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 Travel
represents the educated youth of Ladakh who've studied beyond the
state's borders, worked in India's big cities, and now want to bring
their expertise back to the place they call home.
Almost to emphasise the point that not all those who are native to
this remote region have never left its borders, Cold Play's Vida
La Viva kicks off the soundtrack for our drive to the 350 year
old Hemis Monastery after lunch. The region's most famous 'Gompa',
Hemis is tucked into a steep mountain ravine about an hour's drive
away. Cruising in comfortable 4x4 Scorpios, the drive takes us
through desolate desert scenery punctuated by green ribbons along
the banks of the placid Indus, and past the impressive 600 year old
Thiksey monastery, I find myself almost hypnotised by the boundless
sense of space in Ladakh, and the spiritual peace enjoyed by
re-robed monks in these monasteries that are so close to the heavens
is tangible and contagious.
Peace aside, it seems I was not the only one troubled by strange
dreams the previous night, and the delightful Shakti staff decides
it's due to the fact that the house has yet to be blessed. We are
therefore, invited to witness this event which take place whenever a
new home is built or renovated. As with every village house, a room
is dedicated to ceremonial affairs and it is inside this room that
we gather to quietly observe a young monk chant, while playing an
incessant beat on a hanging drum and cymbal.
Candle lit and trance inducing, the ceremony takes on an almost
pagan element when a figurine made of flour and water is led from
the room and placed at cross roads beyond the house, supposedly
drawing any evil sprits away. But then the monk pauses to sip from
his cup of tea and the spell is broken, I sleep a dream less sleep
that night.
TARU AND NIMOO
Heading
yet further off the beaten track (although such a thing barely
exists in Ladakh), we reach Taru after an enjoyable morning rafting
on the Indus. Suitable for all ages, its Grafe-1 rapids are fun
rather than scary, and is leaves us excited for the Shayok River
experience ahead which will offer more exhilarating white water,
still a safe Grade-2 . Taru is situated on the upper slopes of a
deep ravine and its lush fields of rice undulate down the valley
like a wide green waterfall. Similar to Stok in many ways, but
different in a host of others, Taru makes one realise the variety of
scenery this apparently barren land offers up.
Hiking to Nimoo the next day, this is even more obvious. A sandy
plateau suddenly drops into a canyon which we follow for an hour or
two. Suddenly, an underground stream emerges and floods the narrow
canyon floor with green. We're alone, but for several cows, in a
canyon which, when I ask, I'm told has no name. Following the steam
onward, the towering canyon walls around us become castles rising
from rocky
walls before finally, we
round a bend and Nimoo, in its ubiquitous village cloak of green,
sits before us.
Bedroom of the all village houses offer comfort
and
great view (top); rafting of the Indus river (below)
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That night we dine
outside under the stars, discussing our lives-past, present and
future as divined by the ancient as trologist who'd visited us that
evening. One guest is particularly mirthful, having just
'discovered' he was of the bovine persuasion in his past life.
The following days seem to race by. We
practice archery in an apricot orchard, drive through the
spectacular Zanskar Canyon to the town of Chilling where we have a
suitably chilled picnic. We visit the religious enclave at Alchi
where a wealth of ancient wall paintings and wood sculpture have
survived for over nine centuries within five tiny, mud-walled
temples, and we speak to a monk at sunset about Buddhism, before
enjoying luxurious massages.
NUBRA VALLEY
And then it's today, although this morning's drive into the Nubra
Valley over the magnificent Khardung La Pass-one of the highest
motorable roads at 18,380 feet-seems like an age ago. Stunningly
beautiful and hair-raising in equal measure, the road winds up, then
down with no barriers between you and sheer drops into eternity.
Signs that remind drivers of the road's perils abound, and provide
almost as much entertainment as the amazing views: 'Love they
neighbor, but not while driving', 'If you're married, divorce
speed', 'Drinking whisky, very risky' and 'Don't gossip, let him
drive' are just a few.
A sigh of relief and regret is mingled
with a gasp of awe when we finally arrive at our picnic spot on the
pebbled banks of the Shayok river. What started high above in the
snows of Khardung La pass is now a swift torrent of icy water
hurtling unhindered across the broad valley floor. But before
donning our wet suits and helmets, we sit down to a five star lunch.
And then we're rushing through the same scenery carried on the back
of the raging river-adrenaline pumping and spirits high. Can it get
better than this, I ask myself.
It can, for awaiting us is a river
camp of luxury tents and a Bactrian camel ride through dunes flushed
with the sunset to a picnic site straight out of Arabian Nights.
Cushions are arranged on mats in the sand amidst a ring of fires,
lit as the last rosé light fades from the surrounding mountains' icy
faces. As I sip my Gin "n" Tonic and count shooting stars after
dinner, I accept that the basic tenet of Buddhism that nothing is
permanent is true; this idyll must end. But I also know that these
mountains aren't going anywhere for a good long while, and I'm
definitely going to be back. |
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