Gettin' Leh'D

Jule!

RAP signing in from Leh, the capital of the Ladakh region of the state of Jammu and Kashmir, northern India. The past week had us leaving the comfort of quiet Dharamkot and undergo a lengthy and perilous bus journey from Dharamkhot --> Manali --> Leh. We finally arrived in this breathtaking mountainous desert and are preparing for our most ambitious trek yet, which will take us through the Markha Valley and the snow leopard capital of the world.

Our stay in Dharamkot was fairly pleasant, if you ignore the daily intestinal Troubles (shout out to our shepherd buddies and their fresh goat's milk). The multitude of Israeli hippies and (mostly) stoned locals helped create a very calm and relaxing atmosphere, a perfect recipe for recovery. The brief sighting of Mr. His Honourable Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama as he exited a conference in nearby McLeod Ganj, and our participation in a local yoga class (note: no amount of Om chants could help me touch my freaking toes. Damn flexible Indians and their yoga) added to the experience. As wonderful as this little mountain retreat was, we soon grew restless and organized ourselves well enough to leave the region and ride north.

And what a ride north it was.

We first had to swing by our old haunt in Manali to catch another bus that would bring us to Leh. We quickly booked the last remaining seats on a night bus that would allegedly have us leave Manali at 1:30 AM and arrive at 9:00 PM the same day (Allegedly. After 5 weeks in India, you would think we'd have learned our lesson and realized that nothing really works the way it should in this place. Call it innocence, naivety, youthful exuberance, whatever. We were set to learn that lesson all over again). We punctually arrived at the pick up spot and climbed into the rolling metal box that would be our home for the next while, and lo and behold - our last minute tickets had us seated at the back of the bus (classic) on a bench that, in its better days, could have comfortably accommodated maybe 3 people if they were less than 5'5" and weighed 150 lbs. Thank goodness we fit that description. We squeezed ourselves in this sardine can and swung down to pick up the remaining passengers, one of whom would have to join us in the party seat. And as the lucky Israeli girl glimpsed her fate, she immediately exclaimed: "It is impossible for me to sit in a seat that does not exist! There are three men (insert high fives) in this seat! I cannot do it! I must seat in front!" So the honour of joining us was awarded to a diminutive Nepalese dude who wasn't as worried about the lack of space.

Fast forward a few hours to the foot of the Rochang La, a 3800m ish pass. We had been driving a solid 5hrs and had covered about 30km (mainly due to the fact that our driver wasn't that well rested and needed himself a little catnap to avoid any undesirable events). The sun was rising and exposed the mountain peaks that surrounded us as we sipped hot chai at a roadside stall. Suddenly, all of the discomfort of the past hours was forgotten; we were in the middle of the Himalayan mountains at the time when night gives way to day and the snow capped peaks were bathed in golden light as the last of the stars faded away. Amazing.
The progress for the remainder of the day was just as slow as the beginning of the journey. Fortunately the bus was equipped with a sound system and the aforementioned Israeli girl entertained us with a mix of Hebrew songs, as well as our personal favourites, Nickleback and Alanis Morissette. These classics seem to transcend all cultures and religions - seemingly, the new world order will be ushered in on the wings of Chad Kroegers harsh, constipated belch and Alanis' insufferable whine. Shiva take us all.
At 8 PM, we were still about 9 hrs away from our destination. The passengers took a vote and we all decided to stay the night in Sarchu, a little roadside stop with a few restaurant/sleeping quarter tents. We fell asleep on a bed of rocks (literally) and awoke the next morning to find that the bus was unable to start, due to the diesel being frozen in the tank. S'all good though - our fearless driver just lit a nice little cardboard fire under the tank to loosen up the fuel a bit and we then pushed the bus onto the road and down the hill for the ol' "push-start" maneuver. No problem. The morning's success endured the rest of the day as we crossed high mountain plateaus and Taglung La, the second highest pass in the world, to arrive in Leh around dinner time.

Leh. Ladakh. Gettin' Leh'd. This place is absolutely magical. Nestled in the heart of the Ladakh range, a desolate range of 5000m+ peaks, the town of Leh is a true melting pot of cultures. Calls to prayer can be heard from the muezzins and Hindu shrines dot the cliffsides. But it is the Tibetan/Buddhist influence that is the most obvious; chortens, gumpas, and manni prayer wheels are found around almost every corner. The ancient Leh palace dominates the skyline. We spend the afternoon exploring its many rooms (note: once you get in these historical spots there's no limit to what you can do. If a door is unlocked, if a wall can be scaled, if a pee can be taken in an old latrine, its all good. Anything goes in India, the land of no-rules, as long as you have the gonads to do what it takes) and taking in the gorgeous views that surrounded us. This palace belonged to the Ladakhi kings of ancient times who adhered to Buddhist law and Tibetan customs. For example, we learned that no wheels we're allowed in the region (except prayer wheels) as they were prophesied to dismantle the social structure of the time. Also, dances to exorcise the ego were commonplace; costumed men and women would stab voodoo like dolls to symbolize the need to embrace the higher spiritual self and letting go of the ego to embrace your all-oneness with the universe.

As we explore this magical town, we can never get away from spectacular views of the surrounding mountains. So, we have organized a trek through the Markha Valley that will take us from village to village. There, we will stay with local families who will feed and lodge us (and our guide. I guess we've learned that much from our past camping adventures) as we explore the Ladakhi wilderness.

Peace out my hombres. Keep well. Have fun. RAP out

Roller Coaster

This week we got to experience the highs and lows of travelling first hand, with some of the best and worst moments of the trip thus far. This is that tale. 

We arrived in the small mountain town of Daramshala after a cramped 10 hour bus ride from Manali on windy mountain roads and immediately set out preparing our next trek. The goal was to head up to Kareri Lake and return to McLeod Ganj over the course of 5 days. Determined to improve our alpine culinary experience, we loaded up our bags with kilos of lentils, potatoes, onions, peppers and enough cookies and crackers to host a smashing tea party. As they say, an army runs on its stomach. With our 50 lbs bags in hand, we started off. The trail had us meandering through pine forests and remote Hindu villages before shifting to lush jungle foliage and eventually alpine meadows as we slowly ascended the steep hillsides towards Kareri Lake. 

Camp 1 in a farmer's field by Kareri village

Our campsite on the second night was as picturesque as they come. A soft patch of flat ground right next to a glacier fed stream nestled in a steep valley below the lake. The sun beamed down on us, the cool water beckoned and cows grazed uncomfortably close to the tent. As we settled down to enjoy some post-dinner lemon honey ginger tea on the flat rocks by the stream, a local shepherd came by looking for a few of his goats. We offered him tea and cookies, and he gladly accepted our offer. He spoke no English, and us no Hindi so well timed smiles and hand gestures proved key. He thanked us and continued on his way, the goats still nowhere to be seen. 

Kareri Lake from the ridge 

Later that evening, in the true spirit of camping, we attempted to build a fire. A true struggle due to the severe afternoon rainstorm which had drenched nearly every piece of kindling we found. Our pitiful wood supply slowly ran out as we desperately tried to fan the embers and get the larger pieces to catch, to no avail. As hope for our fire slowly faded, two lights appeared on the trail, moving towards us. As the got closer, we recognized the shepherd from earlier and one of his friends. They brought a pot filled with fresh goats milk for us and quickly took over the fire building process. In a matter of minutes, they had constructed a roaring fire from the feeble embers we had initially. Leave it to the experts to do it right. They both had dark, leathery skin typical of people who work outdoors, and could have been as young as 35 or as old as 60. The older man jokingly mocked our fire building skills, miming that he could see our pitiful attempt from his hut and decided to intervene. All said in a mixture of Hindi and hand gestures of course. Both men exhibited an intense curiosity at the headlamps we had on and at Ryan's GoPro. It's not everyday three crazy goras wander into their neck of the woods. We heated up the fresh goats milk, added some tea leaves, and watched the stars come out as we sat around the fire with the two shepherds. Smiles spread to the faces of all as we savoured the magical moment, and sipped the delicious gift of goats milk. It was an indescribable high point on the journey so far. 

Little did we know how far we'd come crashing down some 24 hours later. 

In hindsight, drinking raw goat's milk after a lengthy hiatus from lactose may not have been the best decision. But when in India. 

The gastrointestinal blitzkrieg began late afternoon the next day and continued unrelenting throughout the night. Shock and Awe was the unfortunate tactic employed by the enemy, with devastating results. Needless to say, everyone slept poorly that evening. A rapid return to civilization was required by all. A trying day lay ahead, as lack of food, dehydration, fatigue and exhaustion took their toll during the 20 km slog back down to the valley floor. By some miracle we were able to catch a bus from the town of Gheera and avoid what would have been a debilitating climb back up to McLeod Ganj. The next 24 hours were filled with 20 hours of sleep and 4 hours of discussing leg pains, bowel movement comparison or thinking about sleep. Two days later and still no one is 100%, but never has a flushing toilet been more appreciated. 

As we were sitting around the campfire on that incredible evening, Ryan stated that "this makes every crappy moment worth it". It's to experience moments like the one around the fire that we accept to put ourselves through uncomfortable situations and moments. Like 18 hour bus rides. It's important to recognize when you're living a high and to respect the fact that the lows are part of it too. India is in many ways a roller coaster ride, and I look forward to whatever lies around the next bend. Be it good or bad. Such is India. 

Paul gets in touch with his wild side 

Roller Coaster

This week we got to experience the highs and lows of travelling first hand, with some of the best and worst moments of the trip thus far. This is that tale. 

We arrived in the small mountain town of Daramshala after a cramped 10 hour bus ride from Manali on windy mountain roads and immediately set out preparing our next trek. The goal was to head up to Kareri Lake and return to McLeod Ganj over the course of 5 days. Determined to improve our alpine culinary experience, we loaded up our bags with kilos of lentils, potatoes, onions, peppers and enough cookies and crackers to host a smashing tea party. As they say, an army runs on its stomach. With our 50 lbs bags in hand, we started off. The trail had us meandering through pine forests and remote Hindu villages before shifting to lush jungle foliage and eventually alpine meadows as we slowly ascended the steep hillsides towards Kareri Lake. 

Camp 1 in a farmer's field by Kareri village

Our campsite on the second night was as picturesque as they come. A soft patch of flat ground right next to a glacier fed stream nestled in a steep valley below the lake. The sun beamed down on us, the cool water beckoned and cows grazed uncomfortably close to the tent. As we settled down to enjoy some post-dinner lemon honey ginger tea on the flat rocks by the stream, a local shepherd came by looking for a few of his goats. We offered him tea and cookies, and he gladly accepted our offer. He spoke no English, and us no Hindi so well timed smiles and hand gestures proved key. He thanked us and continued on his way, the goats still nowhere to be seen. 

Kareri Lake from the ridge 

Later that evening, in the true spirit of camping, we attempted to build a fire. A true struggle due to the severe afternoon rainstorm which had drenched nearly every piece of kindling we found. Our pitiful wood supply slowly ran out as we desperately tried to fan the embers and get the larger pieces to catch, to no avail. As hope for our fire slowly faded, two lights appeared on the trail, moving towards us. As the got closer, we recognized the shepherd from earlier and one of his friends. They brought a pot filled with fresh goats milk for us and quickly took over the fire building process. In a matter of minutes, they had constructed a roaring fire from the feeble embers we had initially. Leave it to the experts to do it right. They both had dark, leathery skin typical of people who work outdoors, and could have been as young as 35 or as old as 60. The older man jokingly mocked our fire building skills, miming that he could see our pitiful attempt from his hut and decided to intervene. All said in a mixture of Hindi and hand gestures of course. Both men exhibited an intense curiosity at the headlamps we had on and at Ryan's GoPro. It's not everyday three crazy goras wander into their neck of the woods. We heated up the fresh goats milk, added some tea leaves, and watched the stars come out as we sat around the fire with the two shepherds. Smiles spread to the faces of all as we savoured the magical moment, and sipped the delicious gift of goats milk. It was an indescribable high point on the journey so far. 

Little did we know how far we'd come crashing down some 24 hours later. 

In hindsight, drinking raw goat's milk after a lengthy hiatus from lactose may not have been the best decision. But when in India. 

The gastrointestinal blitzkrieg began late afternoon the next day and continued unrelenting throughout the night. Shock and Awe was the unfortunate tactic employed by the enemy, with devastating results. Needless to say, everyone slept poorly that evening. A rapid return to civilization was required by all. A trying day lay ahead, as lack of food, dehydration, fatigue and exhaustion took their toll during the 20 km slog back down to the valley floor. By some miracle we were able to catch a bus from the town of Gheera and avoid what would have been a debilitating climb back up to McLeod Ganj. The next 24 hours were filled with 20 hours of sleep and 4 hours of discussing leg pains, bowel movement comparison or thinking about sleep. Two days later and still no one is 100%, but never has a flushing toilet been more appreciated. 

As we were sitting around the campfire on that incredible evening, Ryan stated that "this makes every crappy moment worth it". It's to experience moments like the one around the fire that we accept to put ourselves through uncomfortable situations and moments. Like 18 hour bus rides. It's important to recognize when you're living a high and to respect the fact that the lows are part of it too. India is in many ways a roller coaster ride, and I look forward to whatever lies around the next bend. Be it good or bad. Such is India. 

Paul gets in touch with his wild side 

Mountain Sound

Welcome to Manali- a welcome respite from bustling metropolises and hustling tuk tuk drivers. Our journey from Agra took us through New Delhi, the capital of mayhem, in which we spent no more than 24 hours due merely to the fact that our distaste for Indian cities was at its zenith. One 18 hour bus ride later, in an overcrowded semi-sleeper Volvo bus, through winding and treacherously steep mountain roads, we reached Indian Whistler. Instead of being populated by ski-bum Aussies, the place is filled with trek-happy, dreadlocked Israelis and a calming sense of home brought by the presence of mountains- something all western Canadians can definitely relate to. Upon our arrival in Manali we got straight to work, gathering supplies for our imminent 6-night trek through the 4500m Hamta Pass. Once we had secured sufficient lentils, rice, veggies, and spice, we began something of a wild goose chase through New Manali for a bottle of kerosene- a rare thing in these parts - finally finding some of the banned substance several hours later by way of a chai-seller in a remote alleyway behind a small snack shop. Adventure! 

The next morning we set out for our the village of Jugatsukh, a 20 minute bus ride south of Manali and the starting point of our trek. After finding our trailhead high above the small town, we began day 1 - a solid 1500m gain in elevation, past villages, temples, and shepherd camps guarded by aggressive guard dogs. Once again we found ourselves somewhat lost, and took the long way up to the mountain ridge- a steep 800m ascent up a grassy slope covered in thorny underbrush and goat shit. 

But at long last, we reached camp 1 unguided, and slept soundly with glorious mountain views and heavenly rays breaking through the clouds. The next morning we found ourselves even more lost - after traversing beautiful meadows (filled with grazing herds of horses and endless patches of wildflowers) searching for our river crossing, we somehow found ourselves back in Jugatsukh. Square one! This is what happens when one is too cheap to hire a guide; however, we persevered and took the long way around via road, through the village of Prini to the next camp, just above a high dam on the opposite ridge. The next 3 nights were spent at various points between Chikah, a shepherd camp, and Valu Ka Ghirra, the last camp before the high pass. Unfortunately it is still too early in the season to even approach Hamta Pass due to treacherously thin glaciers on the approach, while Hamta Pass itself is completely iced over and impassable. Still, views of the pass and the ascending Hamta valley were breathtaking, and the deity-like presence of the high peaks surrounding us shook us to our collective core. Yesterday afternoon we decided we had done all the hiking we could, and a pleasant walk down the valley to the dam had us pass several Israeli Trekkers who had heard rumours of the 3 Canadians tearing up Hamta Valley. We found a local villager at the trail base who offered us a ride down the 17km dam road, and after a cup of chai we hopped in a jeep (seemingly taken straight out of Far Cry 4) and found ourselves back in Old Manali within the hour. Although thankful for hot paneer kadai and cold beers, we will fondly reminisce on our makeshift camping meals, including our signature mountain Veg Biryani supper, chocolate porridge breakfast, and broccoli-Maggi luncheon with lemon tea and coconut shavings for High Tea. I can honestly say the experience of being self-sufficient and living comfortably in isolated Himalayan valleys for 5 days was one of the premier experiences of my life and I can't wait for more trekking adventures. McLeod Ganj, Ladakh, Lei, and perhaps Nanda Devi in Uttarakhand are on the list!

 In summary, Northern India is Bae and I never want to leave this heavenly oasis, where the chai is spicy and hemp grows like weeds on the roadside. Weeds, Carl. 

-Mountain Ryan

Alvida, Urban India

Triumphant Trio currently in Delhi. We left the spectacular sights of Rajasthan a couple days ago and stopped to visit the Taj Mahal in Agra on our way to New Delhi. The Taj is one hell of a sight - perfectly symmetrical, so it looks pretty much the same no matter where you're standing. Built entirely out of beautiful white marble blocks, this giant tomb makes the accompanying mosque and mausoleum look like paltry shacks. So much for the glory of God; this Moghal Sha was all about the glory of Bae (The Taj Mahal was built by Sha Jaman as a tomb for his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal).

We are currently awaiting the departure of a bus that will be transporting us to Manali in the state of Utar Pradesh. We are leaving the concrete jungle/zoo/ridiculousness of urban India and putting this camping gear that we've been lugging around to work!

We shall be in the boonies of North India for the next 2-3 weeks; please do not be concerned if the next blog post isn't published till next month :)

Let the trekking begin!

Radical Rajasthan - A tale of tuk-tuks, palaces, and silk lined suits..?

If you've ever seen pictures of India, or heard tales of its weirdness and wonders, the images that come to mind are of grand marble palaces scorching under the blaze of a fiery sun, or majestic elephants painted in all colours of the rainbow, bearded snake charmers luring deadly cobras out of a basket, and holy cows roaming freely through the streets... In the two days we've spent thus far in Jaipur, cultural capital of the state of Rajasthan we have seen these sights, and many more. Intrigued? Excited? So are we :)

We left the overwhelming streets of Mumbai a few days ago and had the pleasure of enjoying our first overnight Indian train journey. A fairly painless ordeal, considering that personal space and passenger comfort make way for more economical use of cabin space (think 8 people sleeping in a compartment with a surface area as large as your dining room table). No matter, we arrived safe and sound, with a smile on our face, a spring in our step, ready to embrace Jaipur.

Perhaps it was our obvious joie de vivre that attracted Mr. Shakir Khan's attention; or maybe the stars above had aligned and we were crossing paths with destiny - regardless of which you choose to believe, the tuk-tuk driver immediately approached the 3 compadres upon our exit from the train, guiding us to his ricksha and dropping us off at our pre-booked (yes sometimes we do plan ahead) hostel. Mr. Khan left us with a promise to return in the evening and bring us to the Monkey Temple that offers stunning sunset views of Jaipur.

After sunset, Shakir whisked us away to visit his friend and partner in crime, a man only known to us as Mr. India. Mr. India, a man of business, owns a small but impressive textile factory. But this ain't your every day, run of the mill shop. No sir; Mr. India employs women from the surrounding country side who, due to cultural and religious barriers, are not allowed to work from outside of their homes. He offers these women an opportunity to earn money for their families by practising traditional methods of cloth weaving and block printing. This magical man soon had us enraptured in his demonstrations (no doubt helped along by some locally brewed Kingfisher Strong Beer) and before we even knew what was happening, all three of us were being fitted for suits - yes, suits. Suits of the finest quality, tailored to perfection, hand made, and complete with MOTHER EFFIN PAISLEY SILK LINING. Has there ever been a more handsome trio?

As if this wasn't already the most amazing, ridiculous, and somewhat deranged evening, we were rewarded with our purchase of these suits by being escorted by messieurs Khan and India to the final day of celebrations for one of Shakir's cousins wedding. Shakir is a Muslim, and Indian, and the celebrations were as rambunctious as you would expect - that is, for a wedding where the men and women are separated by a wooden barrier. We were served delicious food, had garlands of flowers thrown around our necks, and witnessed the entrance of the happy couple as they arrived on the backs of superbly decorated horses (who were surprisingly calm given the million people dancing around them and the full brass orchestra blaring out their bumpin tunes).

Elephant at the wedding party

So day 1 was pretty cool. What would day 2 bring? Nothing other than a visit to Amber Fort, a 500 year old fortress built by the Maharajas. This architectural wonder is built mostly out of creamy white marble, elaborately carved in every complicated pattern you could imagine. The palace had maybe 3 barriers to entry. We explored the hallways, rooms, guard towers, latrines, and water supply system (infested with hundreds of bats. By the way, bats are gross and creepy and smelly and I think we have all gained an appreciation for Batman's fear of these hideous demons) for well over 3 hours, only to be summoned back to Shakir and his tuk-tuk by the blazing heat of midday.

Amer Fort and the Moata Lake water supply 

To wrap up the day, we returned to Mr. India's shop for a home made meal amongst men. Spicy potato and onions, eaten with our hands using chapatti as we all sit on the floor and shoot the shit as only dudes know how to do.

The visit to Jaipur will continue for at least another day. Next on our menu is a visit to Shakir's ancestral home in the countryside to experience "the heart of Rajasthan". If its anything close to what we've seen so far, it is sure to be an adventure.

P.Fij signing out - keep it classy, Planet Earth

Sunset over Jaipur