April 11, 2004

Gateway to Kashmir

The only road into Kashmir clings to the sides of steep mountains, and the remains of recent rockslides litter every bend. Stopped to repair a puncture, we sip sweet Indian tea in the mud, watching huge convoys of brightly painted trucks competing for roadspace with goat herders taking their goats up to Kashmir's summer pastures.

We drove for 10 hours through the night. A vicious storm raged around us in the mountains.

I can't resist. I switch on my mp3 player, and Robert Plant wails:

Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace
Like thoughts inside a dream,
Heed the path that led me to that place
Yellow desert stream,
My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon
I will return again,
Sure as the dust that floats high and true,
When movin' through Kashmir.

Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails,
Across the sea of years.
With no provision but an open face,
Along the straits of fear
Ohh.

When I'm on, when I'm on my way, yeah
When I see, when I see the way, you stay-yeah
Let me take you there. Let me take you there


[Led Zeppelin: Kashmir]


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