(2005) With Paul and Matt, I headed north of Rishikesh next, to Manali.

We ended up on a mail bus crammed with people. The bus rolled up mountain switchbacks in perpetual second gear, lolling sharply left to right every few moments. Sleep was impossible, as you had to hold on to keep from being flung about. Matt got totally sick and puked a few times. Paul and I struggled.

Nearing around 4am, the bus began to empty. The switchbacks became less intense, and we managed to get bits of sleep. And then the sun began to rise and the bus slowed and we pulled in to a terminal. We grabbed our gear and started to walk.

The town was still alseep, nestled in a valley with forested mountains on all sides. Marijuna plants growing wild as weeds everywhere.

Matt had read of a nearby village that was supposed to be a very chill place for travellers. Despite the ordeal of the bus ride, we strapped our gear to our backs and hiked off in search of Vashist. An hour later we were really struggling. As we staggered, the trail widened and Vashist materilaized. Village homes. Goats and cows. A guesthouse painted in psychaledelics. Snow-capped mountains off in the distance. A rushing river lower in the valley.

Matt made a beeline for the first guesthouse he saw. He just wanted to get his gear off. Paul joined him. I walked further, towards the small town square. All the shops were closed, except for a prominent cafe painted in blue with a rooftop terrace. I walked in. The middle-aged Indian owner flashed a chilled-out Himalayan grin.

"Got any guesthouses?" He lead me by the arm out the door, then pointed 500 meters up the valley wall facing us. A neat little cottage with 12 rooms was overlooking the town. "Eat first," he says, leading me back inside, pushing a menu at me. I went for broke: "How ''bout a little smoke there, huh?" He shrugged and began to putter about. "In a few minutes. The man will come and see you."

Paul and Matt rocked up. We enjoyed English breakfasts cooked by Renu himself. For dessert, Dalt the mountain man oozed over with big balls of Manali super-creme. So I picked up an ounce, booked into the cottage, and puffed a cannon with the boys while basking in the cradle of the Himalaya.

Man, that was the best joint I ever smoked.