by Sara
Here I am sitting in a cybercafe in Leh, Ladakh I've just recovered enough from the altitude change to walk more than 10 feet uphill and not be winded. And what an altitude change it is! Leh is at about 12,000 feet which is considerably less than the 17,582 ft pass our rickety bus traversed just before sundown two days ago.
Wow. Where to start.... Ajay, Satya and Violet dropped me off at an apartment in central Delhi whence began my journey with a terrific bunch of folks from all over India but united by Shikshantar. Let me introduce them a bit, now that I have gotten to know them quite well on this marathon bus trip through neverland.
- Sumi, mother of two living in Ahmnebad, Gujurat - brilliant smile, raised in Kerala (with a strong hand, I should add, as apparently most children are... told to get educated or else). Now planning to build a collapsible bunk bed out of tires and (?).
- Vishal - crazy, happy-go-lucky sweetheart from Udaipur who makes art, furniture, you name it out of garbage.
- Nitin - the elder in the group, well-travelled, chocolate lover with from Nasik, Maharastra.
- Panji, sweet charmer (read: bachelor) farmer from Udaipur.
- Sanjay - the least crazy of the bunch, but still a fine sense of humor -has a 9 month old daughter and lives in Madhya Pradesh.
- Navin - Funny, has-a-theory- for-every-phenomena "independent researcher" from Chennai.
- Madan, tall farm-family scholar/photographer.
- Sandeep, just married 3 days before \trip (so what's he doing here?), sweet, pudgy guy works with Nitin in Nasik.
- Sangeeta - small powerhouse, singer, mother - originally took her for demure, but now I can see there is much more there!
- And finally, Manish - or Manish Baba- a named he earned giving impromptu "sweat lodge" treatments on the bus (wrapped up willing participants in my sleeping bag and encouraged them to breath deeply for at least 5 minutes- quite refreshing actually).
Manish, Vishal and Panji and I think Madan all currently live in Udaipur. The others are part of a self-formed group that meets every two months somewhere in India to discuss their lives and projects - complete with their families usually. (All are married except Vishal, Panji and Navin). And they usually set up these meetings around some event, like this ISEC conference.
The journey was surreal. Freeway ride past vast landfills north of Delhi leading into verdant fields and grazing and bathing water buffalo - amazingly sleek animals - black, horned shiny animals that provide most of the milk in India. Travelled all night through Himachal Pradesh and in the morning began the real ascent. Climbing through the Kullu Valley - the land of honeymoons - the terrain was lush - pine and palm trees intermingled, vines hanging from the cliffs, fast flowing river below. In Manali, the palm trees gave way to orchards of luscious pears and slightly dry apples (had a chance to stop for some - peeled of course). In some parts there were no obvious inhabitants and then suddenly there would be construction equipment and materials on every curve, building houses high on the cliff side.
And we kept going up up up. The vegetation changed so often its hard to recollect now - but I do remember many waterfalls off huge rock faces, a very windy road and alpine wildflowers, low and patchy. This must be the most abundant time of year to travel - in full bloom. In fact, I believe the road from Manali is closed after September. We passed huts displaying full-body snow suits and long fuzzy coats for sale. And I even saw some wearing them (the fuzzy coats) but I was still dressed and comfortable in my sundress that was almost too much in humid Delhi. It took about 10 hours between Manali and our night stopover. The drive was interrupted by brief snack stops for aloo paranthas (overwhelmingly greasy) and tent cities set up along the side of the road.
That night we stopped in Keylang (sp?) for a much needed rest - mostly to move our legs and arms in some uncramped way. The air had cooled and most were feeling the altitude. I had to walk very slowly up hill. We had a relaxed and bountiful meal of Tibeten momo (dimsum-like dumplings) noodle soups, garlic potatoes and chocolate rice pudding.
We began again at 5 am for the "easy" part of the journey - 16 hours overland through glacial mountains and desert. Within an hour we came to a halt where the road was covered with 10-75lb wet rocks and mud and a jeep stuck in the middle of that. Within two or three hours, all hands had helped move the jeep out, and we were able to switch buses with a local bus trapped on the other side of the mudslide. Not much different from our "long distance" bus. And the dirver made sure to transfer his tape player and amplifier (not your ordinary speaker!).
We had expected to stop for breakfast but now that was to wait a bit - I'm not sure if we got a meal before 3pm that day, but we sure did break out all the snacks we carried with us. Our group made the bus ride festive - always sharing and occasionally even dancing to the blaring hindi film music keeping the driver awake. Some times we were travelling up one river valley or another, sometimes just climbing switchback after switchback. Once we saw a bicyclist!!! and were awed by his determination. Every few hours we would be surprised to see a row of tents staked at the side of the road offering hot food and wool hats. The breaks became quite short - usually having to choose between food or bladder relief. (I choose food on these occasions, becuase it is possible to have the bus stop elsewhere for the other!)
Now we were marking the altitude - 14,000 ft, 15,000 ft.
We would pass barren moutainsides of scree for hours and then somewhere along the line there would be oasis-like shallow lakes.
At one point we were back travelling on one side of a river valley and suddenly you could see terraced fields! Plateaus of farmland kind of flowing down from the mountain. It is so difficult to describe particularly with the vast changes taking place over this 3 day journey. I took a few photos but hardly enought to tell the story. We crossed "the glacier" at Rohtang Pass which was windswept and rainy and populated by a hundred saddled ponies waiting for I'm not sure exactly what.
Twice I was asked for my passport at one of these tent stops. We were now in Jammu Kashmir, and almost all the oncoming traffic was army trucks or tankers. We stocked up on plastic water bottles each time, although it seemed that the glacial water melt would be far better. Occasionally we would pass roadcrews seemingly abandoned hours away from any vehicle, and shoveling rocks off the road or preparing asphalt on burning charcoal beds.
My memory is quickly fading on the details. But I stayed healthy and happy, well prepared for the hail at 17,000 ft with my fleece, wool hat and down sleeping bag. I shared what extra warmth I had packed with some of my less-prepared companions from the Indian plains.
And then, well after sundown, civilization appeared with a vengeance. Suddenly it was just like any other Indian city. Actually it was an army base - full shops, restaurants, houses, ditches, etc. It was shocking after nearly falling off of mountain cliffsides. We arrived in Leh at 10 pm and our bumbling taxi drivers (had to rattle the connections on the battery under my seat to restart the van each time they stopped to retrace steps or ask more directions) took over an hour to travel 15 minutes to our hard-to find guest house.
But here we are now, in a Ladakhi home, in Sankar Village, just above Leh, surrounded by bubbling streams and home gardens of cauliflower, turnips, carrots, potatoes, swiss chard and other greens, barley and wheat. We had a midnight dinner of Ladakhi flat noodle soup and chard. And in the morning we were greeted by a lush inhabited countryside flanked by these monstrous mountains speckled with monasteries.
Yesterday I met and walked with Helena Norberg Hodge, author of Ancient Futures and founder of The Ladakh Project, promoting traditional Ladakhi culture and farming in the face of a practically cosmopolitan city brimming with adventure outfitters and young fit tourists. In the evening I proudly walked the 30 minutes uphill without losing my breath. That will be the extent of my trekking in Ladakh.
