India

After a few days of post-meditation decompression in Delhi, I was joined by Katelyn for my last chunk of time in India. We were jet-set for Leh, the capitol of Ladakh, a town that sits at a lofty 11,500 feet in the Himalayas. Our plane cruised in over beautiful landscapes with jagged mountains, and we landed on a small airstrip surrounded by sand dunes and soaring ridges. I was eager to see a new place, but Katelyn and I were both immediately sidelined by symptoms of altitude sickness. I was amazed how much my body needed to adjust to less oxygen, huffing and puffing after just a few stairs.

Needless to say, we took the local advice and rested, which allowed us to walk up the street without nausea or headaches. We eventually hiked up peaks near the town to a monastery and a palace, gathering new traveling companions in the process and enjoying the view!

I also took a day trip to the beautifully pristine Pangong Lake (katelyn was unfortunately ill), but since the lake is perched at around 15,000 ft, I almost passed out bending up and down to pick up and skip rocks!

On the days in between, we explored Leh and interacted with both other foreigners and locals alike. My last excursion was perhaps the most impressive. Katelyn and I joined forces with 2 other Americans (the only others I met in India) and a French woman, and we hired a jeep for a 3 day excursion to Nubra Valley. This trip was an adventure from start to finish. Not long after leaving Leh, we had to cross Khardom-la, a pass at around 18,000ft. It boasts being the highest motor-able pass in the world (if it’s not the highest, it’s one of them). I was immediately shocked with my surroundings: billowing prayer flags, crumbling brown boulders, immense, snow-covered mountain peaks, and of course, a relapse to altitude sickness symptoms.

Katelyn and I at the top:

Prayer flags are EVERYWHERE:

Me and altitude DO NOT get along:

As we crossed the pass, we admired the scenery en route to Turtuk village, a part of Baltistan in north India that was opened to tourists just last year. The road was rugged- just one single lane road with two lane traffic, chiseled into the mountain face, and occasional rickety bridges over the roaring Nubra River. As our tires crackled over the rocks of the edge of the guardrail-less cliff at times to yield to oncoming traffic, I had to work hard to stay calm. Thankfully, we had a fantastic driver who heeded our requests for attention and safety, so we were grateful.

There are few words that can adequately describe the natural beauty and immensity of the landscape there, so I will try to use visual media:

After a few hours of driving, we came upon our first village, our jeep being brought to a halt by a different type of road block:

A bunch of kids swarmed our car, rambling in Balti, attempting words in English, motioning for us to give them chocolate, and smiling into our cameras.

It immediately struck me how relatively new we were to those kids, their home only being open to tourists for a year, and a good chunk of that being winter and thus tourist free. We conveyed our names and shared many smiles and stuck around in the car for a little while, but then continued on our way.

After that, we made it to Turtuk Village, again in awe of the surroundings. Here’s the view outside the guest house:

I spent the afternoon walking through the village interacting with kids, who were again insatiably curious about the newbies in town.

It was also a time when I really liked having an iPhone. I was able to teach some of them how to take photos, use the video camera, and make videos of themselves. It was incredible to watch their interest and curiosity, and they were just so stinkin’ cute.

I was impressed by their level of English, but I was eager for a quick lesson in Balti. Kids sometimes are the best teachers. “Kilimipichin” means “What is your name?” and “Achoo-ya termaso” means “thank you very much”:

The second morning, we walked around among nearby rivers and streams with just beautiful scenery (one of my traveling friends is off in the distance):

I eventually ventured into another half of the Turtuk. It was immediately obvious that this half was not benefiting from the luxuries of tourism, but it felt very natural. I walked around and found more adorable kids:

It was on this walk that I met Sultan, an elderly Balti woman who was immediately endearing. My weak attempts at Balti were enough for her to give many a single toothed-grin and a hearty laugh. Despite the fact that we couldn’t speak, we had a wonderful interaction. I took this photo leaving the village, Sultan is the older woman in the back corner:

We heard word that we were within the first 1000 tourists to this village and some of the first few Americans. I couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like for them to have this immediate connection to a new culture through tourism. I hadn’t expected to go somewhere so remote but I’m glad we did because I feel lucky I got to see what I saw and do what I did. This adventure is one that I will come back to and cherish for a lifetime.