Imagine this scene; you get on a long overnight bus, and the first thing the driver says to you is "if you fall asleep, then i will fall asleep, and if i sleep, you all sleep". Not the ideal start to a 14 hour Himalayan jeep ride overnight through a former warzone. I am glad it was at night as at least we couldnt see just how close to the edge we were nearing, but the sight of a nodding-off driver is not one id ever like to see again, on any road let alone this one.
Thankfully Kate and Tina were stronger willed than Keith and I, who succumbed to sleep despite the pressing fear of the driver following suit. We made it, just about (seems to be a common statement when referring to Indian road travel) and arrived in Srinagar at 6am, rudely awoken by the first of many pushy Kashmiri's demanding we stay at his houseboat and that he was an official. Manners not forthcoming at that time of day, after he chased us through two checkpoints, we told him where he could stick his houseboat.
As we pulled up to the shores of Dal Lake the two Russians in the back of our jeep piped up and said they had a great houseboat. A childhood diet of James Bond films seems to have provided me with an innate distrust of strange looking russians, but too tired to object we followed them onto their favoured houseboat. Here we met Yousef, clearly a dodgy scumbag of a man, and a likely member of the Kashmiri mafia. His onslaught of 'advice' and 'good price for you' is apparently the common hospitable touch provided by all houseboat owners, but really became tiresome after three days. nevertheless, he did cook very good roast potatoes!

In a manner not dissimilar to a Japanese tourgroup we zoomed through the various sights of Srinagar frantically trying to take photos whilst Yousef and the russians told us we had to hurry up (we must visit a carpet factpory take samples to moscow. brilliant). The Mughal gardens were fantastic, not only because wherever we walked we were treated like A-list celebrities (a fact not altogether disliked by Kate who seemed to walk towards large families with cameras and then pretend to be suprised when they asked for a photo) and family photographs were taken grouped around our bemused but happy faces. Babies were thrust upon Kate and Tina at every opportunity and teenage boys lurked following us around eager to talk to us about anything and everything.

Then inevitably our lovely day out at the gardens had to end, because the Russians needed their carpet samples. In the end they didnt buy anything, but Keith and Tina came away with two antique Kashmiri carpets - the smarmy ways of the factory owners were hard to resist! I wasnt one to make a purchase however, and sat around the carpet factory (and later a papier mache factory) reminiscing of long boring bank holidays in other household wares factories whilst my parents browsed and i sat bored. Nothing changes. Except back in those days the moustachioed men were not desperately trying to find a carpet of such pathetic size that i would agree it was indeed'dammmmn cheap' enough for me to make a purchase. I escaped, wallet unhurt, ready to fight another day (shopping with Kashmiris is not enjoyable, it is simply a battle).

The following day we were rowed around like royalty on a Shikara by the houseboat dogsbody Ahad, who looked alarmingly like George Michael. Just like George, the man seemed to be very fond of being heavily under the influence of drugs whilst in charge of a vehicle, and therfore his rowing capabilities were rather insufficient to get us around the lake, so we had to lend a hand. Slightly less realxing than expected but nevertheless very enjoyable, we spent the day crusiing through the backwaters of beatiful Dal Lake, watching huge Eagles (yes really!) swoop and dive for fish and taking in the scenes of day to day activity on the green lotus filled lake. Srinagar may well be, as the government tourist signs impress on you, one of the Jewels in the crown of India.