Monsoon Honeymoon Part XV: End of an Odyssey: The Indian Himalaya

The first leg of our journey of 1,000 miles to the East and over a one mile climb in elevation (from 5,000 ft. to 11,000 ft.) began on a boat.  We loaded our luggage onto the small wooden shikara, bid adieu to our consummate houseboat host Hakeem, and our boat taxi man rowed us ashore to the promenade.  We transferred our bags to a land taxi, and rumbled the ten miles out of town to Srinigar Airport.

What ensued was the most paranoid, high-security, redundant screening process Leigh and I had ever experienced.  First we exited our taxi outside of the airport to pass through a military screening point, during which time the security officer counted the bills in my wallet.

As usual, Leigh walked into the covered women's compartment for a private pat down. At the front entrance to the ticketing station, we were checked again, and again at the ticketing counter, again at the entrance to the gate, and once more on walking out to the tarmac.

Armed soldiers patrolled the runways as we entered our plane. Crazily, despite all these security measures, the plane took off so early that we arrived at our destination before our scheduled departure time!

The flight over the dry, bare mountains of the Pakistan-China-India triangle left us breathless.  To the West we saw the highest peaks of our lives, as K2 in Northern Pakistan soared to the heavens at 28,205 ft.  It was almost unbelievable how much K2 and friends dwarfed neighboring giants.  We looked down at steep gorges and tumbling
rivers slicing between monster peaks, and occasionally we noticed huddled agglomerations of buildings.  What would have taken us 24 hours in a car now required less than 90 minutes.  

Per usual, I drifted to Dreamland, awaking just long enough at landing to see the Indus River snaking through the mountains, the parched, brown landscape dotted with military bases, and the glorious town of Leh, marooned at 11,000 feet, 400 kilometers from the nearest city.

A quick taxi ride to the center of town deposited us at the Dragon Hotel.  An upmarket, Chinese-themed, newly built three story hotel, the Dragon's best feature is its green courtyard, and its open patios with crystal clear mountain views.  It wasn't our favorite lodging, as it was overpriced and missing the warmth and personality of a smaller hotel, but our spirits soared mountain high at the prospect of spending our longest stretch of time in the Himalayas. Our three weeks together had worked backwards, beginning in the largest, hottest, and most chaotic destinations, and moving progressively to smaller, cooler, higher, and more peaceful places.  Leh was the culmination of this spectral shift, and we were ready for Himalayan peace.


After my requisite early afternoon nap, we set off on foot to explore Leh.  A high altitude city established some six kilometers above the Indus River in the region of Ladakh in the province of Jammu and Kashmir, Leh is that northern piece of India wedged between China and Pakistan.  It is so far north that the monsoon weather of the subcontinent doesn't make it here, as all of the moisture from the Arabian Sea has dropped onto the plains and mountains before it reaches Leh.  Correspondingly, summer days here are cool, dry, and refreshing, averaging about 77 Fahrenheit in July.  It's no secret though, and while the monsoon shuts down almost all of Nepal and much of India from June through August, domestic and international travelers flock to Leh to walk, relax, trek, raft, bike, and soak up the sun.

We drifted through the steep, dusty, and cobble-stoned streets, as rivulets of water flowed audibly threw the town's drainage.  We strolled through the central bazaar, noticing a significant presence of Tibetan sculptures, textiles, religious paraphernalia, and the omnipresent sound of OM MANI PADMI HUM.  As Tibetans fled China in 1959, they landed all over this region, and the refugee community in Leh remains strong.  At the end of the Bazaar we entered a Tibetan Buddhist temple, where priests chanted and hit gongs before an enraptured crowd of one hundred.  The Dalai Llama's birthday was approaching in a few days, and the monks had decided to pray and chant for three days in honor of peace and the Dalai Llama's health.  The monks were actually way out of tune, so the sounds were abrasive and not soothing.  The incense was also too potent.  We departed quickly.

We picked our way through the winding, pedestrian backstreets of the old city, and I stopped frequently, winded by the rise of 6,000 feet in elevation since morning.  We clambered up the hillside to a cavernous old monastery, a labyrinthine structure with terraced floors and patios emerging out of each other, like the dwellings of the Pueblo Native Americans.  We lost and found ourselves amidst secret Buddhist temple rooms, watch towers, exhibits of art and photography celebrating the history of the region, and of course, a very stinky local toilet, which was a hole in the ground that everyone seemed to have missed while doing their business.

We scaled the next rampart, a 20 minute hill climb that yielded sweeping panoramas of the entire city and valley below.  Here we explored two Buddhist temples, one of them containing exactly what you hope would live on a temple on the hillside in the mountains: A Mega Buddha!  Some thirty feet tall, with a grin as big as me, this Buddha was well worth the reward.



At this exact spot, Leigh broke down.  All the doorways in Leh village are built for munchkins, and as Leigh wore a round-brimmed hat, and she was tired and winded, she kept bonking her head on thresholds.  By the third bonk she declared, "I'm done!" and consoled herself with tears.  She really was done, having lost interest in the final temple.

We descended on a back staircase into town, enjoying shady alleys, laughing schoolchildren, and flowing streams.  In the late afternoon we haggled with two of one hundred tourist agencies and organized a river rafting trip down the Zanskar River for the following day- Leigh's first river rafting trip!

In the evening we randomly picked a rooftop restaurant hawking local specialties, but we didn't notice the warning signs of sitting waiters, long waits, and high prices.  Dinner wasn't what it could have been, but when the company is the best, the rest is secondary. 

Snow-capped peaks sliced the sparkling sky as Leigh and I walked home, making a brief detour to a German Bakery for Berry Cobbler, before drifting into a mountain slumber. . .