I had a three day grace period after my flight from Leh to Delhi, so I decided it would be best to experience the city in full... I'm going to spare you from epic detail after that last novel I wrote you about my trek.
Every Ladakhi I befriended seemed unenthusiastic about my upcoming three days in Delhi, warning me of the congestion, unbearable heat and humidity, and corrupt tourism industry. But I also considered the fact that these were just rural peoples afraid of the dog-eat-dog world of big city life. So I made plans to take the brand new, state-of-the-art metro system from the airport into the heart of the city, transfer to a different metro line, and then take a "cycle rickshaw" to Majnu-ka-Tilla just on the outskirts of town, where the room rates are cheap and a good value. This "Tibetan Enclave" proved to be a wonderful escape after I spend the entire day in raw humanity. I must disappoint that I've avoided taking any pictures of the main city, for when I travel in a metro where my face is pressed up into the glass because of the commuting crowds, I don't want to have to worry about my camera getting stolen. It's not dangerous here - it's like any other city. But it's also a pickpocketer's paradise.
In the style of the last six and a half weeks, I desired to see the real Delhi. Not the Lonely Planet BS fellow tourists will force-feed you, but the places tourists don't like to go because they feel it's "too much." I've done half of my traveling on the metros, and the other half by walking. Sure, I look like I just went for a swim when I walk around 105 degree Delhi all day, but I get to crowd-cut with locals and experience the full feel of Old Delhi's markets, where you can buy 36 bangles for 50 cents. Still, I feel it's normal to both hate and love Delhi at the same time. When I'm trying to fall asleep and my thermometer reads 90 degrees in my non-AC room, yes I'm a little peeved. But when I'm sitting in the back of a cycle rickshaw, weaving through traffic, paying 30 cents for my private ride to the metro station, and noticing that my driver doesn't have any teeth, well, that's the real Delhi. And I'm having the time of my life experiencing it in full.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
A Most Dysfunctional Trek
I mentioned in an earlier post that I decided to eliminate the possibility of trekking in order to allow more time to teach, but you can imagine that after my previous experience taking the jeep into the region, I was encouraged to try something new. My solution - trek faster. The locals claim the record for the 8-10 day trek is 3 days, but that's with a convoy of pack horses, donkeys, and ponies carrying every ounce of gear they have. I deliberated with some local pony-men, but, feeling cheap, felt confident I could carry my gear on my own as I do while trekking in the US. Pshhh
I told the nuns I was interested in hiring at least one person to guide me, and they assured me not to worry; two nuns were planning on going to Leh and might as well trek with me. This seemed at the time like the perfect opportunity, but as the trek was approaching, the nuns flaked out on me. It took me two days to convince them to follow up on their word, for there was no time to hire a guide at this point. July 7th was our departure date, and the nuns informed me we would get started at 5 am sharp. This was most definitely at "local pace." I was slightly apprehensive, as one of the nuns informed me that this trek was "like walking the outline of your hand."
The first portion of the trek from Zangla (or Padum) to Lamayuru is completely flat, through a beautiful valley dotted with quaint villages. As we were hauling ass through this portion of the trek, I started to believe that everything was going to be alright for me in the next few days. I couldn't have been more wrong. Long after we took lunch, I encountered my first la (or mountain pass), the Parfi La, an endless switchback of rocky trails and thin air. With my 70 L pack carrying about 35-40 lbs of gear, I was starting to hate everything. I hated India, I hated mountains, and I hated trekking. This la, after a full day of trekking since 5 am, seemed almost impossible to accomplish. When I painstakingly reached the top, I simultaneously received two massive "charlie-horses" in each leg. What the hell was I doing? This was day one! When I regained my composure at the top, the nuns informed me that we could see our final destination for the day, a campground called Snertse. When I turned around, I didn't expect to look up at our destination. We had to go all the way down the other side of the mountain, back down to the elevation we started from, and then climb all the way up the next mountain. I was hosed. Utterly and completely hosed.
I used the time going down the mountain into the next valley to try and collect every last bit of strength I had for the next pass. Coming back up was slow going, but I was delirious enough to not be in as much pain. As a group, we finally gave up just a few hundred feet short of the top, and decided to set up camp where we were. The sense of relief I was expecting did not come, for I was only breathing at about half capacity. This was not due to altitude sickness, for I was well acclimated, but due to the fact that there was just not enough oxygen in the air to support this abuse. I felt very sick and light headed, and took a seat next to a rock. I asked the nuns kindly how far we had travelled today, knowing it must be a personal record. 35-40 km they told me. Over two mountain passes, carrying my 70 L pack, this explained everything. This is madness! No, I thought, this is Ladakh.
The nuns left to go collect water and bathe in the river (I'm not sure in which order), and I appreciated the alone time. Then, in perhaps my weakest moment, I received the greatest gift of all. At a time when I had no faith in anything, I had an opportunity some people would kill for: the glimpse of a snow leopard. This gleaming, long, grey beast slithered through a collection of rocks some 300m away. The unmistakable white tail and low profile, as well as its sensible location in a collection of boulders, verified it's identity. In my daze and in its distance, any detail escaped me and all of my pictures were pixelated. But this was the exact kind of inspiration I needed to get up the next morning, for this beautiful animal reminded me of where I was and how lucky I was to be there. I wouldn't call it a miracle, but it's damn close. I pitched a tent and dropped onto my sleeping mat like a rock.
The next morning I received my next gift: two monks were heading with a convoy of empty donkeys to Lingshed, our next destination. I loaded up my pack on a donkey, and carried a small day pack filled with my Camelbak, daily Cliff bar, passport and money (if the donkey took a tumble), and my camera equipment (which was pointless because I never had much energy to use it). I walked with one of the monks, who was 13 years old, and he was having a difficult time with his stomach and breathing. This got me thinking, does anyone enjoy this?! This obsession with trekking at super-human pace formulates the irony of Ladakh: every local pushes for maximum efficiency on the trails, yet wastes so much time doing absolutely nothing once they get where they are going. It's kind of funny actually, but not while you are trekking with them.
When we arrived at a "hotel", a tarp pitched over a mud-brick house, we stopped for breakfast. There I met a man I had seen in Zangla and he gave me dal on rice, which was half-cold, half-hot. You would think I would gorge myself, but because I was feeling sick with exhaustion, I didn't have an appetite. Then he blew my mind. He pulled out an ice-cold Coca-Cola! How is it that my first coke in Ladakh was here? Am I dead? It didn't fix all of my problems, but it gave me a little slice of home to keep pushing for. After breakfast, I had my next pick-me-up guiding the donkeys. The next several hours of trekking were a blast, negotiating these donkeys through white-wash and tight-rope mountain passes. It was a bit like driving a car for the first time, slapping a donkey on the ass with a walking stick and yelling at it in Ladakhi. One of the nuns was relentless with the latter, keeping me laughing the whole day.
When we encountered the tail end of our full-day-la, the older monk basically said screw this and hopped on a donkey, riding it to the top. I was not as fortunate. However, I could feel my body adjusting to this amount of physical activity, for although it was challenging, it was slightly easier than yesterday's armageddon. When I reached the top and started to rest, I got a hell of a cramp in my left shoulder, and realized it might be smart to take a rest day in Lingshed to hire a pony for the next portion of our trip, for today's camp was my current caravan's last stop. My shoulder wasn't my only problem, as I had about four blisters on each foot and wrecked every bandage I made for them. Lingshed, like the previous day, was at the top of the next valley we had to negotiate and in plain view. I wasn't nearly as exhausted as the day before, and I had the encouragement of literal "ass-kicking," so I knew it was going to be alright. It was getting quite dark however, and by the time we reached Lingshed, it was about 9 pm. We did about 12 hours of trekking that day. The elder lama invited me into his home at the Lingshed monastery, made me my daily, insufficient fix of Indian Top Ramen, and then he and I both crashed.
I spent the next day at the Lingshed monastery soaking my bloodied and swollen feet in the ice-cold river (I have pictures, but not for the faint-of-heart) and hanging out in the kitchen, drinking tea and speaking with monks. There I met Lex Latkovski, a world traveller from Kentucky, rich off of the Phoenix housing market in '06 and divorced for 15 years. He had seen it all, and was the most interesting person I had spoken with since coming to India. His next stop is China by rail, and then he's off to Mongolia to buy a horse and ride it all the way to Kazakstan. Now there's a good idea for my next trip! I cruised around the monastery for the rest of the day, helping one of the monks sand an oversized, ceremonial drum. For dinner I returned to the lama's residence to discuss pony plans with the nuns. They said they had it taken care of, whatever that meant.
After having a restless night of sleep overhearing the lama's incessant coughing (undoubtedly from the trek), I woke to meet my 1.5 donkeys. I received, as a gift from the lama, a weak mother and her hyperactive son, who were as slow as slow can be. Feeling good from the rest day, I decided to trek far ahead, pacing myself for the three la's I was to encounter this day, two of which nearing 5000m. I set a solid pace for myself, but was consistently hungry throughout the day. I felt my appetite returning as I acclimated to this trekking onslaught, but unfortunately Ritz crackers and Top Ramen can't quite fuel a 30km+ daily trek. I was rather disappointed the nuns didn't bring the traditional Ladakhi trekking food all made of energy-rich barley and whole grains, but instead opted for what was easy. This was totally inadequate, and I ended up losing a bit of weight on this trek. Normally, trekking in the US 10-12 miles a day, you burn about 6,000 calories daily. Trekking about 20-25 miles a day through the Himalayas, I could have been on the Michael Phelps Diet. Instead, I was eating about 2,000 calories a day of pure white flour products and heaps of salt and MSG. I was starting to think that I would have been much better off without a guide, for these trails were pretty straight forward, and home-stays are plentiful throughout the Zanskar region. Even still, as the trekking continued, I realized the nun's itinerary was rather sporadic. We spent that night over the Sengi La, which made a long yet consistent day of trekking. The next day, however, we trekked only 10 km to Photoksang, where the nuns had plans to hire a jeep the next morning and drive through unfinished roads all the way to Lamayuru. Although part of me was completely spent and eager to get home, I was hesitant about this decision. We cut our day of trekking short at 11am, finding a home-stay in the village.
Despite this logistical nightmare, I remained calm. I realized these exhausted nuns might have had no intention of ever finishing this trek, and instead expected me to shell out the rupees for an uncommon jeep route to Lamayuru, or even further still, all the way to Leh. We met the jeep driver, a Kashmiri scumbag, who was bent on ripping us off. I had a really, really bad feeling about this, and the nuns and one other local assured me we would be driving to Leh the next day. Yeah right, I thought, with these drivers I'll be lucky even to get to Lamayuru in one piece. The home-stay we were at was pleasant and had wonderful food that filled me up well. Then, when all was starting to turn for the better, I had my next curveball thrown at me. A bunch of domestic tourists showed up at the home and payed a bit more, so I ended up getting the best bedroom in the house - the patio. At least the freezing night sky was clear.
The next morning, now July 12th, was jeep day. We were all packed up and ready to go, waiting for the jeep to appear from the mountain roads. When enough time passed, the local we were traveling with decided to go into the nearby village, asking where the jeep was. When he returned 30 min later, he informed us the driver wanted to sleep in, take a wash in the river, and have a nice breakfast. Wonderful. This really ticked me off, although this is pretty common Indian inefficiency. I needed something American, fast. Bruce Springsteen on my solar-charged iPod saved the day. Two and a half hours passed by, and finally the jeep appeared, full with Kashmiri Muslims and a local who was piss drunk. The driver came out to shake my hand, and I asked him, "Lamayuru, 300 Rupees, yes?" "Oh, no no no," he told me, "Pengi La." I turned to one of the nuns, furious, and asked, "Where the heck is the Pengi La?" "It's OK. It's OK," she returned. I had a bad feeling about this, and was also upset with the nuns for wasting a full day of trekking only so we can take a rip-off jeep driven by a bunch of scumbags to some la I could have walked to yesterday. I took a deep breath and got in the car, knowing it was my only option.
This was another occasion in which I learned that being desperate while traveling will most definitely end in you getting ripped off. I've heard from many travelers their stories of getting stuck somewhere and having to pay their way out. Riding in the car with these scumbags had me on edge, but as we rolled through the mountains, I did feel better as each minute passed, getting closer and closer to Lamayuru. Even if they dumped me out right here, I thought, and even if I had everything stolen from me, I could still trek to Lamayuru in a day. I never felt my life directly at risk with these guys, except when they floored it on the paved portions of the roads, almost running over, believe it or not, poor Lex Latkovski. If I felt these guys were truly dangerous, I never would have gotten in the car. But I did always have the feeling that I was, at some point or another, going to get ripped off. And sure as hell, they dropped us at Panjilla, some random village along the way, and asked for double the price of 150 Rupees we agreed upon before departure. Surprisingly, this tall, strong Kashmiri Muslim turned to me and just said blatantly, "200 Rupees." I was relieved. I was not going to piss this guy off over 50 Rupees, or, $1. I think he just had a thing against Buddhist nuns, which, for a Kasmiri Muslim, is not one bit surprising.
The nuns, completely spent, wanted to go have lunch in the Panjilla village. They walked me over there, wearing their casual sandals and socks, and sat down for tea. I never sat down. Disappointed with how this expedition was turning out, I decided to take charge. By this time it was 1 pm, and I went over to one of the locals and asked how long it was to Lamayuru. "Ohh, not possible. Two hours to Wanla then six hours to Lamayuru." Lex, however, showing up 20 min later, told me it was possible but wouldn't recommend it. I figured I'd rather trek in the dark then wait in this village for one more day to get ripped off by another jeep driver. I went over to the nuns and told them, "We're trekking to Lamayuru. Let's pack lunch and head out." "No, no, no," one returned, "we will stop and take lunch first." "With all due respect, Ane-le, the shortest lunch we have taken thus far has been two hours long. I have to make sure we have enough time to get to Leh so I don't miss my flight, and one more day here would be a serious waste." "OK," the nun said solemnly, "we will go." I had a hard time holding myself back from reminding this young nun that we were indeed on a trek, that she willingly signed up for it, planned the entire itinerary up to this point, almost got us in serious trouble with the Kashmiri's, and that I assured her for over a week I knew of another guide in Zangla who could take me to Lamayuru. We all were here, buried in the mountains, so we had to see it through. Coming from my experience on day one, however, I didn't think I was going to have to play coach on the final day. Unfortunately, the nuns over-exerted themselves and never could recover.
I trekked ahead with my renewed sense of independence, and got to Wanla in one hour. If I could keep this pace, I could get to Lamayuru before nightfall, and maybe even find a good home-stay. I waited in Wanla for 20 min for the nuns to catch up, and there we took a really quick lunch before heading off. The trekking got increasingly harder as we approached our final la, and it was quite concerning to see some tourists at 4 pm coming over the other side of the la from Lamayuru. They asked me how far it was to Wanla, exhausted. Some even got upset with me when I told them it was a mere 7-10 km away, all downhill. I was thinking we weren't going to get to Lamayuru that day, and that I had made a bad call. But when we reached the top, I saw, not far in the distance, how close Lamayuru was by this trek's standards. We could easily reach it within an hour. I was relieved, and Lamayuru was quite beautifully welcoming. We ended up trekking the eight hours from Panjilla to Lamayuru in just under five.
When the trekking was finished, I attempted to make as many decisions for the group as possible, for the nuns seemed exhausted and surprisingly inexperienced. They wanted to stop at the first home-stay we encountered, but I insisted on looking around. We ended up finding a home-stay for 200 Rupees, or about $4 a night. There I had a comfortable bed (my first bed in a month) and a luxurious bucket of hot water for washing. They also had the nicest Ladakhi toilet I have encountered thus far, which I'm sure would still be a stretch for most. The next morning, I also took charge getting us to Leh. The nuns insisted on waiting for the bus that I was 95% sure drove right past Lamayuru earlier that morning. I found a jeep driver who would take us to Khaltse for Rs. 100 (a steal), where we could find a Khaltse-Leh bus for Rs. 100. When we arrived at Khaltse, the bus was just about to leave when we hopped on and headed off. That's some American efficiency for you!
Trekking Itinerary:
July 7 - Zangla to Snertse
July 8 - Snertse to Lingshed (with donkey)
July 9 - Rest Day in Lingshed
July 10 - Lingshed to Sengi La North Base Camp (with donkey)
July 11 - Sengi La North Base Camp to Photoksang (with donkey)
July 12 - Photoksang to Panjilla (in jeep), Panjilla to Lamayuru
I told the nuns I was interested in hiring at least one person to guide me, and they assured me not to worry; two nuns were planning on going to Leh and might as well trek with me. This seemed at the time like the perfect opportunity, but as the trek was approaching, the nuns flaked out on me. It took me two days to convince them to follow up on their word, for there was no time to hire a guide at this point. July 7th was our departure date, and the nuns informed me we would get started at 5 am sharp. This was most definitely at "local pace." I was slightly apprehensive, as one of the nuns informed me that this trek was "like walking the outline of your hand."
The first portion of the trek from Zangla (or Padum) to Lamayuru is completely flat, through a beautiful valley dotted with quaint villages. As we were hauling ass through this portion of the trek, I started to believe that everything was going to be alright for me in the next few days. I couldn't have been more wrong. Long after we took lunch, I encountered my first la (or mountain pass), the Parfi La, an endless switchback of rocky trails and thin air. With my 70 L pack carrying about 35-40 lbs of gear, I was starting to hate everything. I hated India, I hated mountains, and I hated trekking. This la, after a full day of trekking since 5 am, seemed almost impossible to accomplish. When I painstakingly reached the top, I simultaneously received two massive "charlie-horses" in each leg. What the hell was I doing? This was day one! When I regained my composure at the top, the nuns informed me that we could see our final destination for the day, a campground called Snertse. When I turned around, I didn't expect to look up at our destination. We had to go all the way down the other side of the mountain, back down to the elevation we started from, and then climb all the way up the next mountain. I was hosed. Utterly and completely hosed.
I used the time going down the mountain into the next valley to try and collect every last bit of strength I had for the next pass. Coming back up was slow going, but I was delirious enough to not be in as much pain. As a group, we finally gave up just a few hundred feet short of the top, and decided to set up camp where we were. The sense of relief I was expecting did not come, for I was only breathing at about half capacity. This was not due to altitude sickness, for I was well acclimated, but due to the fact that there was just not enough oxygen in the air to support this abuse. I felt very sick and light headed, and took a seat next to a rock. I asked the nuns kindly how far we had travelled today, knowing it must be a personal record. 35-40 km they told me. Over two mountain passes, carrying my 70 L pack, this explained everything. This is madness! No, I thought, this is Ladakh.
The nuns left to go collect water and bathe in the river (I'm not sure in which order), and I appreciated the alone time. Then, in perhaps my weakest moment, I received the greatest gift of all. At a time when I had no faith in anything, I had an opportunity some people would kill for: the glimpse of a snow leopard. This gleaming, long, grey beast slithered through a collection of rocks some 300m away. The unmistakable white tail and low profile, as well as its sensible location in a collection of boulders, verified it's identity. In my daze and in its distance, any detail escaped me and all of my pictures were pixelated. But this was the exact kind of inspiration I needed to get up the next morning, for this beautiful animal reminded me of where I was and how lucky I was to be there. I wouldn't call it a miracle, but it's damn close. I pitched a tent and dropped onto my sleeping mat like a rock.
The next morning I received my next gift: two monks were heading with a convoy of empty donkeys to Lingshed, our next destination. I loaded up my pack on a donkey, and carried a small day pack filled with my Camelbak, daily Cliff bar, passport and money (if the donkey took a tumble), and my camera equipment (which was pointless because I never had much energy to use it). I walked with one of the monks, who was 13 years old, and he was having a difficult time with his stomach and breathing. This got me thinking, does anyone enjoy this?! This obsession with trekking at super-human pace formulates the irony of Ladakh: every local pushes for maximum efficiency on the trails, yet wastes so much time doing absolutely nothing once they get where they are going. It's kind of funny actually, but not while you are trekking with them.
When we arrived at a "hotel", a tarp pitched over a mud-brick house, we stopped for breakfast. There I met a man I had seen in Zangla and he gave me dal on rice, which was half-cold, half-hot. You would think I would gorge myself, but because I was feeling sick with exhaustion, I didn't have an appetite. Then he blew my mind. He pulled out an ice-cold Coca-Cola! How is it that my first coke in Ladakh was here? Am I dead? It didn't fix all of my problems, but it gave me a little slice of home to keep pushing for. After breakfast, I had my next pick-me-up guiding the donkeys. The next several hours of trekking were a blast, negotiating these donkeys through white-wash and tight-rope mountain passes. It was a bit like driving a car for the first time, slapping a donkey on the ass with a walking stick and yelling at it in Ladakhi. One of the nuns was relentless with the latter, keeping me laughing the whole day.
When we encountered the tail end of our full-day-la, the older monk basically said screw this and hopped on a donkey, riding it to the top. I was not as fortunate. However, I could feel my body adjusting to this amount of physical activity, for although it was challenging, it was slightly easier than yesterday's armageddon. When I reached the top and started to rest, I got a hell of a cramp in my left shoulder, and realized it might be smart to take a rest day in Lingshed to hire a pony for the next portion of our trip, for today's camp was my current caravan's last stop. My shoulder wasn't my only problem, as I had about four blisters on each foot and wrecked every bandage I made for them. Lingshed, like the previous day, was at the top of the next valley we had to negotiate and in plain view. I wasn't nearly as exhausted as the day before, and I had the encouragement of literal "ass-kicking," so I knew it was going to be alright. It was getting quite dark however, and by the time we reached Lingshed, it was about 9 pm. We did about 12 hours of trekking that day. The elder lama invited me into his home at the Lingshed monastery, made me my daily, insufficient fix of Indian Top Ramen, and then he and I both crashed.
I spent the next day at the Lingshed monastery soaking my bloodied and swollen feet in the ice-cold river (I have pictures, but not for the faint-of-heart) and hanging out in the kitchen, drinking tea and speaking with monks. There I met Lex Latkovski, a world traveller from Kentucky, rich off of the Phoenix housing market in '06 and divorced for 15 years. He had seen it all, and was the most interesting person I had spoken with since coming to India. His next stop is China by rail, and then he's off to Mongolia to buy a horse and ride it all the way to Kazakstan. Now there's a good idea for my next trip! I cruised around the monastery for the rest of the day, helping one of the monks sand an oversized, ceremonial drum. For dinner I returned to the lama's residence to discuss pony plans with the nuns. They said they had it taken care of, whatever that meant.
After having a restless night of sleep overhearing the lama's incessant coughing (undoubtedly from the trek), I woke to meet my 1.5 donkeys. I received, as a gift from the lama, a weak mother and her hyperactive son, who were as slow as slow can be. Feeling good from the rest day, I decided to trek far ahead, pacing myself for the three la's I was to encounter this day, two of which nearing 5000m. I set a solid pace for myself, but was consistently hungry throughout the day. I felt my appetite returning as I acclimated to this trekking onslaught, but unfortunately Ritz crackers and Top Ramen can't quite fuel a 30km+ daily trek. I was rather disappointed the nuns didn't bring the traditional Ladakhi trekking food all made of energy-rich barley and whole grains, but instead opted for what was easy. This was totally inadequate, and I ended up losing a bit of weight on this trek. Normally, trekking in the US 10-12 miles a day, you burn about 6,000 calories daily. Trekking about 20-25 miles a day through the Himalayas, I could have been on the Michael Phelps Diet. Instead, I was eating about 2,000 calories a day of pure white flour products and heaps of salt and MSG. I was starting to think that I would have been much better off without a guide, for these trails were pretty straight forward, and home-stays are plentiful throughout the Zanskar region. Even still, as the trekking continued, I realized the nun's itinerary was rather sporadic. We spent that night over the Sengi La, which made a long yet consistent day of trekking. The next day, however, we trekked only 10 km to Photoksang, where the nuns had plans to hire a jeep the next morning and drive through unfinished roads all the way to Lamayuru. Although part of me was completely spent and eager to get home, I was hesitant about this decision. We cut our day of trekking short at 11am, finding a home-stay in the village.
Despite this logistical nightmare, I remained calm. I realized these exhausted nuns might have had no intention of ever finishing this trek, and instead expected me to shell out the rupees for an uncommon jeep route to Lamayuru, or even further still, all the way to Leh. We met the jeep driver, a Kashmiri scumbag, who was bent on ripping us off. I had a really, really bad feeling about this, and the nuns and one other local assured me we would be driving to Leh the next day. Yeah right, I thought, with these drivers I'll be lucky even to get to Lamayuru in one piece. The home-stay we were at was pleasant and had wonderful food that filled me up well. Then, when all was starting to turn for the better, I had my next curveball thrown at me. A bunch of domestic tourists showed up at the home and payed a bit more, so I ended up getting the best bedroom in the house - the patio. At least the freezing night sky was clear.
The next morning, now July 12th, was jeep day. We were all packed up and ready to go, waiting for the jeep to appear from the mountain roads. When enough time passed, the local we were traveling with decided to go into the nearby village, asking where the jeep was. When he returned 30 min later, he informed us the driver wanted to sleep in, take a wash in the river, and have a nice breakfast. Wonderful. This really ticked me off, although this is pretty common Indian inefficiency. I needed something American, fast. Bruce Springsteen on my solar-charged iPod saved the day. Two and a half hours passed by, and finally the jeep appeared, full with Kashmiri Muslims and a local who was piss drunk. The driver came out to shake my hand, and I asked him, "Lamayuru, 300 Rupees, yes?" "Oh, no no no," he told me, "Pengi La." I turned to one of the nuns, furious, and asked, "Where the heck is the Pengi La?" "It's OK. It's OK," she returned. I had a bad feeling about this, and was also upset with the nuns for wasting a full day of trekking only so we can take a rip-off jeep driven by a bunch of scumbags to some la I could have walked to yesterday. I took a deep breath and got in the car, knowing it was my only option.
This was another occasion in which I learned that being desperate while traveling will most definitely end in you getting ripped off. I've heard from many travelers their stories of getting stuck somewhere and having to pay their way out. Riding in the car with these scumbags had me on edge, but as we rolled through the mountains, I did feel better as each minute passed, getting closer and closer to Lamayuru. Even if they dumped me out right here, I thought, and even if I had everything stolen from me, I could still trek to Lamayuru in a day. I never felt my life directly at risk with these guys, except when they floored it on the paved portions of the roads, almost running over, believe it or not, poor Lex Latkovski. If I felt these guys were truly dangerous, I never would have gotten in the car. But I did always have the feeling that I was, at some point or another, going to get ripped off. And sure as hell, they dropped us at Panjilla, some random village along the way, and asked for double the price of 150 Rupees we agreed upon before departure. Surprisingly, this tall, strong Kashmiri Muslim turned to me and just said blatantly, "200 Rupees." I was relieved. I was not going to piss this guy off over 50 Rupees, or, $1. I think he just had a thing against Buddhist nuns, which, for a Kasmiri Muslim, is not one bit surprising.
The nuns, completely spent, wanted to go have lunch in the Panjilla village. They walked me over there, wearing their casual sandals and socks, and sat down for tea. I never sat down. Disappointed with how this expedition was turning out, I decided to take charge. By this time it was 1 pm, and I went over to one of the locals and asked how long it was to Lamayuru. "Ohh, not possible. Two hours to Wanla then six hours to Lamayuru." Lex, however, showing up 20 min later, told me it was possible but wouldn't recommend it. I figured I'd rather trek in the dark then wait in this village for one more day to get ripped off by another jeep driver. I went over to the nuns and told them, "We're trekking to Lamayuru. Let's pack lunch and head out." "No, no, no," one returned, "we will stop and take lunch first." "With all due respect, Ane-le, the shortest lunch we have taken thus far has been two hours long. I have to make sure we have enough time to get to Leh so I don't miss my flight, and one more day here would be a serious waste." "OK," the nun said solemnly, "we will go." I had a hard time holding myself back from reminding this young nun that we were indeed on a trek, that she willingly signed up for it, planned the entire itinerary up to this point, almost got us in serious trouble with the Kashmiri's, and that I assured her for over a week I knew of another guide in Zangla who could take me to Lamayuru. We all were here, buried in the mountains, so we had to see it through. Coming from my experience on day one, however, I didn't think I was going to have to play coach on the final day. Unfortunately, the nuns over-exerted themselves and never could recover.
I trekked ahead with my renewed sense of independence, and got to Wanla in one hour. If I could keep this pace, I could get to Lamayuru before nightfall, and maybe even find a good home-stay. I waited in Wanla for 20 min for the nuns to catch up, and there we took a really quick lunch before heading off. The trekking got increasingly harder as we approached our final la, and it was quite concerning to see some tourists at 4 pm coming over the other side of the la from Lamayuru. They asked me how far it was to Wanla, exhausted. Some even got upset with me when I told them it was a mere 7-10 km away, all downhill. I was thinking we weren't going to get to Lamayuru that day, and that I had made a bad call. But when we reached the top, I saw, not far in the distance, how close Lamayuru was by this trek's standards. We could easily reach it within an hour. I was relieved, and Lamayuru was quite beautifully welcoming. We ended up trekking the eight hours from Panjilla to Lamayuru in just under five.
When the trekking was finished, I attempted to make as many decisions for the group as possible, for the nuns seemed exhausted and surprisingly inexperienced. They wanted to stop at the first home-stay we encountered, but I insisted on looking around. We ended up finding a home-stay for 200 Rupees, or about $4 a night. There I had a comfortable bed (my first bed in a month) and a luxurious bucket of hot water for washing. They also had the nicest Ladakhi toilet I have encountered thus far, which I'm sure would still be a stretch for most. The next morning, I also took charge getting us to Leh. The nuns insisted on waiting for the bus that I was 95% sure drove right past Lamayuru earlier that morning. I found a jeep driver who would take us to Khaltse for Rs. 100 (a steal), where we could find a Khaltse-Leh bus for Rs. 100. When we arrived at Khaltse, the bus was just about to leave when we hopped on and headed off. That's some American efficiency for you!
Trekking Itinerary:
July 7 - Zangla to Snertse
July 8 - Snertse to Lingshed (with donkey)
July 9 - Rest Day in Lingshed
July 10 - Lingshed to Sengi La North Base Camp (with donkey)
July 11 - Sengi La North Base Camp to Photoksang (with donkey)
July 12 - Photoksang to Panjilla (in jeep), Panjilla to Lamayuru
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Four weeks in two paragraphs
Due to the high cost of internet in Padum, the capital of Zanskar, blogging became somewhat of a luxury. I apologize to those who worried that I had been crushed by a rock, eaten by a snow leopard, or sick with a deadly illness, for I was only trying to save a buck or two. Let me begin by saying that life in a Buddhist nunnery was surprisingly normal. If you were thinking that I was up every morning at 4 am meditating on a mountain peak, I'm sorry to say I was fast asleep. If you were imagining me doing yoga daily, I'm sorry to say I was quite lethargic. If you are anticipating me returning with a shaved head and maroon robes, I'm sorry to say I'm still the same layperson I was when I left for India. I, along with all of you, had many mystical expectations about the opportunity to live and teach there. However, in the most Buddhist fashion, my personal "change" was entirely internal. Simply put, the fact that life in the nunnery didn't change me changed me.
I will do the past month justice if I simply tell my stories when I return home. This includes my experience teaching the nuns, being welcomed as the "guest of honor" at the Zanskar presidential inauguration, contracting food poisoning, hitch-hiking, celebrating my 19th birthday, and helping distribute government-issue solar panels to locals. Each one of these events, plus countless others, deserves its own full length post. I'm not going to spend my last few, precious days in Leh staring at a computer screen, so I'm going to ask you to be patient.
Tomorrow or the next day, in my last post from India, I will write about my experience trekking through the region.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
450+ km of Himalayan Roads
So I ended up leaving Leh in a packed jeep full of guides for a large group of French tourists. Three people including myself were in the front row, while three were in the back. The guy who had the middle seat in the front row did not have any legroom available, so he and I shared the footbed of my passenger seat for the 16 total hours we were in that jeep, winding through unpaved roads and negotiating rivers and ditches.
I mentioned in an earlier post that passing through Kargil was going to be a problem, and it sure as hell was. We stopped at a gas station just before Kargil to come up with a plan. We decided it would be best if I hopped into a bus that was also stopped at that gas station and heading for Zanskar. "Don't worry about luggage. We follow close behind," my driver told me. I was really hoping I wasn't going to eat those words. So I grabbed my passport, money, and other essentials, and got into this crammed bus. The aisle was nonexistent - it was filled with bags and people laying on top of those bags. I managed to hang out for a while near the doorway, and eventually found space for a seat near the front. We took off from the gas station, and within 5 minutes, we stopped to let people out at the Kargil city center. I didn't have visibility at that point to look at the window and see if my jeep and luggage were still close behind. After 20 min, we left, and to no surprise the jeep was not behind us. I anticipated that they might have driven up ahead and planed on meeting me some distance after Kargil. For about an hour we rolled through the Kargil area, zipping past the taxi/tourist checkpoint, and I had not one sight of my jeep. The ride in the bus wasn't as bad as I expected. Although it was crammed and insanely uncomfortable, it was a true cultural experience - so I enjoyed it.
Meeting the entrance of a beautiful valley leading towards the Zanskar mountains, the bus finally stopped. I was convinced my jeep was going to be parked here, but it wasn't (who am I kidding?). I started asking the bus's passengers who were taking some fresh air and stretching their legs if they knew Tenzig, my driver. I eventually met a man named Targus who had his cell number. Targus called Tenzig, and afterwords reassured me they were on there way. In 15 min I was reunited with my jeep (and my pack), and we headed off.
I was relived to be back in my new seat, now appreciating the added comfort I at once took for granted. Continuing on through this lush, mountainous, colorful valley, I witnessed some of the most beautiful sights of my life. Granted, my head was banging on the roof of the car every 20 seconds, and pictures became impossible, yet I will cherish the memory of the experience forever. After some time, however, our car had enough. We got a flat tire (about time, actually). With 6 capable passengers, the tire was replaced with a spare in all of 10 min. No problem.
An hour later, we popped the spare at the foot of a glacier. This time, we were screwed. The temperatures there were unbearable due to the wind running off of the glacier, and we were stranded. We spent about 2 hours waiting for help while trying to remove the tube from the tire. Eventually, a truck rolled by, and Tensig and one other passenger hopped in. Tenzig instructed the rest of us to ride with the very same bus I rode earlier that day. The bus was headed for Rangdum (half-way between Kargil and Zanskar), and even after a punishing day of driving (about 14 hours), Rangdum was still 3 hours away. The remaining four of us huddled by a large rock to block from the wind for another 30 min, and sure enough, the bus appeared in our view. We joined the passengers with all of our luggage, and soon realized the only room was in the back two rows. I took a deep breath and climbed through the luggage and pile of bodies to the back row, all in the pitch black darkness. I found my seat, which was wedged in between two old Tibetans.
I discovered a new level of discomfort in those three hours. In fact, looking back on it, I can't believe I made it without throwing up. The passengers of this old, rickety metal bus got tossed around like popcorn. I myself sustained several bruises from the ride. I managed to keep a mental state of denial, which was the only way I anticiapted surviving the ordeal. When the bus finnally rolled to a stop, the passengers and I had a good laugh. What the hell where we doing in that bus?
The day wasn't over for me and my fellow travellers from Leh. Arriving in Rangdum, a calm, gray valley packed with tall, jagged peaks, we were still about 2 miles from our campground. So we loaded up, and after 17 hours of driving, trekked in the pitch black darkness to our campgrounds. Along the way we were followed by a large, black, wild horse, who was really upset that we were trekking through it's territory. Thankfully, my flashlight kept it at least 10 feet from us at all times! Once we finally made it to camp, I was spent, but still slightly removed, for I knew the journey wasn't over yet.
The next morning I awoke to find Tenzig and our old jeep, as well as an identical jeep driven by another guide for this large group of French tourists (still in Kargil). I felt relived; we now had two identical jeeps heading for the same location - we were going to be just fine. Boy, did I eat those words. Our second jeep broke down 8 times on the way to Padum. Each time, we had to get out of our car and push this beast up and over mountains passes, getting an ignition while it rolled down the rocky slopes. The jeep finally gave out compeltely 1 km from Padum, and we had to rig a tow for it. When we finally made it, I noted the odometers of the jeeps: 300,000 km each. Jesus Christ!
I mentioned in an earlier post that passing through Kargil was going to be a problem, and it sure as hell was. We stopped at a gas station just before Kargil to come up with a plan. We decided it would be best if I hopped into a bus that was also stopped at that gas station and heading for Zanskar. "Don't worry about luggage. We follow close behind," my driver told me. I was really hoping I wasn't going to eat those words. So I grabbed my passport, money, and other essentials, and got into this crammed bus. The aisle was nonexistent - it was filled with bags and people laying on top of those bags. I managed to hang out for a while near the doorway, and eventually found space for a seat near the front. We took off from the gas station, and within 5 minutes, we stopped to let people out at the Kargil city center. I didn't have visibility at that point to look at the window and see if my jeep and luggage were still close behind. After 20 min, we left, and to no surprise the jeep was not behind us. I anticipated that they might have driven up ahead and planed on meeting me some distance after Kargil. For about an hour we rolled through the Kargil area, zipping past the taxi/tourist checkpoint, and I had not one sight of my jeep. The ride in the bus wasn't as bad as I expected. Although it was crammed and insanely uncomfortable, it was a true cultural experience - so I enjoyed it.
Meeting the entrance of a beautiful valley leading towards the Zanskar mountains, the bus finally stopped. I was convinced my jeep was going to be parked here, but it wasn't (who am I kidding?). I started asking the bus's passengers who were taking some fresh air and stretching their legs if they knew Tenzig, my driver. I eventually met a man named Targus who had his cell number. Targus called Tenzig, and afterwords reassured me they were on there way. In 15 min I was reunited with my jeep (and my pack), and we headed off.
I was relived to be back in my new seat, now appreciating the added comfort I at once took for granted. Continuing on through this lush, mountainous, colorful valley, I witnessed some of the most beautiful sights of my life. Granted, my head was banging on the roof of the car every 20 seconds, and pictures became impossible, yet I will cherish the memory of the experience forever. After some time, however, our car had enough. We got a flat tire (about time, actually). With 6 capable passengers, the tire was replaced with a spare in all of 10 min. No problem.
An hour later, we popped the spare at the foot of a glacier. This time, we were screwed. The temperatures there were unbearable due to the wind running off of the glacier, and we were stranded. We spent about 2 hours waiting for help while trying to remove the tube from the tire. Eventually, a truck rolled by, and Tensig and one other passenger hopped in. Tenzig instructed the rest of us to ride with the very same bus I rode earlier that day. The bus was headed for Rangdum (half-way between Kargil and Zanskar), and even after a punishing day of driving (about 14 hours), Rangdum was still 3 hours away. The remaining four of us huddled by a large rock to block from the wind for another 30 min, and sure enough, the bus appeared in our view. We joined the passengers with all of our luggage, and soon realized the only room was in the back two rows. I took a deep breath and climbed through the luggage and pile of bodies to the back row, all in the pitch black darkness. I found my seat, which was wedged in between two old Tibetans.
I discovered a new level of discomfort in those three hours. In fact, looking back on it, I can't believe I made it without throwing up. The passengers of this old, rickety metal bus got tossed around like popcorn. I myself sustained several bruises from the ride. I managed to keep a mental state of denial, which was the only way I anticiapted surviving the ordeal. When the bus finnally rolled to a stop, the passengers and I had a good laugh. What the hell where we doing in that bus?
The day wasn't over for me and my fellow travellers from Leh. Arriving in Rangdum, a calm, gray valley packed with tall, jagged peaks, we were still about 2 miles from our campground. So we loaded up, and after 17 hours of driving, trekked in the pitch black darkness to our campgrounds. Along the way we were followed by a large, black, wild horse, who was really upset that we were trekking through it's territory. Thankfully, my flashlight kept it at least 10 feet from us at all times! Once we finally made it to camp, I was spent, but still slightly removed, for I knew the journey wasn't over yet.
The next morning I awoke to find Tenzig and our old jeep, as well as an identical jeep driven by another guide for this large group of French tourists (still in Kargil). I felt relived; we now had two identical jeeps heading for the same location - we were going to be just fine. Boy, did I eat those words. Our second jeep broke down 8 times on the way to Padum. Each time, we had to get out of our car and push this beast up and over mountains passes, getting an ignition while it rolled down the rocky slopes. The jeep finally gave out compeltely 1 km from Padum, and we had to rig a tow for it. When we finally made it, I noted the odometers of the jeeps: 300,000 km each. Jesus Christ!
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Promise of Leaving for Zanskar
It looks like I've got a promising opportunity to leave for Zanskar tomorrow - Sonam arranged a private jeep with one of his friends. The good news about this ride is that because it is a privatly owned car driven by locals from Zanskar, we won't have any problems getting through the tourist/taxi checkpoints in Kargil. Another good reason for going with this group is that they will avoid the city of Kargil altogether, driving an extra 60km up the road to stay in a "beautiful Zanskar village." Even more so, they will actually drop me at the Zangla monastery, thus saving me a day. I will be in contact with this group today and arrange a time to leave tomorrow morning. Hopefully this will pan out!
The only bad news is that it looks like I might have to cancel my trek out of the monastery and itstead drive out via jeep (it is much easier to arrange a ride from Zanskar). This extra week I have spent in Leh was the amount of time I allotted for a trek. Now that this time has passed, that leaves me a very short period of time to live with and teach the nuns. This is my own personal decision, for I feel it is much more beneficial to spend a week in a monastery than a week trekking. Those mountains aren't going anywhere.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Grounded in Leh
I arrived in Leh on the 3rd, and since then I've tried to make provisions to get to Zanskar. My contact here in Leh, Sonam, has his own private "loadcarrier" to travel there. He's been meaning to go to Zanskar to visit his family, and we figured we'd travel together. His estimated departure time was the 6th or 7th, although his work has seriously delayed his plans. In the meantime, Norbu and I have been looking for an alternative, asking people around town as well as Norbu's own friends and relatives.
Getting to the Zanskar mountains currently requires passing through the city of Kargil. Ladakh has two districts, Kargil District and Leh District, or, West and East. Kargil is mostly Muslim, while Leh is Buddhist. The people of the Zanskar mountains are Buddhist, however, and the administration of Kargil is not too thrilled about having them in their district. Kargil has made it nearly impossible to get to Zanskar without paying the taxi union of Kargil heaping tons of money. Since transportation throughout the district is leagally under their control, nothing can really be done about this.
So this is how it pans out. There are three "classes" of vehicles that I have encountered: passenger cars and taxis, buses, and loadcarriers (privately owned "Indian Hummers"). For the last few days, Norbu and I have been looking for a passenger car for me to hitch a ride with, but due to recent information, we have discovered Kargil District will now stop even privately owned cars that simply resemble taxis, looking for the tourists to fork out the cash. We have now abandoned this possibility. That leaves buses and loadcarriers. Buses have been leaving 3 or 4 times a week, but the ride will surely take years off of my life. The buses, unregulated by the Kargil taxi union, are so unbelievable packed and the drive is nonstop (20 hours) through the bumpy roads of Ladakh. Even Norbu, a Zanskar native, has only used this option once, and it was when he was in elementary school with his class. This is going to be the absolute last option for me. Although they are perfectly safe, I will probably be pretty crabby for some time after the ride.
Sonam's travel agency owns a loadcarrier for the drive to Zanskar. Sonam is quite determined to go to Zanskar, as his wife who resides there is very sick. He is so overloaded with responisiblity here in Leh that he is finding it very difficult to make the trip. He has encouraged me that he is leaving very soon, and it looks like I might just have to wait. Another option that has presented itself is to possibly trek to Zanskar with Norbu, although Norbu may not be available for this. Tonight we are going to look at all of my options, and figure out the best way to get to the monastery in Zanskar. This predicament has surely been challenging and has tested my patience on a number of occasions, but the prospect of peace and serenity in Zanskar is too hard to shake.
Getting to the Zanskar mountains currently requires passing through the city of Kargil. Ladakh has two districts, Kargil District and Leh District, or, West and East. Kargil is mostly Muslim, while Leh is Buddhist. The people of the Zanskar mountains are Buddhist, however, and the administration of Kargil is not too thrilled about having them in their district. Kargil has made it nearly impossible to get to Zanskar without paying the taxi union of Kargil heaping tons of money. Since transportation throughout the district is leagally under their control, nothing can really be done about this.
So this is how it pans out. There are three "classes" of vehicles that I have encountered: passenger cars and taxis, buses, and loadcarriers (privately owned "Indian Hummers"). For the last few days, Norbu and I have been looking for a passenger car for me to hitch a ride with, but due to recent information, we have discovered Kargil District will now stop even privately owned cars that simply resemble taxis, looking for the tourists to fork out the cash. We have now abandoned this possibility. That leaves buses and loadcarriers. Buses have been leaving 3 or 4 times a week, but the ride will surely take years off of my life. The buses, unregulated by the Kargil taxi union, are so unbelievable packed and the drive is nonstop (20 hours) through the bumpy roads of Ladakh. Even Norbu, a Zanskar native, has only used this option once, and it was when he was in elementary school with his class. This is going to be the absolute last option for me. Although they are perfectly safe, I will probably be pretty crabby for some time after the ride.
Sonam's travel agency owns a loadcarrier for the drive to Zanskar. Sonam is quite determined to go to Zanskar, as his wife who resides there is very sick. He is so overloaded with responisiblity here in Leh that he is finding it very difficult to make the trip. He has encouraged me that he is leaving very soon, and it looks like I might just have to wait. Another option that has presented itself is to possibly trek to Zanskar with Norbu, although Norbu may not be available for this. Tonight we are going to look at all of my options, and figure out the best way to get to the monastery in Zanskar. This predicament has surely been challenging and has tested my patience on a number of occasions, but the prospect of peace and serenity in Zanskar is too hard to shake.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Second Day In Leh, Cultural Explosion Ensues
After a full day of rest at the guest house, my contact here in Leh, Sonam, accompanied me to his travel agency office. There I met his associates, who were extremely friendly, local Ladakhis, most of them born and raised in the remote Zanskar mountains (the location of the monastery I will be living at). Norbu, Sonam's nephew, offered to show me around Leh. An incredibly charasmatic man, Norbu took me through the back alleys of Leh, showing me the city in full and offering hilarious commentary along the way (one of the most memorable points of the tour...the Leh "ice rink" which currently resembles the Lousiana Bayou). Once back in the vicinity of the office, Norbu offered me lunch with the rest of the travel agency office. I happliy obliged, at which point he took me up to the second story storage closet for all of their camping gear. Immediately he explained that they usually cook lunch up there because the price is right and it is much more hygenic than Leh's restuarants. And immediately I thought: "More hygenic? I'm in a dusty storage closet and we are making food on a camping stove!" Norbu made a crack that Rigzin, one of the other office workers, was their special cook. Rigzin rolled his eyes and continued stirring the pots. Another man was cutting a cucumber nearby, and when he finished, he threw the knife across the room where it stuck firmly to the wall. "Can you believe he's married?!" Norbu exclaimed. We all had a good laugh at that. Another man, the very large Dorjey, walked in, joining us for goat and spinach on rice. Dorjey looked at me for some time, and then asked, "so where's girlfriend?" We all laughed. He then asked how old I was. When I told him I was 18 he was very suprised. "Very young! Very young!" he said. We introduced ourselves and talked for a long time in short, simple English.
Norbu said to meet back at 6:30 at the office for dinner, so I went off on my way and headed back to the guest house. Strolling back there was confusing to say the least - that was the first time in my life I went in a complete circle while being lost (since then I've come to know Leh quite well, however). I spent some time studying my maps when I arrived back to my room, and I was rewarded on my return back to the office at 6:30. Norbu then took me to the main street of Leh, which is covered by shops of every kind. Unknowingly, Norbu gave me a crash course on Ladakhi culture in about 15 minutes flat. He purchased local, organic vegetables from an old woman on the main bazar, where she weighed them by hand on a scale that's probably been in her family for generations. Then he took me down a side street and took a hard right into some alleyway I didn't even notice. What we entered was a fruit and vegetable crater - a market unlike anything I had ever seen. The freshest produce, combined with the "back alley" feel made this the coolest way to purchase food that I had ever seen. We left and headed off for his place. Some half mile from the office was his quaint Ladakhi appartment. Norbu introduced me to his landlord, an old Ladakhi schoolteacher probably 60 years of age. She didn't know a word of English, but that didn't stop us from having tea with her. She offered me endless, and I mean endless, cups of tea. At this point I used my first bit of Ladakhi: "dik dik, jule" or "That's enough, thank you." (On a side note, I am attempting to learn the language). The room was very small, with oriental carpets lining the floor. Norbu left to begin making dinner. When the woman's husband arrived, he flipped out that there was an American in his home. He ran around, looking for things to offer me. He opened a drawyer and pulled out a handful of pink candies, juxtaposed to his old, labored hands. I took one, and he said "don don" or "eat eat". It was actually quite tasty. He began to poor me more tea. His wife said something along the lines of "he doesn't want anymore tea" of which he replied, "I'm am going to give him more tea." Sonam then walked in and saw me sitting by myself with this old Ladakhi couple, with tea cups and pink candy wrappers on the table. He laughed for a long time and then walked away shaking his head sighing, "oh boy." The Ladakhi woman then began making her dinner, cutting vegetables on a cutting board placed on the floor. The smell of those fresh vegetables filled the entire room. She also began rolling some dough for who knows what. Sonam then came in and joined us, and he and I began discussing "Ladakhi politics" for some time. In short, Sonam mentioned that India feels more threatened by China than Pakistan (in regards to the Jammu and Kashmir region), and the Indian army prescense in Ladakh is twice that of the Ladakhi population. He also feels the Indian democracy "lacks control" and that the money is not being distrubted properly throughout the entire country's people. In Ladakh, however, this is not a problem. All Ladakhis are self sufficent; from rich to poor, everyone can basically take care of themselves by tending to their homes, crops, and livestock. Even still, the rich-poor gap in Ladakh is practically nonexistent. Beggars in Ladakh are not Ladakhis, they are central and south Indians who migrate there during the summer/tourist months. On another note, the government of India also set up a "judicial system" in Zanskar, and cancelled it after one year because there was not a single reported crime of any kind. What an amazing place this is!
Norbu then called Sonam and I in for dinner, which was some kind of tomato chicken thing over rice with some lentils on the side. He also brought some of his landlord's dinner, tukpa, which is a traditional Ladakhi soup containing vegetables and noodles. So I ate this soup containing vegetables just picked and cut and noodles just rolled out and cooked. It was the best soup of my life. The food is unbelievably fresh here. Norbu told me I will have tukpa very frequently at the monastery in Zanskar. After dinner, Norbu walked me back in the pitch black darkness to my guesthouse. This was all one day, June 4th, and only my second day in this magnificent place. Since then I have had many days just like it. Whether it's been at a dark and dingy Kashmiri eatery or through the back alleys of Leh, these people have accompained me by their own accord. The hospitaity here is immense. I think it helps that I am basically a free bird here in Leh - I'm young and open-minded. They took me in because they felt they could share their cultue with me. I am not having the typical tourist experience here in Leh. I'm actually living the life of a local, and it's just getting started.
Norbu said to meet back at 6:30 at the office for dinner, so I went off on my way and headed back to the guest house. Strolling back there was confusing to say the least - that was the first time in my life I went in a complete circle while being lost (since then I've come to know Leh quite well, however). I spent some time studying my maps when I arrived back to my room, and I was rewarded on my return back to the office at 6:30. Norbu then took me to the main street of Leh, which is covered by shops of every kind. Unknowingly, Norbu gave me a crash course on Ladakhi culture in about 15 minutes flat. He purchased local, organic vegetables from an old woman on the main bazar, where she weighed them by hand on a scale that's probably been in her family for generations. Then he took me down a side street and took a hard right into some alleyway I didn't even notice. What we entered was a fruit and vegetable crater - a market unlike anything I had ever seen. The freshest produce, combined with the "back alley" feel made this the coolest way to purchase food that I had ever seen. We left and headed off for his place. Some half mile from the office was his quaint Ladakhi appartment. Norbu introduced me to his landlord, an old Ladakhi schoolteacher probably 60 years of age. She didn't know a word of English, but that didn't stop us from having tea with her. She offered me endless, and I mean endless, cups of tea. At this point I used my first bit of Ladakhi: "dik dik, jule" or "That's enough, thank you." (On a side note, I am attempting to learn the language). The room was very small, with oriental carpets lining the floor. Norbu left to begin making dinner. When the woman's husband arrived, he flipped out that there was an American in his home. He ran around, looking for things to offer me. He opened a drawyer and pulled out a handful of pink candies, juxtaposed to his old, labored hands. I took one, and he said "don don" or "eat eat". It was actually quite tasty. He began to poor me more tea. His wife said something along the lines of "he doesn't want anymore tea" of which he replied, "I'm am going to give him more tea." Sonam then walked in and saw me sitting by myself with this old Ladakhi couple, with tea cups and pink candy wrappers on the table. He laughed for a long time and then walked away shaking his head sighing, "oh boy." The Ladakhi woman then began making her dinner, cutting vegetables on a cutting board placed on the floor. The smell of those fresh vegetables filled the entire room. She also began rolling some dough for who knows what. Sonam then came in and joined us, and he and I began discussing "Ladakhi politics" for some time. In short, Sonam mentioned that India feels more threatened by China than Pakistan (in regards to the Jammu and Kashmir region), and the Indian army prescense in Ladakh is twice that of the Ladakhi population. He also feels the Indian democracy "lacks control" and that the money is not being distrubted properly throughout the entire country's people. In Ladakh, however, this is not a problem. All Ladakhis are self sufficent; from rich to poor, everyone can basically take care of themselves by tending to their homes, crops, and livestock. Even still, the rich-poor gap in Ladakh is practically nonexistent. Beggars in Ladakh are not Ladakhis, they are central and south Indians who migrate there during the summer/tourist months. On another note, the government of India also set up a "judicial system" in Zanskar, and cancelled it after one year because there was not a single reported crime of any kind. What an amazing place this is!
Norbu then called Sonam and I in for dinner, which was some kind of tomato chicken thing over rice with some lentils on the side. He also brought some of his landlord's dinner, tukpa, which is a traditional Ladakhi soup containing vegetables and noodles. So I ate this soup containing vegetables just picked and cut and noodles just rolled out and cooked. It was the best soup of my life. The food is unbelievably fresh here. Norbu told me I will have tukpa very frequently at the monastery in Zanskar. After dinner, Norbu walked me back in the pitch black darkness to my guesthouse. This was all one day, June 4th, and only my second day in this magnificent place. Since then I have had many days just like it. Whether it's been at a dark and dingy Kashmiri eatery or through the back alleys of Leh, these people have accompained me by their own accord. The hospitaity here is immense. I think it helps that I am basically a free bird here in Leh - I'm young and open-minded. They took me in because they felt they could share their cultue with me. I am not having the typical tourist experience here in Leh. I'm actually living the life of a local, and it's just getting started.
Photos of Leh: Market, Old Town, and Downtown Leh
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| One of Leh's vibrant markets (people pictured here are Indian tourists, not Ladakhis) |
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| Old Town |
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| Downtown Leh |
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Getting to Leh, Ladakh
I eagerly anticipated the flight to Leh, because getting to Leh by air requires flying over the Himalayas. I'm at a loss for words about what I saw out the window of that plane. I wanted to parachute out the back and start trekking right there. Landing in Leh was no easy feat - the pilot ended up pulling a fast downward "J" onto the runway, in a narrow valley of the surrounding mountains. My contact in Leh picked me up at the "airport" and took me to a comfortable guest house run by a very hospitable Ladakhi family. I took it easy there for a full day, acclimating to 12,000 feet by hanging out at the rooftop restaurant, drinking tea, and admiring the enormous mountain landscape. Leh is easily the most remote, authentic place I have been to in my entire life, yet I know my environment will only continue to become more remote as I move deeper into the mountains.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Arrived in Delhi
After 20 hours of flight time I've finally made it to Delhi. My contact in Delhi, a native Ladakhi, eagerly awaited my arrival at the airport and drove me to the World Buddhist Center, where I will stay until I fly out to Leh tomorrow morning. Let me just begin by saying that Delhi makes downtown New York City look like the Japanese Tea Garden. The rules of the road are merely optional here. A parked car in the middle of a highway or a bicycle riding against the flow of traffic is not uncommon. Red lights will result in a swarm of people around the stopped cars looking for quick sales. This place is a true free-for-all, but surely a sight to be seen. I am grateful for having a prearranged contact, for I would not have been able to enjoy the experience had I been in control of the situation.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Leaving Tomorrow
Hello everyone! I leave for India late tomorrow night, and I just want to make sure you've all received my travel blog. I will be traveling to Ladakh, where I'll be teaching English at a Tibetan Buddhist monastery for several weeks. This opportunity was presented to me by a professor and Buddhist nun at the University of San Diego, and I couldn't turn it down. I'll be sure to locate internet access throughout the summer and keep you all posted!
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