Travels around Ladakh part 1

---

After a sweltering day in Delhi, where I dragged myself around a few of the sights before chilling out by the hotel pool, I took an early flight to Leh, Ladakh. Ladakh is sandwiched between Pakistan and China on the Tibetan plateau and it encompasses part of the Karakoram range, part of the Himalayas, and a few lesser known ranges - breathtaking in multiple senses of the word. As Leh is at 3500m it’s essential to spend the first couple of days taking it pretty easy so I had booked into a nice midrange hotel (Gomang Boutique hotel - highly recommended!) slightly away from central Leh, so I could do a bit of gentle meandering around the town.



The staff couldn’t have been more welcoming - I arrived at about 7.45am, and after checking in was offered breakfast. As soon as I had finished I was shown to my room, which overlooked the river. The first couple of days I spent sorting out local currency, getting a SIM card, and researching the travel options. There had been torrential rain over the last couple of weeks so several roads were closed including a couple to some of my planned destinations (Nubra valley, Pangong lake). However, things change so I wasn’t too concerned.



There is quite a lot to do in Leh, which has a chilled out backpacker vibe. I checked out the palace overlooking the town, the stupor atop a hillock just above my hotel, and rented a mountain bike for the afternoon to go and see Spituk gompa and Stok palace and gompa - a round trip of about 25 miles. After handing the bike back I tried unsuccessfully to book a shared taxi for the next morning over the Khardung-La pass, claiming to be the highest paved (barely in lots of places) road in the world at 5359m, to the Nubra valley as the road had apparently reopened. I was told that the best option was to turn up early at the shared taxi stand near the polo ground. Most people organise shared taxis for a three or four day trip on a fixed itinerary, but the whole notion of “fixed” and “organised” isn’t quite my thing, as well as there being no guarantee who you would be stuck with for the duration of the trip. Obviously a solo taxi was another option but that’s a bit boring.



I turned up the following day at the polo ground around 7.30am and quickly found a minivan which was heading to Nubra valley. We waited for about 30mins for it to fill up to capacity. Unfortunately the front seat was taken as was the second row window seat not by the door, so I settled into the back seat by the window. The road was mixed - good on the whole with stretches which were barely passable. Even if renting a car had been an option it is not one I would have particularly wanted to take given the road conditions. About 3 1/2 - 4 hours later we arrived at Diskit where I had booked a guesthouse.



As I was feeling a little under par- probably due to the crazy altitude I had just subjected my body to- I opted for a flat walk through the valley along a dirt road to Hunder approximately 7km away. There were a few spots where I had to scramble through the bushes along the side of the road to avoid a bottomless muddy puddle. I know, a hardcore hiker wouldn’t mind getting their feet wet…. Eventually the terrain switched from scrubland to desert. It was slightly surreal with a river, the desert and then the towering, rather moody looking mountains. At one point the dark clouds which had been gathering started to spit out huge droplets of rain and I thought I was in for a thorough drenching but luckily it abated quickly and the sun reappeared.



A couple of kilometres before Hunder was a highly touristy place offering camel safaris, archery and quad biking. I was keen to see the two humped Bactarian camels so I went to check it out. There was a large herd of them getting kitted out for the tourist rides, so I figured I might as well give it a go. At just 350 rupees (~£3.50) a pop it was cheap as chips. We were assigned our steeds and then batches of four or five camels were roped together and then led by the guide across the desert to the far point where we stopped for photos before returning to base. Exciting is definitely not the word to describe it (having grown up galloping around the countryside on horses), but it was a pleasant way to enjoy the scenery while resting my slightly sore feet.



I then headed to the centre of Hunder for a Fanta before clambering between a bunch of stupas up to the main road to try and find a taxi. I tried my luck with Uber, which didn’t come up trumps, and then decided to walk in the right direction with my thumb stuck out. After a few minutes a taxi pulled up and I climbed in. He took me back to my hotel but then didn’t seem to want any cash - unusual for a taxi driver! I gave him some anyway.



The next day I got up bright and early for some pre-brekkie sightseeing of the monastery and Buddha / gumpa which overlooked my hotel. It was the perfect time to visit it as there was only one other tourist up with the larks. It was pretty impressive, especially the Buddha / gompa which seemed to have been visited by the Dalai Lama. You could basically climb up inside the Buddha’s bottom, which I probably shouldn’t have found quite as amusing as I did.



After breakfast I decided to try my luck at a bit of hitchhiking to get back to Hunder. In no time an open-backed truck stopped and I scrambled into the back with a gaggle of Baltistani ladies. There were shrieks of amusement as we got a bit of a soaking where the water cascaded across the road. The road swooped along overlooking the sand dunes and the camel camp, just before getting to Hunder. I hammered on the roof of the cab when I wanted to disembark, clambered down and they motored on leaving me in a cloud of black diesel fumes.



On the opposite side of the road from the town there were lots of prayer flags at the entrance to a steep stony trail up to a gompa and a lookout point. I climbed up, rewarded by fantastic views across the valley to the pinkish hue of the Karakoram range opposite. There were two people sitting at the top but no one else in sight. As the descent was steep and slippery due to the shale I decided to get out my brand new hiking poles. On trying to extend them, I discovered that I had accidentally bought poles more suited to someone with the stature of a midget. Not ideal as I’m 5ft 9ins. What is most strange is that I am sure I tried them out in the shop but somehow managed to switch the right sized ones for the midget model before completing the purchase. Hmmm.



Unfortunately these days I have the nimbleness of an arthritic old domestic goat as opposed to a mountain goat so descending isn’t pretty but I got there in the end. I then followed a dirt track up the tributary valley to see a cave which carved deep into the sandstone cliff. I clambered inside, taking care not to step on the Durex packet - luckily I didn’t spot the used and discarded contents. To be honest I can think of more comfortable places to get ones rocks off, but each unto their own!



On getting back to the main road, hitchhiking was a two step process to get home, firstly with a lovely smiley old gentleman and then with a young chap with a penchant for country music so we had a good ol’ singalong to Sweet Home Alabama and the likes. Just before heading back to the hotel I researched the options for getting to Turtuk, at the far end of the Nubra valley. The road had been closed due to the recent heavy rain but I established that it had reopened. As the bus didn’t leave until 2.30pm I decided to try and get a shared taxi as I didn’t expect to be able to thumb a lift all 60 miles. I was advised just to turn up in the morning to arrange it.



The next day I turned up at the transport station at around 8.30am. There was hardly anyone there, but I asked the couple of guys hanging around minivans if they were heading towards Turtuk. They weren’t. They said that the vehicles that set out from Leh would start arriving in an hour or two, and that the taxi office opened at 9.30am so I could arrange the trip through them. The idea of lingering around for an hour was not appealing so I decided to hitch to Hunder and try my luck there. I skulked in the shade of a truck, sticking my thumb out whenever a vehicle approached. After about five minutes a car stopped and me and another fellow hitchhiker climbed into the back seat for the ride to Hunder.



We got turfed out about a kilometre before town so the other chap headed off at a spritely pace while I laboured behind with all my luggage. I continued to stick out my thumb at every passing vehicle, and before too long a minivan full of guys stopped and whoopi, a stroke of luck - they were going all the way to Turtuk! I squeezed into the back seat between three others, grateful not to be stashed in the boot with the poor chap who was subjected to that “sad seat” the whole way there. We then blasted past the chap I had shared the previous lift with, who was eagerly thumbing for a ride. Sometimes it pays off to be the slow coach bringing up the rear.



I established after a while that they were the support team/ substitute riders for a group of dad and son motorcyclists. They were absolutely lovely, and we chattered away much of the time in somewhat broken English, except when the 15 year old son was taking a break from biking as he spoke impeccable English. On the whole the route was in pretty good nick, but there were a couple of stretches where it became obvious why the road had been closed for a couple of days. At one point the river cascaded across the road, depositing soil and boulders across a stretch of about 40-50 meters. Our bikers were crossing just ahead of us and one of the bikes started spinning out so the guy at the controls had to submerge both feet into the swirling torrent of ice cold water to lever the bike forwards onto something that would provide some purchase.



About halfway there, we were stopped by a construction crew who were building a new bridge. We got out and took lots of photos. If you spot any photos on Facebook or Instagram of a random European girl appearing to photo bomb snaps of a group of male Indian bikers, that’ll be me! At around midday we pulled into Turtuk and I waved goodbye to them all, with offers of petrol money firmly refused. As I hadn’t yet booked anywhere to stay as I wasn’t completely sure whether I would make it there, I stopped at a cafe and used Google maps to check out options. I sent a couple of messages to guesthouses, but then found a homestay on Booking.com that had good reviews so I booked that. Locating it was easier said than done as Google maps and Booking.com located it on opposite sides of the river. I opted to follow Google maps.



The village is a myriad of precipitous narrow pathways between predominantly stone and mud brick houses so it was quite a challenge locating the homestay, but I did eventually. It is run by a charming Dad / Granddad pair, who were exceptionally welcoming. Around here the chaps seem to be responsible for homestays and restaurants etc. while the women work the fields. In the village there are various things to do- a couple of heritage museums, a climb up to the gompa, and getting totally lost (multiple times in my case!) in the maze of the village. There is also a look out point halfway up the mountain side above the village but my initial attempt to climb up there involved scrambling about 200m up a near vertical ravine before working out that it was just a ravine and not the actual pathway. It had crossed my mind that it seemed a tad challenging.



The following day I did manage to find the proper path up to the lookout. It was steep and covered with scree - fine for ascending but treacherous for descending especially when only equipped with pint sized poles. At the top there was a building with “mosque” scrawled on the side, although I wasn’t entirely convinced. The views were sensational- across to K2 which occasionally peeked (excuse the pun) out from behind the swirling clouds. The descent was murderous, as expected, but I made it down without mishap.



In the afternoon I set off for Tyakshi, which was about 4km further on from Turtuk, and was the last place tourists could get to before the military controlled area. On arrival in the centre I spotted a road leading steeply up the side of the valley, so I started heading up it. Someone started furiously blowing a whistle so I looked back to see a short rotund chap in a uniform waving frantically, I figured at me. He struck me as the type of guy who had to get a job with a whistle and a uniform as no one would take him seriously otherwise. I came back down and then headed in the direction of the valley road instead. This elicited the same reaction, so I went to talk to the guy and realised I had just ignored the checkpoint where I should have handed in my permit. As it was my only remaining copy I had to get another copy made (easily done at the shop across the road) to give to him. At the top of the climb was a small village surrounded by fruit trees and small plots of barley, and the most fabulous view of the valley and snow capped peaks behind.



Back at the homestay, out on the terrace the peaceful therapeutic rumble of the river was periodically marred by the donkeys competing with the call to prayer for who could make the most ear splitting racquet. I think the metal scrapping on metal rasping of the local donkeys has to be the winner. They also don’t work to a schedule, and are happy to serenade you at any time of day or night, so added bonus points for that.

---