Well, it’s not off to Manali quite yet, to tell the truth. While we slept in Mandi for two nights, we only really spent a day there – the second day we travelled up to a lovely little place called Rewalsar lake.
Rewalsar Lake, if I’m remembering this right, has significance to both Buddhists and Sikhs, so the community that has grown up around it is extremely diverse. You’d have to do your own research (this job has robbed me of all interest in ever doing research again and I’ve decided to remain blissfully ignorant of anything that isn’t imparted to me via Fox Friends News. ) but from what I saw when I was there, it really is a lovely little place.
The lake, regarded as medicinal.. (gosh…) is populated by some of the largest, meanest, ugliest fish I have ever seen. While we read the guidebook going up to Rewalsar, there was this curious passage that suggested visitors “watch the fish, monkeys and birds argue over offerings.” Now, other than Joan Rivers, who is beginning to look an awful lot like a barracuda, I have never seen a fish argue over much of anything. Nor, having been advised to look in a lake for fish, have I ever seen any. My luck, or something like it, was about to change.
The entrance to Rewalsar lake is flanked by a Buddhist monastery on one side, and a plethora of small little dhabas and tea huts on the other. The lake itself it relatively unimpressive, the vaulting mountains around it is really what lends to its beauty. The fences and trees surrounding the lake are covered in layers and layers of prayer flags, they get so dense at some points it seems as though the trees themselves are solely constructed of flags. From a distance they look like an exuberant 5 year olds cupcake decorating, up close the feuilles of flags look simply mystical.
The fish, much to my surprise, were entirely visible. All three billion of the 2 foot long slimy looking things. They fed on the algae and plant life surrounding and floating on the lake, and the occasional “offering” that was thrown in by a passer by. I’m not entirely sure what a pack of piranhas looks like, but I imagine it to be somewhat like what I saw that day. When a bunch of what appeared to be small animal crackers (I’m not sure what significance they might have, those tasty lions and tigers) were thrown into the lake, the fish were literally flinging themselves on top of each other, with much gnashing of mouths and flailing of tails. I thought this was particularly amazing, until we walked a little further around the lake.
On the opposite side of the lake, there was a small area cut into the grass that allowed people to get really up close and personal to these lion and tiger eating monsters. Only here, the fish were about four deep and actually throwing themselves up onto the grass and concrete then wiggling back down into the water. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I don’t know if I would have believed it to tell the truth. But I’m now drafting a letter to National Geographic to let them know they should get the heck to Rewalsar.
After taking some photos and poking about the lake, we decided it was time for a bite to eat and some tea. Good thing. The minute we sat down to tea, it started to hail. I haven’t been cold in months, let alone seen anything remotely resembling hail. But, there it was, pounding the buses and the people and the tin roof. So, in our Indian equivalent of a greasy spoon, we spent the next couple hours drinking tea, reading (me: Milan Kundera, Hamish: Steinbeck) and writing letters to be mailed home. It was honestly one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. To sit in the cold, pulling a shawl around me, drinking some of the best, hottest, most rainy day appropriate tea – I don’t think I could ever visit Rewalsar unless I was guaranteed the same treatment.
So, after about half an hour of exploring, and half a day of drinking tea and being in complete and utter inclement weather bliss – we left Rewalsar, thinking it was probably one of the best days of our trip.
Next – Really, onto Manali. Sort of.
Rewalsar Lake, if I’m remembering this right, has significance to both Buddhists and Sikhs, so the community that has grown up around it is extremely diverse. You’d have to do your own research (this job has robbed me of all interest in ever doing research again and I’ve decided to remain blissfully ignorant of anything that isn’t imparted to me via Fox Friends News. ) but from what I saw when I was there, it really is a lovely little place.
The lake, regarded as medicinal.. (gosh…) is populated by some of the largest, meanest, ugliest fish I have ever seen. While we read the guidebook going up to Rewalsar, there was this curious passage that suggested visitors “watch the fish, monkeys and birds argue over offerings.” Now, other than Joan Rivers, who is beginning to look an awful lot like a barracuda, I have never seen a fish argue over much of anything. Nor, having been advised to look in a lake for fish, have I ever seen any. My luck, or something like it, was about to change.
The entrance to Rewalsar lake is flanked by a Buddhist monastery on one side, and a plethora of small little dhabas and tea huts on the other. The lake itself it relatively unimpressive, the vaulting mountains around it is really what lends to its beauty. The fences and trees surrounding the lake are covered in layers and layers of prayer flags, they get so dense at some points it seems as though the trees themselves are solely constructed of flags. From a distance they look like an exuberant 5 year olds cupcake decorating, up close the feuilles of flags look simply mystical.
The fish, much to my surprise, were entirely visible. All three billion of the 2 foot long slimy looking things. They fed on the algae and plant life surrounding and floating on the lake, and the occasional “offering” that was thrown in by a passer by. I’m not entirely sure what a pack of piranhas looks like, but I imagine it to be somewhat like what I saw that day. When a bunch of what appeared to be small animal crackers (I’m not sure what significance they might have, those tasty lions and tigers) were thrown into the lake, the fish were literally flinging themselves on top of each other, with much gnashing of mouths and flailing of tails. I thought this was particularly amazing, until we walked a little further around the lake.
On the opposite side of the lake, there was a small area cut into the grass that allowed people to get really up close and personal to these lion and tiger eating monsters. Only here, the fish were about four deep and actually throwing themselves up onto the grass and concrete then wiggling back down into the water. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I don’t know if I would have believed it to tell the truth. But I’m now drafting a letter to National Geographic to let them know they should get the heck to Rewalsar.
After taking some photos and poking about the lake, we decided it was time for a bite to eat and some tea. Good thing. The minute we sat down to tea, it started to hail. I haven’t been cold in months, let alone seen anything remotely resembling hail. But, there it was, pounding the buses and the people and the tin roof. So, in our Indian equivalent of a greasy spoon, we spent the next couple hours drinking tea, reading (me: Milan Kundera, Hamish: Steinbeck) and writing letters to be mailed home. It was honestly one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. To sit in the cold, pulling a shawl around me, drinking some of the best, hottest, most rainy day appropriate tea – I don’t think I could ever visit Rewalsar unless I was guaranteed the same treatment.
So, after about half an hour of exploring, and half a day of drinking tea and being in complete and utter inclement weather bliss – we left Rewalsar, thinking it was probably one of the best days of our trip.
Next – Really, onto Manali. Sort of.
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