The Meandering Path to the Enchanted Heights: A Ladakh Trekking Experience
A journey to this corner of the Himalayas is an odyssey of time and space, a path unfurled over two decades in the making. The voyage is long, its twists and turns a testament to both human endurance and the land’s natural splendor. Here, in the embrace of Ladakh, one finds not just a destination but a realm where the earthly and the divine converge.
Ladakh emerges from the northernmost reaches of India like a fabled kingdom from the annals of legend, a mere horizon away from mythical Shangri-La. Nestled at 3,500 meters above sea level, this high-altitude land is an intersection of cultures and geographies—where India’s northern fringes meet the fortressed fronts of Pakistan and China. With a population barely reaching 100,000, Ladakh becomes a secluded haven during the harsh winter months when temperatures plunge to a frigid minus 20 degrees Celsius, rendering it an icy sanctum where Buddhism thrives in the rarefied air.
The journey begins in Delhi, where a flight to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, is a mere hour’s passage but a world apart in experience. Arriving here, one is advised to pause and let the body acclimate to the rarefied atmosphere—rushing into the thin air without preparation might land one in a hospital, tethered to an oxygen tank like an unwelcome guest. Alternatively, during the summer months when the road to Ladakh is clear, one can opt for the overland route, savoring the slow embrace of the journey.
The renowned LIFE on the PLANET LADAKH offers a 16-day expedition through this rugged expanse, with half of that time spent traversing the distances between points of interest. The first two days are spent in the bustling heat of Delhi—where the temperature soars to 43 degrees Celsius and life unfolds in a vivid panorama of chaos and culture. Here, a night train to Kalka marks the transition from the urban clamor to the quietude of the hills.
Our group—a retired colonel, eight women including a first secretary from the foreign office, a Glasgow social worker, and an army commander—along with our guides Jonny Bealby and Johnny Patterson, embark on this adventure. The landscape we traverse is characterized by its steep ascents and breathtaking views, with Bollywood melodies drifting from the train’s speakers and fresh pakoras served by the charming train guard.
Shimla, a former hill station of the British Raj, greets us with its rain-soaked streets and a nostalgic air that recalls England’s misty charm. The local shops, stocked with umbrellas and whisky, contrast sharply with the thunderous skies and the lively street scenes, including a spirited street fight and the ubiquitous monkeys that traverse the rooftops.
Our journey continues by local bus to Manali, where the crisp mountain air and verdant apple orchards juxtapose with the bustling life in the old town. Here, amidst stone-walled lanes and the omnipresent smell of cannabis, we find solace in the simple joys of life, including photo opportunities with white angora rabbits and the serene presence of local children.
The convoy of jeeps then takes us northward to Leh. The road is a marvel of engineering, with precarious bends and vertiginous drops. The journey is punctuated by whimsical road signs like “Be easy on my curves” and “Divorce speed,” offering a blend of humor and caution as we navigate this formidable path. While truckers brave this route in as little as 16 hours, our journey unfolds over three days, each day revealing new facets of Ladakh’s allure.
On the first day, we traverse alpine valleys and witness the play of light on river glints. A mudslide challenges our passage, and road workers from Bihar labor under harsh conditions, their sweat mingling with the boiling tar. The mist-shrouded Rohtang Pass leaves a lasting impression, its ponies and the distant snow providing a stark contrast to the barren terrain.
Day two brings clarity and sunshine as we encounter the desolate beauty of Sarchu, a high plateau where the stark landscape evokes a sense of timelessness. The night’s cold penetrates deeply, and we find refuge in the mess tent, where shared meals and the camaraderie of fellow travelers provide solace.
The third day’s ascent to Tanglang La, the highest pass of our journey, reveals a landscape of majesty and isolation, marked by oil barrels and a whimsical sign pointing to a makeshift urinal. As we descend into Leh, the landscape transforms into golden barley fields and vibrant prayer flags, painting a portrait of Ladakh that is as captivating as it is serene.
Leh itself, viewed from the remnants of its ancient palace, appears both historic and vibrant. The bustling streets, with their mix of honking vehicles and cheerful locals, offer a snapshot of life in this remote corner of the world. Here, amidst the echoes of tradition and the pulse of modernity, one feels a profound sense of connection and welcome, a testament to the enduring spirit of Ladakh.
The Subtle Art of Ladakhi Hospitality
In the undulating serenity of Ladakh, our guide is Punchok Sonam. He’s a man in his forties, a father of five whose eldest is charting her course through the complexities of medicine. His demeanor is modest and reflective—small in stature, gentle in manner, and soft-spoken to the point where the name David Beckham eludes him entirely. Punchok’s laughter is as effortless as his vigilance; he always notes the absence of anyone in the labyrinthine confines of a monastery.
Our exploration of Ladakh’s sacred spaces is under Punchok’s quiet stewardship. We traverse through dimly lit halls, where the scent of ghee mingles with the mustiness of sandalwood and dust. These palaces of tranquility harbor the delicate treasures of Tibetan Buddhism. Visitors are generally free to wander, except in the sanctum where ‘no bags, cameras, or women’ are permitted. Amidst the perpetual rhythm of monastic life, we witness shaven heads absorbed in their studies, and bright red fabric lodged in a forsaken sewing machine. Adolescent monks, solitary or paired, gaze thoughtfully into the valley, their contemplation occasionally interrupted by the click of cameras.
Yet, the lure of monasteries can be overwhelming. The desire to escape and immerse in the raw essence of nature beckons strongly. After our long and serpentine journey to Ladakh, my yearning for an untouched rural haven intensifies as we embark on a three-day trek along the ancient trade route linking Kashmir and Tibet.
“Synchronize your steps with your breath,” Johnny P advises. This is the cardinal rule for high-altitude walking. My breath comes in rapid bursts, compelling me to take tiny, deliberate steps—much like someone in recuperation. Jonny B strides ahead with determined ease, Johnny P ambles steadily, and the rest of us find our own pace between these extremes. Here, amid fields of Van Gogh yellow, valleys dotted with poplars, and undulating grey hills, even a nosebleed feels almost poetic. Butterflies flit about, yaks graze placidly, and thistles sway beside crystal-clear streams. Workers hum tunelessly as they thresh grain, and on the stone walls, the mantra “Om mani padme hum” is carved with a grace that seems meant to be carried away by the breeze.
Punchok has brought his horse along for those who might need a reprieve, and he greets each of us with a warm embrace upon reaching the crest of each pass. Prayer flags flutter in the wind, adding a touch of festivity to our journey. That first night, we camp beside a river under the gaze of a full moon.
As the days progress, our group begins to fragment, worn down by sickness, exhaustion, and an inflamed finger from the Foreign Office. Only a few of us reach the remarkable kitchen of Rizong monastery, illuminated by a solitary beam of light.
Descending through a valley of wild rhubarb, we arrive at Hemis Shukpachan. Here, villagers are joyfully encased in hay, and Punchok’s modest home gazes out toward the mountains. He welcomes us inside his prayer room and serves tea in delicate china cups while his wife is away. His mother, hurriedly returning from gathering firewood, completes the warm tableau. Our final stop is Timisgam, where apricots seem to fall from the sky in abundance.
“Punchok means wealthy,” he had said with a wry smile when we first met, “but I am not.” His humility is palpable, though it’s clear he possesses a wealth of a different kind, one that is far richer than mere material possessions.
The Reference Article ラダック旅行記：絶景のヒマラヤを巡る心洗われる冒険
