By the time you reach Mandi the road is winding next to the deep green mysterious Beas river.

The snow-capped Himalayas tower behind, lending the landscape dark shadows when the sun slips behind them.

Across the river little villages hug the lower hills. The only access to these hamlets is on foot and then across the river by a hand-pulled basket that runs like a horizontal cable car.

As you climb upwards to Manali the mountains get steeper and the snow much closer. You are travelling past apple and kiwi orchards and even angora rabbit farms.

Pheasants flit about. Herds of sheep amble across the hillside and the costumes of locals grow more colourful, complex and, of course, woolly and their cheekbones more slanted.

The homes are snug, wooden and quaint. In many a hut, you can see the womenfolk weaving rugs on creaking, old-fashioned looms.

At Naggar you can stop and marvel at the century old wooden palace with umpteen rooms and a spectacular view.

The Beas river gets choppier and icier and when you reach Manali the Himalayas are all around you like a giant and magical amphitheatre.

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