We spent a night in Pahalgam, a town so picturesque that it looks as though someone designed it specifically for travel brochures and honeymoon calendars.
Pahalgam means “Valley of the Shepherds,” and unlike many place names that have long since lost touch with reality, this one remains stubbornly accurate. At nearly every junction we encountered shepherds and vast flocks of sheep conducting what appeared to be their daily traffic-management exercises. More than once we found ourselves in a complete standstill while several dozen sheep debated the merits of crossing the road. The shepherds seemed relaxed. The sheep were in charge. The rest of us simply waited for permission to proceed.
The Lidder River rushed through town in a constant display of Himalayan enthusiasm, tumbling over rocks with the confidence of a motivational speaker who has never experienced self-doubt. We wandered along its banks, admiring the scenery and taking approximately 437 photographs, all of which looked remarkably similar.
We also visited a beautiful Sufi dargah, peaceful and serene, offering a welcome pause from the constant bustle of sightseeing, shopping, and arguing over whether we really needed another shawl.
The Bathroom That Deserved Its Own Review
Our hotel room featured what can only be described as a luxury aquatic assault system. There was a rain shower overhead. There was a handheld shower. And there were two strategically positioned body jets whose purpose seemed to be to identify muscles you didn’t know you possessed. The shower controls required a level of engineering expertise normally associated with operating a small hydroelectric plant. Every knob activated water from an unexpected source.
Meanwhile Kumar had wandered off entirely and returned a changed man, having discovered — with the wide-eyed wonder of a man encountering fire — that the bathroom came equipped with a bidet faucet. He described the resulting shower-by-accident with the reverence usually reserved for religious experiences. I believe the phrase “showered him clean” was used, unprompted, by him, about himself, in front of other adults.
Sridhar and the Electrolyte Economy
Throughout the trip, Sridhar remained committed to his lifelong philosophy that if food is being sold somewhere, it should probably be sampled.
Street cart in a crowded market? Excellent.
Mysterious snack with no visible ingredients? Even better.
A vendor operating under hygiene standards best described as “optimistic”? Absolutely.
While the rest of us occasionally considered concepts like food safety, Sridhar preferred to treat every country as an all-you-can-eat research project.
As a result, he spent much of the trip existing in a delicate balance between culinary adventure and electrolyte dependency.
At one point, he stood on a street corner looking so depleted that he appeared to be waiting for an electrolyte packet to choose him as its life partner.
The rest of us saw scenic views, charming cafés, and souvenir shops.
Sridhar saw a vast support network of potential rehydration stations keeping his gastronomic ambitions alive.
The Curious Case of the Shared Child
One thing we have learned in Kashmir is that every guide and driver is immensely proud of their children.
Without fail, at some point during every journey, a phone emerges.
“Madam, see my son.” Or daughter. Or sometimes both. We would dutifully admire the photographs.
But after several days, a troubling pattern emerged. The children all looked suspiciously similar. Same smile. Same pose. Same school uniform. Same carefully combed hair.
By the end of the trip, we began to wonder: Do all Kashmiri drivers share a single child? Is there a Centralized Child Photography Department? Does one extraordinarily photogenic child simply travel from family to family posing for pictures? The mystery remains unsolved.
The Great Pashmina Victory That Wasn’t
Mala and I spent a solid twenty minutes in a shawl shop doing what we believed to be *masterful* bargaining. The kind of back-and-forth where you walk away twice, sigh audibly, and let the shopkeeper chase you into the street. We got our pashminas. We congratulated each other. We floated out of that shop on a cloud of smugness.
Kunar walked in ten minutes later and got the same shawl for 30% less than we paid.
He didn’t even walk away once. I am told he just… asked. Twenty years of Mala and me high-fiving over our negotiation instincts, gone, evaporated, in the time it took Kunar to say a single sentence in what I can only assume was a tone of quiet, devastating confidence. We are no longer allowed to discuss our bargaining skills in his presence. Mala and I are processing the experience.
Two Valleys, One Increasingly Persistent Vendor Population
Aru Valley was gorgeous — green, open, exactly the kind of place that makes trekkers’ eyes go glassy with plans. Sridhar’s eyes went glassy. He is, as of approximately 2:15 pm local time, already planning a return trip that involves boots, a backpack, and probably several new streets to bond with.
Betaab Valley was the same formula turned up a notch: more park, more photo ops, and vendors who had clearly decided that eye contact was consent. We admired the scenery while doing the specific tourist walk that says “I am interested, but also please do not follow me.”
The Willow Bay Diversion
We stopped at the Willow Bay Factory, ostensibly for cricket bats, and instead we went to bat at the good food stall next door, which is really the correct order of priorities for any factory visit. Willow, shmillow — the real craftsmanship was in whatever was frying at that stall.
The Verdict
In a single day, Pahalgam delivered a roaring river, a peaceful dargah, a shower system with more features than our car, an aggressive bidet, evidence of Kumar’s superior bargaining abilities, a possible region-wide child-sharing conspiracy, trekking dreams for Sridhar, and enough vendors to ensure that no scenic view ever feels lonely.
As travel days go, it was remarkably efficient. Few destinations manage to combine spiritual reflection, luxury plumbing, retail humiliation, and hydration management quite so seamlessly.
Yes, We Were There!
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