Halting similarities - Srinagar, Kashmir, Jan. 22, 2010

Log margin notes:
For a supposed warzone the Kashmir Valley bears a striking resemblance to Long Island, my own homeland. A person could say it is even a "halting" resemblance, but of course, there are some differences.
For example, it only took me a few hours after arriving to have a rifle stuck in my face.
It went like this...
One of the main objectives of the trip was to interview a police intelligence official on the first day. That day was also last day in town before he was scheduled to leave for Jammu, Jammu & Kashmir state's winter capital.
After touching down, I rode from the airport to my reportedly terror-free hotel and noticed the brisk, clean air along with the familiar flora. It really took me back home. They even have oak trees. They also have single-family homes with a fresh coat of paint, sidewalks that are in one piece and only one small, visible slum.
Mobile phones from the rest of India do not work in J&K for security reasons, terrorists made dangerous use of the internet and cellphones during the 26/11 attacks. I had to use the hotel office phone for a local call and the intel guy, my big interview, asked me to show in 20 minutes.
I asked the partially-English speaking hotel manager for directions and was told it was a two minute walk; great.
I set out to be early, just in case I got some bad directions... as though that's never happened before. The directions were to go to the police headquarters building across from the "emporium" building. A seemingly abandoned "J&K State Arts Emporium" building sat below the entrance to one of Srinagar's many small river bridges. On the other side of the bridge entrance road was a high-walled complex with no sign, but a sentry post out front. The not-very-English speaking guards of the Central Reserve Police Force asked nervously who I was and what I wanted. They eventually thought they knew who I wanted and a civilian took me through the gate of what began to look more and more like a TV studio. There were satellite dishes and broadcast sets and finally an English-speaking journalist who told me I was on the wrong side of the emporium building.
I was already late when I passed by the sentries at the gate of the TV station for the second time. I walked around to the other side of the bridge. The building looked even more abandoned than before and the path leading to the door was fenced off. Garbage had been collecting at the road's dead end.
"HALT!" I heard from behind me. A spotlight and rifles went up. It was the same guards I had just spoken to.
I waited just a second to hear: "Who goes there?!" I didn't hear it.
I put my hands up and faced the spotlight, "Oh, hi... it's me again!"
"What are you doing?!"
"The Emporium Building!" I said, pointing to the crumbling structure.
"No! You go out, make a left and a left!" the guard shouted back.
"Oh OK, sorry to... almost get shot!" I yelled and ran around the corner to police headquarters.
On the way I saw a better looking building with the same "J&K State Arts Emporium" sign on it and got to the gate of police headquarters out of breath. I asked for the intelligence chief, but he had left for Jammu five minutes earlier.
I missed my big interview, but I had a few other scheduled in Srinagar.
At first the feeling in the city was uneasy. The Punjab Hotel in Lal Chowk, the town square, was the target of a Jan. 7 attack which ended with two jihadis dead.
On the national holiday of Republic Day there was a small military parade held at a stadium on one side of town. Meanwhile outside, the elements supporting independence for J&K went on strike that Jan. 26.
That day the streets were lined with police and paramilitaries, but aside from an eerie quiet, the day passed without incident. Local observers did take notice that after the most hostile fighting in the region in 1990, the Indian flag was not hoisted over Lal Chowk for the first time in 20 years on this Republic Day.
The rest of my few days in Srinagar, before I chased my big interview down to Jammu, were spent admiring the Dal Lake at the base of the Himalayan foothills. My faithful camera had finally given out, but I had my eyes... and ears. The clear air was quiet enough to hear the birds singing.
They even have pretty good bagels there, although they call them something else. They don't come with lox or cream cheese and they definitely don't come with coffee worth anything.
Still, the food up north is heartier and meatier for the cold weather (Muslims are also much less frequently vegetarians than Hindus), and is more like what I would expect from the Asiatic plains, which is often how the people look.
There is more of possibly a Persian look to many J&K residents. Many are very light-skinned, so much so that when I went to pay the clerk for the use of a printer he was surprised at my accent and said:
"Oh, I thought you were a Kashmiri bloke."