On a higher plane in ancient Ladakh

by Mark Chipperfield

India may be diving headlong into the 21st century but its mountainous outpost of Ladakh, wedged like a broken tooth between China, Pakistan and Tibet, remains defiantly out of step with the modern world; a place where it is much easier to find enlightenment than an ATM.

Stepping into the congested arrivals hall at Leh Airport after an early morning flight from New Delhi, the public service announcement reminds us that we have just landed on the roof of the world – and issues a warning about high altitude sickness.

"Juleh [welcome]!" rings out the tannoy across the bustling crowd of travellers. "You are at an altitude of 11,500 feet and in order to avoid acute mountain sickness we would like you to rest for at least 24 hours. Avoid excessive sleep during day time, taking sleeping pills and alcohol."

High altitude sickness, which can result in headaches, insomnia and other unpleasant side effects, is a stark reminder that the traveller has flown from the heat, congestion and madness of the Indo-Gangetic Plain to one of the most isolated and intensely spiritual places on earth.

A child monk at Thiksey monastery in Ladakh. Supplied

The fantastical landscape, framed by three mountain ranges including the mighty Himalayas, has changed little since Genghis Kahn and his Mongolian hordes passed through here in the 13th century. Indeed, some of these hilltop monasteries were here long before the fabled Silk Road and, according to locals, will outlast mankind itself.

Even the short drive to our hotel, the laidback Saboo Resorts run by an affable Ladakhi called George, seems like an epic adventure as we drive past huge army bases (India has 300,000 troops stationed here), vast plains covered entirely by rocks, untamed rivers, mud-brick farmhouses, tiny garden plots and dusty villages that trail absentmindedly along the main road.

Everywhere you turn there are cone-shaped shrines known as stupas, and prayer flags, often faded and torn by the desert wind, which are both decorative and mournful; each bears a personal message being released into the universe.

Generous hosts

It's early summer and the farms are busy with activity, the sky blue and cloudless. But scratching a living from these fields is hard – apart from a growing season of just four months, Ladakh is very dry, with less rainfall than the Sahara Desert.

India has 300,000 troops stationed in Ladakh. Mark Chipperfied

"It is the responsibility of the chinglo to monitor the water use in each village," explains our guide, Rinchen. "Oh, it is a very tough job to keep an eye on all the farmers – he cannot sleep at night."

Apart from being devoutly Buddhist, the Ladakhis are fearsomely generous hosts – refusing food causes great offence – with a wicked sense of humour. The roads are dotted with advisory signs, such as "Don't drink whisky, it's risky" and "Alert today, alive tomorrow".

Our eight-day itinerary includes some memorable experiences, such as a chance to watch a traditional polo match, an early morning ceremony at Thiksey monastery and lunch with His Excellency Raja Jigmed Wangchuk, scion of the Ladakh royal family.

But we begin with a gentle walking tour of the Saboo Valley, a rich farming area near the resort. I'd spotted an old lady planting potatoes outside my room, but alfalfa, barley, apricots and walnuts also grow here in abundance. Harvested alfalfa is stacked on the roof for extra insulation – winter temperatures drop to minus 20 degrees at night.

The Khardung La Pass. Those who brave it are rewarded with the Nubra Valley, surely one of the most pristine, timeless and beguiling places on the Indian subcontinent. Supplied

Luxury travel company Abercrombie & Kent has a well-deserved reputation for sourcing excellent local guides and Rinchen, a former boy monk who grew up on a farm and speaks perfect English, is able to tease out some of the more colourful aspects of Ladakhi life, such as the threat posed by snow leopards.

"Oh, the snow leopards are a big problem," he says nonchalantly. "In February when there is no food in the mountains they will come down and attack the farm animals. But today we shoot with a tranquiliser and send them back home."

Ladakh's fabulous landscape is populated by equally fabulous creatures including yaks, marmots, ibex, squirrels and giant Ladakhi sheep.

Little change

Chamba Camp Diskit – an encampment of spacious canvas tents manned by an army of butlers, chefs and waiters – provides a jaw-dropping mountain view and delicious Indian fare. Chamba Camp Diskit, for Ladakh story by Mark Chipperfield. Supplied

In the afternoon we are taken by private vehicle into the capital of Leh; although such a title conveys a grandeur that is conspicuously absent. With its warren of back lanes, grotesque butcher shops, wizened old stall holders and general hubbub, Leh remains much as it was 200 years ago, when the first colonial photographers arrived: a frenetic bazaar where carpets, gold, ivory, jewels and, yes, fine silk are bought and sold. Only the camel trains, which once clogged the market place, are gone.

Tourism has come only recently to Ladakh. Backpacker hostels, trekking companies and motorbike rentals have sprung up across the capital, but most of the thrill-seekers are not Westerners but young middle-class Indians attracted to the mountain kingdom by its role as a backdrop in the 2009 hit Bollywood comedy 3 Idiots.

A couple of days later we are stranded at the Khardung La Pass (18,380 feet) with a group of hardy travellers on their Royal Enfield motorbikes. A broken-down truck has blocked the road and we are trapped in the cold and snow for almost two hours, and yet I have never seen a more cheerful bunch. They pass the time gazing at the mountains, flirting with their girlfriends and taking endless selfies. I pose with a Sikh wedding planner from Amritsar named Manpmeet. We both start laughing for no apparent reason – perhaps it's the onset of hypothermia.

Those who brave the Khardung La Pass are rewarded with the Nubra Valley, surely one of the most pristine, timeless and beguiling places on the Indian subcontinent. Because of border tensions the valley was closed to outsiders for many decades. The imprint of tourism is negligible.

Tibetan singing (sound) bowls at a market in Ladakh. Supplied

Our accommodation, Chamba Camp Diskit – an encampment of spacious canvas tents spread over the valley floor and manned by an army of butlers, chefs and waiters – provides a jaw-dropping mountain view and delicious Indian fare.

One night my sleep is disturbed by howling wolves and I recall the many stories Rinchen tells – of bloodthirsty Mongol armies, revered Tibetan monks, Christ's supposed visit to the Nubra Valley and how the silk traders from the east would stop here to challenge the villagers to wrestling matches, betting their precious camels on the outcome.

"We used to win very often," he tells me with obvious pride. "Ladakhis are very good fighters because we are very much brave."

Village polo

The medieval sport of polo, played throughout the western Himalayas, dates back to the rule of King Sengge Namgyal of Ladakh in the 17th century.

Although this boisterous, noisy and seemingly anarchic contest inspired the modern version of polo, it is quite distinct. The game is played by two teams of six men riding mountain ponies. Players wear jodhpurs, high boots and colourful silk shirts, and ride at breakneck speed. The game is divided into two 20-minute spells; modern polo is divided into a series of seven-minute chukkas.

The object, of course, is to score more goals than one's opponents. Penalties are liberally awarded by an umpire who struggles to keep up with the game – or see through the haze of dust.

Supporters are vociferous and intensely partisan, but the atmosphere is festive. Each goal is noisily celebrated by a burst of horns and drums from a cross-legged band.

Polo dates back to the 17th century. Although this boisterous, noisy and seemingly anarchic contest inspired the modern version of polo, it is quite distinct. Supplied

Once every village in Ladakh had its own polo ground, but the game is now mostly played in the larger centres such as Leh. The Ladakh Polo Festival, held every July in Chuchot, brings together teams from across the kingdom. The festival also features archery contests, folk music, dancing and a delicious array of local food.

The writer travelled as a guest of Abercrombie & Kent.

Courtesy afr.com