Mussoorie: The Queen of the Mountains

At Mussoorie

I saw them today ... truly l did! The snow covered peaks of the distant Himalayan mountain range. They stood tall and white behind the closer brown mountain peaks which surround this village. I'll confess that a squeak of joy escaped from me as l realised what l was seeing; something I'd never expected to experience. The fact that they were distant and partly obliterated by the days gathering smoke haze didn't in the least diminish my elation. But it's probably best to begin my tales of Mussoorie at the beginning ...

Mussoorie is predominately made up of white buildings which cascade down the steep mountain sides like  rapids down a green river bed. It's rightly called the "Queen of the Mountains" and it's beauty on approaching via the narrow, switch back mountain roads, is striking.

On closer inspection the picturesque scenes deteriorate into the typical, albeit interesting, slums and shanty dwellings which pervade India. Of course there remain some fine old mansions and a few luxury hotels but they're in the minority.

The Mall, which is the main thoroughfare in the village, is predictably steep and winds its way serpent like in many directions. It is lined with the ubiquitous market stalls offering prepared foods, fresh vegetables, clothing and an endless array of trinkets. Here however the quality of the goods shows a decided Chinese bias. Gone are the upmarket handwoven shawls of Rishikesh and the genuine indigenous handcrafts. These stalls mainly offer mass produced artefacts and clothing, quite colourful and interesting but often similar to those found at folk festivals and markets at home. 

The real interest here, at least for me, is the people. The aquiline Indian features have been replaced by more rounded Tibetan and Nepalese ones, and the dress has also changed accordingly ... more tribal and homespun to suit the cooler mountain climate. They are in the main extremely poor, making their living from selling produce (either food or clothing) or selling their physical strength (as in pedal rickshaws) or their skills as in taxi driver, barber, waiter, tailor.

We saw an excellent example of the latter when we first arrived. Julie needed some warm pants and found a pair which were too long. Immediately the shop boy took her to a tailor. The shop was a cubby hole, with all sorts of confectionery displayed at the front and an old treadle Singer sewing machine holding pride of place inside. The smiling young woman who greeted us spoke excellent English and, whilst exchanging pleasantries, deftly measured and sewed the pants despite the piece of string (which took the place of the once rubber drive belt) frequently slipping and needing replacement. The job was done perfectly in 10 minutes and the price when asked was "whatever you think". A little more personal and genuine conversation was made as we met her sister and niece before we said farewell, feeling that we'd exchanged something more meaningful than simply the mending of a garment.

More than just the mending of a garment at a local tailor shop

Today we spent walking 8 kms to Happy Valley school and the associated Tibetan  monastery. The only walking "paths" are on the road, which although not quite as chaotic as the cities, have their own challenge in the form of steepness and circuitous routes. There are no straight lines in Mussoorie! Once there we were in another world: quaint, quiet and very peaceful. The old woman who sat next to us on the seat in front of the temple looked to be ancient, with the typical facial leather instead of skin that's so often seen in these areas. Deep furrows and wispy white hair set off by a selection of toothless gaps made for a memorable face; one full of joy and contentment. She had not a scrap of English but, as she constantly counted and chanted with her prayer beads, she made it understood that she was enjoying sitting there between us. When Julie took her photo and showed it to her she broke into a laugh and nodded vigorously as if to say " Yes that's me. What magic!". Bountiful head bowing and Namastes as we left made us feel very grateful for this small piece of Tibet amongst the Mussoorie hills. 

Tomorrow we'll spend exploring some of the more outlying areas, including a local weaving cooperative and attempting to see more clearly some of those elusive snow  covered Himalayan peaks. 

With love,

Michele xxxx