2010.12.13: Cucumber Time In Jammu & Kashmir

Every year in the Netherlands there is a time when newspapers have nothing noteworthy to write about. This period, when even news about cucumbers is considered worth publishing, is coined as: “Cucumber time”. My sister and I are in such a period. The only things we’ve done in the past two days is a little travelling, eating, watching James Bond movies and more eating, especially candy. However it seems it’s not just cucumber time for us. Today we’ve had our fifteen seconds of fame.

We were recognized out of a newspaper article. A shopkeeper pointed it out and I was stunned. Yesterday, when we had a bus transit in Udampur, two men started to take photos of us, not one, but a many. Later they introduced themselves as journalists and invited us for drink during which one would ask questions. So we had a drink and talked a little, mostly about tourism in Kashmir. We found it rather funny but, all the time, alarm bells were echoing in our heads.
Our safety, as is mentioned in the article too, is a major concern to us. Partly we rest assured on the agreement to tell as few people as possible about our plans — where we’ll be going and what we’ll be doing to tomorrow. Consequently we avoided most questions with replies such as: “We came here to relax and therefore we decided to seize the day. It means we make plans as we go, we have no schedule.” Well, this response is actually true. Nonetheless, it came as a surprise that we found ourselves smiling on page two of a Hindu newspaper.

Our piece ended with the claim that we were here to learn about Kashmiri culture. Are we? Our intention is to mostly enjoy nature and monuments. We’re tourists, we want to marvel at things. The newspaper article shows it can’t be that black and white; sometimes we’re the attraction and are being gazed at by groups of people. Often people come to shake my hand and take a photo with their mobile phone. Out of the blue people ask where I come from and insist on making small talk. Whether these things are done out of genuine interest or for commercial gain are sometimes unclear.

These rituals are nothing new — every tourist experiences them — however the only Westerners we’ve met here are ourselves. Practically everyone looks at me; I feel as if I’m blond with voluptuous curves and forgot to put on my clothes in the morning. Let’s be honest, it’s not always unwelcome attention, but it also takes time. My sister and I feel, being the only ones to whom this attention can be given, that the people who give this to us deserve some in return.

Being a tourist here brings responsibility. We’ve got to catch a bus. Cucumber time is over.

P.S.: photo of the article will be posted soon