Ladakh

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The airport in Leh makes Ladakh an easily accessible place. But the only way to get a sense of how isolated and remote this region is is to travel there overland. It is less than 500km from Manali but the bus journey takes 2 days, stopping overnight in Keylong, presumably because it is unsafe to travel the winding mountain road in the dark. Keylong is the last town before you reach Leh, and in the 15 hours of travel between the two points, the only signs of human habitation are the occaisional makeshift hamlets serving food to travellers, shepherds camps, work crews and, particularly once you enter Jammu and Kashmir state, military bases. The vast mountains, valleys and plateaus are not only almost entirely void of human life, but that of plants and animals too. The military bases and work camps are thoroughly depressing places. The roadworkers in this region are desperately poor. One camp was actually signposted with the name "Killingserai". A days drive from anywhere, this squalid camp consisted of about 50 tar-soaked workers, many of them barely into their teens. They appeared to spend all day smelting tar and chipping rocks with small hammers and chisels. The tar fumes are difficult to endure for a few minutes while passing through, but to spend day after day amidst it must be pretty much a death sentence.
As a tourist in Ladakh I am very much a Johnny-come-lately, but Emily visited here 9 years ago and was able to observe many changes in a relatively short period of time. Upon arrival my first impression of Leh was that there was too much of everything. Too much traffic, too much pollution, too many, handicraft shops, hotels, restaurants and trekking agencies, too many stray dogs, too many tourists. But in Leh you can observe the contrast between the old and the new, the effect of a changing economy on a traditional society.
Only thirty years ago Ladakhis were living a traditional lifestyle that had existed for almost 2000 years. During this time they did not live in complete isolation but fell under the control of various kingdoms such as Tibet, Kashmir and Britain. They also built their own empire which reached its peak in the early 19th century. The traditional culture somehow survived British colonisation, and in 1976 when the road from Manali was completed and the region was opened to tourism the non-monetary community-based agricultural society remained.
The main crops are wheat and barley, most families also keep vegetable gardens of roots and greens which can be dried and stored for the winter. Apricots also do well at elevations of up to 3500m. Ladakh receives less than 3 inches of rainfall a year and agriculture is made possible by the channeling of snowmelt down to the villages. A typical village has one main channel with tributaries leading off to each field or garden. A system is in place where each family has a designated time when they can divert the main stream to their crops. This is done by moving a few shovelfuls of earth around. Within each garden there is also a network of ditches and stream which allow control over how much water each plant receives. People also keep livestock such as dzos (a cross between a cow and a yak), sheep and goats. Each family takes its turn at taking the village herd to the grazing grounds. The dung is collected for fuel and fertilizer. Human waste also is used for fertilizer. Traditionally at harvest time the whole village comes together to harvest one family's crop, before moving onto the next, and so on until the harvest is complete. They store what grains they need for winter and trade the rest. Most regions are then snowed in for up to 8 months, a period during which little activity takes place.
The religion here is Tibetan Buddhism and typically each village is dominated by a gompa (Tibetan Buddhist temple) situated at the highest point of the village, often on top of a rocky outcrop. Many of these gompas are over 1000 years old adn contain beautifully preserved statues, frescoes and thankas (tapestries).
Today many aspects of the traditional culture survive but the changes that have taken place have been rapid and drastic. It is now the norm for at least one family member to work away from home, often leaving their family for months at a time while earning money in one of the bigger cities. The government has introduced a number of reforms to make the transition to a western-style economy. Subsidised rice and lentils are now much cheaper than locally grown food. This not only changes the local diet but also makes agriculture impractical. Tourism now provides the main source of income for many Ladakhis. The region is experiencing some population growth as more people move there for a slice of the tourist dollar. Every year hotels, restaurants, souveneir shops and trekking agencies are springing up making the place more crowded. One wonders how, even with this scale of tourism, all these businesses survive. 50,000 tourists a year are putting a strain on Ladakh's resources, most notably water. It is thought that the average tourist uses more than 10 times the amount of water than the average Ladakhi. The multitude of new hotels in Leh mostly boast rooms with private bathrooms, flushing toilets and hot showers, in contrast with the traditional composting toilets and abstinence from washing. The air at 3500m is quite thin and the sheer volume of jeeps catering to tourists and trucks bringing goods into the town sometimes make breathing a challenge.
On our first day in Leh the Women's Alliance of Ladakh was hosting a cultural festival, demonstrating a range of traditional skills such as wool-spinning, mudbrick making and mustard seed oil pressing. For over 20 years the womens alliance and the International Society for Ecology and Culture (ISEC) have been working to try to counterbalance some of the more negative aspects of the new economy. Their aim is to retain traditional skills, knowledge and culture, preserve the environment and educate tourists on how to act accordingly. They have succeeded in banning plastic bags and various pesticides that have long been illicit in the west, setting up drinking water refill stations around Leh, and producing solar powered stoves and water heaters.
Like most tourists in Ladakh (with the exception of the Israeli's who spend most of their time hanging out in cafes, smoking chillums and arguing with local business owners) we began making plans to do some trekking. Being cheapskates and enjoying our own company, independence and the challenge of route finding, we opted not to bring along an entourage of guides, cooks helpers and ponies. But the thought of lugging camping gear and a week's supply of food across the mountains seemed a little unappealing. Our enquiries produced much conflicting information, but we felt confident that we could trek for a week in the Markha Valley, sleeping and eating in "homestays" most nights, possibly resorting to sleeping under the stars for a night if we had to. The trek is about 100km and crosses two passes. It is one of the most popular treks so naturally we thought it would be easy.
On the first morning we took a bus to Spituk, our starting point. We spent too long looking around the gompa and by the time we started walking towards Jinchen it was already 11am. The first 10km were across a vast desert plain without a scrap of shade to shield us from the relentless searing sun. By the time we reached Jinchen in the mid-afternoon, we were exhausted and had drunk most of our water, but found no homestay, just an unattended campsite with a few trekkers lounging in the shade. We pushed on up the valley to Rumbak, the next village. The heat and thirst were becoming oppressive and we were unable to enjoy the beautiful scenery, our packs getting heavier with every step. We didn't think we were capable of climbing the last few hundred metres up to the village, but somehow managed it and were tucked up in our homestay by 6 o'clock. Despite the substantial distance (23km), this first day was technically quite easy. However for us it was the hardest day, no doubt in part due to our untimely departure, but also our bodies grew stronger each day as we became accustomed to the trek.
The second day saw us climb 1100m to Ganda La pass (4900m) then descend 800m to the two-house village of Shingo. Approaching the pass the views of the Stok range were dominated by the massive snow covered Stok Kangri. We saw plenty of fat marmots scurrying for their burrows, and several hares. It was a tough climb to the top and we were glad to begin the descent. We were given a nice room in Shingo, furnished with the traditional floor cushions and low tables. The cushions double up as both seats and beds. Despite being only the second night, already some patterns were beginning to emerge. None of the houses we stayed at had any area where one could wash. Most places we'd visited in Ladakh and other regions not serviced by running water at least have a room into which you can carry a bucket and wash in privacy. In the Markha Valley if you want to wash, you do it in the stream, in full view of everyone. I never saw any local person doing this, and judging by the look of their faces, hands and clothes, it was not a popular activity. Dinner every night on this trek consisted of rice and dahl, sometimes with steamed greens on the side. Sometimes the food was not particularly clean and dinner became less appealing as the week went on. Despite this, board and lodging cost twice as much as any other homestay we'd visited and indeed twice as much as standard hotel and restaurant rates. We assumed this was a result of the popularity of this particular trek. Nonetheless we were perplexed. By the time we'd reached Skiu in the early afternoon of the third day, we'd barely seen any people en route. This third day was an easy 3 hour gradual descent through a stunning canyon. The stream we were following was a tributary of the Markha River, upon the banks of which Skiu is situated. As the canyon opened up into the Markha Valley, the scene was particularly amazing. Steep, jagged mountains surrounded us, giving the impression of being both high in the mountains and deep in the valley. It contrasted with the openness of the higher ground near the pass, where the mountains seem distant and the views vast.
Skiu was not much of a village, consisting of more tea tents and campsites than houses. Tea tents are found throughout the Markha valley trek. They are made of recycled parachutes and serve as a sort of cafe, selling tea, soft drinks, biscuits, barley snacks and maggi noodles. We came to a small house with an old guy in the yard selling cocacola products and chocolate. His crude sign advertised a hotel and campsite. We enquired and were shown to an unfurnished room with the old guys belongings scattered around it. It was clearly his bedroom and, judging by his surpised reaction, we were probably the first people to ever accept his invitation. He promptly cleared out his junk and put it in the kitchen, where he would be sleeping that night, leaving a blanket on the bare floor for us. We retired to a neighbouring tea tent for some maggi noodles, grateful for the short and easy day 's hiking and the opportunity to rest. Presently the trekkers started arriving and setting up camp. A steady stream of tourists, guides and ponies streamed into the village for the next four hours, filling the campsites to capacity.
The next day we walked 22km up the floor of the Markha valley to the village of Markha. We set off at 5am to beat the heat and the crowds, stopping off a few times along the way to fill up on maggi noodles and chai. As always the landscape was awe-inspiring. The following day after that we planned to go all the way to Nimaling, a high camp just below Gongmaru La pass. This stage is usually done over two days so again we left at dawn. We knew we had to ford the river twice shortly after Markha, as a portion of the trail on the north bank is unsafe. We soon came to a fork in the trail, with one branch leading up a precipitous cliff, the other to the river. Fording the river was not pleasant. The icy glacial meltwater at dawn induces involuntary screams and whimpers. The fast flowing water was almost waist deep on the return crossing. No sooner had the feeling returned to our legs than we realised we'd been premature in taking a dip. The path on the northside became not so much unsafe as nonexistent (even a goat would have trouble traversing it) and all the landmarks which had previously confused us by their absence appeared as shown on our map. We removed our shoes, gritted our teeth and struck out again across the icy river. Again the return crossing was tough, and we hummed and hawed for half and hour over the safest place to cross before the rain hastened our decision.
It took only a few more hours to get to Hankar, but by this time we were so tired from our aquatic expedition and the previous days hike that we decided to call it a day and continue to Nimaling the next day. Again we left at dawn, past the surreal Hankar gompa and turning away from the Markha river, up the Nimaling chu (chu=stream). The glacier covered slopes of Yang Kaze (6400m) and Mt Nimaling came into view and again we walked up the steep trail amazed at our everchanging surroundings. Every day the landscape n front of us was starkly different from that of the previous day. Our trusty map told us that there were two tea tents before Nimaling where we could stop for a nutritious breakfast. We reached the first at 6:30 and there was no sign of anyone waking up any time soon. We continued on up the steep valley, our rumbling bellies driving us on to the next tea tent, which was on the banks of a small lake. We got there to find the stone foundations of the tea tent but no parachute and the only sign of life was a lone donkey going somewhere in no hurry.
Nimaling is a high plateau seemingly at the very top of the world. With Gongmaru La pass to the east and Yang Kaze to the west it is hard to imagine a more desolate and enchanting place. On one side of the Nimaling Chu is a shepherds camp, a collection of stone and dung buildings inhabited by herder families during the summer months. On the other side of the stream is the trekking camp, complete with a "tentstay" catering to the likes of us. We had clearly passed beyond the realm of homes. It was only 9am when we arrived but we'd already climbed up 900 metres that morning. Enquiring at the tentstay, we didn't see eye to eye with the proporietor, who refused to provide us with breakfast and wanted to charge a premium rate to squeeze into the tent with at least three other people who we knew would be arriving later. One kindly local man, who was acting as translator between us and the beligerent fool, was sympathetic and advised us to go across to the shepherds camp for breakfast. Off we went and a woman welcomed us into her dark little summer home. After two cups of yak milk tea and a double serving of maggi noodles we felt sufficiently energised to tackle the pass. The pass lies at 5160m and on the way up there we began to feel minor symptoms of altitude sickness. The distorted vision and lightheadedness made us feel as though we were on some weird drug, but we took it slowly slowly and rested often. The ground was dotted with pikas, running for their holes as they saw us approach. When they reached the hole they would wait confidently for us to come within a few feet before darting underground. From the pass we could see the steep descent that lay before us, leading into a deep and rugged red and yellow canyon. In the canyon we saw a herd of Bahral (blue sheep) nimbly scaling the vertical cliff face. We rolled into the homestay at Chogdo pretty knackered, again having hiked over 20km, and ascended and descended almost 1200m. The next morning we continued down the canyon to Shang Sumdo in time to catch the 8 o'clock bus to Leh.
Upon our return we were glad that there was a room available at our favourite guesthouse, Yokma Guesthouse. It is run by the gregarious and energetic Yanchen who, in addition to running the guesthouse singlehandedly, works as a full-time nurse in the hospital, tends to an acre of wheat, half an acre of vegetables and flowers and 5 cows. She was glad to see our safe return and had shown some concern over our going without a guide. The peaceful guesthouse has only 6 rooms and is well away from the noise and air pollution of the busy Leh streets. That night we treated ourselves to a vegetable sizzler and momos at Tenzin Dickey's restaurant and began making plans to leave Ladakh.

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Photos

Yokma Guesthouse
Our wonderful guesthouse in leh, run by the friendly and energetic Yangchen.