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to stay for ten minutes. Three hours later I was still there. The owner had introduced me to his family, neighbours and several passing travellers. Plastic chairs appeared from nowhere. Chai continued arriving despite my protests.
Soon a group of elderly men were debating the best roads in the region. One insisted I should visit Badrinath. Another recommended a remote village I had never heard of. A third questioned whether Australia actually contained more kangaroos than people.
By the time I finally left, photographs had been taken, directions offered and invitations extended to return. Encounters like that happened repeatedly.
Throughout Uttarakhand I experienced a level of hospitality that felt entirely genuine. People weren ' t interested in selling me something. More often than not they were simply curious. Where was I from? Where was I going? How long had I been riding? Did Australia really have snakes everywhere? The questions varied, but the warmth remained constant.
One afternoon I stopped beside a road to photograph a valley. A farmer carrying a basket of vegetables approached and asked where I was heading. After hearing my answer, he nodded approvingly, handed me a cucumber from his basket and continued on his way. The entire interaction lasted perhaps thirty seconds. Yet it remains one of my strongest memories of the journey.
The deeper I travelled into Uttarakhand, the more evident its spiritual significance became. Shrines appeared beside roads. Temples occupied prominent ridgelines. Prayer flags fluttered above rivers and bridges. Pilgrims were everywhere. Some travelled by bus. Others by motorcycle. Many walked.
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