The Himalayas as seen from our flight
Not too long ago I was asked to give a brief overview of my sentiments regarding Ladakh. All I could say was that the city felt too big for me to digest. Everything was in excess, the beauty of the landscapes, the altitude, the generosity of people, the rugedness, the veneration to buddhism, the colours of the sky during dawn and dusk, the delicacies..
Our journey began from Delhi. On board a flight, we were headed towards Leh, Ladakh's capital city.
Now that I think about it though, I should really correct the above paragraph. The magnitude I mention with regards to Ladakh was made apparent not after we landed but instead, the very moment my head turned towards the airplane window and I saw myself flying over parts of the Himalayan mountain range.
Having spent the last four years planning a trip to Nepal with a longing to experience and climb a part of these hills, I had a vague idea of what I could expect, or so I thought I did. Turns out that what I thought was completely wrong. The images I had in my mind did absolutely no justice to what I witnessed through the airplane window that morning.
Leh itself is quite a compact little city. Lots of alleys each with their stalls selling everything from food, shoes, souvenirs, to clothes and homeware. Walking the streets and mingling with the people whenever there was a opportunity to do so, made me feel like I was very much a part of the traditional way of life of Ladakhis. They welcomed our presence and I felt increasingly happy doing the most ordinary of things.
Our journey began from Delhi. On board a flight, we were headed towards Leh, Ladakh's capital city.
Now that I think about it though, I should really correct the above paragraph. The magnitude I mention with regards to Ladakh was made apparent not after we landed but instead, the very moment my head turned towards the airplane window and I saw myself flying over parts of the Himalayan mountain range.
Having spent the last four years planning a trip to Nepal with a longing to experience and climb a part of these hills, I had a vague idea of what I could expect, or so I thought I did. Turns out that what I thought was completely wrong. The images I had in my mind did absolutely no justice to what I witnessed through the airplane window that morning.
Leh itself is quite a compact little city. Lots of alleys each with their stalls selling everything from food, shoes, souvenirs, to clothes and homeware. Walking the streets and mingling with the people whenever there was a opportunity to do so, made me feel like I was very much a part of the traditional way of life of Ladakhis. They welcomed our presence and I felt increasingly happy doing the most ordinary of things.
The view from the Leh Palace balconies
If I attempt to describe Ladakh in one word, that would be SIMPLICITY, and the best example of this was Leh Palace. Sounds quite contradictory at first glance I guess. When one thinks of palaces, words such as grandeur, richness, flamboyance, money comes to mind. Leh Palace however proved to break this schema
For a first, the climb to the palace grounds was quite rough and thus not at all royal. Stones, open drains, narrow edges which at times didn’t even allow ones foot to rest steadily. All this was part of the trek up to the palace. Once I got there, I realised the inside of the palace was mostly empty. There were no paintings, no ornaments, no wall hangings, nothing but stone pillars holding up the structure and a few dark rooms with simple outlet sfor air. The only real light that came in was through the balconies, from which one can witness the entireness of Leh city. This was about the only "royal" part of the palace, the feeling of being able to view most part of the city at a glance.
Simplicity was also reflected in the way of life of the localites. Their clothes, their pace, their daily schedules, their tone and considering the disconnectedness of Ladakh, their self sufficiency.
Pangong-Tso was our first move away from Leh. Fortunately for us we met a group of fellow travelers who had planned the same route. Having just missed the local bus to this area, we decided to pool in and share a car and we were off! Crossed the famous Chang-La pass and finally pulled into Pangong-Tso during late afternoon.
The lake was IMMENSE. Its expanse, the different shades of blue, it’s calmness, the surroundings. I got off the car and actually couldn't believe we were finally there. Leaving our vehicle behind knowing we wouldn’t have to climb back into it till late the next day was such a great welcome that I decided to break off from the group for some time and absorb all this for myself. So I walked, sat and just gazed for the rest of the afternoon.
The cold creeped in at dusk, spreading a chill which none of us really expected. Thankfully our host, a lady so pleasant and selfless whom I felt there was so much to learn from, gave us the permission to light a bonfire. Some chhang (local beer), a delicious dinner and some inner warmth later, the day came to an end as we withdrew to our tents.
For a first, the climb to the palace grounds was quite rough and thus not at all royal. Stones, open drains, narrow edges which at times didn’t even allow ones foot to rest steadily. All this was part of the trek up to the palace. Once I got there, I realised the inside of the palace was mostly empty. There were no paintings, no ornaments, no wall hangings, nothing but stone pillars holding up the structure and a few dark rooms with simple outlet sfor air. The only real light that came in was through the balconies, from which one can witness the entireness of Leh city. This was about the only "royal" part of the palace, the feeling of being able to view most part of the city at a glance.
Simplicity was also reflected in the way of life of the localites. Their clothes, their pace, their daily schedules, their tone and considering the disconnectedness of Ladakh, their self sufficiency.
Pangong-Tso was our first move away from Leh. Fortunately for us we met a group of fellow travelers who had planned the same route. Having just missed the local bus to this area, we decided to pool in and share a car and we were off! Crossed the famous Chang-La pass and finally pulled into Pangong-Tso during late afternoon.
The lake was IMMENSE. Its expanse, the different shades of blue, it’s calmness, the surroundings. I got off the car and actually couldn't believe we were finally there. Leaving our vehicle behind knowing we wouldn’t have to climb back into it till late the next day was such a great welcome that I decided to break off from the group for some time and absorb all this for myself. So I walked, sat and just gazed for the rest of the afternoon.
The cold creeped in at dusk, spreading a chill which none of us really expected. Thankfully our host, a lady so pleasant and selfless whom I felt there was so much to learn from, gave us the permission to light a bonfire. Some chhang (local beer), a delicious dinner and some inner warmth later, the day came to an end as we withdrew to our tents.
Pangong-Tso
Early the next day I set off with one of the travellers we met on our way. Our aim was to climb at least one mountain before bidding goodbye to Pangong. Setting off before sunrise, we left our huts, crossed a long sandbank and for the first time saw the view of Pangong-Tso from the opposite side. No longer were we surrounded by the settled and civilised side of the lake. Our hike began.. across rocks, mixed terrain and small streams and as we began walking, the sun slowly awoke.
Just as we climbed our first mountain, I felt like I needed no more to be satisfied so I decided to make a stop and just take in the surroundings. My fellow hiking buddy however had in mind a higher peak to conquer so we separated, deciding to meet up again at the same spot, once he felt fulfilled and ready to say goodbye.
The sun travelled slowly across the sky and as the colours of the lake, mountains and sky changed with time, I suddenly began feeling restless. My companion wasn’t back yet and daylight was on full force. It felt like it had been too long already.
The length of time, I must add, was more a feeling than a reality since I had no way to really tell the time. There was no watch on my wrist and no mobile phone in my pocket which would help determine this.
For the first time in years, as I sat there alone with nothing but a mass of land and water around me, I felt fear. Where was he? Did something happen to him? Was it the right thing to do to split paths? Should I head back and call for help? Should I stay put where we split?
I had absolutely no answers to any of these questions, so in an attempt to try and find some I walked up the hill where I sat. I then walked across it and back down again. I whistled as loud as I could, I called out, but there was no trace of anyone or any notion of a reply. I had absolutely no idea of where my buddy was.
As the questions continued beating in my head, I desperately tried to slow things down in me and feel some calm. However the more I tried, the more restless I felt until at one point I just sat down and closed my eyes.
I’m not sure for how long I stayed like this. All I know is that at one particular moment, whilst my eyes were closed and the wind was hitting my face, I revived a feeling. One which somehow felt familiar but at the same time very distant. A feeling which I keep being reminded about every now and again but never really felt this strong. Right then, sitting alone at a mountain across Pangong lake, I learned what it is to trust in something greater than myself.
Saying that this particular feeling dispersed every question in my head would be untrue, there was still lots of doubt. But the fear, a feeling I am generally not very familiar with, vanished and somewhere inside I felt some tranquility. He was and would be okay.
Needless to say my companion returned safe and sound. We were gone for long, and as beautiful as the hike was, the thoughts that crossed my mind whilst I waited and the revival of this one feeling which I happened to loose with time, is what remained in me as we drove away and back to Leh.
Just as we climbed our first mountain, I felt like I needed no more to be satisfied so I decided to make a stop and just take in the surroundings. My fellow hiking buddy however had in mind a higher peak to conquer so we separated, deciding to meet up again at the same spot, once he felt fulfilled and ready to say goodbye.
The sun travelled slowly across the sky and as the colours of the lake, mountains and sky changed with time, I suddenly began feeling restless. My companion wasn’t back yet and daylight was on full force. It felt like it had been too long already.
The length of time, I must add, was more a feeling than a reality since I had no way to really tell the time. There was no watch on my wrist and no mobile phone in my pocket which would help determine this.
For the first time in years, as I sat there alone with nothing but a mass of land and water around me, I felt fear. Where was he? Did something happen to him? Was it the right thing to do to split paths? Should I head back and call for help? Should I stay put where we split?
I had absolutely no answers to any of these questions, so in an attempt to try and find some I walked up the hill where I sat. I then walked across it and back down again. I whistled as loud as I could, I called out, but there was no trace of anyone or any notion of a reply. I had absolutely no idea of where my buddy was.
As the questions continued beating in my head, I desperately tried to slow things down in me and feel some calm. However the more I tried, the more restless I felt until at one point I just sat down and closed my eyes.
I’m not sure for how long I stayed like this. All I know is that at one particular moment, whilst my eyes were closed and the wind was hitting my face, I revived a feeling. One which somehow felt familiar but at the same time very distant. A feeling which I keep being reminded about every now and again but never really felt this strong. Right then, sitting alone at a mountain across Pangong lake, I learned what it is to trust in something greater than myself.
Saying that this particular feeling dispersed every question in my head would be untrue, there was still lots of doubt. But the fear, a feeling I am generally not very familiar with, vanished and somewhere inside I felt some tranquility. He was and would be okay.
Needless to say my companion returned safe and sound. We were gone for long, and as beautiful as the hike was, the thoughts that crossed my mind whilst I waited and the revival of this one feeling which I happened to loose with time, is what remained in me as we drove away and back to Leh.
Simplicity
Nubra valley, a lot drier and parchier was a nice change. As we travelled through the Khardung-la pass from Leh, small oases dotted around the landscape provided a nucleus for hamlets and villages in the area.
On the way to Diskit we were stopped by two waving hands by the side of the road. A mother and daughter got on asking us to help them across the roads to one of the nearing villages. Having them in the car with us was the closest contact I had with any localite. The honesty, eagerness and respect given reinforced my opinion of the Ladakhi people, as one of the most humble communities I’ve come across till date.
We stopped at numerous monasteries on the way, all of which have been built at quite an altitude. I must admit that climbing the steep steps was a task at times, however the feeling of being up and above everything ruled out the effort. The incredible structures had almost no other visitors whilst we were there. This type of solitude, which is rather uncommon for me, felt surprisingly very good. As we sat in the prayer rooms of these monasteries, it felt as if we were separate and far away from everything, making Nubra an excellent ending to our time in Ladakh.
All in all, Ladakh was majestic, however in a rather unconventional manner. I got the feeling whilst I was there that there was no real intention to be grand, there was nothing anyone had tried or was trying to flaunt or exhibit. The entire region simply was fascinating and grand, and no statement was necessary to transmit this. When explaining this to a friend I realised that "majestic" and "simple" seemed to merge in Ladakh, a duo of words which are seldom put together.
On the way to Diskit we were stopped by two waving hands by the side of the road. A mother and daughter got on asking us to help them across the roads to one of the nearing villages. Having them in the car with us was the closest contact I had with any localite. The honesty, eagerness and respect given reinforced my opinion of the Ladakhi people, as one of the most humble communities I’ve come across till date.
We stopped at numerous monasteries on the way, all of which have been built at quite an altitude. I must admit that climbing the steep steps was a task at times, however the feeling of being up and above everything ruled out the effort. The incredible structures had almost no other visitors whilst we were there. This type of solitude, which is rather uncommon for me, felt surprisingly very good. As we sat in the prayer rooms of these monasteries, it felt as if we were separate and far away from everything, making Nubra an excellent ending to our time in Ladakh.
All in all, Ladakh was majestic, however in a rather unconventional manner. I got the feeling whilst I was there that there was no real intention to be grand, there was nothing anyone had tried or was trying to flaunt or exhibit. The entire region simply was fascinating and grand, and no statement was necessary to transmit this. When explaining this to a friend I realised that "majestic" and "simple" seemed to merge in Ladakh, a duo of words which are seldom put together.
Jule Ladakh.. soon again!
Five days in Ladakh was enough for me to realize that I had to come back and greet this enchanting place with the simple word "Jule" (hello) once again. However, I've decided my next time shall not be by flight but instead, on the back of an Enfield.
They say it’s a ride of a lifetime, to drive up all the way from Manali to Leh and after meeting a few travelers who accomplished this, and having the fortune of going for a spin on a bullet one night in Leh, the desire to return atop one of these is all the more vivid in my head.
They say it’s a ride of a lifetime, to drive up all the way from Manali to Leh and after meeting a few travelers who accomplished this, and having the fortune of going for a spin on a bullet one night in Leh, the desire to return atop one of these is all the more vivid in my head.