Dear Friends,
Hope that this letter finds you in good health and spirit!
I am writing it from Ladakh, one of the highest and driest human habitats on Earth, which geographically belongs to India and culturally harbours the traditional pre-Chinese Tibet.
We headed to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, almost a month ago in the hope to exchange the mouldy rains of Dharamsala for the sunny high altitude of the Himalayan range.
The road to Leh was an adventure on its own. We started off from MacLeod Ganj in a "delux" mini bus (Indians have certain affinity to such words as "delux", "super delux", "emporium", etc ). It proved to lack the seats we had booked through an agency, and with reason: the seats we were sold were for a standard size bus. Seven hours of night roads cluttered with oblivious to the traffic sleeping cows, a tire change, a couple of anti nausea pills, and we arrived to Manali, one of the hill stations which provide relief from the hot summer months to thousands of Indian and European tourists. Not having any desire to be bombarded by the tourist industry, we decided to seek refuge in the near by Hindu village of Vashisht.
At 4:30 a.m. Vashisht was in deep slumber: there were no 24hr coffee shops, sleepy hotel receptionists, or even electricity. After wandering in the dark for awhile, backpacks and flashlights on, we settled on the steps of an ancient Shiva temple, which intricate wood carved structure was the only lit place at this hour. The night "vigil" paid back at 5:30 a.m. when the temple was opened and a sweet female voice sang a bouncy chant to Shiva to which a Japanese girl traveling with us from MacLeod graciously danced.
Vashisht staid in my memory as the village of rooftops. Everything happened above the houses: piles of grass were drying under the generous sun, kids played, women washed clothes and brushed their hair, travellers drank their morning tea... I can still vividly imagine that vertical slice of a theatre stage, where one could enjoy multiple plays simultaneously.
After resting for two days we continued our journey to Leh in another "delux" bus, this time indeed large with only four people in it including the two of us. Often, during our two day bus ride I was convinced that the bus will not be able to continue. The narrow roads, resembling more donkey paths rather than places for two vehicles to pass each other, the impossible cliffs, the breaks of the bus quickly fixed with a scotch tape kept us awake :-) Only the beauty surrounding us made it possible to bare the sight of Tata trucks violently crushed at the bottom of some unfortunate turns. My eyes kept on running between the improbable rock formations resembling sand castles built by some giant child-god, the waters flying down the sharp edges of the mountains, and the prayer flags torn by the winds at the highest passes. On top of this clash of extreme beauty and danger, was the crown of Indian black road humor: "This short cut can cut your life short", "If married, divorce speed"...(it looked like someone had had a really fun project ...)
It's been almost three weeks now since we arrived in Leh, 10 days of which we spent acclimatizing to the altitude, chasing our breath while climbing the steep hills to the ruined royal castle and the new Shanti Stupa. Leh is a charming unique place. The big white houses are adorned with carved wooden window frames and luscious gardens, neatly separated from the streets with low stony fences and streams of glacier water used for irrigation and household needs.
It is also a city speedily embracing industrial "development". One can see this in the abundance of Kashmiri vendors, Ladakhi trekking companies, jeeps and motorcycles generously puffing clouds of black fume into the crispy air, English, German, and what not bakeries and cuisines competing with Tibetan kitchens, and luckily, in the presence of numerous Women's associations raising awareness of the value of local organic products or the harmful effect of plastic on the environment. (by the way, the usage of plastic shopping bags has been band in whole Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir, and Himachal Pradesh!)
To meet with the local people and the mountains we decided to venture on a 10 day trek through the Hemmis High Altitude National Park. The so called Markha valley trek sounded like a walk in the park as it offered stays in village homes as opposed to the regular tents notorious with its unpredictable (until the first rain) quality. Little did we know!
Markha valley indeed is a stunningly beautiful walk when there is no need to cover in a day the distance to the next village, which could be anywhere between 3 to 12 hrs of gaping at monstrous cliffs, or of crossing rivers by jumping from boulder to boulder, or by strolling barefoot through the icy cold water, or of climbing passes way beyond our stroll effort. Wait, I am not finished complaining yet :-)
As for the passes, we had to cross two: the first at over 4.900 m, and the second at 5.100m. The last pass was in the middle of our longest day and was accompanied by snow-hail-rain that made us feel like survivors. This feeling became stronger when we learned that the only place to rest that night was the kitchen floor of the booked ahead house. In the village not even one house was willing to open its doors to late travellers!
This incident concluded for me a period of idealisation of the Ladakhi culture and hospitality, which had already suffered some erosion: a week of eating chapati (round thin bread) for breakfast and lunch did challenge my love for the entire humanity :-)
This 10 days taught me how difficult it is to stay open, understanding, even curios, while feeling vulnerable and dependant on an environment and people completely unknown (which sometimes translates as hostile). Ladakhi people still appear to me to be earthy, with jolly slow pace of life and healthy sense of humor, but their fears, like ours, build barriers of hatred and envy.
The last couple of days, I and Misha have been catching up on lost pounds and rest, and are planning day trips to the local Buddhist monasteries. A lot of our time is also spent reading, meeting people (mostly travellers like us), and working on our determination to meditate daily :-)
The lack of routine is making me feel restless at times, and I keep on reminding myself of the blissful moments of spontaneity and freedom.
Wish you much joy and peace!
With love,
Teodora
P.S.: I've finally made a tiny attempt to start my travel blog. Here is the site were you can read about our European adventures (promise to add more entries soon!) and enjoy Misha's wonderful photo work.
