Ode to India

We've covered a lot of miles and stayed in many new cities this past week as we slowly made our way out of India, passing from Leh to Drass to Srinagar to Delhi to Varanasi and finally to Raxaul on the Nepalese border. Along the way we drove along perilously steep, muddy mountain roads, discovered northern India's Bayou swamps, glimpsed Himalayan peaks from 40 000 ft up, watched sacred puja ceremonies along the banks of the holy Ganges, and re-discovered the simple pleasure of travelling by rail in sleeper class. Now we head north, towards Nepal, China and a whole new set of adventures. 

As I sit on the train, the warm humid summer air drifting through the open windows of the sleeper section, the mellow late afternoon sun casting passing rice fields in a warm, beckoning hue of green, watching the herds of goats, sheep and water buffalo lounging in still pools of amber water, I realise I will miss India. I'll miss the chai-wallah hawking his hot, spicy, sweet tea loudly as I try to sleep on the night train, miss wandering aimlessly through busy, colourful, smelly market districts, miss the pastel coloured buildings against the pale pink setting sun, miss walking around a street corner to find a towering, muscular, indignant holy bull staring me down, miss the adrenaline rush from crossing the street, the hesitation in the first step and the relief in the last, miss the head bobbles and namastes, miss the broad spectrum of vividly coloured saris against the backdrop of green fields, miss how everything is always "no problem", miss the trains, buses, metros, tuktuks, mopeds, bikes, rickshaws and all the pandemonium associated with them. 

I'll long for the satisfying click-click-click of a well spun prayer wheel, the frenetic dance of the red, yellow, blue, green and white prayer flags caught up in the howling winds of a high pass, the arid, alien mountainsides tastefully brushed with teal and crimson red sediments, and the thin, cold high alpine air never providing quite enough oxygen. 

I'll remember fondly the people we've met along the way, the smiles on the faces of the boys who invited us to play cricket on our first day in India, the frail and gangly tailor with the theatrical stage name of Mr. India in Jaipur, the ever high guest house staff in Manali with their calls of "full power" at every possible occasion, the kind, weathered shepherds who graciously helped us with our fire and brought us fresh goats milk, the three defiant and demanding Israeli girls refusing to accept their seats next to "three large men" on the cramped bus to Leh, Stanzin the quiet, calm and collected Ladhaki guide who spoke passionately about his culture, Buddhism and the hope for a free Tibet, and the two Canadian women who so fiercely debated their views on women's rights with a fiery passion. And who could forget Emma-le, our first true travel friend, the down-to-earth, quick witted, smiling American student from New York and her friends the carefree, jovial and hilarious Dutch quartet of ecologists. These people have all combined for a unique and incredible Indian experience, and I hope that someday soon our paths cross again. 

It is hard to fully capture the essence of India and its effect on oneself properly on paper. It's a struggle all three of us are currently grappling with as we speed on into the night, field by field, town by town, getting closer to Nepal and further from our own Indian experience. We'd heard the tales of other travellers before arriving, but nothing can quite prepare you for the human chaos, the assault on the senses, the incredible sights and above all the beauties and wonders present in this country. It is not always easy or pleasant or comfortable, but it is a life altering experience. The human experience in its rawest form. 

Though our Indian chapter is coming to an end, it is by no means the last Indian adventure we shall have. We have but scratched the surface of a tiny corner of this vast subcontinent. Many more experiences await, more adventures around the corner, more tales to be written. But that is a story for another day. 

An assortment of pictures from the past couple weeks. 

Emma-le, the Dutch ecologists and us on our last night in Leh

The swampy houseboats of Srinagar

Smiles all around after getting blessed in Varanasi

Running the holy cow gauntlet in Varanasi 

Desecrating holy monuments by the Ganges (there are, surprisingly, urinals in those locations)

Keeping it hood in the sleeper car

Is There Life on Mars?

This is a tale of Ice Giants, ancient Tibetan mantras, and dusty Martian valleys. This is our account of our march through the Markha valley, where the nights are cold, the days are hot, and the thenthuk is even hotter. Life in this remote northern valley is retrograde – dinner is cooked on wood stoves and having a door on your dirt poop-hole is a luxury. With that in mind, let me begin...

Our last night in Leh (for the time being) was spent in style, sharing beers and Biris with a quartet of Dutch ecologists and a climate research student from Vermont. We told mediocre jokes and 'learned' each other some foreign expletives before catching a few winks to fuel our first day of walking. Parantha breakfast and a 3-pound lemon cake for lunch was all the juice we needed to make it through high-walled valleys and babbling brooks to our first stop – a single-house 'village' called Yurtse. There we made friends with a quaint British couple and sang songs with a group of Polaks after an enormous meal of rice, dal, and vegetables. Songs include "The Good Old Hockey Game", "Ag Pleez Daddy", "Loch Lomond", "Afternoon Delight" and many more nameless French and Polish folk songs. 

The next day had us crossing the 4950m Ganda-La pass, and though the weather was erratic, the experience did not disappoint. The day began with us slowly ascending towards the cloudy skies, eventually reaching the snow line in an hour or two. 3 hours and 800m of altitude later, we were at the pass, being bombarded by snowy winds. The sun burst out from behind the clouds on the descent down through the Indus Valley towards the village of Shinggo (and had us sweating in our boots), before a squall of torrential rain bucketed down on us an hour before we arrived at the guest house. There we dried our boots, learned the English rules of cribbage, and attempted to make Tibetan momos, with little success. 

The next two days were long, flat marches through Markha valley. Once having reached the meeting of the Indus Valley and the Markha valley at the village of Skiu, we marched two days past barley fields, tiny settlements, and massive outcropping rock faces. Neither gaining nor losing much altitude, our third night was spent at the village of Sera while our fourth was spent at the slightly larger village of Hankar. Sera was our favourite stop, merely for the incredible hospitality and comfort we experienced in the care of A-ne-le (the woman running the homestay); while Hankar was our final homestay of the trek, situated near a high plateau right on the edge of the rushing Markha river.

The next day (Day 5) was possibly the most challenging of the entire trek – we gained 1000m in altitude between having apricot jam+chapati breakfast at Hankar (3950m), and eating our potato and pancake lunch at 5000m, high above  the settlement of Nimaling (4750m). The extra altitude was due to a slight, purposeful detour towards the base camp of the 6400m Kengyaze, a true beast of a mountain and the highest around for many miles. We then descended down to Nimaling, where there awaited us individual tents, vast plains of grazing yaks and goats, and a refreshing stream to bathe in. That night we enjoyed the company of a group of teachers from an international school in Singapore who were taking their students on a camping/trekking summer excursion, complete with horses, porters, and the finest camping meals you could ask for (pizza, pasta, tibetan food, birthday cake, etc.). After our own delicious meal of (you guessed it) dal, rice, and veggies, we settled in for a cold night and an early start for the much-anticipated crossing of Kongmaru La pass (5150m).

Another blue-bird day had us in high spirits, and we were at the pass before we knew it – it took about 1.5 hours to ascend the short 400m climb. Upon reaching the top, we revelled in the near-360 views and took pictures, while our guide took his regularly scheduled smoke break and made some phone calls (being so high up means great cell service in these parts). Once we had taken in all the views we could muster, we descended through an epic gorge, crossed the river about 40 times, and dipped up and down and around on the winding trail that can accurately be described as Nature's stair-master. We stopped for tea a couple of times and played leap-frog with the porter horses of another trekking group from the Czech Republic, until finally reaching our destination of Shang Sumdo a hefty 18km later. A delicious meal of Thenthuk and the prospect of not having to do any walking the next day was truly rewarding, and we spent the night being regaled with tales of winters in the Zanskar valley by our guide Stanzin. The next day we scouted out Thiksey Monastery (complete with a 40 foot tall golden Buddha statue) on our taxi ride back to Leh, and settled in quickly to the abundance of restaurants and easy-access snack shops. 

It may have been the best week of my life. The Tibetan, Ladakhi, and Zanskari people were like a blast from the past- simple, honest, intelligent, and happier than you would have though possible considering how hard they work just to acquire the basic necessities in a harsh, unforgiving landscape. Being in such an alien place was astounding (if you had told me I was somewhere in Afghanistan I might well have believed you) and the isolation is surprisingly refreshing, both mentally and physically. The grinding, physical meditation of trekking, as well as waking and sleeping in tune with the rising and setting of the sun, was like pushing a giant biological reset button, and at the end of 7 days of this, the feeling was incredible.

Since being back in Leh, we have already met plenty of new pals and have had new adventures, including mountain biking down the highest public-access road in the world, Kardung-La pass – 40km in length and dropping nearly 2000m. Our next adventure includes a car journey to Srinagar and a flight back to Delhi, where we will then catch a train to Varanasi (the holy capital of India), then to Birgunj, where we will cross into Nepal for a flight from Kathmandu to Xi'an, home of the Terracotta Warriors and the once-capital of the great nation of China. Goodbye, until our next Namaste or Ni-Hao! 

-Ryan / R.A.P.