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Drowning in the sprawling crowds that flood most of India, and gasping for unadulterated air, Kim finally goes bananas and decides to get lost in remotest Himalaya.
Tucked away in the most isolated Himalayan India neighbouring Tibet is the region of Spiti. Location: The middle of nowhere, Population: sparse, Inhabitants: goats, donkeys, yaks and maybe the occasional homo sapien. Perfect :)
Comfy and overly-well fed, I pottered around in the quaint hill town of Shimla for a week, and it was here I met the amiable bunch of travellers who ultimately I was to go trekking with.
What was I getting myself in for exactly? I can't say I really knew. Himalayas, yeah I've heard of them...
The trek lasted for 5 days and involved another 4 days of jeep travel just to get there and back!
It hadn't crossed my mind to do anything remotely like this before, I had no equipment, no insurance and no experience. But it had to be done.

The Spiti 7

My trek companions, the self appointed 'Spiti 7' was a nice mix of nationalities; Audrey (French), Fred & Franzi (German), Loki (Viennese born American-Australian), and myself (English). Not forgetting our sterling Indian guides, Negi and Lara. Spending over a week at close quarters in potentially unpleasant conditions can be a risk, so it was reassuring to have such a congenial crew. I suppose I'd find out soon enough who has the bad BO.

Worries

And so the trip begins! 30th of March we stuff ourselves into the jeep and set off from Shimla.
It's worth pointing out that most (sane) people trekking in Spiti go around July-August-Sept time, and when I found this out I couldn't help but wonder why we were going a good 3 months early. It seems the main reason for this is that in summer time you're less likely to have your balls frozen off. Good idea? Stupid idea? Worry number one.

After the first day, all seems well. The weather's a bit overcast, but its not cold. Before long, the hills start to grow rockier, the vegetation starts to disappear and the sky seems to get smaller and smaller. After a while, 90% of your field of vision is dominated by rock, cliffs carved from mountains, and you have to crane your neck to see any sky.
And that's just looking up! Dare you look down you might feel a little queasy, it's a long drop. The roads aren't always in great shape and you're lucky if you get a barricade. Not reassuring are the government warning signs "licence to drive, not to fly!", or the fact that heavy trucks may have "Good Luck!" stamped on the back. I remember seeing one that said "Oh God save me!" emblazoned on the front.
Our guide Negi didn't seem to think we were in any great danger ("Most dangerous road in India" - Lonely Planet) but he still felt the need to stop at a temple en-route to scatter blessings the jeep. Worry number 2.

Despite the possibility of suddenly becoming airborne, (highlighted quite indiscreetly one one occasion by a clumsy juggernaut) the perilous journey offered us breathtaking views. As we climbed up higher and higher, up the serpentine hairpins we got a glorious view overlooking the Spiti valley. On one side, craggy rock formations - akin to something I'd associate more with Arizona than India- the other the Trans-Himalayan range, snowy and spectacular.
We rose to about 3,600 metres in altitude on the 2nd day. We would rise to a maximum of 4,700m. This is my 3rd worry, mainly because once you breach 3000m that's usually when problems start to occur, and I can't claim to have been very high in my life (how high is Combe Down?). Altitude sickness tends to affect people indiscriminate of fitness, so at least I don't have to feel bad about all those Samosas.

Trekking. Or should I say trudging?

1st of April, and it begins! We disembark from our jeep that has brought us to Spiti intact. We start walking from the unique and incredible village of Dhankar, after popping into the monastery incredibly perched on a knobbly cliff. (Incidentally, home to a spectacular long-drop toilet which offers views unlike any other loo! You can see the Himalayas while you're doing a poo!)
Wandering out into the barren but beguiling desert terrain, we began our march, wide eyed, along the side of the remarkable Spiti valley. A few kilometers ahead we crossed to the other face of the mountain and found everything had turned to white, and then proceeded to wade our way through knee-deep snow!
It wasn't really much colder than England (and you guys are having snow too, right?) and what was at first fun (frolicking, snowballs etc) turned into a massive pain in the arse; onto which one regularly fell onto if you weren't paying attention. At any moment the snow could crumble beneath your feet and you'd find you could no longer see your leg. At first funny... After the 100th time, you felt like having a little cry.

Spitian Hospitality

I probably should have mentioned by now that we weren't camping out. Oho no, you think we're that daft?! Arranged for us at the end of every leg was a warm and cosy village homestay. Here, a local family houses you, feeds you, sings you folk songs and generally takes good care of you.
Spiti is incredibly isolated from the rest of India, having one sole artery that runs through it (the aforementioned road of death) and the lowest population in Himachal Pradesh. The inhabitants are simple folk, agricultural based community of tiny hamlet sized villages.
Facilities are rudimentary to say the least, all water has to be boiled for us fragile westerners, and if you've come expecting a flushing toilet you will probably get laughed at.
Nothing more welcoming after a long hard day's trek through (bastard) snow than arriving to a cosy intimate family abode. We got a real slice of Spitian customs and food (which is more like Tibet than India). It wasn't uncommon to leave the communal dining room to find your path blocked by a yak which was being led through the corridor. Occasionally I'd stumble into a room I'd previously assumed to be the toilet only to find the back end of a cow.
Everyone we encountered was incredibly friendly, and the kids in Spiti are possibly the cutest little munchkins in the world, there were a few murmurs of taking some home with us.

Mountain moods

By the third day of tiresome trekking we made it to the highest point of the trek- Khomic (supposedly the highest village in the world with electricity). After a night at this altitude I felt OK (bar some dodgy remnants of the local alcohol in my system) so felt more at ease. Mornings were bitingly cold, but the best time to steal some mountain views.
Being so high up and so isolated, its impossible not to feel a little lonely. Especially with the chilling cold, I got a real sense of solitude. Not necessarily in a melancholic sense, I quite liked feeling so far removed from the rest of the world and indeed we had no contact whatsoever.
I think if it were possible I would like to stay in such a place for a longer period of time, to really appreciate it. Although I'm not sure I could really get excited about living off the local yak or donkey meat.

Trektastic

We finally arrivedf in Kaza on the 5th day of trekking, and it felt great. Everything had gone smoothly and having walked so far was a real achievement for us. Needless to say I can't remember much of the evening we spent in Kaza!
It turns out we were the first tourists in Spiti this year, the state media actually took an interest. Two days after our return in Shimla we were in the paper! I can't read any of it because it's in Hindi, but we got a translation from Negi. The paper recounted our brave tale as we scaled Spiti's highest 6000m peak, and had an encounter with a rare Snow Leopard! Hmm. A little embellished?

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