Abdul Razak Kotroo remembers the foreigners with the dreaminess of a lost romance. Italians, Germans, even Americans, lined up along the lake, just waiting for his deluxe houseboat to have an open room.
But that was before 1989, before tens of thousands of people died in the violence in Kashmir, before a smattering of kidnappings and the occasional suicide bombing.
These days, Kashmir is a tough sell. The famed houseboats of Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, are vacant. Most hotels are now rented out to the armed forces. The shops that used to sell Kashmiri shawls to tourists now sell shoes to locals.
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“Yesterday I saw a foreigner,” Kotroo said. “He’s staying in a houseboat. It made me very happy.”
Kotroo’s boat, the Solomon and Sheba, floats on an inlet to Dal Lake, in the middle of three snowcapped Himalayan mountain ranges. Every view is a postcard. In the guest book, one tourist long ago neatly summed up Kashmir in the space for remarks: “This is beyond remarks.”
Tourism used to be the backbone of Kashmir. The region was “a jeweled crown, a paradise on Earth.” It was India’s No. 2 tourist attraction, behind the Taj Mahal.
Now the industry is crippled. The Lonely Planet guidebook describes a trip to Kashmir as “foolhardy.” Armed guards line the streets, leaning on sandbag barricades, picking their fingernails in front of hotels and randomly pulling over cars to frisk the occupants.
In 1988, more than 720,000 tourists came to Kashmir, including 57,500 foreigners. Last year, only 73,000 tourists came, 5,900 from outside India.
“What I feel is that we have lost,” said Sheik Nisar Ahmad, who has the daunting job of tourism director for Kashmir. “Maybe the good old days will come again.”
Bitter tug of war
Since 1947, when Pakistan and India gained their independence from Great Britain, Kashmir has been in the middle of a tug of war so bitter it has led to two wars.
Officials in Pakistan, primarily Muslim, believe their country should have all of Kashmir, also primarily Muslim. Officials from India, mostly Hindu, disagree.
Despite the conflict, life in Kashmir was relatively peaceful for decades, until 1989, when separatists allegedly trained in Pakistan started fighting in Kashmir.
Indian authorities say 33,000 people have been killed. Human-rights activists put the figure closer to 80,000.
Most of the victims were local Muslims. But in 1995, six Western hikers were kidnapped. One was killed. One escaped. Four, including an American, have never been found.
An American has not stayed at the Solomon and Sheba houseboat since.
“That was the main downfall of Kashmir,” Kotroo said.
Tensions between Pakistan and India have worsened since recent attacks blamed on pro-Kashmiri militants left about 40 people dead at or near government buildings in Srinagar and New Delhi.
But Ahmad insists Kashmir is safe now. The tourism director goes to trade shows, holds news conferences and invites tourism officials from other Indian states to visit Kashmir.
Ahmad set up a ski tournament last Saturday, inviting skiers to stay for free. He’s planning a winter carnival and maybe a whitewater rafting competition in the summer.
He knows more work is needed. The tourism office still uses brochures from before 1989. In these, no violence is mentioned. The largest brochure to Kashmir still introduces the region to tourists with a statement that sounds vaguely ominous: “They say a visit to Kashmir can divide your life into two halves–before and after Kashmir.”
“There are still sporadic incidents now,” Ahmad said. “But I can tell you with authority that things aren’t that bad.”
New businesses have come to Kashmir recently. An 18-hole golf course opened in the fall. A restaurant with mirrored walls and a disco soundtrack opened last year. Locals pack it, at least until it closes at 6 p.m. That’s when the streets empty out.
But the 1,100 houseboats on Dal Lake are still hurting.
A floating ghost town
The lake is now a floating ghost town. Out of desperation, some houseboat owners have sent family members to New Delhi to try to persuade tourists there to visit Kashmir. On a plane ride from New Delhi to Srinagar, even an 11-year-old will try to drag a potential tourist off the plane to his grandfather’s houseboat. And at the airport, dozens of taxis and houseboat owners wait, hoping.
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Recently elected president of the Dal Lake Houseboat Owners Association, Kotroo is supposed to help his colleagues stay afloat. But his last tourist visited in July. He can no longer afford the $150 a year he used to spend on Christmas cards for those who once visited.
Just thinking about this makes him take off the Russian hat an Italian tourist gave him years ago and run his hand through his white hair.
“If you see me 11 years back, this was black hair,” said Kotroo, 59. “It is not just me. Look around. This has happened to everyone here. Who knows why this happened?”