Christmas in Kashmir Part One: Held Hostage

The houseboat was designed for a king... or perhaps a colonizer. The stove was warming our hands and toes until bedtime. As-salamu alaykums and Merry Christmases were shared throughout the week. But still, this Christmas was not picture-perfect. Set on Nageen Lake and at the foot of the Himalayas in Kashmir, think of this Christmas blog as an adventure story rather than a holiday story, with capture, intrigue, romance, escape, a clash of religions and -yes- Santa Clause.

The story starts as any tourist tragedy begins. We touched down in a conflict zone, their airport decked out in barbed wire and camouflage, ready to rock and roll at any minute. We, on the other hand, we neither rocking nor rolling seeing as how none of us had bothered to Google Srinagar, Kashmir, beforehand. So what happens? We – Louis, Andy and myself – are greeted by a pleasant Kashmiri tout referring to himself as "Fish and Chips," no joke. Our second tragic tourist mistake? We shook his hand and let him lead us to his car to show us some houseboats.


And the next four days became an epic game of trying to escape the clutches of his family, from which we had rented an epically beautiful houseboat. We were told we were getting a great deal. But wood for the fire in the freezing cold nights would cost extra. Plus a service charge. Private cars and drivers became more expensive. We couldn't get away for a free moment to even book a taxi. They refused to let us visit "Tourist Information" in town.

Being too cheap to pay for wood and too trapped to find our own, my better half and I shiver-cuddled under five blankets at night, wrapped in three or four pairs of socks, gloves, hats, and my phiran. The only thing to keep us warm, aside from our bulky clothing, was our loathing for the family holding us hostage in this 5-star boat. Ohhh, how difficult ones life becomes when the hot water runs out, no matter how many chandeliers there are hanging throughout the house.

I melted my scarf on the fire. Louis accidentally drank gasoline when reaching for a water bottle during a power cut. Andy was left without heat or a cuddle buddy. Raj had to sleep in the cold living room due to his snoring. And I took the coldest shower of my life.

 But in between the knocks on the windows from everyone in that household and their cousins, we had some beautiful moments. Andy going to jail three times at the beginning of Monopoly, only to come back to win the whole kit and caboodle. Louis stuffing Christmas stockings. Peas and potatoes for dinner. Mutton. Chicken drumsticks. More mutton. More chicken drumsticks. Photogtaphing around the old city. Getting death stares from old burka-ed women whilst I smoked a cigarette and held hands with a man in public. Watching the sun come up over the lake on our private boat ride to the floating markets.

Christmas Eve, Andy and I managed to sneak away from our captors under the cloak of darkness into a taxi to take us to midnight Mass at the only Catholic church in the city. Done up in birthday balloons, Christmas decorations and a giant crucifix, this was one Mass I'll never forget... and never fully remember since it was 90 percent celebrated in Hindi. One part that needed no translation was the fireworks. Yes, fireworks on the church grounds at 2 a.m. Merry Christmas.

But we still had to come home to the same crazy family.

It eventually came down to all of us scheming on Christmas Eve, figuring a way out. So there I was, sitting with my friend Andy, in the living room of this pleasant family, lying straight-faced to a pious Muslim man in front of his 90-year-old, mustachioed mother. And let me tell you, my friends, he wasn't buying any of what we were selling. His grandfather was also in the tourism biz, so squeezing us for money is a family tradition. And the conversation would not end, any time we asked the price of something they would mumble to each other in Kashmiri before giving us "the best price." Eventually, as they were all finishing their dinner, wrapped in their phirans, protected by their "winter wives," Andy just blurted out, "Our good friend has come into some money so he is paying for a driver and a night at a resort..." And that was the end of that. They didn't so much as look at us once more before we parted ways the next day.

As we walked down the narrow road Christmas morning, heading for a taxi stand, giant backpacks on our shoulders, stuffed elephant in my arms, we were all thankful to be free once again. But the next stage of our trip, we would also be trapped. This time not by a family, but by central heating and a bathtub...