The Kashmir region of India has only recently seen a return of tourist traffic. Violence has ebbed significantly since a cease-fire in 2003. My impression is that it has come a long way since, in 1999, Bill Clinton called Kashmir the most dangerous place on earth. The resentment of the Kashmiri people towards the occupying Indian army became apparent to me when my guide, Shabeer, corrected an Aussie snowboarder as he issued the customary Kashmiri greeting to some army troops. Shabeer told him "No, no it's namaste...namaste(a Hindi greeting)". There are many competing agendas in the region but currently peace prevails and many of the people I spoke to seem to concur that every tourist rupee spent is a vote for peace.
The airport in Srinagar reminded me of landing at King Fahd airport in Saudi Arabia at the start of Desert Shield. It was definitely a military airfield, commercial air traffic is the lowest priority. Security checks departing from Delhi were exhaustive. I found it peculiar that the more security I face, the less secure I feel. In New Zealand, for example, one hasn't got to take off their shoes to clear security. The outward appearance is almost lackadaisical compared to that in the U.S. But flying in New Zealand I feel unthreatened. From Delhi to Srinagar, however, the checks, searches, re-checks, frisking and hand-searching left me ill at ease.
On the ground in Kashmir, the first thing I noticed were guns and troops. Guns are everywhere. I was overjoyed when a young Kashmiri man greeted me by name and helped me through the bureaucracy of departing the airport and got me to the vehicle that would whisk me the 60Km to Gulmarg. As the vehicle departed the airport a light rain was falling. Further up the road, in Tangmarg, the rain surrendered to the lower temperature and higher altitude and became snow.
Three deep on a scooter on the way down..trying to beat the storm
By the time we reached Gulmarg, it was "bucketing" as the two Aussies who had booked the same package as I said. That was on Sunday. By Monday, nearly a meter of new snow had fallen at the base area. Ironically the windfall snow would prevent it's being skied on, at least from the top of the gondola. There are two reasons for this: One, the avalanche danger would be too high, and two, the snow storm had knocked out the electricity so we adjusted ourselves to the customs of people who don't live by the clock, we waited. When it became apparent that even if the power came back on it would be some time before we would be able to ride the gondola, even to mid-station, we decided to hike Monkey Hill which was the only option available to us under the circumstances. It was a tough hike for me despite the fact that a boot pack was well-established. The altitude of 8800 feet caused my lungs quite a bit of trouble on the relatively short hike. The short ski down made it all worth it. By that afternoon we were finally able to board the gondola for a ride to mid-station. We got three runs in before closing time. The weather at this point was clear and still. 
Welcome indeed!
Clear up to my armpits and still snowing. The electricity went out again. By Tuesday morning there was so much snow that the roads to Gulmarg were closed and completely impassable and restoration of electricity was hopeless. Every couple of hours tons of snow would slide down the roofs or the hotel and nearby buildings. These "eave-alanches" appeared that they could be treacherous to any passers-by.
On Wednesday the snow had, at last, stopped falling. At least 2 meters had accumulated at the base area and estimates of nearly 3 meters at the top of the gondola. Even with electricity, and even with western-style avalanche control, it wouldn't be skiable today. The Aussies and I commiserated over a breakfast of eggs with no yellow color to them. Apparently chickens in India don't eat very well. The road was cleared which opened up the option for skiing to Tangmarg and being shuttled back to Gulmarg in a truck. We were happy to be out of the unlit hotel and enjoyed the day thoroughly.
Thursday morning was foggy, but power had been restored. We remained optimistic for an opening of the upper part of the gondola. We yo-yo'ed the lower section about three times, and then, magic happened. The upper section opened. We boarded with all the enthusiasm of....well...of skiers after a snow storm. The view from the top was like looking through a milkshake. Nothing was visible except for whiteness. A lack of visibility coupled with the reality of turning on my avalanche beacon while on an unfamiliar mountain allowed terror to posses me. This was real. I could die doing this, or worse end up paralyzed or something. The sudden, unfamiliar fear in me hampered my skiing. My technique was suddenly like that of a beginner. I couldn't see, I didn't know where the hell I was and, one of my bindings was not working properly. The snow was excellent, but I was not. On our third run, due to a continued lack of visibility, I fell, sideways, off of a 10 foot cornice. I can't recall ever being so scared in my life. I was sliding headfirst, downhill with no idea what was below me; rocks? cliffs? I was terrified! I managed to get my feet under me and arrest my descent. In the effort to get my skis back on, the binding which wasn't working failed to work again at the most critical moment. The ski took off straight down the hill without me. I'm sure that I cursed mildly. One of the Kashmiri guides insisted that I take his skis, he would take my one remaining ski and ski down on it while the other guides searched for my runaway ski. They found it, we all made it down, and I called it a day.
The gondola, in all its glory
Friday and Saturday were perfect blue-sky days. I felt like I had the mountain all to myself. For the most part, I did. There were less than 25 people skiing. Seems like a constant threat of war and the world's most unreliable gondola keep 'em away. We made fresh tracks all day, both days. I have never skied runs like this in my life. This must be what heli-skiing is like. My legs were burning, and at 13,000+ feet, my lungs weren't that happy either, but the smile on my face and the feeling of exhilaration overruled the legs and lungs. It was all worth it. Sunday would prove to be the last of my days on the gondola. Power outages, another three-day snow storm, the brobdingnagian 'lanche and mechanical problems would keep me skiing to Tangmarg or not skiing at all for the remainder of my stay in Gulmarg.
Marble floors and ski boots don't work so well together...introducing the world's first "no fall" restroom
Elsewhere in Kashmir rainfall had caused a mudslide which closed the highway from Jammu to Srinagar. Jammu is where all the food comes from. The closure lasted nearly the entire time I was in Kashmir. The restaurant was already out of mutton the first day I was there. Near the end of my stay, after being told by the hotel staff that there were no eggs, I joked to Tim (one of the Aussies) that we must have eaten all the chickens. That evening, when I ordered a chicken dish...well, you can figure out what I was told. The electricity was out more than it was on. My accomodation was, in essence, a rodent-infested freeze-box and the only thing reliable about the gondola was that it would be closed at 3:15 PM sharp. It was running less than 40% of when it should have been. In addition to the standard skiing hazards and obstacles, Gulmarg has concertina wire, downed electrical wire, rabid dogs and poo-slinging monkeys. 
Poo-slinger!
The phones don't work. There is an internet connection, but it relies on electricity and a phone line...oh, and the space bar on the computer is broken. There's just no end to the hilarity that can be found in such an environment. I will always remember Kashmir with great fondness and look forward to returning.
