THE LAND OF FLYING LAMAS & OTHER REAL TRAVEL STORIES FROM THE INDIAN HIMALAYA

by GAURAV PUNJ

  ***

  We walked for about twenty minutes, but the glacier had receded too far away and could not have been reached for another two hours, so we just took in the stunning Kolahoi peak looming in front and returned to fetch Bhavana. We debated whether to give any ‘tip’ to the woman – it’s hard to let go of bad habits –but wisely decided against it; they looked so proud and content, what indeed could we give them. Warm goodbyes were said, some more hugging took place and with a still stuttering Bhavana we started our journey back.

  We walked in a much more relaxed fashion on the way back, which btw, always happens. The tension of having to reach somewhere and the thought of the return journey keeps you strung up and the walk back is when you actually enjoy the scenery and observe all the wonderful things on a trek. And so we saw a snow patch close by, just off the trail, and decided to walk up to it. I guess we are all competitive to various degrees and it’s difficult at such moments to differentiate between the urge to explore and the need to prove something. Anyway, leaving Bhavana to rest on a rock (collapsed on a rock, I should say; it was still above 3000m), and me to my camera, which in such situations acts as a good excuse to not go scampering up steep slopes, Rujuta and Zahir started walking towards the snow. They were soon joined by couple of Gujjar men and I could hear them all laughing while briskly walking up. Not for long though. The pace slowed down, then the ‘hands on knees’ posture we all know so well, some longing glances back toward us, a discussion and the return march.

  In no time we were back on the grassy meadows, which after a day on loose rock felt even more inviting, and we celebrated by doing a ‘roll down the slope’ routine, one by one, including the miraculously recovered Bhavana (and here is proof on page ii in the inserts).

  It was getting late and we knew Javed would give us a tough time about boring him, which he did, to perfection: the sulking face, hurt tone, all of it was there. He soon cheered up though; it was time for his favourite chore – cooking dinner. Bhavana, after her 3000m syndrome, was in her element and took it upon herself to ‘assist’ Javed, which soon became ‘instruct’ Javed. ‘Yeh kya kiya?’, ‘Namak kam daalo’, and Javed was on the brink of leaving us and going back. We had to diplomatically resolve this situation and ensure we had something to eat that night. Which by the way, was a moonlit night unlike any we had seen. The rustling Lidder, the silhouettes of our ponies grazing on the banks, the snow-covered peaks and a full moon in the sky. Did someone say something about Kashmir being a paradise? He was right.

  The return trek to Aru was uneventful and we thoroughly enjoyed the scenery, knowing very well how lucky we were to get a chance to see Kashmir like this. A chance we had felt we might never get, a chance which not just us, an entire generation felt was denied to them, a chance which Javed never stopped dreaming about. For all of us, Javed and Kashmir, this is a second chance and we must make the most of it.

  ***

  Raju, the Guide

  Short mein bole toh, Kashmir is back. Just go there, anytime.

  More reading

  Some books and guides that are easily available and which I have managed to read and gained from (Note – since 1989, almost no travel guide covers Kashmir, which will change soon of course):

  Title

  Category

  Author

  Remarks

  Kashmir As It Was

  (1908)

  History and exploration

  Francis Younghusband

  A comprehensive book on Kashmir by one of the empire’s best explorers.

  Travels in Kashmir

  (1989)

  Travelogue / history

  Brigid Keenan

  A non-academic, easy to read history of travel, religion and arts in Kashmir.

  Lonely Planet Kashmir, Ladakh & Zanskar (1989)

  Guidebook

  Margaret and Rolf Schettler

  It’s out of print right now, but check out travel bookshops – you might get lucky.

  Eighty-three Days: The Story of a Frozen River

  (2000)

  Memoir

  Dr S.N. Dhar

  The author was taken hostage in 1992. This is one of the few inside accounts of those times.

  What else to do in Kashmir

  Trekking – The region between Pahalgam and Sonmarg has some really good, easy treks and they are all open now for tourists. And whenever restrictions are lifted from Kishtwar, don’t wait a day to trek there – it’s the ultimate destination.

  Skiing – The global consensus is that Gulmarg has some of the best skiing slopes, and now that it has good places to stay, ski lifts and a wonderful gandola (highest in the world), no reason not to go there in winter.

  Chilling out – Try Srinagar in autumn or early spring and you will never want to be anywhere else. It has places to stay to suit all budgets.

  Point to be noted

  The houseboats have fallen out of favour as they have suffered the most from the long absence of tourists. They’re not clean and are constantly frequented by touts trying to sell you something. But there is hope that they will soon recover as the romance of staying on the Dal lake and seeing the sun rise or set is unbeatable. For now, stay at the more popular ones, even if it means having to spend a little more.

  Local service providers

  Unfortunately, it’s tough to recommend a local trekking agency, they are still in the process of getting better, but in Pahalgam you can get in touch with the Jawahar Institute of Mountaineering and Winter Sports for help with your trek. www.jawaharinstitutepahalgam.com.

  Javed didn’t have a contact number at that point of time, or perhaps I lost it, but I am hopeful I will find him soon enough; he’ll probably be taking pilgrims on his pony to Amarnath. But I can recommend a local guide in Gulmarg who is genuine and resourceful and helps with your stay, trekking, skiing, etc. Nisar Bhai: 9906829949.

  Story 2

  The Ladakh Blues, Whites and Browns

  Hand-drawn maps for representation purposes only. Not to scale.

  The setting

  Much before the Bajaj Avenger rode through its dusty lands and the rider ‘forgave us all’, before 3 Idiots put Pangong Tso on the national must-see list and increased the GDP of Ladakh by twenty-five per cent, and before a freak cloudburst made people realize that Leh is no ordinary hill station, Ladakh had captured the imagination of many a wanderer. It was THE place to go to if you were looking to travel to ‘discover what life is’ and other such pseudo-intellectual pursuits, as people sought answers in its starkness. But I am still talking about the last decade; let’s go back a bit more. In the ’80s and ’90s it was the snow leopard that put Ladakh on the conservation and documentary map. Otherwise not much happened there from 1949 onwards when the Chinese closed the border trade between Nubra and Sinkiang. But before that, boy, it was rocking.

  Leh, the largest town in Ladakh, happened to be conveniently located on one of the busiest junctions on the world’s greatest and oldest trading routes, collectively called the Silk Route (ah, whoever came up with that name must have been a die-hard romantic). ‘The cross-roads of high Asia,’ as Janet Rizvi called it in her book with the same title, was perhaps the world’s first and truly global village, with traders from all over, including Turkestan, Tibet, Punjab, Kashmir and Baltistan, always present in its inns, drinking chang one would imagine, and resting their tired limbs. Ladakhis themselves weren’t much of traders however, apart from some in the border areas, and prospered from the trade rou
te by levying taxes on goods passing through their land. In the 19th century, an additional, although minor, activity led to the infusion of some more cash: adventure tourism.

  Yes. As per Arthur Neves’ The Tourist’s Guide to Kashmir, Ladakh and Skardo, first published in 1911, there were agencies set up for ‘trekking, fishing, etc.’ as early as the 19th century (another first I would presume). I didn’t do any major research for this – it’s common knowledge and is even on Wikipedia. The point I am making is that Ladakh always had this ‘pull’; it might have lost it temporarily for a few decades, but it’s back now, stronger than ever.

  A quick word on the most fascinating aspect of Ladakh: Buddhism. As one travels from Kashmir to Ladakh, not only does the terrain change, so do the people and the culture and religion they follow. From Kashmiri Islam, it shifts to the Dard culture (a unique mixture of Islam and Buddhist practices) of Kargil and Suru valley and then, from Mulbek onwards, to the Tibetan Buddhism of Ladakh and upper Zanskar.

  Spiti in Himachal also has a similar transformation from Hinduism to Buddhism. Between Ladakh and Spiti, they have managed to retain and, in many ways, add to this form of Buddhism, and are perhaps the last surviving pure Tibetan Buddhism centres.

  For the uninitiated, Buddhism spread from India to Tibet (in addition to many other places) around 7th century ad, and a couple of centuries later came back from there to Ladakh and Spiti, in a modified version called Tibetan Buddhism (the combination of Buddhism with the native Bon religion of Tibet, or ‘nature worship’).

  The stage

  From Leh, you can see two prominent chains of mountains, the Ladakh range to the north and Zanskar towards the south. Between these two flows the Indus, the mighty river that predates even the Himalaya. One can cross over either of these two ranges on motorable roads, amongst the highest in the world. And in the case of the Ladakh range, after crossing the Khardung La, one reaches the greenest valley in Ladakh – the Nubra valley. Two rivers, Nubra and Shyok, flow through it and these combined with the lower altitude make it conducive for agriculture. Paradoxically, this is also the valley with the only sand dunes in Ladakh.

  Vagaries of nature aside, it came into prominence recently because through it passes the road to the Siachen glacier and the northernmost tip of India. Locals, so cut off from the world for ages, have still not been able to come to terms with the valley’s status as one of Ladakh’s holy tourist trinity, along with Pangong lake and Leh town.

  The cast

  Indian and foreign tourists stranded in the Nubra valley, the dhaba family, our two drivers Tashi and Sonam, and our group of eight.

  The act: The Khardung La adventure and patriotism at 4500m

  ‘Will there be snow on the top?’ ‘Yes, more than you can handle,’ I replied, without realizing how true these words were going to be. We had just started climbing up towards the Khardung La from the Leh side. It was 8 a.m., the air was absolutely still, the sky a deep blue, a monastery on a hill was lit up by the sun, and the Indus was snaking its way through the high plateau in the distance, in other words, a typical morning in Ladakh. We were in two cars, the eight of us, and by now felt like veterans of the Ladakhi roads with around 500 km under our belt since we’d started from Srinagar. But this was the highest we would go on this trip, on any trip ever, and the excitement levels were more than 5600m high. Over dinner the previous night, we had spoken about our strategy for the world’s highest motorable road – while going to Nubra, spend as little time as possible on the top, leave all the fun, i.e. snow fights, photographs, souvenirs, etc. for the way back. Logic: more time to acclimatize.

  All well and good was the general mood as we started gaining height, fast. We passed a bunch of cyclists, all foreigners, on their way up, really struggling but persevering. The usual debate on how all foreigners are so fit and Indians aren’t ensued and I contributed with my well-practised line: ‘Not all foreigners are fit; only the fit ones come here to do such hardcore activities.’

  It had started getting cold, and we rolled up the car windows, put on an extra sweater, cap and snuggled closer to each other. ‘Keep sipping water,’ I gently reminded everyone, and they did so obediently. The group surely had a sense of occasion and they knew where they were. My job is easy, I thought to myself.

  We were now above 4500m and soon enough snow appeared on the side of the road and as usual the sight excited everyone. The car was stopped and photographs clicked, the cold and acclimatization forgotten for the time being. We could also see fresh footprints of an animal, identified by our driver, Tashi, as blue sheep; it must have scampered up the slope on hearing our vehicle approaching. It was windy and that ensured that no one could stay out for long, so we soon started the drive up.

  We crossed South Pullu, an army checkpoint (and a place to pee), and now were on the final climb to the top.

  The Khardung La adventure

  In an exhibition of how quickly the weather changes in the Himalaya, especially at such high altitudes, a factor most recreational tourists to Ladakh have still not understood, the wind brought with itself fast moving clouds. Within no time, less than ten minutes to be precise, the scene had changed: sunlight replaced with low visibility, crisp air with moisture, Tashi’s whistling with his intense gaze fixed to the top of the pass, excited chatter in the car with tense silence. The Khardung La adventure had begun.

  It wasn’t raining but Tashi had to use his wipers anyway to clear the moisture build up on the windscreen. ‘Have you ever seen snow fall?’ I asked Arzoo. She nodded, though her eyes were focused on the road ahead, like everyone else in the car, silently backing Tashi. ‘And a snowstorm?’ This got her to abandon Tashi for a moment and look at me with a mixture of thrill and apprehension, I guess, but which somehow manifested itself as an angry expression. ‘Not that I am saying there will be a snowstorm. July and August is not the time for snowstorms, don’t worry,’ I blurted quickly before the others turned on me too, and tried to change the subject by asking Tashi, ‘How much more time to the top?’ An uncharacteristically sombre Tashi replied with a ‘Mausam pe hai sir, phas bhi sakte hain.’ And we were well and truly psyched.

  The weather gods must have decided not to fuel our apprehensions any longer, and there it was, the snowflakes on the windscreen, the first place they are always noticed. As the wipers struggled to clear the snow and the car slowed down, we realized the snowfall hadn’t just started; we had only entered the area where it had been snowing already. There was snow on the road and as we drove cautiously over the tracks made by cars ahead of us, we knew it would take a long time to cover these last 2-3 km to the top. And soon enough, there was the first skid, a shriek, tentative laughter, change of gears and inaudible cursing. ‘Bhaiya sambhal ke,’ one of us offered this useless advice to an already tense Tashi, and he smartly ignored it. It’s not uncommon for them to drive through snow when going up to or down from Khardung La.

  The snowfall was steady and the entire scene was, well, it’s tough to describe when the only colour you see everywhere is white. The mountain ranges, which now appeared to be lower than us, were covered in a fresh layer of snow, snowflakes were falling in slow motion in the valley below, the road ahead was white, and it all felt really cold. On cue, the car gave a jerk and Tashi brought it to a stop before declaring, ‘Dhakka marna padega, too slippery.’

  We all got out quite happily: it was too much to sit in a skidding car. Some of us pushed the car and some walked along on the frozen road (photograph on page iii in the inserts). A couple of hundred metres further we turned a bend and there it was, the top. More importantly, a cafeteria run by the army.

  Quite a few cars were parked there and the cafeteria was bustling with activity. The army was offering hot kahwa to everyone, and we also had the choice of buying a cup of tea, coffee, a plate of samosa or Maggi. However precarious your situation might be, it’s amazing how hot food and a cup of tea can make you feel bette
r. We were at 5600m, really really high by any standard, there was a snowstorm outside, cars couldn’t drive us out of there, and here we were, talking animatedly about the amazing marketing and reach of instant noodles.

  The altitude though had the final say and when the forced break extended for more than an hour, quite a few people in the cafeteria started feeling it. An altitude-induced headache is quite different from the common one. For starters, it is always accompanied by at least two or three of its sidekicks, breathlessness and dizziness being the prominent ones. And because you’re suffering from it at a place far away and vastly different from your home, it gets exaggerated in your mind. Lastly, there is so much conflicting information on what caused it and how to deal with it, that it can be overwhelming. Allow me to promote one of the appendices in this book (page 203): From my travels, from listening to people’s experiences and from research, books, articles on the subject, I have collated all that you need to know and understand about altitude sickness.

  Anyhow, we are still at the top of Khardung La, the snow has stopped falling, but the army hasn’t given the green signal for vehicles to cross over, even though their supplies of hot drinks and snacks are almost over. ‘Checking the roads, sir,’ Tashi told us. He and all the other drivers were standing outside in the open, laughing out loud, pulling each other’s leg, things they would do if they were waiting outside a shaadi party in Delhi. We envied them their immunity towards the cold and altitude, conveniently forgetting that this is their home, their way of life.

  ‘Chalo sir,’ Tashi finally came inside to call us, and we literally jumped from our chairs, so willing now to sit in the same car we’d been desperate to get out of an hour and a half back. The high Himalayan weather reinforced its unpredictable nature by showering us with bright, warm sunlight and blue skies with fast moving clouds, this time moving away from each other.