People go to the Himalayas for many reasons – to find spiritual clarity; to play strip poker with the Dalai Llama; to pit themselves against the forces of nature (who, let’s face it, would obviously prefer for you not to clamber all over Everest with gripons, messing up the pretty ice); to drink chai lattes and wear flowy hemp pants at one of 789 yoga retreats insipidly named, “˜The Shangri La’; or, as in my case, because they think Yaks are awesome. (Well, they are.) And so it was that I found myself standing on an airport tarmac on the Roof of the World, gazing upwards at the world’s highest mountain range.
Landing at the 3256m airport, one of the world’s highest, had been an experience in itself. There’s just something about watching as your pilot angles your plane, nose-first, at a 6000m high wall of rock, and then continues to execute a 16-point turn – spiralling downwards to the rapidly approaching runway – that makes you question your grasp on reality, and whether you really needed that curry wrap for lunch. Now, as I stood surrounded by Indian troops with machine guns, who didn’t seem too convinced that I wasn’t secretly a Pakistani insurgent; I decided it was worth the nail-marks in my palms.
Leh lies at 3500m in the Indian province of Jammu and Kashmir – one of the most highly disputed areas in the world. The dispute over its status has plagued relations between India and Pakistan since Partition, and spilt over into war three times. Today, the two armies still face each other across the Line of Control, a ceasefire line marking a border that neither party recognises. Add to this is the proximity to China, and you’ve got yourself some very tense Indians.
Once I had been reunited with my luggage (this never ceases to fill me with a sense of accomplishment), I took out a small box marked: “˜SCHEDULE H DRUG: Warning: To be sold by retail on the prescription of a Registered Medical Practitioner only.’ I did not have a prescription – from a registered medical practitioner or any other – but in India, that doesn’t matter. Buying medication in India is one of the best things that you can do. You watch House, invariably decide that you have Lupis, self-medicate, and you’re cured – awesome. Anyways, back to the box in my hand. It’s Diamox – commonly prescribed (in my case by WebMD) for Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS).
Now AMS is not the kind we have in Cape Town. “Woah, Bru, check how sick the Mountain looks today – epic.” Rather, it’s brought on by the combination of reduced air pressure and lower oxygen concentrations that occur at high altitudes. Without proper acclimatisation, symptoms can range from mild to life-threatening, and it is impossible to predict who will suffer from AMS, or how severely. I was already feeling it in my fingers – not a Wet, Wet, Wet song – but rather pins and needles brought about by the rapid blood loss to my extremities as my body went into survival mode (despite the deceiving sunshine and birdsong that surrounded me). Flying from sea-level to 3500m in 90 minutes leaves no time to acclimatise, and my body was having none of it. So promptly swallowing the recommended dose (WebMD again) under the watchful eye of the army, I went to find my hotel, and have a quick nap.
Two days later, I awoke from my AMS induced coma, to find that I was indeed still in the Abode of the Snow (the literal and very appealing translation of “˜Himalaya’) and set off to explore. Finding that I was hungry after not eating for 48 hours, I came across a tree-covered garden restaurant called “˜World Piece Cafe’. Deciding that it was either a typo, or I was about to discover a missing piece of the world – perhaps we could put it where Belville is now – I wandered in and sat down to peruse the menu. What follows is an accurate account of my best restaurant experience to date. Opening the menu, and seeing that all the Indian/Western fusion standards were present and accounted for – Masala omelettes, Mango Lassi, Banana Nutella Pancakes – my eyes stopped on the largest section of the menu: Potatoes! Yes, they had their own section”¦it was like the Forrest Gump of menus: Steamed, Fried, Roasted, Mashed, stuffed with garlic, with cheese, with potato (this is also true), Baked, Steamed, Mashed and the re-fried”¦It was the happiest place on earth. I ordered a burger. No. It was potatoes roasted with rosemary and garlic, and yes – this was in the middle of the Himalayas. And then happily made my way back to bed, as my fingers had started to tingle once again and I couldn’t feel my toes. Day three accomplished.
Day four was the day of exploring. I discovered that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was about to be released, picked mountain flowers, wandered through the dusty streets, bargained harshly with an old man with 3 teeth for a scarf I didn’t really want, ate two variations of potatoes, and decided nobody ever said not to judge a travel agent by their name/label/cover – like books, and wine (although, I do that too) – and so found myself in Yak Travels. There I booked a trip to Pangong-Tso – the most epically beautiful lake in the world, which stretches hundreds of kilometres into Tibet – but that really deserves a blog post all to itself; and rented a mountain bike.
Why a mountain bike? Well, I had come up with a cunning plan, a quest – if you will – for Enlightenment. Pushing my newly acquired shiny Trek towards carbohydrate-happiness, I mused over the path I had decided on. Buddah, I had heard, found enlightenment by sitting under a tree for 49 days vowing not to get up until he found the truth. There he meditated and didn’t eat and finally uncovered the Four Truths, the Eightfold Path to inner peace and a state of Nirvana and utter bliss. But I had potatoes to consider. So instead I planned an epic journey to a monastery I could just barely make out in the distance. One thing I’d learnt from my time spent in the company of lycra-clad cyclists (apart from the fact that no-one looks good in lycra) is the importance of carbo-loading. So I quickly added a side of mashed potatoes to my baked potato stuffed with cheese and potato entree – as well as three ice-cold Kingfishers – and then pushed my bike the remainder of the way to my hotel, and to sleep.
I awoke before sunrise on day five – or the Day of Enlightenment, as it shall forever be known – and stumbled around, bumping into a lot of things, lost and disorientated, for a while. This isn’t actually a metaphor, although that would have been clever, it’s just that the hotel generator wasn’t set to come on for another few hours. Dressing in all the clothes I could find (temperatures in Leh range from -5oC at night to 35oC at midday and makes packing tricky) and using my leg-warmers as gloves, I headed out on my quest”¦the whole early bird/worm scenario. Cycling at altitude – especially this altitude – is a very amusing thing (to others). Even very fit people huff and puff around, going nowhere slowly, and turning red at the slightest exertion. I had been living a sedentary lifestyle in Mumbai, occasionally relocating to Goa for cocktails, and could not be described as ‘very fit’, or even “˜fit’, but luckily for me, the rest of the village was still asleep, and so I rode on, along the dusty roads and out towards the mountain peaks in the distance.
Little by little, the sky lightened, and the birds woke up and hopped around looking for the early worms (they get eaten”¦late worms don’t”¦did you ever think of that). Mornings in Leh are beautiful, and I cycled past the huge military base where the troops were doing manoeuvres out in the hills, with smile on my very red face – wheezing delightfully – and making my way further out into the countryside. That’s when it happened: Enlightenment.
The sun had finally broken out of its mountain peak prison and its warm rays fell across my path – instantly defrosting my fingers – and immediately making my ride worthwhile. Smiling happily at my accomplishment that had taken just two hours, and not 49 days, I turned my handlebars back in the direction of the sweet smell of potato omelette. For the rest of the trip, I would call everyone I met “˜Grasshopper’ and impart on them the wisdom that I had discovered. I think they were all very appreciative, as I saw them all at the World Piece Cafe later in the day, hunched over a pile of potatoes, planning their own epic expeditions to enlightenment.
Check back soon to read about the rest of my trip to Leh: in which I just barely miss the Dalai Llama playing strip poker in a crowd, discover the best lake in the world, and go for a early morning stroll along the landmine plagued path to Tibet.
