Travels around Ladakh part 2

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Today was always going to be a big travelling day. I had to get from the furthest outpost of Ladakh back to Leh, where I had arranged to pick up a mountain bike and then another hour or so in a vehicle with bike and baggage to Sakti where there was a Buddhist festival I planned to attend the following day. The second leg was organised. The first leg was not as there was no taxi stand in Turtuk, and I really didn’t fancy travelling by the local bus (not just because it left at 6am).



I had brekkie and waved goodbye to my hosts at about 7.30am, and wandered down to the parking spot where a number of chartered taxis were parked. There were about five vehicles and not a soul in sight. I went and camped out at the closed cafe overlooking the area so that I could pop down quickly in case anyone emerged. After about ten minutes a driver and a middle aged European couple turned up so I whizzed down to see if I could pay for a ride. The weasel faced guy turned me down flat even though they were only three of them in the car and therefore ample space. What a contrast with the Indian motorcycling back up crew! I lingered a short while longer before deciding that I might have better luck on the main (well, not very “main”) road down below.



I walked towards the edge of the village on the basis that that location should capture all the vehicles setting off. After a while I spotted a jeep with a couple of people milling around, one dangling a set of keys so I figured he was the driver and asked him if he had a spare spot - unfortunately not. I asked him what my best option was for getting to Leh but he didn’t speak much English so he pointed me in the direction of another chap. This person told me I should have got here an hour earlier as that’s when most the vehicles left. Hmmm. Not good news. I asked him if he knew anybody I could pay to get me to Hunder or Diskit (on the basis that that would be more likely than all the way to Leh). He said it would cost around 4500 rupees (~£45), which was fine with me, and then called a couple of contacts. No luck.



I was starting to get slightly concerned that I might not manage to make it at all, when an open backed truck came past so we flagged it down. I asked my new buddy to make it clear that I was willing to pay, and yippee the driver was happy to take me. I squeezed my backpack in between the empty crates in the back and climbed into the cab. The driver was a lovely Buddhist vegetable delivery man from the Nubra valley who trawled the route from Leh to Turtok six days a week, so at least he knew how to safely navigate the more treacherous sections.



The drive, particularly in one go, is pretty challenging. It was about 205km, of which probably about a quarter is good tarmac, about half some what impaired tarmac and the rest really rough off-road with river crossings and lengthy detours around sections under repair. There were also some extended periods of being stationary while the road works teams (which there were a lot of!) did their stuff. To cheer up the tired travellers the road maintenance company intermittently put up road signs with thoughtful little dittos such as “Drink whiskey, driving risky” or “Three enemies of the road: Liquor, speed and overload”, and other spiritual or moral messages.



Having left at about 8.30am we rolled into Leh a little before 4pm, with about 30mins stoppage for lunch. Tenzing, my driver, had quoted me 10,000 rupees (£10) for the trip which seemed far too cheap, so I tried to give him 20,000 rupees which he said was too much, so we ended up splitting the difference. Not an argument that I ever recall having back home in London!



Next stop was the bicycle rental shop, which I had used a few days before. I chose my bike, sorted out the paperwork and then had to wait a short while for the driver to return to the shop to take me to the homestay in Sakti. I had been sent the Google map location which was just below Skitphuk gompa (just change one letter and it is quite easy to remember). On arrival at the identified location, the house looked like a building site, with the top half a mish mash of semi-built walls and windowless windows. Not quite the local experience I was after! My driver spoke to the gentleman who came out of the property, and he assured me that they were expecting me. Okay…..



On entering the property all my concerns were laid to rest as it (well the ground floor at least) was cosy and homely and my bedroom and en suite bathroom were far better appointed than the previous place (although not when it came to supplies of hot water). After settling in I hopped on my bike and explored the village. It is at 3900m altitude which is a complete sap on the energy, so I made it all of about 2kms up the steep road - just far enough to see the monastery set up for the festivities I was planning to attend the following day - before freewheeling back to base.



While the altitude is really not great for cyclists, one major positive in my experience so far (I might regret saying this) is the quality of the loose mutts. Last year when doing a little cycling around the Caucuses I was routinely attacked by packs of blood thirsty hounds who gnashed at my flailing ankles with savage intensity, to the point where I hardly wanted to climb on the bike for fear of getting rabies. So far in Ladakh the dogs have seemed wonderfully benign. There is often a chorus of barking in the night as they vie for the top dog accolade among themselves, but as long as they don’t gang up on me I couldn’t care less.



The following day was the Takthok monastery festival, for the Nying-ma-pa (red hat) sect. No prizes for guessing what was adorning the monks’ heads. Thinless Giacho, my host, had booked me a front row seat for the action. There were lots of whirling dervish style dances in various symbolic costumes, with an accompanying cacophony of horns, symbols and drums. It was really quite a spectacle, although somewhat impeded by a European tourist who seemed to think it was Ok to stand right in the front row as she was leaning against the tent pole (she was a damn sight wider than the pole). I politely asked her to sit down and the rude lady refused saying I could look to the side of her. I countered that I wasn’t the only person whose view she was obstructing. At this point the benevolent looking monk waded in to back me up and the obnoxious woman sat down briefly before thankfully decamping to another location. It is so irritating when tourists behave so badly.



After a few hours I got bored of a bunch of monks prancing around in funny outfits, so I relinquished my seat to an Italian lady (mainly so that horrible rude lady didn’t commandeer it), and then hopped on my mountain bike and carried on up the hill. The road wound its way up through the valley past the well irrigated, lush fields surrounding the village and then to the increasingly desolate rock strewn mountain side. Eventually the road reached Wari La pass at circa. 5300m, whereas I most certainly didn’t. I meandered very slowly up about 10km from the village when the weather turned. It started to rain and the temperature plummeted. I had made a complete rookie error in not bringing a water proof jacket. I quickly u-turned and descended as rapidly as possible when not being able to see properly, and without even a helmet, steadily losing feeling in my hands as I did so.



On getting back to the house, I couldn’t get access as everyone was at the festival. So I called the son, who had thoughtfully given me his number, while shivering on the doorstep. Luckily he was only a couple of minutes away, so it wasn’t long before I was defrosting under my thick woolly blanket. Once I had warmed up and the rain had subsided I headed down the valley to see the impressive Chemrey gompa which is perched steeply on the side of the mountain overlooking the valley. The Buddhists seem to have snagged all the prime real estate round here.



The next day I was heading down to the Indus Valley to stay at a luxury camp set up by the daughter of someone I know from back home and her husband. It was about 40kms away so I had the challenge of getting all my baggage, myself and the bike there. Ideally with me cycling as it would be a shame not to enjoy the lovely 15kms descent, and my baggage in a vehicle. I mentioned my plan to the son of the homestay owners and he volunteered to drive my kit down for me. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing we landed on the plan that I would set off and do a bit of sightseeing en route and then when I was at my last stop off I would send him a message and he would bring my stuff. What a result!



En route there were a couple of very impressive monasteries, including the famous Thiksey, so I checked those out. In Thiksey there were lots of monks chanting prayers, with ages ranging from about 8 to 80+. The youngsters didn’t seem particularly focused on all that spiritually uplifting stuff and were rather more engaged in making funny faces and poking each other in the ribs and trying not to crack up. Kids being kids.



I found the Indus River Camp without too much trouble. It is so far removed from my usual definition of camping (which involves a £20 pop up tent from Argos). The accommodation, spread out along the banks of the Indus River, consists of about eight wonderful spacious wooden cabins, equipped with a large double bed, a bathroom with all the mod cons included a shower with loads of hot water and a terrace area, with the addition of a separate living area in the larger huts. It was nice to savour a taste of luxury. It is so peaceful with just the sound of the birds and the river (well until the morning flights start descending into Leh airport).



Tenzing turned up with my bags about an hour later, so I chatted to him for a while learning more about the Buddhist religion in Ladakh, and how they support themselves. Apparently some of them run chains of guesthouses to bolster the finances. After settling into my room, as it was starting to cool off a little, I decided to do a bit more exploring on my bike, initially along a quiet unpaved backroad along the west bank of the Indus and then when that lettered out I headed up towards Matho in the foothills to see, yes you guessed it, another bloody gompa. No I am not turning into a religious freak, they just happen to be, without fail, in beautiful spots. As usual it was hard labour peddling my heavy mountain bike up the few kilometres to the gompa, but sheer joy freewheeling back down with the evening sun transforming the mountains opposite to a warm russet hue. A minor unintended detour caused me to stumble upon an archery contest for monks combined with a feast and some pumping music.



Dinner back at base was a set meal only, prepared by a talented chef from Calcutta. It was a delicious feast, showcasing Indian food. Even after building up a good appetite by cycling, I was rather defeated by myriad of tasting dishes. Outside the telescope was set up for those interested in astronomy. Periodically you can spot a cavalcade of satellites in orbit, not to be mistaken for a coordinated batch of shooting stars.



The next morning I decided to go for a pre-brekkie spin, on the basis that I needed to make a bit of space for brekkie and it was still relatively cool. I decided to head up towards Stok which is a 5km climb from the main(ish) road. I had been up there before in my first couple of days in Leh, but I hadn’t taken a look at the palace that time, only the Buddha. On leaving town there seemed to be quite a lot of roadside flags and “Welcome” banners across the road, then as I turned off onto the climbing section every hundred meters or so there were army people and/or people in the traditional Buddhist garb. I waved and greeted them with “Julee!”, which elicited cheery smiles and either “Julee” or “Good Morning” in response. There were also many pots of burning incense, charcoal or cow dung, the fumes of which were not exactly performance enhancing for my oxygen startled lungs. Very nice of them to pull out all the stops for my morning ride, but definitely a bit more fanfare than was strictly necessary.



As I drew closer to the Buddha, perched high on the mountain side, I could hear melodious chanting and a deep lowing sound from a pair of enormous horns. There were huge crowds of people surrounding the statue. However, after the last couple of days of cultural overload I elected not to go and check it out. Instead I continued up the valley to the trailhead for the Stok La pass, then did a u-turn to whizz back down, briefly stopping at the palace en route. Just as I set off from there I got stopped by a policeman, which got me slightly worried as I had come out without any ID. He asked where I was going, so I pointed down the hill and told him where I was staying. He told me to be quick as the Dalai Lama was about to pass through. It being down hill rather than up hill, I was able to adhere to his instructions, but about halfway down an army person started shouting at me waving me to pull over which I duly did. About 30 seconds later a large convoy of SUVs came barrelling up the road, and I spotted the Dalai Lama in the car in the middle of the cavalcade. Quite an unexpected bonus for my early morning spin.

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