped my Quechua in the room and headed straight to the reception to see if the owner could arrange a quick cab to take me to Kalpa’s best viewpoints. He said something I will never forget: “You’re in the mountains; take the bus. It will take you exactly where you need to be.” I am pretty sure he was not trying to be metaphorical, but I like to romanticise. And as mountain romances go, the bus pulled up to the hotel just as he said it. I waved my hand and got on with no destination in mind. Everyone on board stared at me with curiosity, since this was the same bus that had dropped me at the hotel ten minutes earlier. It had just made a U-turn and was looping back, and I was lucky to catch it in time. The conductor and driver, puzzled, asked, “Aapko abhi drop kiya na humne?” (Didn’t we just drop you off?). I smiled and said, “I want to see Kalpa, and I have two hours before the sun sets – can you take me somewhere I can watch the golden sunset over Kinnaur Kailash?” And the driver’s response is the reason I am writing this. He said, “Don’t worry – we will help you see the best version of Kalpa.”
The bus was headed through Reckong Peo and Kalpa, the longer route, all the way to Roghi – a remote village further ahead – before turning back to the Peo bus stand. In all, 2.5 hours of absolutely stunning views and even better stories along the way. I got the front-row seat, courtesy of the driver, who started narrating stories about the places we passed. It was a local bus, so naturally, regulars kept getting on at various stops, and they were kind enough to let me into their daily conversations with the driver and conductor. I learned that a retired professor takes the bus every day to meet his former students, because even in retirement, he cannot stop teaching. I learned that the driver has been driving this route for almost a decade, having chosen it over a job driving longer distances so he could stay closer to family. Not all the stories ended in Kalpa. I also learned about a young woman there who is trying to get into an engineering college and is thrilled to finally leave the place she calls home. And who better understands that feeling than someone who left what he called home for 21 years to grow and find a new one. There were stories outside the bus, too. I watched an old couple, likely tourists, patiently waiting at the edge of a cliff with their huge cameras, waiting to capture the golden sunset together.
For the next hour or so, the bus wound through small villages, forests, and valleys, while I sat up front smiling like I was seeing it all for the first time in my life. Just two kilometers before Roghi, the driver stopped at a turn and asked me to get down. “Yahaan utar jaiye, bahut accha spot hai. Main 10 minutes mein aapko wapas pick kar lunga return mein” (Get down here, it’s a beautiful spot. I will pick you up in ten minutes on the way back). In those ten minutes, I smiled more than I had in the previous two days combined. The view was breathtaking as the peaks slowly turned gold. I watched Kinnaur Kailash disappear behind the clouds to make way for other peaks to emerge. I picked a spot and sat at the edge, watching, until the bus made its way back to me.
My trip continued to be full of memories and wonderful connections, but it wouldn’t have been possible if that bus driver did not show me what I needed to see.
Looking back, I ask myself – what was it? The bus ride, the many conversations, the changing scenery or the golden sunset. I think it was all of it and none of it. It was the reminder that my problems and existence are so small in the grand scheme of things. I was reminded that this world is big and its people – bigger. So where do I stand? I guess I am just a passenger trying to make sense of all of it.
So next time you are in Kalpa, skip the obvious route. Take the bus. Share some love and be loved.