Sonamarg translates to “Valley of Gold.” By the end of the day, I wasn’t sure whether the gold referred to the landscape, the sunshine, or the amount of money being generated by the local photography industry.
The journey began with a strategic stop at a roadside food stall. Officially, it was for tea and snacks. Unofficially, it seemed designed to ensure we’d soon have a compelling reason to visit a pharmacy.
From there we headed toward the famous Sonamarg tunnel, a remarkable feat of engineering stretching about 6.5 kilometers through a mountain that looked entirely unwilling to cooperate with such plans. While driving through it, I found myself wondering how many people had looked at that enormous mountain and thought, “You know what would improve this? A hole.”
The answer, apparently, was that there were enough people to make it happen.
Emerging from the tunnel felt like entering another world. Mountains towered in every direction, their peaks disappearing into clouds. Vast meadows stretched beneath them. It was breathtaking.
Fifty Shades of Neigh
Then came the pony ride on an original off-road vehicle to view a glacier.
Before mounting, one of the handlers offered some advice.“It’s very easy, madam. Just pretend you are on a snowboard.” A snowboard. I have never been on a snowboard. Now, apparently, I needed to acquire a winter sport before I could sit on a horse.
A few minutes later, another handler approached. “Mind if I tell you how to sit, madam?” “Mind if I hit you?” I replied. Not my finest diplomatic moment, but by then I was already several feet above the ground atop an animal named after a liability waiver.
The horses have names. Sridhar got Iftar, Mala got Sheba, Kumar got Rani, and I got Risky. Of course!
The horses displayed a touching disregard for beginner riders. The moment we got on, they surged forward with surprising enthusiasm, demonstrating considerable horsepower and absolutely no concern for passenger comfort.
There were no speed limits. There were no seat belts. There were only mountains. And cliffs.
At one point I watched in horror as Iftar appeared to rear-end Sheba. “Sheba! Watch where you’re going!” I wanted to shout. It felt less like a trail ride and more like rush-hour traffic, except everyone involved had hooves.
As the caravan climbed higher, the scenery became increasingly spectacular. Meadows gave way to rocky slopes. Clouds drifted across the mountainsides. The scale of everything made us feel wonderfully insignificant. The glacier itself, however, was less impressive than expected—years of seeing dramatic photographs had prepared me for vast rivers of ice sweeping majestically through the mountains. What we saw looked more like a glacier that had recently experienced budget cuts. Global warming is clearly not accepting feedback.
Yet oddly, the glacier wasn’t the highlight. The real magic was everything around it. The mountains rose in every direction, impossibly grand and impossibly old. No buildings were competing for attention, no billboards, no traffic noise—just meadows, clouds, distant peaks, and the occasional pony.
Beyond the Glacier
Standing there, surrounded by that enormous landscape, it was easy to understand why Sonamarg earned its name. The gold wasn’t in the ground. It was in the light spilling across the mountains.
It was in the green meadows beneath the clouds. And, admittedly, it may also have been in the amount we paid to ride horses named Iftar, Sheba, Rani, and Risky. Mostly Risky. He knew his worth.
Odds, Ends, and Excellent Views
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