A Stark Journey ~ Trekking through Ladakh for the Breast Cancer Fund

To everyone who supported my fundraising efforts last year a huge, heartfelt, thank you. What follows is the story of my trek through Ladakh.

I wake to the sweet strands of Leo Delibes and the sight of palm tree silhouettes in the light of a faint moon, vibrant planets and stars. I live in a beautiful place but I’m ready for my next adventure to the far-flung corners of the globe. In this instance that corner is Ladakh. When I tell people the destination and I see a blank look on their face, when they look puzzled and say “where?” it makes me happy. I love going to little known places and this slip of land between China and Pakistan is the most remote area I’ve been to.

In the Maui airport, I am seated at Stinger Rays, ingesting a Caesar salad and Fire Rock Pale Ale. I’m seated next to a haole guy with tribal genealogy tattoos up the side of his face. The tattoos look cool but he’s drinking a Bud Light, which undoes the cool factor in my opinion.  An older man with a burnt-orange shirt stretched taut across his belly sleeps in his seat, listing to the side, about to slide onto the floor. I hear the call to board and I’m off!

I have a zigzag course to India. Although it’s a longer trip mileage wise the connections and short layovers make it the least expensive and quickest way to New Delhi. So from Maui I fly to LAX, then head back across the Pacific to Hong Kong, then to Delhi. At least I can rack up miles. LAX international terminal at 5 a.m. is one of the most uninspired airports I’ve ever seen making the two hour layover one of the longest I’ve ever experienced.  At least I’m not carrying the heaviest duffle I’ve ever packed. The 40-pound beast is checked through to my destination.

17^th July, New Delhi, India

One of the high points of every journey is seeing my big black duffle sliding, unscathed, down the luggage chute. It’s the middle of the night. I flow smoothly through customs and step out the door of the terminal into a steamy, smelly maelstrom. Jet fuel, rotting garbage and sweat assail my nose. Men offering taxis, hotels, and hostels, “cheap, cheap,” bombard me from all sides.  Luckily, a driver from the hotel meets me so I have no fear of ending up being trafficked. Not that I’m exactly prime material at my age but you never know these days. At the hotel I slide into delicious fresh bedding, at last horizontal, for my first night in India since 1985.

Sun Salutation Sculpture at New Delhi Airport

Stairway at Claridges Hotel

Up at 7 a.m. with my room/tent mate Marcy. We scarf down a huge buffet breakfast of Indian and continental cuisine. Curried potatoes, roasted vegetables, cheese, yogurt, fruit, honey straight from a hive, I kid you not. They have a dispenser with the whole comb dripping delicious honey into a tray that you scoop from.

Day one is filled with a tuk tuk caravan shopping excursion, purchases of kurtis & tights, a tour of the Red Fort, sweat trickling down our backs, pigeons, feral dogs, exhaust fumes, blaring horns, thick manic traffic, marble boxes, a $10,000.00 marble and semi precious stone mosaic table, a buffet lunch of cauliflower curry, raita, chapatti, and desserts all topped off with evening cocktails in the hotel bar with Kingfisher beer and chili infused vodka with watermelon juice and mint. 

Red Fort in Dehli

Hauling Stones

Marcy in her Tuk Tuk

Hotel Bar

18 July, Leh, Ladakh

From the plane we see the Himalayan and Karakoram ranges and land at 11,500 feet in Leh, the capital of Ladakh, which used to be a kingdom but is now an autonomous region in the Jammu and Kashmir state of India. It is sometimes called Little Tibet due to the strong Tibetan influence there. Leh, the capital, was an important stopover on the Silk Road; the main goods carried were salt, grain, cashmere and cannabis, resin, indigo and silk. Two hours after our arrival the Dalai Lama is scheduled to fly in so we rush to our hotel to check in, drop our bags then head back out. We take up positions at the side of the road from the airport, along with hundreds of devotees. We chat with Tibetan nuns in the scorching heat and parched dirt, waiting for “the man”. Finally, his motorcade passes slowly and closely enough for him to wave at us and smile his beatific smile at us. It’s an auspicious start to our journey.

Karakoram Range

Kevin at Hotel Omasila, Leh

Waiting for the Dalai Lama

After our remote blessing from his holiness we toured the Thiksey Monastery and happened upon a ceremony that happens only once a year. A large torma, a figure made of flour and butter and dyed in different colors, was paraded out of a temple to be burned in order to clear out the old and make way for the new. At least that’s my understanding of it. It was all chanting, and horn blowing and giggling of tiny monks in training. Founded in 1433, Thiksey Gompa, is the largest in Ladakh and is known for resembling Potala Palace in Lhasa. It is a Buddhist monastery of the Yellow Hat or Gelugpa sect. 

19 July

Today we went to the Siddhartha School. Founded by Khen Rinpoche Lobsang Tsetan it offers a modern education to Ladakhi children regardless of their financial situation while allowing them to maintain their Tibetan and Ladakhi culture and traditions. The children learn four languages, Tibetan, Ladakhi, Hindi and English. We watched the children at their morning assembly singing and doing exercises before heading into their classrooms. Khen Rinpoche was born in Stok Ladakh where the school is. He started his monastic life at age 7, entered the Stok Monastery at 13. At 15 he and his father walked for two months, 800 miles to Tibet where he entered a monastery, took his novice monk vows and studied Buddhist philosophy. In 1959 the Chinese engendered cultural genocide made it impossible for him to continue his studies safely and so in 1960 he fled back to Ladakh. He now holds the level of Geshe, which is equivalent to a PhD, and has been appointed as Kachen, or head abbot, of Tashi Lhunpo monastery in southern India. We were able to have a private audience with him. He served us tea, blessed our prayer flags and tied red strings around our necks to bestow good fortune and a safe journey. He was sweet and funny and warm and we felt so lucky to have had the experience.

Me and Khen Rinpoche

20 July Chilling

Today we rafted the Zanskar River. How cool is that?! For decades I’ve been fascinated with the Silk Road, this region, names like Kashmir, Karakoram and Zanskar. To actually be here, riding this river is surreal, fantastic, a dream come true. We waited at the put in point on the side of the river, sweating in our wetsuits, jackets, life jackets, helmets and booties. At first the glacial water felt good seeping into the crevices of the suit cooling me down, but after a couple of hours of rapids, waves pouring over my head and down my neck, my teeth were chattering. I had to paddle hard to keep warm but the cold didn’t detract from the immense FUN of the ride. Way better than Disneyland any day. Then we hit the shore, dragged our boats up to a scrumptious picnic that was laid out for us and suddenly I had no appetite or energy. Suddenly I felt like crap. I ate a little soup and slept in the jeep, uncomfortably hot for the 2-½ hour drive to our camp at Chilling. That night I ate a little popcorn, cucumbers and more soup and tried to appreciate the beautiful apricot orchard we were camped in before passing out for the night. (7/21) In the morning I felt a little better but only 75%.  Luckily we only had a half-day hike to camp, the afternoon being free to relax. Along the way I bought 2 bracelets and a spoon from the blacksmith in Chilling.

Zanskar River

Blacksmith at Chilling

Our camp had tiny donkeys traipsing through. We saw huge wild pink rose bushes, indigo ferra, columbines and catmint. (7/22)By morning I didn’t think I could make the trek. I felt so bad that I actually considered going back to Leh. I asked about the possibility of riding a horse but they were all loaded up to carry our supplies with the exception of one that had been brought along for a woman with a heart condition. Um, OK, guess I don’t need her horse. That put things in perspective. I decided to carry on. One of the guides, Ram, who I knew from the Everest trek, carried my pack along with his own. He stayed right by my side up and down, steeply, endlessly in the stark, scorched landscape, making me drink water, gently encouraging me, up to a15,100’ pass at Dungduchenla where he scrounged in the dirt to find 2 crystals that he put in my pack for me. He was my hero for the day. Kind, sweet and strong, I wouldn’t have made it without him. 

 

Ram

I'm at the back of the pack for a change

We finally arrived at a gorgeous camp right past our first river crossing. At camp we spotted orchids, lady slippers, edelweiss and a Tibetan Snow Cock. After a refreshing spritz in an icy stream I felt that I would survive.

23 July  

Today I saw wild geranium, borage, nettles, anemones, something like jasmine, daphne, forget-me-nots and a crow like bird called a yellow-billed chuff. We visited a 150 year old monastery in the village of Sumda Chenmo and had tea in a village home. We passed ridges of unbelievably vivid green, purple and yellow rock and saw a shepherd with a baby yak. There were many river crossings today as we climbed from 12,500 feet up to 14,700. The last slog after lunch was long and uphill but not too difficult. I was at 90%, hoping to be back to 100% tomorrow. Dinner was eggplant fried in batter and cinnamon steamed pumpkin. The nak cheese we had at lunch will make me snore. 

After a 1.5 hour climb to a 15,870 foot pass, Konzkela, we are treated to spectacular views of the Zanskar and Stok ranges. At the pass we all pulled out our prayer flags that bear the names of loved ones that have suffered from cancer. We gathered in a circle, flying the flags, letting the wind take the prayers, reciting the names in a ceremony to honor those people, reinforcing the real reason we are all here. After a somewhat precipitous, steep downhill switchback we slogged down river to a gorgeous camp near Hinju at 12,400 feet. Luckily there was a cool wind but there was also dust, dust and more dust. The terrain is dramatic and sometimes beautiful but it doesn’t move me like the Himalayas or Alps or even the Sierra Nevada. I guess I need pines and greenery. Today we saw a blood pheasant, monk’s hood and wild rhubarb.

25 July

Today was a long, dry, dusty, dull walk down a dirt road under a mercifully cloudy sky. We played word games to pass the time until reaching our rendezvous point with the jeeps. We drove through a canyon that looked like the set from an Indiana Jones movie. Unfortunately the photos I took do not convey the feeling of awe I experienced.  The canyon was deep and narrow, curving around and through arches and towers of rock along a river. Jaw dropping scenes of geological art had us all gasping in amazement. We had tea in a guesthouse before continuing our hike to the campsite. From our tents we watched the light on the mountains, better than any TV show or movie, constantly changing while the clouds drifted past the setting sun. Pinks, greens, purples, grays, browns. 

Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

26 July

It was a good cold day with some rain and a short gradual climb, at camp by 1 pm. Yesterday’s view from camp was spectacular but today is even more stunning. I feel like I’m in a Road Runner cartoon. Beep beep. I’m expecting an ACME anvil to come whistling down at any minute.  Sandstone cliffs of yellow, brown, ochre, tower above; sandcastle formations look like fairy cities. There is a rocky riverbed with red, green, blue, grey, brown, white and black stones. The tents are spread out, ours on a perfect flat spot. Today we saw tiny yellow orange poppies and forget-me-nots blanketing the ground. Juniper, edelweiss and wild roses abound. The Zanskar range is in the foreground with Mt. Sniugutsela beyond. Lunch was potato curry, tuna pasta salad, coleslaw and fresh baked braided rolls. Our cook is amazing and our crew is tireless.

27 July

Today we hiked through the base of the sandcastles we saw from camp last night then stopped for a rest on a huge green rock hill and gathered oxidized copper. I could have filled my pack with the beautiful stones. We saw a marmot mama and baby flopping across a field of gaping marmot holes. Today’s flowers, primula, alpine buttercups, ephedra and more of the vivid blood red flower whose name I don’t know. Red, orange, green and yellow lichen on quartz made for great macro photos. 

28 July

The morning started with our breakfast table set up in the warm sun. While we ate, a young yak came nosing around the kitchen tent looking for scraps. It was a short day of river crossings, shepherds huts and yaks and horses everywhere. We camped in a meadow below Mt. Tsomotang. Lunch was juicy coleslaw with red papaya, ham, potatoes, cheese and paratha. The terrain continues to be brown, dusty, arid, parched. I’m overcome by the use of the word stark. Everyone is saying it. I find myself craving the word lush, aching for a glimpse of damp green moss or a pine tree. I’m a little tired of tasting dirt. Still, there are alpine buttercups and yaks right outside my tent and that ain’t all bad. And the porters set up a shower tent so I had a steaming hot bucket of water set on flat stones next to a chair inside a spacious tent where I could get completely naked and divest myself of several layers of grime.  Ooo, and I put on clean socks. Ah for the simple pleasures.

29 July

Today we climbed up a gulch I never would have considered trying to scale. As I looked around for our route and our guide pointed it out I thought, what? Where? No really, where? I didn’t see a trail. We zigzagged up a steep scree slope to a 16,720’ pass that afforded us views of Mt. Tsomotang and the Eastern Karakoram Range.  We descended a bit to base camp where we settled in a field of Primula. Some of us continued on up to high camp at 17,400’ and as we descended caught a brief glimpse of K2 as it peaked out from the clouds. 

Far above camp

30^th July

Last day of the trek down a river valley into civilization. Well, a tiny village called Kanji. We donated much of our gear to the porters and guides who had helped us along the trail. Our cook outdid himself with our final feast. A bird’s nest of crispy noodles with a fried egg resting inside (ironic), potato salad with fruit in it, green cabbage salad with radish, cukes and carrots, fried chicken, egg rolls, aloo gobi, papadams, soup, rice, French fries, and a gi-normous cake beautifully iced that said “Happy nice end of trek”. All this prepared on a camp stove in a dark smoky tent. 

In the village of Kanji

31 July

It was a long, hot, dusty, STARK drive back to Leh with a stop off at a monastery for a tour and a fantastic Indian meal. Later that night I had tea with the Prince of Ladakh! It turns out a friend of mine is a friend of his so we connected and had a lovely chat about his involvement in conservation and restoration of historical sites in Ladakh. Pretty cool. The farewell dinner for the trek included a traditional dance performance and many cold beers.

The rest of the trip involved bustling around Delhi souvenir shopping, yet another scrumptious farewell dinner and a trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. I count myself so blessed to have visited it twice in my life now. Even though I had seen it before it still took my breath away. 

Taj Mahal

This was an unforgettable trip in an exotic, stunning landscape with a group of hearty dedicated souls who loved the adventure but set out with a cause. 15 of us raised a whopping $107,430.00 for the Breast Cancer Fund, which was the main purpose of the trip. Again, I thank you all for your generous contributions.