Manali Oregano

Whilst wandering the misty hills of Himachal Pradesh, I accidentally stumbled into the small town of Manali. Ok, it wasn't an accident, I actually came here by bus, and quite deliberately.

Manali is a odd town. Well, it's a great town, just with a very odd mix of people. Allow me to explain...

Manali, situated on the rocky banks of the Beas River at the northern end of the Kullu Valley, serves 3 important functions:

1. Honeymoon retreat. It's a super popular honeymoon haven for freshly-hitched Indian lovebirds, or arrangedbirds as the case may likely be.
   
2. Pre-Himalayan hub. With conflict-magnet Kashmir so often off limits, Manali has become the new #1 jump-off point to get to the big hills. Hikers, trekkers, trampers, walkers and wanderers all pass through here on their way to the real mountains, the 5000+ stuff.
   
3. Stoners' paradise. Yes, Manali is home to some of the world's most luscious and plentiful gardens of wild marijuana.

So as you can imagine, it's an odd bunch here in Manali. The super libidinous, the super fit, and the super hungry for some cake, all together, all here for completely different reasons, all having the time of their lives.

I chose to stay in the small outer village of Vashisht where most of the white folk congregate. A place where you're more likely to be woken by a skipping Bob Marley CD than by muffled groans and creaking headboards.

The perpetually green Kullu Valley is ultra fertile, receives a seemingly endless supply of both sunshine and rain, and is hidden high in the foothills of the Himalayas. And I wasn't joking, not even slightly, when I said it was a stoner's paradise. Marijuana is EVERYWHERE! Seriously, if you just fell over at random, you'd be unlucky to not land face down in a pile of it. It's so plentiful that in some places you could dive into it backwards, thrash your arms and legs about and leave a beautiful imprint of a pot angel, if you were so inclined.



It grows all over the place. In every garden, next to every footpath, even in the cracks of the pavement:



On the rickshaw ride up from the main town, an open palm and gentle lean to the left would be rewarded with fist fulls of fresh green leaf. It reminded me of that scene in Gladiator, where preceding every emotional what-his-perfect-life-used-to-be-like flashback was a poetic lead in, in which, Russell Crowe strolls through a field of wheat, running his fingers gently across the stem tops.

I'm not in any way, shape, form or function a stoner, but I still can't help feeling a giddy sense of excitement about being surrounded by the forbidden fruit.

Ok, I really hate to break the light-hearted tone of this blog, but it's time to get a serious. Just for a minute, I promise. Apologies in advance.

I've had a very lengthy internal debate as to whether I would admit to this here on my blog, but I've decided that I will. Earlier, I promised you that this would be an honest blog, and an honestly blog it shall be! I understand what I'm about to say will disappoint some of you, and for that I am sorry. Truly sorry.

And before I go on, I think it's important that you first understand this, I'm a 28-year-old man now, I need to start living by my rules, my choices, and to not be influenced by the values and expectations of others. To borrow (steal) a few wise words from the 21st-century's greatest social commentator, I can eat a chicken sandwich if I want to.

So, my friends, family, loved and liked ones, I ask you please, don't think any less of me when I tell you this, but... I... didn't... smoke... anything. Nothing. Not a damn thing. Not one bickie, blunt, bong, bucket, chillum, cone, cookie, fatty, hookah, J, joint or spliff.

I came all this way, saw more drugs in 10 seconds than I'd seen in near three decades, and I shall be leaving town with a clean conscience and an even cleaner urine sample.

I'm sorry. Truly.