The Silent Valley calls again
It is time I visited again. Three posts around this wonderful place.
The Silent Valley Homestay in Bhimtal
One of my favorite places to visit is the Silent Valley Homestay, about 10 kilometers past Bhimtal in Uttarakhand, India. I discovered the place quite by accident, but I am ashamed to admit I have not been back in several years. The place is calling me to return, so in this and the two subsequent posts, I will ask for your indulgence as I write about this wonderful place.
I discovered Uttarakhand’s Silent Valley quite by accident. Someone had told me about the Silent Valley in Kerala, and while googling that place, I stumbled upon the Silent Valley in Uttarakhand.
The meaning of the word ‘tal.’
The word ‘tal’ refers to a lake or a body of water. Uttarakhand, where I spent my adolescent years, has over fifty lakes, big and small. Bhimtal itself is a tiny, insignificant town, but it is popular amongst tourists because of the activities it offers, including gliding. Everyone wants ‘an activity,’ so certain towns offer all sorts of activities for tourists. Tourism is essential, but the town authorities allow people to litter the roads, honk, and create mayhem, completely spoiling the ambiance of the hills. Call me spoiled – or snooty – if you must, but I believe the hills were made for quiet contemplation, walking, and climbing, not for raucous behavior. Everyone wants to earn money, however.
Then, I discovered the Silent Valley Homestay in Adchauni village, ten kilometers from Bhimtal. The first time around, you need to call your host, and they will help you discover the slip road leading to their establishment.
Visit the place if you have strong knees.
I don’t know if they have made changes to the access points, but as of my last visit, I’d recommend this place only for those with strong knees and legs. After parking your car, their helpful person carries your suitcase to your room, and if you are a person from the plains, you will huff and puff your way down the tall stone steps to your room.
Again, if you love watching television, don’t visit. If you insist on eating meat, don’t visit. I became friendly with the young man running the place, and with his father as well. They had a dog, Blackie, who insisted on becoming my best friend and on walking part of the way to the river. They have a dairy farm – the one with blue and white paint on the roof - and the dairy farm keepers insisted on keeping a fierce guard dog, who insisted on trying to break its chains whenever I passed by. Silly dog. Most dogs buddy up to me, and I buddy up to them, but I suppose some dogs insist on behaving like Netanyahu, Ben-Gvir, or Smotrich.
Whenever I wasn't out walking, I’d spend my time sitting on my verandah, feeling the breeze or chatting with the elder Mr. Upreti. Once, the younger asked me if he should install televisions in the rooms, and I asked him if he was crazy.
Visit the Silent Valley Homestay if you wish to enjoy nature.
“The Silent Valley means that you encourage silence,” I said. I misquote myself, of course, but you get the idea. I went on to tell him that when I lay in bed listening to the rain patter on the tin roof, or sat outside listening to the wind whistle in the breeze, the sounds of nature always transported me back to my childhood or adolescence in Nainital. Our school dormitory had a tin roof, and we often lay in bed listening to the rain dance on the roof during the monsoons. When we’d stand on the ‘First Field ’–the field where the seniors played sports – we’d listen to the hollow wind as it blew through the valleys. This is a primal, or primeval, sound, carrying the souls of our ancestors. When I was growing up, the hollow sound of the wind always reminded me of a ghost's wail. Not that I have ever listened to a ghost wail, but if you ever hear the mountain wind (in India, at least), you will know what I mean.
Why then, I asked my good host, would you ever want to place a television in the rooms?
The food they serve is genuinely organic and bursting with flavor.
Then, he asked me if he should start serving meat. I am a hardcore meat eater, and whenever one of those hypocritical vegetarians tells me they are ‘pure vegetarian,’ I reply by telling them I am a pure non-vegetarian.
‘We are both pure,’ I say, and then enjoy the look on their purple, mottled faces.
I objected to the suggestion of serving meat at Silent Valley for a few solid reasons. First, they would have to procure the meat and dispose of the bones. Meat waste attracts stray dogs and cats, both of which are unwelcome. The practice would also increase their logistical problems. But the major reason I objected to serving meat was that they grow their vegetables on their over-one-hundred-acre plot of land. Their food is genuinely organic, and there are no non-organic farms in the vicinity. Flavor bursts from the food, and I have evidence to prove my claim. I took my son to the Silent Valley Homestay. Like me, he is a carnivore, but I could not stop gaping at him as he kept wolfing down the food.
Finally, when he leaned back and sighed, I asked, ‘Wot’s up, sonny? What’s with the greed?’ ‘Can’t help it, pops,’ he replied. ‘The food is just so damned flavorful.’ My son does not call me “pops,” but the food at the Silent Valley is fabulous.
Nature adds to the charm. Sometimes they’d set the table for me outside, and especially at night, I’d sit under the Milky Way and eat. Or I’d sit in their dining area, open the wooden windows, and gaze out at the mountains while chomping on my food.
Glory be.
A short paragraph about your hosts.
The Upreti family, who run The Silent Valley Homestay, have lived on that land for almost a century. They ‘migrated’ from the neighboring village almost 150 years ago. The family knows the land and has a real feel for the soil, the air, and the water. In all our conversations, they have never once boasted about the land or spoken of their knowledge or the deep love they feel for their little patch on planet earth, but I feel it in their conversation, and that is enough.
If you want to play board games, don’t visit.
I think it was on the first trip that I met a family from Gurgaon. They rolled in about an hour before me, and I watched them explore the fields where the family grows their vegetables. They were breathless when they returned. We had dinner together that night, sitting under the stars. I didn’t see them again for the entire duration of their trip. They went once to Bhimtal Lake to hang-glide and spent the rest of their time there holed up in their room, drinking wine and playing board games.
Why, I wondered, did they travel up to Bhimtal if they wanted to sit in a closed room, play board games, and get sozzled?
Humans are a strange species of animal. We truly are a strange species of animal. We are of nature, yet we run from nature, as that family demonstrated.
I made all these photos with my old Nikon Coolpix, which now acts as a paperweight. I also took several photos with my old phone, the OnePlus 10G Pro, which I replaced with a Google Pixel 10. Once the Pixel dies, I may revert to a Chinese brand. Maybe, Vivo.
This post is slightly disjointed because I wrote it in between bouts of fatigue. Damn!
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