Twenty days since we set off from Zanskar Sumdo we have arrived in Leh. Ten days since my only shower in Padum and the lines in my hands were black with dust. When I rinsed out my hair the shower water was brown and while the rest of my body is still as white as the Melbourne Winter left it, my arms are brown like the colour of the Ladakhi mountains.
Twenty days have passed quickly but at the same time I feel as though I have been living in the mountains and sleeping in a tent for months. It feels odd to be sleeping in a guesthouse under a concrete roof, walking streets packed with cars, tourists and cafes and drinking semi-real coffee (they user those funny capsule things here). It feels good to taste some food outside of the daily sabji and rice but beside that I can already feel a slight yearning for the stars and rivers and glaciers and endless walking creeping back in.
In what I will call a brief overview, the past twenty days have been breathtaking, spectacular, delicious, tough and eye-opening. We walked around fifteen to twenty kilometres each day bar three days in which we acclimatised in Chuminakpo, and did our shopping and Dalai Lama birthday celebrations in Padum. Over eight passes (Las) ranging from 3800m to 5100m made the final eight days of our journey very much either up or down - I have developed some decent mountain leg muscles. I'd say the first ten days were like training - one big pass on day three (the spectacular snow-covered Shingo La at 5100m) and after that long days winding through gorges and up valleys, visiting homes and gonpas (Buddhist monasteries) nestled high up in cliffs and on mountains.
There were a couple of tricky spots where I wondered if I might end my days tumbling down a mountain face into the roaring river or being washed away by an especially deep and ferocious river crossing (Mum was on a mule).Both Mum and I came down with our own ailments; Mum was still recovering from flu and managed to poison herself on either fresh yoghurt or dirty water later on in the trek, and I got sinusitis and some lovely wound up my nose that meant I had a prolonged bloody nose.We managed to run out of money, expecting an ATM in Padum and finding there was none. That made for some serious budgeting and cutting out such luxuries as peanut butter; I am really craving peanut butter on toast right now. We far from starved though and our hardships brought wonderful new people into our lives: a group of Indian college kids and a great Englishwoman, a couple of hilarious French guys and kind Ladakhi families.
Each day I woke and could hardly believe the beauty of it all. Every valley has its own feel, its own colours, its own flowers. Each turn brings a chorten or a mani wall to encourage the tired hiker when it is getting late and each pass a flutter of coulourful prayer flags and a panorama of the days ahead. The views were sensational and I could have sat up there for days watching the valleys and the snow-capped mountains on every side. There were gorges where each side rose over a thousand metres above us and mountains, like the great granite Mount Gambar Ranjang which towered above us for days, that felt like the sacred guardians of the Himalayas. Springs flowed from the sides of the driest mountains, adorned with little rocky shrines made by past travellers and village people, and each time we came across one it was like small miracle.There was wildlife everywhere: fluffy marmots, colourful birds of yellows, reds and more, ibex and lizards. And although I know yaks and goats are hardly classified as wildlife their presence in the middle of nowhere, hours from villages all alone, far above on snowy mountains or close causing mini landslides, made them feel like part of the wildlife. The Ladakhi homes are great inside and out, made from mud brick with door frames that require you to bend right over, with tiny rooms and beautiful generations-old furniture and brass cooking pots. There were fields full of peas and barley and Spring flowers and I was inspired by the way each village subsists, in places cut off from the the rest of the world the whole of Winter.
The roads are coming in and I am glad we did the trek when we did it. It is sad to see them and they change everything. I'd say within three years this trek will be finished.The roads cut through farms and ancient rock walls and are soul-draining to walk on. But of course India 'needs' this road for their army.
There is much more to write about: improving my Hindi with our horseman, the travels of my monkeys, the celebrations in Karsha and Lingshed and more. And of course I have so many photos to put up!
But for now I am starving and need to go and drink some fresh seabuckberry juice and indulge in the many varying cuisines of the Leh cafes.
Twenty days have passed quickly but at the same time I feel as though I have been living in the mountains and sleeping in a tent for months. It feels odd to be sleeping in a guesthouse under a concrete roof, walking streets packed with cars, tourists and cafes and drinking semi-real coffee (they user those funny capsule things here). It feels good to taste some food outside of the daily sabji and rice but beside that I can already feel a slight yearning for the stars and rivers and glaciers and endless walking creeping back in.
In what I will call a brief overview, the past twenty days have been breathtaking, spectacular, delicious, tough and eye-opening. We walked around fifteen to twenty kilometres each day bar three days in which we acclimatised in Chuminakpo, and did our shopping and Dalai Lama birthday celebrations in Padum. Over eight passes (Las) ranging from 3800m to 5100m made the final eight days of our journey very much either up or down - I have developed some decent mountain leg muscles. I'd say the first ten days were like training - one big pass on day three (the spectacular snow-covered Shingo La at 5100m) and after that long days winding through gorges and up valleys, visiting homes and gonpas (Buddhist monasteries) nestled high up in cliffs and on mountains.
There were a couple of tricky spots where I wondered if I might end my days tumbling down a mountain face into the roaring river or being washed away by an especially deep and ferocious river crossing (Mum was on a mule).Both Mum and I came down with our own ailments; Mum was still recovering from flu and managed to poison herself on either fresh yoghurt or dirty water later on in the trek, and I got sinusitis and some lovely wound up my nose that meant I had a prolonged bloody nose.We managed to run out of money, expecting an ATM in Padum and finding there was none. That made for some serious budgeting and cutting out such luxuries as peanut butter; I am really craving peanut butter on toast right now. We far from starved though and our hardships brought wonderful new people into our lives: a group of Indian college kids and a great Englishwoman, a couple of hilarious French guys and kind Ladakhi families.
Each day I woke and could hardly believe the beauty of it all. Every valley has its own feel, its own colours, its own flowers. Each turn brings a chorten or a mani wall to encourage the tired hiker when it is getting late and each pass a flutter of coulourful prayer flags and a panorama of the days ahead. The views were sensational and I could have sat up there for days watching the valleys and the snow-capped mountains on every side. There were gorges where each side rose over a thousand metres above us and mountains, like the great granite Mount Gambar Ranjang which towered above us for days, that felt like the sacred guardians of the Himalayas. Springs flowed from the sides of the driest mountains, adorned with little rocky shrines made by past travellers and village people, and each time we came across one it was like small miracle.There was wildlife everywhere: fluffy marmots, colourful birds of yellows, reds and more, ibex and lizards. And although I know yaks and goats are hardly classified as wildlife their presence in the middle of nowhere, hours from villages all alone, far above on snowy mountains or close causing mini landslides, made them feel like part of the wildlife. The Ladakhi homes are great inside and out, made from mud brick with door frames that require you to bend right over, with tiny rooms and beautiful generations-old furniture and brass cooking pots. There were fields full of peas and barley and Spring flowers and I was inspired by the way each village subsists, in places cut off from the the rest of the world the whole of Winter.
The roads are coming in and I am glad we did the trek when we did it. It is sad to see them and they change everything. I'd say within three years this trek will be finished.The roads cut through farms and ancient rock walls and are soul-draining to walk on. But of course India 'needs' this road for their army.
There is much more to write about: improving my Hindi with our horseman, the travels of my monkeys, the celebrations in Karsha and Lingshed and more. And of course I have so many photos to put up!
But for now I am starving and need to go and drink some fresh seabuckberry juice and indulge in the many varying cuisines of the Leh cafes.
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