India

Benares -> Delhi -> Chandigarh -> Simla -> Dharamsala -> Srinigar -> Leh -> Lamayuru-> Hanupatta -> Photoskar -> Singi La -> Yulchun -> Narek -> Zangla -> Padum -> Panikhar -> Rangdum Gompa -> Kargil -> Thiksey Monastery -> Alchi Momastery

Our Ladakh trek

Leh 2. Lamayuru 3. Hanupatt 4. Photoskar 5. Singi La 6. Yulchun 7. Narek 8. Zangla 9. Padum 10. Panikhar 11. Rangdum Gompa 12. Kargil 13. Thiksey Monastery 14. Alchi Momastery

13 May 1978. Train between Gaya and Benares. All alone (Nicole and Francis having gone directly from Patna to Benares), first class seat, fans swirling, hot, though not up to my pessimistic expectations. Been in India two days, and have spent almost all that time sleeping - the heat sure slows me down.

The last week of my 3 1/2 months in Nepal was a real boondoggle: Pancho Huddle, the vice consul, having taken a fancy to us, lodged us gratis at his temporary house in (something) Heights, a few clicks or two from Kathmandu.

19 May 1978. YWCA, Simla. 11 o’clock of a lovely warm morning, sitting at a table in an alcove off the main porch of the fine old building, wooden framed, leaded glass windows on three sides, a few potted plants, one or two other guests occasionally passing by, otherwise alone, and peaceful, the sounds of Simla drifting up to the top of the ridge muted by the trees. We have a two room suite plus bath for two rupees a night, a bargain in this holiday resort now crammed full of families, administrators (This is the capital of Himachal Pradesh), army types.

So nice to be out of the heat! Benares was truly hot, and I spent virtually all of my few days there prone on my bed, the fan (mostly) working at top speed overhead, smoking joint after joint with the Danish freak and his Italian companion next door. Sweat city. I’ve never drunk so much in my life: at least 5 quarts of water a day, plus countless lassis, mango shakes, fresh lime drinks, teas, cold coffee and anything else that pours. Went to Sarnath across the river to see where Buddha preached his first sermon - lovely green, quiet enclosure, some Indian deer (one looked like an impala) in a big cage, flame trees, and yellow blossom and white blossom trees going like crazy. Only a few bricks left of the old buildings that made the place such a center in its Buddhist/Ashoka heydays. Funny how peaceful and ostentatious have been Sarnath, Bodh Gaya, and Lumbini - so different in flavor from Muslim, Hindu, and Christian holy places I’ve seen. Maybe that’s why Buddhism didn’t do so well in India: no spectacle to offer the masses, it’s teachings too severe, too intellectual. Bodh Gaya as well: a sanctuary of trees, flowers, potted plants, modest stupas, and statues, plus The enormous Temple next to the green and flourishing pitbull tree where Sid Arthur got it - the temple now administered by Hindus, of all irony. Again, not much of a feast for the eyes and ears, just peace and quiet, the way it must’ve been in the fifth century BC, almost 2500 years ago…

Nicole found me by good luck in Benares, and we together took a first class night train to Delhi (our own compartment!), prostrate under four laboring fans for the entire afternoon, hot as we’ve ever been, 110°F or so, with a nice high humidity thrown in for free. The heat dried up a bit in Delhi, where we stayed only a day to leave stuff with Susheela, get travelers checks and mail, and buy presents for Nicole‘s family. Then the night train to Chandigarh, and a day of gromping around Corbusier's planned city and capital of Punjab, prosperous and unhurried, long, straight wide boulevards with little traffic, bicycles, and rickshaws the standard, hot again, with a lovely lakeside promenade to observe and be observed, getting lots of stares (mainly Nicole), very few tourists. The next morning, a great narrow guage six hour ride to Simla at about 6000 feet, still hot but bearable, hoping Frances catches up with us today or tomorrow so we can move on together to Kullu.

Backpack time!

Anchor points in hard backpack are pairs of drilled holes, filled by nuts and bolts (rubber washers for waterproofing?). Can anchor rectangular leather straps on inside or outside of both, under which pass nylon straps. Same leather patches on bags to be fastened to hard pack.
Only need one strap size for:
- Bag fastening.
- Belt (pad sewn on).
- Shoulder straps (pad sewed on)
Only need one metal fixture. Nice if it can link to another.
Hard pack rests on three molded extensions when put down, keeping back clean, and protecting it from getting crushed at sides.
Inside nets close together can hold clothes wrinkle-free.
Belt has rectangular leather patches on outside to accept short straps fastening it to hard backpack - can also be used to hold bags when belt used alone, or as should shoulder straps.
Provision for hanging clothes, and using pack freestanding upright bureau of drawers.

Toiletries (nylon bag with loop and close)

Soap in small, ventilated dish, Dental floss, T. P., small tube toothpaste, underarm cream, shampoo, cut-off toothbrush in short short holder, Wilkinson plastic shaver, extra blades in film container, after shave lotion, hard rubber comb, small mirror case with hanger and back support, chapstick, fingernail clippers, scrub brush

Medicine chest (plastic)

Band-Aids, contact pills, hand lotion, tape, Lomotil, antibiotic ointment, Valium, iodine (tablets?), Preludin, moleskin, Demirol, aspirin, opium, multi-vitamin pills, gauze, vitamin C pills, flea powder, malaria pills, mosquito coils

Clothes

2 pair underwear, 2 pair light socks, thongs, t-shirt, short-sleeved shirt, sleeveless undershirt, long-sleeved shirt, bathing suit, sarong, large handkerchief, towel, shorts (with inside pocket), corduroy pants, money belt

Camera

OM-2 with 28, 50 macro- 75-150 zoom, polarizing filter, electronic flash with spare batteries, lens brush, film & mailers, small automatic pocket camera, leather carrying case for belt, backpack

Miscellaneous

Cricket lighters, matches & match case, Swiss army knife, large pocket knife, diary, incense, small binoculars, address book with extra pages, ballpoint pens, dollars, personal checks, American Express card, chess set, Frisbee, folding scissors, sewing kit, tape recorder and cassettes (?), combination lock, computer book, leather valuables holder, candles (kerosene lamp?), water bottle, booze bottle, juggling balls, star map, world map, guide book, glasses with clip-on polaroids, secret container

Cooking

kerosene stove, nozzle cleaner, 2 sets cutlery, pot holder, 2 low nesting pots with covers, 2 Sierra cups, Sigg kerosene bottle, tea/coffee strainer, scratch pad, dish towel, detergent, salt & pepper, tea, sugar, etc.

Camping

tent, whisk brush, space blanket, zip-together sleeping bags, Thermarest pads

Things to do/get in California

juggling book, Spanish at Sullivan's, flute (lessons, sheet music), bird-watching book, sewing book, gardening books, wine tasting course, woodwork (course, books), leatherwork (class, book), ice cream (course, book), photography book/course, glasses, marijuana (book), interior decorating ideas, French/European history, geography, art (books), Greek books, good pen, massage book, Audobon Society, catadioptric lens (Questar?), hiking catalogs, clothes patterns, cooking (course and books), wines (book), Frostline kits, small business management (course, book), French grammar book, small binos, house construction (book), pottery (book), ice cream maker, teach travel course

May 28, 1978. Dharamsala. Sitting under the fan in the lobby of the tourist bungalow, waiting for it to cool off a bit more before trudging the 300 m to my thoroughly horrible but only 6 rupee bed in another hotel because the dorm here is booked solid. Three great French guys to pal around around with – we hope to interview on the Dalai Lama tomorrow, and I am the interpreter!

Looking back since Simla, I see mainly in terminable bus rides (Simla - Kullu, 12 hours; Manali – Dharamsala 12 hours, for example). And ahead loom many more (Dharamsala - Srinagar 17 hours, Srinagar – Leh two days, etc). The area looks so small on the map, but takes forever to traverse. The heat is less strong than the planes, but is still enough to discourage outdoor activity – and with nothing much else to do in these hill towns, I’ve taken to letter writing and chain-smoking. Rain last night, so I’ll most probably be dry until Srinagar - probably be good for me.

Nicole and Francis abandoned me for Srinagar two days ago - Francis has a tight schedule to follow if she wants to see a lot of Ladakh before returning to France on June 7. They are happy together, and I don’t especially like being around Francis, so it makes for a good change. What’s wrong with Francis? Nothing at all – she is extremely intelligent, independent, strong-willed, and does lots of nice things for everybody. Why can’t I just sit back and enjoy her company? Good question.

July 6, 1978. Lake Nagin, Srinagar. Ho ho ho – the life of Pasha continues, sitting on the settee in the living room of our fourth houseboat, the lake visible on three sides, distant sound of waterski boats, occasional "market" boats gliding by, selling just about anything (“You want hashish marijuana opium masculine LSD Valium mandrex speed…?). Nicole is busy riding letters, I’m digesting a tasty orange-gin drink after a late morning breakfast of boiled eggs, Kashmiri bread with butter and marmalade, coffee with milk and sugar, yogurt, and fresh cherries. It is 2:30 PM, just starting to get hot, the air becoming steadily clearer, the mountains across from us more visible every minute. The heat seems to peak around 6–7 p.m., then plummets to a refreshing coolness around 8, when all becomes still, and only the lights of the other houseboats prove that we are not alone. We are paying about three dollars a day for this class B Boat (normally renting at $10 a day, but whoever deals with the tourist center?), all to ourselves, with a chance to do our own cooking and be completely alone. It was fun, and a bit cheaper, to be with three French guys, (Jean-Claude, Jean-Paul, and Harvey, for a few days on Dal Lake, but the chance to be alone, eating our own food, couldn’t be missed.

One day, while relaxing on the roof, the owner (who lives in the back of the houseboat with his wife) approached and asked if I would like to smoke some hashish. That sounded like a good idea. After a pipe or two, he asked if I would be interested in purchasing some hashish. That also sounded like a good idea, and so I bought a kilo. When Nicole and I left Kashmir for Delhi, I bought the thickest book I could find from a bookseller ("Ah, you are interested in Hinduism?"), placed the hashish in its hollowed-out inside, wrapped it, and mailed it to Irv Brenner. He wrote back that he had sold it immediately at a substantial profit. And so began and ended my smuggling career.

Feeling good today, after a three day bout with a badly swollen face (bugs in houseboat # 2), followed by mild food poisoning from a fish curry on houseboat #3. Just Like my first visit, 10 years ago. We will stay here a week, firmly on our own asses, then bomb off to Ladakh - but we’ve already had about nine full days of bus/train rides in India (that’s one day out of three), and badly need the rest before we try more public transportation.

The Dalai Lama interview didn’t come off, but we made plans to return to Dharamsala July 1, one for a week of filming, culminating in the Dalai Lama birthday celebrations on July 7. Then Nicole and I hope to spend a month or so attending Dharma and Tibetan language lessons and watching the rains come down. (Dharamsala reputedly is the second rainier city in India, but hopefully far behind number one, Cherrapunji, with its 360 inches in July alone!)

Francis left us three days ago, and if she is still on schedule, she flies from Delhi to Paris this afternoon, for a week with Pancho before returning to Montreal. She misses Ladakh, but the pass was opened to class B buses only yesterday, so she really had no chance. Too bad.. By all reports, this is the last (and only 4th?) year before Ladakh is “ruined “. Still, she loved Srinagar, bought lots of lovely things, and had a ball with Nicole, invitations and evenings with local guys, swimming, side trips to the gardens and Gulmarg.

What’s so good about traveling? – Some points to consider.

Interest in countries I didn’t know anything about.
Interest in history, politics (new for me!).
Make new friends.
Become more alive to, critical of, and interested in, surroundings - wakes you up!
Spend more time thinking out big questions which are otherwise selbom touched.
Permits full freedom - no time/space limitations, no deadlines.
Reduces your material needs/wants.
Makes you appreciate the little things more.
Makes you know better what you like, don’t like.
Give you a chance to try out different life styles.
More time outdoors/more looking at nature.
Simpler interests, but all basic and necessary: food, sleep, living space.
Makes you a perfectionist: temptation to always try for the best/light/most durable/most useful.
Changes your interests, and re-orders their priorities.

Ideal traveler's Tent

Can be freestanding, optional stakes if necessary.
has waterproof floor and small sill, rest mosquito net; outer part fully water proof (ground cloth?)
Can cook inside.
Pockets and hooks inside.
Mosquito night independently usable as bed net.
Easy to sweep clean
Backpack (or part of it) is also part of tent.
Lockable

May 29, 1978. Dharamsala, India.

Hello again, dear folks.

We finally ran out of visa extensions in Nepal, and with great fear and trepidation descended from snowy Himalaya to thr Gangetic Plain see a bit of Benares, Bodhgaya (Where Buddha achieved enlightenment), Agra, and Delhi. We did see a bit, but we sure didn’t enjoy it. Our tourist activities were restricted to 6-8 AM and 5-7 PM. The rest of the time we were flat on our backs under the fans, wet towels, and drinks within easy reach, watching the thermometer hang around 45°C, the humidity about 70 percent. What a nightmare. So we grabbed our mail in Delhi, including a great swatch of family letters for big Sam, thank you, thank you, and jumped on the next train heading north. For the past two weeks we’ve been meandering through some great little hill stations and former British watering spots, seeking high altitudes, and good mango milkshakes. Chandigarh, Simla, Kula, Manali, and good old Dharamsala, best known for its long-term resident, the Dalai Lama (we hope to have an audience with him tomorrow), although I’ll remember it cheaply for its yogurt milkshakes. Even at 5000 feet above sea level it’s hot. We’re too lazy to even step outside to watch the local fakir point his half dead cobra at our cameras for a few photos. One more day here and we leave for Srinagar, and a nice long rest in a houseboat on Dal Lake. Sometimes traveling is hard work!

It was awfully nice of Mrs. Short to phone you – we met them while I was camping in Chitwan National Park, hoping for a view of a tiger (no such luck, but heard them), and they invited my companions and me to dinner at the posh Tiger Tops Safari Camp - what a treat! We told them all about getting chased by rhinos, and Mr. Short told us how her company was having troubles with the Negroe he was forced by law to hire. Political ideologies aside, they are an amazing pair. - think you’ll be riding elephants in Nepal when you are over 80?

Jogging a mile every day? I never went that far. I’m very impressed. What distance does Benji cover during your mile? Oh boy, a new dog! Even a whole new breed. Have we broken free from the bulldogs and related species? Will I be able to swing Benji horizontally from the end of a towel? How is he at catching frisbees? Can’t wait to start breaking him in… Incidentally, I’ve never seen a Basenji before, even in Africa. How big do the beasts get?

Too bad about Club Med, but it probably wouldn’t have worked out very easily for us: flying from India to Guadalupe and back would have been a major league detour. Right now we are hoping to convince Nicole‘s mom and younger sister Lynn to join us for a spell in Sri Lanka around January 1979. It would be a great opportunity for the two of them to get away to a nice place for a while, and would actually make our traveling in Sri Lanka a lot easier, because we'd be able to rent a car, instead of having to rely on local buses and trains (horrible at best)

Lots of love from Sam & Nicole

My special thanks to fellow traveler Jeff Britton, who provided me with a priceless set of hand-drawn maps of Ladakh; see them here.

June 23, 1977. Hanupatta, Ladakh. It’s 6 AM, a bit too cold for comfort, the sun on the peaks and about to appear down the valley, the almost full moon about to set. Nicole is asleep in our double bag in our comfortable little niche just outside the entrance to the old man's summer home, about 1 1/2 hours walk upstream Hanupatta. He’s asleep on the ground, wrapped in his heavy yaks wool blanket (stripes of white, brown and black - shades of Ethiopia), his wife busy with breakfast. Tsering, our most wonderful companion the past two days, is asleep inside the house. To complete the account of sleeping forms we have, from left to right: a dzomo (female dzo, a cross bvetween a yak and a cow), her baby, three baby goats under a blanket, and about two dozen sheep and goats in a separate roof enclosure, all safe from wolves and the night's chill. We must be at around 12,000 feet, and the valley ahead of us heads straight up to a triangular snow peak.

Today, after a breakfast of tsampa, tea and (Hope hope) yak curd, we will walk up the west side of this high and wide valley to the base of the mountain, then turn east, cross the river, and climb over the Sirsir La Pass, at something over 16,000 feet, before descending to Photaskar for the night. Nicole just woke up, the lady is milking the dzomo, the old man is humming in his blanket, the baby goats are bleating for their breakfast - another day has begun.

We have only been on the trail for two days, having left Lamayuru Monastery on the Srinagar–Leh road Wednesday morning, but it seems a much longer time. We left Lamayuru at 7:30 AM, bidding goodbye to the seven other tourists who shared the modest hotel with us. Two were Japanese studying the Buddhist faith in the various Ladakhi monasteries (very lax discipline compared to the Zen monasteries in their own country, they tell me), one a woman of about 30 who’s been traveling for the past four years, the last three on American tour leader, his French girlfriend, and an older American lady. He works for Lindblad Tours, and he’s been eight times to the Antarctic, several times to Outer Mongolia, twice on dog sled trips through Greenland, etc. But all will return to Srinagar by bus or Jeep, leaving the forbidden dry, high country of central Ladakh to the younger generation.

We left Lamayuru with very full backpacks - about 45 pounds for me, 35 for Nicole - a minimum of clothes, a kerosene stove, and plenty of food: several New Zealand freeze-dried meals, some packaged soups, a kilo of tsampa flour, a kilo of dried apricots (20 cents in Leh) a kilo of rice, a kilo of sugar, peanut butter, bread, cake, biscuits, sweets, tea, coffee, cardamom, and a few other spices, and some hard boiled eggs, cucumbers, and onions for the first day or two. But Nicole couldn’t easily handle her pack so we left the tsampa flour with the lady. The time is 2 PM, it is quite clear and hot outside, and Tsering's chanting is like the droning of cicadas. We only walked about two hours this morning, from Lunchung, practically running downhill to keep pace with Tsering, then a slow uphill slog after crossing the river. We had a fine wash, shave, shampoo, etc., in a stream by the village, and now, for the first time since we started our trip, we have an afternoon of rest. We need it. Tsering moves right along, and even though he carries a bit of our food, and we gave our tsampa away to the lady we stayed with in Pharjita, I’m suffering from the load, the altitude, the sun, and the pace. Plus, I have a neat nose infection, which has been bugging me for almost a week, that followed close after some insect bites in Srinagar which puffed my face out for a day. The body is falling apart…

From Hanupatta we walked up the wide saddle shaped Valley of the Spang River, crossed it, then slogged up another two hours to reach the Shi-Shi La our second highest point on the trick at 16,370 feet, by lunchtime. Fantastic view back across the valley of smooth slopes and sharp pinnacles, very moonlike . Then down to Photaksar, at the end of a valley green with barley fields, yaks and goats and sheep everywhere, the village itself stuck on a cliff beside the river. Here Tsering learns that a festival is in progress, so he and I go up to the Gompa while Nicole relaxes with the backpacks by the river. As usual, Tsering knows and is known by everybody, and we are soon swept into some major league chang drinking. We returned two hours later, both feeling good, the time now 4:30 PM, and Tsering decides it’s best to walk towards the next pass to make the following day easier.

Almost immediately we meet up with a young guy who is bringing his married sister back on a white horse to visit her family in Yul Chung. They come from a fairly high caste, and her wealth is evident in her elaborate head piece, which is completely covered with turquoise, silver boxes, coral, and large rectangular pieces of agate(?). So off we go in a group, soon joined by an old man who accompanies us as far as the first small pass, where we have a last cup or two of chang. Then our fellow travelers really get moving, and we bust our asses for another two hours, trying to keep pace with the horse, steadily moving up the valley towards Singi La. Nicole gets completely worn out, and I’m not doing much better, but Tsering keeps urging us on, until we reach the last stream before the pass. It is now 7:30 PM, we are at about 15,000 feet, we’ve walked at at least eight or nine tough hours, and we have to somehow cross this icy torrent without dying in the attempt. Tsering goes first, with Nicole’s backpack, and dumps everything halfway across, where the water is more than knee deep and really moving. But he recovers nicely, and returns with the horse for Nicole to cross. I go last with the brother, and I have never felt such cold water in all my life.

Crossing completed, we check in at the local yak herder's hut, where the two occupants are of course, great friends of Tsering. After a good meal of rice and freeze dried lamb and peas, we flake out under the stars, with about 50 yaks for fellow bedmates. The next morning, Tsering brings us fresh milk (delicious, with way more flavor than cows milk, but literally rolling in fat), yak curd, butter, cheese, etc., and we’re off to Singi La, our highest point on the trek (16,600 feet). After three tough hours, we attain the pass, the last 100 meters in snow, again completely bushed, and then hustle down to Yulchung, less a village than a scattering of large homes and a few gompas amongst the barley fields, surrounded by the Grand Canyon times 10. Here, Tsering finds us accommodation in the largest home of all, very Pueblo-like in its mud brick walls, central courtyard on the upper floor, and many-leveled additions to the main structure. The roofs are timbered, a great luxury for this area, where trees are so scarce (Photaskar, in fact, at over 14,000 feet, had no trees at all).

That afternoon we walked to a gompa on the west side of the valley to see and photograph it interior, and of course snag a bit more chang (we had many cupfuls already at the big house, served by the 15-year-old daughter-in-law who didn’t understand at all my signals for “enough “).

OK, sort of up-to-date, except for a recap of our week in and around Leh prior to the start of this amazing trek. But first some camping notes.:

Backpack as comfortable seat, with sleeping bag as
Loops on shoulder straps for holds
Note page on camera for photo info (pencil two?)
How to keep camera from swinging against chest?

Popular Photography says:

OM-2 great
Best lenses: 75 to 150 Zoom, 400 mm
Best focusing screen: number 11 (13?), with split image surrounded by fresnel.
If film, reflectivity changes, may have to reset ASA to compensate
Get special flash, which couples to camera

July 17, 1978. Dharamshala. (Tibetan library). A new stage in our Odyssey begins. We have been in Dharamshala several days already, but today, Monday, is the first day we attended a class: group chanting for around 30 minutes, a short talk on the importance of meritorious deeds to aid one in future cycles, and about 15 minutes of “nine-fold" meditation, consisting of three breaths in the right nostril and out the left, three in the reverse order, and three using both nostrils. I ache quite a bit without even being close to full lotus, but this will improve, as my legs are thin and strong from so much walking, and just need a little stretching to make them more flexible. I also felt very warm in my upper body. (arms, forehead, sides) while meditating, which has happened before with TM, but never to such an extent. On a 0 to 10 scale, I’d call my concentration about six.

We have found a perfectly wonderful room at the tourist bungalow for 18 rupees a day. It is an octagon about 15 feet in diameter, with windows, screens, and curtains on 6 sides, plus a door and a closet. We have a bed, just barely wide enough for the two of us, a mirror and stand for cosmetics, and a little table and chair for writing and eating. We'll cook breakfast with no trouble: this morning: soft boiled eggs, toast, butter, and good honey, coffee with milk and sugar, and tea with lemon. Not all that great selection of fresh fruits and vegetables in town, but will make two. Some westerner bakes cakes and sells them after the dharma class, and curd is available as well. We’ve located some pretty good cookies for tea, and tomatoes, onions, potatoes, green peppers, etc. are readily available. We won’t starve.

The rain so far has been intermittent, but when it comes down, it doesn’t fool around. We bought a large, colorful, and rather heavy umbrella for 25 rupees, and may have to buy another, although the walk from the tourist bureau to the library or to town is only about 15 minutes.

We hope to stay put in Dharamshala for 6 to 8 weeks, when the weather should be just right for a trek into Ladakh from Chamba, and back to Dharamshala. Meanwhile, we hope to make a trip or two to Kangra and the lake not far from here. We are doing situps and push-ups twice a day, and Nicole has begun her yoga. I hope to meditate twice daily, read up on whatever seems of interest in the library each morning, study The Art of Computer Programming, and read and write letters in the evenings. Should be a very nice two months, indeed.

Plans when we leave Dharamsala:

Oct: Agra, Gwalion (pottery course?), Delhi, Rajasthan
Nov: Maharashtra, Karnataka, Goa, Kerala
Dec: s. India, Sri Lanka (with Helene and Lynn?)' boat to Singapore
Jan: Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand
Feb: Burma, Bangladesh, Nepal (?), Delhi, Afghanistan
Mar: Syria, Lebanon, Jprdan, Cyprus
Apr: Egypt (?), Turkey (?), Malta (?), and back to France

While in Dharamsala I decided on a whim to request an audience with the Dalai Lama. Nothing could have been easier: I went to his compound, met with the person in charge of arranging visits, and voila! I was scheduled for the next day. Meeting him could not have been more natural. He greeted me in English, asked where I was from, and what my plans were: a simple, relaxed conversation, nothing strange or mystical. The entire visit lasted no more than fifteen minutes.

The walk to Padum, after bidding a somewhat tearful farewell to Tsering, was by far the roughest and most dangerous part of the entire trek, and had we known what we were getting into, we would undoubtedly have gone via Lingshet instead. from Nerak we climbed five tough hours upwards to the Neva La, then another hour to the second of its passes (~ 16,000 feet) before descending an extremely steep scree slope to a river full of willow trees to fight through and just wide enough to guarantee wet feet at each of the many crossings. We camped by this river our sixth night, and the next morning continued following the river, often on snow bridges, until it narrowed to a rushing impossible torrent down a narrow gorge. After some searching, we found a path leading up the east side of the gorge, then an extremely steep and slippery scree face, where a slip would’ve meant a 100 yard slide into the river. The trail was so faint that I had to dig out footholds with a rock for about an hour. We were both frightened. I think this was the roughest part of the trek.

Once past the scree, we descended back to the river, forwarded it (knee, deep, but cold and fast), it until it joined the Khurmafir. An hour up this stream, and we followed another stream up an amazing valley decorated with a eroded towers and pillars of stone and dirt, sometimes thick enough to suggest Bryce National Park.

We camped on the river, and the next morning spent a good two hours going the wrong way before orienting ourselves and continuing up the same river to Namtse La, a mere 14,530 feet, and on down to Zangla, for a night in the school house with an asshole Kashmiri as our host. The next day was true horror: plodding along the Zanskar River, occasionally required to enter it where the walls became steep, the weather hot and clear, the valley wide and uninteresting, the air so clear that everything seemed much closer than it was, and best of all, Nicole, struck with a painful case of dysentery, complete with stomach cramps, loss of appetite, and a terrible weakness. She didn’t eat much of anything for about three days, and was so dejected she would periodically just break down and cry.

We somehow managed to stagger into Padum, and check into the “hotel“ there for two nights, just about out of food and fuel.

Padum is a horrible place, with tough looking people, mostly kids, filthy water, and practically no supplies of any sort, the season having just begun. We managed to round up some truly stale glucose biscuits, some terrible rice, some powdered milk, sugar, eggs, and Tibetan bread, and off we went, up the Stod River, laden down with heavy weights on our backs, the temperature too hot for comfort, the valley wide and endless, and six or seven identical days of walking ahead of us before we reached Panikhar and a bus to Kargil, a distance of about 100 miles. In the middle of the second day,with Nicole fully recovered, I was in turn struck down by the same dysentery, which left me weak and demoralized. Fortunately a caravan of some 17 horses, guided by four tough Ladakhi types, was behind us and heading for Panikhar as well, so we negotiated to have a horse carry both our backpacks for 120 rupees - the smartest deal we made in all the Ladakh. Suddenly, the walk became pleasant once more, and though scenically far less interesting than the first part of our trek, it was a fun experience in its own way, hanging around these wild guys, camping with them in the open, walking on ahead when it suited our mood, feeling very free and easy indeed.

We enjoyed a morning at Rangdum Gompa, where we were treated to butter, tea, tsampa, and some good yak cheese, and where the monks were most helpful in finding our camera after someone had walked off with it an hour before we noticed its disappearance. Close call, and happy ending.

We ate tsampa porridge in the morning, sometimes with apricots (we had brought a kilo in Leh for two rupees), always with milk and sugar; coffee and tea; and often yak curd we had purchased from local folks the day before. Lunch was usually peanut butter and jelly sandwiches using Tibetan bread, and dinner either rice or noodles, with the last of our Nepal-purchased New Zealand freeze dried foods, or maybe a can of sardines. All in all, not a bad diet, and certainly a healthy one.

We were thoroughly bushed when we arrived at Panikhar, unable to walk much further, feet extremely tired, all interest in additional trekking effectively snuffed out. The truck ride to Kargil turned out to be five hours of the roughest road travel we ever experienced, even counting Africa, in the back on the floor with about 30 wild looking local folks.

But what about our week in Leh? Not much to relate – the Hemis Festival was great for the local folks, but the dances proper were mostly a waste of time, unless you had paid the price for a good seat. So mainly other tourists and lots of expensive camera equipment. Leh itself was relatively pleasant, and our hotel, about 15 minutes out of town, was quiet and homey. Thikse Monastery was fun to visit, and the plain of stupas between it and Leh quite impressive. Best of all were the beautiful Persian paintings of 11th to 14th centuries at Alchi Monastery, where we spent a whole morning photographing and viewing. Some large standing figures had their legs completely covered with lovely miniatures of hunting and court scenes – the nicest miniature painting we’ve seen to date.

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