Ladakh #2 - Passes and Sand Dunes

Next day, the driver took us to the Khardung La pass that connects the Indus valley to the Shyok valley. It’s at a height of over 17,982 feet. The roads are curvy and narrow, like the ones to Ooty. Except these go to a much, much higher altitude and you can see snow on the mountains. Even on these roads (and everywhere else we went), we saw large groups of bikers –it was impressive how long these guys could ride.

 

Along the way, we walked up a snowy slope, had some fun in the snow, and took photos. Like all tourist spots, the top of the pass has a shop that sells the T-shirts and other memorabilia. Except these are sold by the Army! My wife and I bought them for ourselves, but my 11 yo daughter wasn’t interested. I mocked her saying that she felt this was too cheesy, but the I Love NYC shirts aren’t. It had no effect. Oh well, her loss.

 

On the way down, we stopped at the 108 feet Maitreya Buddha.

Buddhist structures are so tall, colorful and spacious.

 

We’d come from one side to Khardung La; on the other side, lay the Nubra Valley, our next destination. The ice melting into water and flowing down the mountains have eroded the hard mountain rock. So much erosion, in fact, that the rocks have been pounded into a fine powder that we call sand. This sand gets collected at the base of the mountains. Trapped in the valley by the tall mountains, the sand cannot go anywhere and so voila! All that sand forms sand dunes. In the middle of the Himalayas! If there are sand dunes, can camels be far behind? My daughter took a ride on the Bactrian (two-humped) camel. We went to the Dunes hotel for the overnight stay – this too was luxurious. And yes, it too had free Wi-fi. My 11 yo daughter was thrilled.

 

From there, we went to the “last village of India”, Thang. Ladakh may be remote, but the marketing slogans are everywhere. It was separated from the Pharnu village on the Pakistan side during the 1971 (Bangladesh) war, said the signboard. And on a rock there, it says “You are under enemy observation”. People with binoculars tried spotting the Pakistani soldiers who might be watching us!

 

On the way back, we stopped at the Siachen museum. The soldier told us about life at Siachen – they have to wear 5 layers of clothes, apparently. The equipment they carry to move around looked to heavy. It must be brutal to just survive up there, let alone fight. We got onto the old, unused army truck for the customary photos. Boy, are those vehicles tall. There was a “frame” for folks to photos that read “Some where in Siachen”. I told my daughter I would post a pic with the caption, “If I told you where in Siachen, I’d have to kill you”.

 

Next day, we ate at a restaurant called “The Galwan”. Yes, that Galwan, where 20 Indian soldiers died in clashes. And then we continued the very long trip to the massive, very beautiful Pangong Lake:

“(It) is the world's highest saltwater lake. Its water, which seems to be dyed in blue, stand in stark contrast to the arid mountains surrounding it. Extending to almost 160km, one-third of the Pangong Lake lies in India and the other two-thirds in China.”

Finally, we’d reached a place where even electricity supply was practically non-existent (They use generators, limitedly). The room we stayed overnight was right next to the lake, with no heating. And no Wi-fi. My daughter’s first exposure to biting cold. And the horrifying realization that life without Wi-fi is indeed possible.

 

But the hot water bottles and the razai’s were enough. Next morning, we woke up to find it had snowed overnight. My daughter had her first experience of seeing cars covered in snow, a coat of snow on the ground, and yes, making snowballs.

 

The last item in our itinerary was another pass, the Chang La pass, at 17,688 feet. Our driver, who had been very non-aggressive all these days, suddenly turned into a maniac on the drive up to the pass, overtaking, cutting across vehicles on the dangerously narrow roads, and even getting into a verbal skirmish. We’d learn the reason for his behavior later.

 

As we approach the top of the pass, it started to snow. We were thrilled – we could see the mountains turning white in front of our eyes; you couldn’t make out the boundary between mountain snow and sky; and we enjoyed the light snow falling on us. And then, when we were ready to come down the other side of the pass, our driver (and all the local drivers) got down and put chains on their tires, for grip in the now snow-clad roads. And then a long traffic jam. It would take hours for the traffic to clear, needing all the vehicles that were coming up from the other side to find spots where they could be parked with enough space for the opposite side vehicles to come down. Non-local drivers skid dangerously on the way down – they didn’t have the skills to drive in these conditions, at that steep slope in growing darkness, and didn’t have chains for grip. We would see abandoned vehicles through our way down. That included a lot of bikes as well, though in their case, the freezing cold would have been an additional factor. Once the traffic had cleared, our driver told us that the forecast had been for snow, and he knew from experience that the more vehicles in front of him, the higher the number of abandoned ones he’d have to go around in those dangerous conditions. No wonder he had driven that way on the way up – he wanted to be as far as possible to the front of that endless convoy of vehicles.

 

The next day, after we flew back home, we learnt the snow had been even worse the following day. So bad that the army had to step in and evacuate stranded folks. Sometimes in helicopters. We had narrowly missed a chance to be in a helicopter. I have mixed feelings about that.

 

Ladakh is a beautiful place. The size and endless length of the Himalayas is awe-inspiring. I wonder how it will be a decade from now – will tourism destroy the place? Or will the locals and the government be able to maintain its pristine self? Only time will tell.