[ringoism]

As a preface: I debated whether to finally collect all the thoughts and photos and post anything at all here, considering that these days one more family journey around Ladakh is hardly anything special. But this being at least my sixth trip there over sixteen years with some witness to the intervening changes, and also having come and gone and hardly seen anyone else doing these routes in older vehicles, figured these might add some unique angles to the whole experience. And we did behold and try to capture some lovely scenes that seemed worth sharing.

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So what do you do when the road beckons, your only car is a rattly old 21-year-old Jeep, there's been a longstanding desire to tour Ladakh with the wife & kids, and a week's summer break from school suddenly looms on the horizon?

Well, you pause and try and work out a rough risk/reward ratio, alternately imagining exultation / cringing; You hesitate, calculate, then finally figure "Why Not?", spend a couple days getting the neglected beast (mostly) in order, determine to stretch that school leave by a couple days on either end to do the place justice, reclaim the loaned camera and then just pack up, get in and go.

At least that's what we did.

Kids' teacher said they could permit two days' absence at a time without special permission, so we figured we could eke out just under two weeks without much trouble (upon return found out we needed the Principal's permission - and this particular one is not one to be crossed / meddled with (oops!), so let's see how that goes!). Anyway, this was in truth conceived as being a substantially educational journey, so with about a week to go after this bright idea lit up my mind, we started getting ready.

I had been blessed with opportunities to ride Ladakh (incl. Nubra, Pangong, Zanskar, Tso Moriri) on two wheels a number of times over the years (2006, 2007, 2010, 2014, 2016), either solo or with friends. Still have hundreds of strikingly beautiful postcard-sized film-prints kept in albums from those early trips (yeah, it was THAT long ago - and THAT much has changed since then!). Since the time of our marriage over a decade ago, wife and I had always wanted to tour there together (she too had visited with friends in the mid-2000's) - but soon babies, then work/school timing conflicts, and lately Covid got in the way. Dusshera holiday always had me exceedingly busy at my seasonal work on wood stoves, while winters were spent largely out in Mizoram with in-laws. We managed Spiti/ Kinnaur together with extended family in Autumn 2016 (included here in the Our Marshal NGCS 4x4 thread: https://www.team-bhp.com/forum/4x4-vehicles/127716-our-marshal-di-4x4-ngcs-10.html#post4080080 (Our Marshal DI 4x4 NGCS) - posts #163-165), and a couple shorter journeys elsewhere in the state - but thereafter Covid basically got us stuck here in the valley. Kids were getting old enough to observe and appreciate so much, but never getting out to see anything new / different - Not good. Too many stunted / unexposed minds around here already.

So it was clearly getting time to travel.

Living in the hills is generally satisfying, but one downside is the quandary re: what to do when one wants (/needs) a little change of scenery. Drive the better part of a full day in any direction, and after considerable time & effort, we're still in the hills - in most cases hills that don't look substantially different (quite often less appealing) vs. what we see outside our door every day. Have sometimes envied (believe it or not) friends in certain metros who within a few hours or less can find themselves in the midst of entirely different geographic environs in any one of a few directions.

Had wanted to visit Rajasthan but the plains are obviously too hot this time of year so anything down there is definitely out. Same goes for the coasts.


Ladakh is far from typical as the mountainous regions go, has been on the list for years and monsoon is an okay time of year to do it. BUT can we / should we do it in this car? One that hadn't been anywhere outside of state in at least five years? I don't think it's been more than an hour from home in that time, in fact. Last year it was successfully inspected / passed fitness till 2026 - but does that mean it was literally "fit" for something as distant and rough as Ladakh, with so little on-road support to be found? Whatever its relative strengths, was the venerable beast truly up to it / even capable of it? Would I live to regret embarking on something like this with a whole family along, when we could all end up in more than minor inconvenience if it were to break down hard in some remote corner?

A friend offered the use of one of his well-maintained Fortuners at no cost, a kindness I felt was too generous to accept, especially as the car would otherwise be generating good income for him on self-drive rentals. Besides that, in truth: 1) I'd always secretly dreamed of taking the Marshal out there sometime before we retired it; 2) I've seen a good number of BSIV-BS6 vehicles carried out of that "great beyond" on recovery vehicles recently - incl. a Merc, a Volvo, an Audi, an XUV700, an AWD Duster, and others. So it is not as though having a newer, plusher, "better quality" vehicle was any kind of guarantee for success. 3) A number of mechanics over the years have told me that the old N/A DI is "the best engine ever made" or words to that effect, I suppose because it rarely gives problems and tends to just plod patiently on, largely impervious to all manner of abuse / neglect.

I knew it would be sluggish getting up over those passes - it is sluggish here 10,000ft lower than those too, of course, does alright once the momentum is there but it's not always easy to achieve that! I knew too that its flimsy old body structure (no finite-element-analysis back in those times) would shake, rattle, and bang its way along, not a pleasing prospect for my tinnitus, if general irritation weren't enough. But more than anything, in times of uncertainty like this, thoughts inevitably turned to its earlier times with us - those difficult first couple years, where it had blown a head-gasket (due to assembly error, but still...), had the transmission gears jam up a couple times (juggad-repaired on the way with assurances it would NEVER happen again), had the voltage regulator fry (that on account of a leaking vacuum-pump oil seal), the cooling system spring a leak, the starter clutch utterly fail to engage (on the maiden voyage to Delhi the whole starter motor had nearly fallen out just an hour from home, on account of a mounting bolt breaking off), the valve-cover gasket leak profusely, the steering-box mounting bolts loosen / break (which could have seriously endangered our lives); and (shockingly) the entire transmission crossmember just about fall out entirely once... all this on long trips, and NOT the stuff of pleasant experiences; Local mishaps (like the broken brake line and resultant pressure loss, while my wife was maneuvering through the market) had been rarer, but no less serious. Ah, the woes of an ill-maintained preowned ex-local-Himalayan Maxicab taxi!

Deep breath.

I had to admit that, apart from a cracked spring leaf now and then, the Marshal hadn't given any real trouble in a long while. Finally more or less sorted over those years, it had actually done well on that other long, hard run all around / above / beyond Spiti & Kinnaur... an axle U-bolt had worked loose once on those rough roads, but we tightened it up and got on our way with no further issues.

But that was six years ago - it was "only" 15 years old then and it had turned 21 by now. The clearcoat on the top surfaces was starting to peel and the upholstery seams were beginning to split. I knew I had neglected it badly the past couple years - Earlier a daily driver, we had hardly used it between the time of 2020 lockdowns till schools finally re-opened this year. And for all its essential ruggedness, predictability, and generally forgiving nature, it had begun to feel worn now.

As noted / inquired about in other threads, we had been searching (with difficulty) for an appropriate replacement for the Marshal, something which has yet to manifest. Mostly settled on and have been looking for a (85ps) Duster / Terrano as a replacement / supplement, but not willing just yet to brave the heat of Delhi in search of those cheap 10-year-old NCR disposal units (any good leads out there among known parties, do let us know, I think I can survive a day down there!).

So for this one last tour at least, it would be the Marshal - it could seem a kind of destiny. Long before we thought to head for Ladakh in this aged beast, I had already accrued an arms'-length list of issues that needed attention - a list that would grow as we moved into actual inspection stage: Self-starter clutch was on its way out, rear door was rattling / shaking badly, leaf-spring bushes were gone (little did I know then that a main leaf was cracked as well), an inner door handle was broken. I needed to re-do some sound insulating; One driveshaft yoke bolt was missing and the others loose. An exhaust-pipe mount was rattling. A rear wheel-bearing race was badly pitted. Rear brake shoes were gone, and one of the wheel cylinders frozen. Radiator had been seeping for a long time, one of the horns had gone silent, left tie-rod end needed replacing and steering box had too much lash in it; headlights sometimes flickered at inopportune times, clutch needed adjusting, diesel filters were long overdue for a change along with the (ancient design but highly effective) oil-bath air filter service and engine oil-change and gear oil level checks - and to top it all off... I needed to top off the windshield washer fluid... Yeah, we had been driving it like that (!), and it had been seriously feeling "good enough" locally. But now there was a LOT to get done in a couple days. I tried to separate the list into things that MUST be done vs. things that ideally ought to be done. And made some good progress.

Meanwhile our sons finished off their last couple days of school, wife started packing clothes and piles of snacks and other stuff, and finally the fateful morning arrived... Kids were so excited to finally be going to LADAKH (and to be allowed to skip school, I'm sure!).

The younger one was so excited, in fact, that after running down to stash some of his stuff in the car, he gave the passenger's side door a nice hard, exuberant slam shut...

...A minute later they came upstairs, looking rather shaken, to inform me its glass had shattered.

Interesting.

You can't really blame a kid for being over-exuberant (still he did get a little scolding). But along with that glass other things had broken. Not even on the road yet, and experiencing our first mishap with the car! I don't believe in bad omens, but confess a bit of hope/confidence was shattered as well.

Our first day's itinerary had likewise disintegrated. An hour late already and without many words I felt like saying, rushed off on my own to see if by chance I could find a replacement window here locally, and someone competent to fit it good and quick. In great suspense watched as the parts-guy sifted through a big stack of vertically-stored window glasses. He got all the way through and hadn't found what we needed - Oh, Lord! But he tried again, sifting back the other way, and by God's grace spotted it this time (the benefit of having a car that shares so many parts with other vehicles, including commercial models).

Grabbing a new set of window seals and a few other spares as an afterthought, an "angel" then appeared in the form of a guy who'd done most of the denting on the car nearly seven years ago, who has now set up shop nearer-by. Aging, small in stature and well-weathered in his visage but still super-active and one of the best around when it comes to returning twisted and distressed metal panels to the perfections of their original form, Jata is a real gem. I had called ahead, and upon arrival he readily got to his work, and very proficiently. Done within a half hour or less including cleanup of the broken glass, I asked the price of his services; The Rs100 he quoted was too cheap so gave him double (even that was cheap, guys like this are worth their weight in gold). Had put in a new window rubber seal while we were at it, and having grabbed a couple other spares as an afterthought, sped back home - whereupon we all jumped in and on a wing and (literally) a prayer, embarked on our first family adventure in a long time.

As the whole idea had been a little late coming to mind and there was all this other work, there hadn't honestly been a lot of time for route-planning. Original idea from a few years back had been Zanskar via Darcha, then back to Leh by whichever route (there are supposed to be at least two new ones) - but having heard that the road beyond Shinku-La was pretty gravelly-rough for a few hours after, and knowing how little our car likes those sorts of roads in particular - and now with the departure delay and more modest confidence level, I figured it would be best to make Leh, as an "easier" destination, a first goal. If something went wrong after that, ok, at least we'd arrived in the heart of Ladakh after a beautiful drive on (reportedly) good roads, and seen its capital city!

"Reportedly" came from a guy driving the Fortuners there regularly now, vs. the 4x4 Bolero Camper he'd plied with earlier. In our car (near identical underpinnings to those Campers), the roads did not seem any better than they've ever been; I was pretty disappointed at the lack of quality of even the freshest surfacing being laid. Places like the ascent to Baralacha-La and descent from Thanglang-La and Chang-La and several other places have become infinitely worse than earlier, and it didn't appear that any real work was going on towards improvements at a few of them. I've always held that good dirt is better than bad pavement (car strongly prefers that too), but apparently whichever powers-that-be don't see it that way, and as such, a truly good stretch of smoothly, evenly paved road was indeed a very rare find those twelve days.




But apart from roads: Needless to say, things have dramatically changed since the time of my first adventures in 2006/7. When I visited most of these places in those years, there were only scattered tourists to be found outside Leh, and even there most were foreigners, present in modest numbers. I used to stay in central Leh near the Moravian School in a quaint little family-run guest-house of perhaps 5-6 rooms, with lovely unobstructed views out huge multi-paned windows (more like an entire glass wall, as was once common in the South-facing corner rooms of Ladakhi homes) looking towards the Indus; I had eaten right there in the family kitchen with them, too, and all this for next to nothing in terms of cost. I tried to locate the same place now, but it seemed to have become surrounded by larger new structures, I couldn't even find its gate, signboard, or the path into it anymore, and am sure it is no longer operating. Pages could be filled on similar lines, but suffice it to say that the typical tourist of today demands more and does not tread lightly; Greed and competition among locals has perpetuated a constant state of construction frenzy and the bondages (and risks) of a loan-culture, yet the region has not necessarily been well-served by overdoing tourism "development". I was glad to see some semblance of a desire, at least, for a measure of discipline and cleanliness: In the main bazar itself (despite the government's questionable decision to cut down almost all the trees in the process of laying new tiled pedestrian walkways), it seemed to be having some positive effect:



Lots of places outside that central area have nonetheless been badly littered and dumped upon, I will not offer photos of some of those sad sights here.

But still Ladakh - for all the potentially overwhelming mess in certain places - cannot really help but still be essentially beautiful. And there is still adventure - with the roads still overall quite a mess and nature doing its best to continually confound us all, there was plenty of water to drive through, broken bridges to clamor across, precarious unprotected edges to drive along, high passes (if no longer the highest in our case) to wheeze over. Someone told me that "There are roads everywhere now - all the adventure is gone". Well, not quite - not in my book - and not when riding in a two-decade old Jeep.

We moreover got a lot of attention out there, lots of friendly waves. My wife kept asking, "Do they know you?" In general, I'm sure they did not - the car is just an attention-grabber, not the kind of thing people ever really see anymore, if they ever did. As it turns out, it was not the only - nor the most vintage - older Jeep out there (will share a pic of a KL-plate Willys wagon we saw a couple times). But I daresay it was the brightest!


It was Robert Pirsig ("Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance") who commented on the difference between biking and traveling by car, the latter of which, by nature of being seated in a closed compartment with merely glass openings all around, was "like TV" - where scenes were all "framed" and thus a bit isolating and artificial - the wind, sun and other natural elements were softened, and thus limited in their inputs and impact vs the open-air, the peripheral vision and full-sensory inputs one could experience on a bike.

True enough. But would have to say that despite the "frame" and the general worsening of the Ladakh scene overall, this time felt in no way a lesser experience, in some ways it was my favorite excursion to date among them all. Have done these roads earlier with other very dear people to be sure - some of my best friends in the world - But being with ones you love the most while fulfilling a longtime dream in a rather unusual vehicle, can really make it special.

Might also note that the Marshal's skinny/flimsy (/dangerous?) old-style A-pillars and near-vertical and utterly flat windscreen, along with the complete lack of any kind of horizontal dashboard or vinyl padding, made it quite lovely to look out of, with relatively little obstruction and never any significant glare, things I struggle with behind the wheel of any more modern car. As such you'll note that I've included a number of frames taken directly from the driver's seat... many while in motion - So that even if you've done these roads yourself and/or seen hundreds of photos, there'll likely still be something different in them for you.

For anyone curious, these were mostly shot with a Sony A58 DSLT & Sony 16-105mm lens, basic consumer-grade all-rounder, nothing fancy. A few here may also have been taken with the Redmi 8A, a super-cheap phone utilizing the same very respectable Sony sensor used in some fairly premium handsets. Where needed, PP was managed with Irfanview & a couple plug-ins useful for toning down highlights, as skies were cloudy-white and lacking more obvious detail much of the time.

Regards and enjoy the ride.



Always love the view looking back towards Zingzingbar, approaching Baralacha-La:





On account of the broken window and leaving late, dusk found us here a bit down the leeward side, where the (bad) decision was made to overnight. Lovely spot, but we all got bad altitude sickness, and wished we'd stayed back at Jispa. We felt no better in the morning when the car, parked on flat ground alongside the tent as we'd been directed, refused to fire despite good cranking speed. Never gave trouble anywhere before, nor in Leh/ Nubra later, but above a certain altitude it apparently gets feeling as bad / lethargic as we do! A push-start did the trick readily, so after this would park on slopes when staying nights up high. Next time will bring a can of starter fluid spray for those aberrant/ cantankerous moments!




The fabled Gata Loops...



...and their glorious (occasionally sketchy) shortcuts: We managed descending them all later, and ascended most too - but a couple were extremely steep at the bottom, with a lot of undulated / off-camber holes and loose dirt/gravel - might have got up them with some momentum, but crawling with a locker / LSD would be a lot safer bet - maybe someday!




Well-known remains of alien civilizations near Pang:







Always loved this scene on the verge...

This time, two tiny white specks down in the riverbed (barely visible towards the left) lturned out to be a herder's tent and Gypsy. I would really like to know how they managed to drive it down there, how many km's diversion and how much water-crossing was required. There is a kind of off-roading that most of us know absolutely nothing about. And it forms the lifeline of many hardy people who hardly think of it as adventurous.





The More (Mor-ay) Plains. One of these times I'm going to drive straight across the middle in the dirt, the way we did the first few times back in the days... This time saw two dust clouds moving at surprising speed a couple km's away out there, figured someone was racing around on ATV's... as it turned out, they were a pair of wild asses, very possibly the pursuit of a mate as the second seemed rather determined and the chase continued quite awhile (can't say anything as to whatever result here)... Only wish we'd been closer. Next time!




After descending Thanglang-La, stopped here between a lively, splashing river and some fascinating geological formations in the form of red-hued freestanding "walls" of what could have been stacked squarish stones. Amazing, and a marvelous place to rest awhile and picnic, letting the vestiges of altitude-effects begin to wear off a bit (in truth the worst bouts of it any of us had ever had). Incidentally this was close to where I'd had my one and only puncture enroute to Ladakh on my little KB100 in October 2006.




Approaching Leh: Thiksey Monastery




The lovely Indus bridge at Spituk



Uncommon weather in Leh



Lofty and ancient Tsemo keeping watch






We stayed in the home of Ladakhi friends, in a part of town I never before had - a great blessing especially on account of true "home-stay" hospitality, other perks being that most of the famous landmarks are visible from there, and that it is more or less off the tourist path and (apart from barking dogs as everywhere in Leh) very quiet:

[ringoism]

Took the weekend to rest and recover in Leh, before heading out towards the (former) "Top of the World"... now bested by around 700ft at Umila-La...





Fifteen minutes after leaving, got stuck behind a huge convoy of dozens of Army trucks in a section where overtaking was all but impossible - after another fifteen, the futility of our attempts became apparent, and we figured it would be worse to crawl along behind them the whole way up, than to just pause awhile. So stopped on the side, took photos of Leh from afar and snacked for a time, before getting underway again. Five minutes ahead, the road widened above a checkpoint, and we found them all lined up along the side! Got ahead before they started moving again, and almost before we knew it we had topped the pass. I'd "remapped" the fuel metering the previous day (the old-school way: turned the fuel bypass screw on the IP a half-turn anti-clockwise) and was pleased to find the old beast could manage most of the ascent in 3rd gear, and was able to more or less keep pace with modern traffic (till I had to slow down for something and try to regain speed, anyway!).


Crowded as it was up there at the top, I managed a photo only from a distance, and perhaps too cliched to bore anyone with here... The presence of a couple Aria taxis up there did catch my notice, though.

Btw, current Ladakh taxi fleet seems to be focused on Innova, Xylo, Aria & Scorpio, probably in that order of prominence. Surprising one is the Aria, considering its relative rarity in most other places - and after following a couple of them on bad roads, can say that they seem powerful enough and very well-riding and poised. Most are the Pure LX variant, 2wd with alloys - and there are MANY of them. Story on these as related to me by one mechanic is that when Tata was sitting on acres of unsold stock and desperate enough to sell at huge discounts, Ladakhis decided to buy in big. He said they are reliable enough cars (they would have to be considering where they're being used), but that when parts are required, sourcing them can be a problem. Saw one sitting there with a couple wheels off and what looked like at least several months' accumulated litter underneath - not sure the story there.


....And then on towards Nubra:






My brother and I had go-karts as kids, which we raced and drifted on a home-made dirt track on the field behind our garden... so this particular "tourist trap" was inevitable. Wouldn't normally be enthused about such "unnatural" attractions but in this case the land is sufficiently expansive and moreover I cannot think of a prettier setting for a mini-motor-circuit.




We again stayed at a friend's place, now at Diskit (my wife used to teach lots of Ladakhi students, and now we're all receiving the rewards for her good service to them). After setting up there, headed out to the dunes to explore and play a bit, finally taking a camel ride before dusk... It was more crowded that I'd have expected, but everyone (excepting the camels?) seemed to be having a good time at it. Was dismayed further on to find water bottles and other waste strewn along the waterway in what would otherwise have been spots of pristine natural beauty. Saw this everywhere basically, whether on the high passes or along smaller streams and lakesides - very sad to see what has happened since I was last here, can't tell you how many times I had to remove trash in order to simply frame out a nice photo. I really cannot for the life of me grasp the mindset and attitude of the kinds of people who habitually and indiscriminately throw garbage around and otherwise defile some of the most beautiful places on earth. And there are apparently MANY such people around!









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In my previous travel to Nubra was never able to venture as far as Turtuk - former Pak village more or less at the end of the line.







The road out there, while narrow, was fantastically smooth and well-built much of the way, and Turtuk itself turned out to be quite a treat - you couldn't help but think that the people out there, closed off from most of the world till a little over a decade ago, in reality had about everything they needed: Rich land, plenteous pure water, stunning natural beauty, and a stable community. I was a bit put-off first at the prospect of getting stuck in something of a traffic jam in such a remote place, and second in finding that landmark arched wooden bridge completely packed elbow-to-elbow with tourists - to where it was actually difficult to cross it - but also by my inability to find anything like authentic Balti food in a place so culturally unique from everything else in India or anything we'd seen till then. On the one hand were the typical Indian-style dhabas serving all the usual mainland dishes - like the first place we stopped in at, where the waiter said they had only one Balti dish on the menu, but that he didn't currently have the proper chutney for it...

On the other hand... he kindly recommended one "Balti Kitchen" up in the village that allegedly had an "all Balti menu". Searched awhile and finally found it - but when I saw the signboard for it, emblazoned with the words, "Celebrating Vegan"...??? Eh, excuse me, I thought - Will withhold judgement for the moment, but I've been all around the world and have NEVER come across a remote, agricultural/pastoral culture that traditionally ate vegan food. Veg itself might be rare enough in such settings, in fact. All the less if it happened to be a 100% Muslim population like here. For that matter Buddhists in the region are certainly not veg either, even if they may hold it as a theoretical ideal. A couple foreigners were sitting there at tables waiting for their food to come, so I had a look at the menu and sure enough, impressive and creative as some of the dishes sounded, it was all vegan. So I poked my head in the kitchen, a little incredulous, and inquired: "No, there's no non-veg here, authentic Balti food is all vegan" said the Nepali-looking cooks. Simply astonishing. And it was a bit pricey, to boot. I wasn't necessarily planning on eating non-veg for lunch, I just wanted something authentic, and now I doubted it was going to be found in a place where the whole concept was seeming fraudulent. So we left (to be continued).








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After a proper Indian lunch back down at the first place (admittedly very well-prepared and reasonably priced, if "conventional" and served to us by a youth from Uttarkhand), we managed to score a few kilos of fresh, ripe apricots fresh off the trees from a grove out behind. They were, in a word, simply amazing and we enjoyed them during our travels for several days onwards. In truth I have never tasted anything in the Kullu Valley, for all our varieties here, as good / firm / sweet as these were. Baltistan was, after all, always famous for these, it was a major transported product on the ancient trade routes that ran unhindered throughout the region prior to the Partition on the one hand and closure of the Chinese borders on the other. But these days in Turtuk we saw the fruit falling unharvested from the trees everywhere - it cannot be that they were planning to pluck and dry them all later, as they were already plenty ripe for that. Just falling in drains and etc, as were some of the little local-variety apples we saw. I wondered why someone wasn't at least collecting them and selling to tourists along the roadside - it would seem easy money - Could it be that even easier money is now to be found???

I met the son of the Balti Heritage House in the very picturesque southern half of the village; he was employed in some kind of local plainclothes police force but on the advice of one of the earlier foreign tourists had set up the older part of their ancestral home as a rather fascinating five-room museum. We chatted awhile about history, culture, faith, and change. He told me that in the beginning, when things first opened up around 2010, tourists had been few - Israelis and other foreigners mainly. Later the domestic hordes came and things started getting a bit out of hand and comparatively unpleasant - but the latter group threw more money around, and people, he said, of course want more money. "They ride out here in cars sleeping the whole way... get out and take a few pictures at the bridge, eat lunch, get back in the car, and go away again, all within less than two hours. They don't want to explore, they don't want to learn or know anything".

It all seems to me a sham, then - and a shame, this brand of careless, ignorant "tourism". Selfies, bragging rights, ticks on a checklist seem to be about the extent of the aspiration for too many.

I had to ask him, before I left, about local food, telling him of my experience at the so-called "Balti Kitchen" and my suspicions... which he readily confirmed with a dismissive wave of his hand: "That's just a fake tourist thing - True that in summers we traditionally didn't have refrigerators to preserve meat (the old local natural cold-storage systems notwithstanding) - but of course whenever we have opportunity we do eat it, in the winters especially."

I left that place deeply impressed with the little glimpse we caught of the lives of local people there, imagining how good it could be to live like that ourselves. Also left with a little dismay concerning what the place was rapidly becoming, and sincerely wondering how many tourists came and went knowing nary a thing about Balti culture, but that the people were (supposedly) all vegans!

[ringoism]

After a couple days around Nubra, we headed for Pangong via the lower, shorter route along the Shyok river, vs. Wari-La, the latter being a road only newly cut (and subsequently washed out) when I visited in 2006. Apparently Wari-La is only lightly used now, and must offer a good experience for those wanting to avoid the crowds.

The unusually rainy weather all over Ladakh in the days immediately preceding kept the Shyok angry and raging alongside the entire way, and to keep things interesting, even breaching its banks and covering the road with a couple feet of muddy brown water at a few points. I kept thinking that in the old days my boots would've been full of water and my feet wet more or less the rest of the day. Even in the high-set Marshal, it turned out to be much deeper than I expected at points, especially when I'd got too far off to the right in one of them. Someone on the other side had been signaling me, waving his arms passionately trying to direct me, but I'd not seen him till I was through the worst of it. Thanked him anyway!





Overall though, I'd say this was more of a "point A to point B" route - apart from all the water, not much of particular interest or beauty to recommend it, and we were glad to finally catch our first glimpse of a brilliant blue Pangong Tso.




I knew from the beginning of the trip that I could end up subject to a bit of smug pride, in being someone who "dared" to drive such an old Jeep into what is still a relatively remote region...

But if any such sentiment had been rising up in me, it was instantly deflated and forgotten within a few minutes of arriving at the lakeside:



Gotta hand it to this team of buddies from Kerala... their car has to be at least 35 years older than ours, and looks to be in superb condition besides. Didn't meet them personally, but they've got some YouTube content up on a channel corresponding to their number plate (KLM 6107) - no useful / informative content there as yet, but let's see later. Would like to learn something there about the car itself - it appears largely stock in terms of body / suspension, but I distinctly heard the sound of a healthy diesel engine when it went by, and can see in the photo what look like the military disposal 7.50-16 sand & highway tyres. My grandfather used one of these Willys wagons (also a pickup) extensively in Venezuela way back, probably doing crazier and riskier stuff in it than anyone today would - I also happen to know of one somewhere in these hills sitting garaged in original condition for the past few decades, its owner unwilling to part with it... When I see something like this, I get thinking of going and begging for it...

But anyway, we were trumped big-time if we were under any illusions of being "the" old-car guys...


Pangong, too, brought real dismay down on that formerly desolate, barren, and extremely beautiful, untouched end of the lake where we first arrived. We now have I suppose dozens/ hundreds of tents and horrible shanty-like plyboard shelters which one has to pay dearly for - to the tune of Rs3,500-4000 a night.

I understand that the lake was popularized (ruined?) by The Three Idiots. It's a decent film that I liked, and it did a lot towards introducing Ladakh to the rest of India. But when they've now got a line of 30 yellow scooters and bum-benches (there was only one set originally) along what had been pristine shoreline of one of the most unique and beautiful lakes in Asia, and one considers the reality that the Ladakh Ministry of Tourism must have had their hand in it, and that, as per my photo, the indication is that a majority of visitors seem to be more interested in frolicking near the water than sitting on those "unnatural" additions - then one really is forced into some questions re: who the supreme maha-"idiots" must be...



My personal view on this is that Pangong has been here infinitely longer than Bollywood, and will probably be here long after the latter has faded in deference to whatever new form of entertainment comes along. If the goal becomes to attract a crowd who ascribes more value to filmy associations than to the purity and sanctity of such a rare natural place, then should we expect that brand of tourist to put a premium on the care and protection of the nature there displayed? It is the "careless" crowds who always mess things up. Is someone going to dare to suggest that if we didn't fill the shoreline with all that crap, that people wouldn't come? Would they be giving up a lot of revenue in keeping it clear of that mess? Indeed tourists would still come... and they would spend, and they might better respect nature in that place, too.

They put a statue of Rocky (Stallone) outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art, as his boxing character had trained there - plenty have come and enjoyed that BUT they didn't line that entire staircase with a couple dozen of them!

Why not keep a maximum of only one or two of those sets down at Pangong, and further away from the shoreline? Why not create some construction standards and proper permitted building zones? It is all an atrocity - maybe readers who never had the pleasure of witnessing the scenery 15+ years ago wouldn't understand my angst, but in truth we stopped there for about five minutes and seeing it all made me sick. I figured that something - anything - must be better somewhere ahead, so we headed out to drive along the lake and see what we could find.


Spangmik, which is as far as anyone was allowed to go earlier without a Restricted Area permit, has likewise become quite a bit of a mess, with a cheap construction frenzy going on there too, even while the hillside is littered with the remains and refuse of years of failed camps and other projects - a line of 30-odd exposed toilets sitting up there on exposed slabs was particularly striking. But being afternoon we thought we ought to secure some accommodation, and actually found something more like an authentic home-stay (not quite) in a thick-walled traditional structure with local-style kitchen, and various family members young and old hanging around. The owner, Sanam, was born in that place and seems to be doing a great job, I must say he is quite the cook.

We put our stuff in the room and headed out for a drive further onwards, to try and find a more pristine lakeside spot. Saw a JCB and a tipper mining sand down a stony track and followed it to near the lakeside, where we found some really lovely views, apart from (of course) the dozen or more water bottles strewn in the sand along the water's edge. They really ought to just ban the sale of these entirely, levy huge fines to anyone found possessing them and especially those littering in general. Sell proper, "permanent" water bottles at a premium at the borders for anyone needing them, and put up refilling stations in various places, as we saw many people availing of at Shanti Stupa. Something has to be done, it's just out of control.

While diligent in his work, Sanam had seemed unusually quiet / somber to me - It was with sadness that we received the news awhile later that a biker had died in the camp behind the night before. Having come through all the water-crossings and uncharacteristic rain that day, he was by evening suffering from hypothermia. The tour leaders put him in their Traveler van overnight to try and keep him warm - I don't know what other measures were taken but they were apparently insufficient, and in the morning he had passed from this world.

The incident would seem to point to a kind of mismanagement and/or ineptness, but we cannot say for sure. What is clear is that Ladakh, for all its current popularity among the clueless masses on the package-tour trail, is still a harsh and sometimes unpredictable place that warrants a measure of sober-minded respect and conscientious preparation. This is no Bollywood set to be sure, and it is sad when a guy simply hoping to live a little dream / have some good clean fun (as I had done myself so many years earlier, with no support structures whatsoever) ends up sent home to a shocked and grieving family in a body bag. The forces of nature are powerful and uncontrollable, and we would all do well to remain mindful of that - we are not its masters, and any of us could likewise die out there (or inadvertently kill someone else).

[ringoism]

I can't exactly say that Pangong had been a letdown - I had been hearing stories for several years of its recent degradations and didn't have high expectations. Nevertheless some of what I saw was shocking, and overall the experience proved bittersweet. The lake itself was still stunningly beautiful, and the uncharacteristic stormy weather in which we encountered it may have made our visit even more unique. Had we accessed better internet service in Leh with which to more fully research / plan, we might have ended up further down along the lake, where we hear there are small settlements reminiscent of some of that earlier and less trodden beauty and charm. And had we not left some of our belongings to be retrieved in Leh, and had we carried enough spare fuel for it, we moreover might have proceeded directly along the lake from there to Tso Moriri via Hanle, and back to Manali. Next time!

For now, we headed back to Leh via Chang-La under a strange warm fog:






Despite some pretty sights, this would prove to be our worst day on the road - it was raining most of the way, traffic was heavy, road was blocked with trucks and cranes unloading materials for the tiling of the road up around the Pass, the road was broken and rough almost the entire way, and the car took a severe beating on the merciless washboard surface coming down towards the Kharu side, at least till we were over halfway down. It literally felt and sounded like it could suddenly explode and fly apart in every direction (fortunately, it did not!).

As I had remembered from my earlier visit by bike, Chang-La proved to be the most challenging of all the passes - it is not the highest, but in my experience it presented the most severe gradient (apart from Sach Pass between Killar and Chamba) by far; I remember back in 2006 literally praying that the KB100, screaming along in 1st gear just barely into the powerband, would finally pull me out of that place - in those days there was certainly no other way out, and at that altitude I was in no condition to push it, either. Now in this case, too, I actually had to slot the Marshal into 1st gear on at least three occasions, just to make the grade - unbelievable! Tough going then, and the only day in all our travels where I really wished we were driving something more modern, powerful, and better-suspended.

I have to say we had it better than so many of those poor road-workers up there though, who flagged us down a couple times holding empty bottles, asking for water and any extra food we might have. It was raining and soggy everywhere and cold - we saw a few who tried to huddle around a tiny fire while others dug along a roadside trying to find some drinkable water... It does not appear that they were being very well provided for by whichever contractor is handling that section, a travesty considering all they risk and suffer for the sake of the nation, travelers like ourselves, and more broadly the national interest.

The road finally did smooth out sometime after coming into view of that beautiful "oasis" of Sakti... one of the prettiest, most expansive, and lush villages we'd come across in that endless and otherwise barren wasteland.






After stopping for these photos a couple minutes, the car didn't want to start... a bit alarming / disturbing as it had NEVER done this at any time before. Cold / high-altitude hard starts would be understandable, but this???

Checked the one wire on the engine, the one to the injection pump cutoff... the connector seemed dirty / loose, which would be understandable considering the road we'd spent the past couple hours on. But cleaning and tightening it didn't help. Had to roll-start the car both then and a couple other occasions after. Back in Leh it was still erratic, so I did one of the things I knew I SHOULD have done before leaving - bought a new fuel line and crawled under the car to re-route it from the tank to filter assembly. Old one was made of a clear material and it was obvious that it was pulling air from somewhere. Thankfully that solved our problems and with those fifteen or so minutes spent, the car was absolutely fine after that.

[ringoism]

Back in Leh I had become ill (a bit ironically after eating at a Kharu dhaba run by a guy from here in Kullu Valley) and was up all night with vomiting and "the runs". Haven't been that ill in a LONG time. Kids had experienced similar our first night in Leh, so thankfully seemed immune to whichever bug by this time. Anyway, no time to let the body naturally heal, so took Flagyl and by next afternoon felt well enough to travel to Stakna, to the home of some other friends, set in about the most idyllic spot we could imagine, very near the Gompa amidst fields, tall poplars surrounding the house and a natural stream running through... Skies had begun to clear and the views were once again stunning.

[ringoism]

At this point we only had a few days left before the kids were supposed to be back in school, and we had decisions to make: Should we try for Tso Moriri or not?

Someone had said the weather was supposed to continue being cloudy / rainy for another four days, which besides increasing risks of trouble on the roads a bit, would not be so ideal for sight-seeing. We'd seen Pangong already, wife thought that might be enough as lakes go. I had been there twice already, didn't feel any desperate need of going again.

But I remembered how unique Tso Moriri had been. Mainly in that it was a real, functional village full of real villagers going about their usual business of working the fields, herding and milking goats, etc, but in an unusually isolated setting of challenging terrain and climate. Even in 2010 there had been (exorbitantly priced) tent camps on its outskirts - but both then and in 2016 I'd managed to find authentic homestays in old houses with thick quilts, the traditional eco-friendly composting toilets attached, and the age-old musty smell of dirt pervading the rooms. The place was very "off-grid" in those times - a noisy old generator would be fired up for a couple hours in the evenings, and as I recall someone like a Pradhan held the one satellite phone on standby for any emergency. The people of that place lived largely as they had for generations, and I thought something like that would be a good educational experience for the boys. We had been just about to head back to Manali on Sunday, instead decided to hold off and leave for the lake on Monday.

The road from Leh towards the Mahe Bridge is lovely, and there were a few little settlements along there where I thought it'd be nice to spend a couple days, given the time.

Along the way we came across a military memorial park in a beautiful grassy strip along the river, which I'd never noticed earlier. As we experienced at the memorial near Siachen earlier, it was sobering to walk through and read the grave markers; A broad section of castes, creeds, ethnicities were represented, but all these men died alike - in service to the nation. Families suffered painful and irretrievable losses; Good, devoted men left this world, their mortal remains interred far away from any loved ones - and in my heart I wished that such service were not even necessary: Oh for a day when "they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more".

I am a realist, not a pacifist. But the loss and associated grief are also very real - in a better, more loving and selfless world, we would not have to suffer this at all.

We saw wreaths of fresh flowers on some of these old graves, and I wondered who was placing them so carefully there, in such a remote spot. Apparently for whomever was, the loss was still tangible years onwards.

[ringoism]

Having arrived at Tso Moriri and spent some time there, will say we were very glad (despite some kind of biting bedbugs at Karzok, which afflicted our elder son pretty badly) to have taken the advice of a biker friend in Leh, stepped out in faith and completed that final leg - for it was probably the best. The lake was more beautiful than I'd ever seen it earlier, a festival was going on that had the locals dressed up in their finest, and best of all, we walked into a cafe with great lake views to discover that its proprietor was yet another of my wife's former students!!! Unbeknownst to us, he was now working with the Army, had somehow met and married a good-natured local belle from that place, and had a beautiful 2-1/2 year old daughter! A sweet reunion and nice surprise to be sure.




We drove ahead (my first time) of the village to a viewpoint further East, which afforded breathtaking views. Sadly after a couple hours and breakfast, headed towards Manali, a trip that despite a small diversion or two we managed in a day. On our way out of Karzok, while down skipping stones by the lakeside, we saw a biker turn around on the road and then turn to negotiate the same little track we'd followed. "Are you that Team-Bhp guy with the Jeep?" he asked... As I was pretty sure there were no other members with orange Marshals, I answered in the affirmative. It was Redliner, whom I've come across quite often over the years, of late in the bicycle threads. He would be able to tell you more than me, but sounds like we are pretty like-minded re: tourism, and he's embarked on some positive initiatives along better lines. May God bless his best efforts.

[ringoism]

Being already two days late for school and eager for familiar beds, we did what we were told couldn't be done, and apart from a few short stops / diversions (incl. down to the Tso Kar lakeside, a first for me), a leisurely lunch at Tso Kar, a tyre change and a brief stop in Lahaul for some nighttime stargazing, drove straight through from Karzok to Manali, managing the last couple hours in the dark and arriving back just after 10:30pm. Emerging from the Atal Tunnel, it was astonishing to feel the humid stickiness that we'd not experienced our whole time in the dryness of the other side - somehow even when it was raining there!

All in all it was a wonderful trip that we were so happy and grateful to have been able to undertake - and complete - together. There is so much beauty to behold in that region and we give our Creator the credit for all of it, even for the capacity to recognize and revel in it. Also am also glad that I was finally able to ignore the naysayings of my own mind, the "bad omen" of breaking glass that first morning, the longstanding doubts about the car's ability / suitability re: that particular journey, the concerns about returning "on time", and especially the (erroneous) negative weather forecasts and (valid) reports of bad road conditions that had led to our hesitation about trying for Tso Moriri, as it turned out to be one of the most beautiful places of all.

Car did well all things considered, didn't suffer anything enroute apart from that fuel line leak (should have been changed before going) and that puncture around Baralacha-La (my hydraulic jack, I think from the air pressure changes, had unbeknownst to me leaked all its oil out and didn't work, was fortunate to be able to borrow one from a Camper driver stopped at the same dhaba, and got it readily changed). It kept up typical average speeds almost everywhere, while returning approximately 12+ kmpl overall - which seems good enough for an old-school pre-electronic 4x4 on a lot of rough, stop-and-go roads at high altitudes. The car has plenty of space in it, the 4x4 grants us a lot of freedom and fun (and keeps us / gets us out of trouble occasionally), and the vehicle doesn't cost too much to run / maintain over the long term.

In its present form it's not much for higher-speed highways or hot places, for me the ergonomics could definitely be better, and indeed some patience / persistence was required some of the steeper climbs - but it has proved just about the "perfect" all-rounder for our typical uses, and this trip has helped re-boost my confidence in it considerably. Wasn't sure we'd ever finally do this trip in this car, but so glad we could.

Normally after returning from these excursions I'm very glad to be "done" and not eager to venture out again for awhile.

But in this case, partly in light of the fact that the car has had so much servicing recently done and is riding tighter, quieter, and more "solidly" than ever, and partly because we had to give a number of places a miss that we'd really have liked to have seen, I'm already yearning for our next opportunity to get "out there" somewhere. Zanskar and Hanu are still on the list, so give me a can of starting fluid for those few lofty mornings (WD-40, brake cleaner, or even hairspray would apparently do the trick well enough), load up my tools set and a spare leaf spring or two, and I think it could take us just about anywhere and back.

[ringoism]

Epilogue:

While writing this account and commenting here and there on what all sensitive people seem to see as a deteriorated tourism "scene" pretty much nationwide, it occurred to me that there could be a bit of personal hypocrisy in it: Here I am complaining about this rushed sort of "fly-by-night" tourism fixed on "alien" and unnatural attractions... yet there we were, sometimes spending a single afternoon or evening/morning in a place before moving on, riding go-karts in Nubra (about as unnatural as you can get I suppose), eating paranthas, and looking for little trails on which to take our car down to whichever lakefront - In our defense on the latter point, we honestly didn't see any prohibitionary signboard till later!

It can be argued that we humans wouldn't require rules / prohibitions at all if we had a kind of purity of heart and mind to begin with, if we were motivated by love for God and mankind, if we truly desired the good of others as much as our own, in essence if we weren't so selfish - if we used any freedom gained to enjoy things constructively rather than destructively; To be naturally motivated to honor and preserve, rather than to take what we can in the moment, those around us / after us be damned along with the rest of it: I've sent my selfies at Shanti Stupa to four hundred Facebook friends, now my life is complete. Till tomorrow.

There were other signboards we saw a couple times out there, along the lines of, "God made Ladakh..." (rushing past, could never quite catch the second part, feel free to contribute the proper ending!); Another, somewhere between Pangong and the Chang-La turnoff, adjured travelers to "Never Forget God" (or was it "Always Remember God"?). Either way, suddenly, somewhere out there, the Divine invades our existence. From a stunning viewpoint or else a signboard - as He has every right to do. And it is right for us in turn to give Him the glory for all this beauty and the ability to experience it first-hand. But how soon do we forget, and take it all for granted, or else regard ourselves as some kind of unaccountable landlords, rather than caretakers/stewards?

I have read that the Buddha himself wasn't willing to go out on much of a limb even re: the mere existence of a Supreme Deity. But I wonder how differently Ladakh would be tread upon, and how much less negative impact might have been experienced this past decade or so, if the sentiments expressed on simple roadside signboards had been contemplated and internalized by whomever who had moved around out there. To the extent that nobody dared engage in the careless thoughtlessness that is at the root of basically all the current problems.

I remember years ago (on my honeymoon actually) taking a backwaters tour in Kerala, "God's Own Country" with my lovely new bride - and after a few hours witnessing real beauty (both all around and beside me!), near the end of the day coming across a long stretch of huge, garbage-strewn canal bank and the murky, fetid water below, as our launch thrummed slowly past. We were aghast. I think everyone, deep down, knows there's something very wrong in such scenes - everyone should be able to recognize the contrast between what's overwhelmingly good and pure vs. evil and defiled in such instances. Maybe I should have posted photos of some of the sadly trashed-up places we saw during our Ladakh trip, as a reality check and warning. Things are not as they should be, that much is clear. The setting of my photo here from the Indus bridge comes to mind - the countless colorful prayer flags animated in the fresh breeze, the cold, clean waters of the river rushing swiftly past below us as the sun began to set warmly over the surrounding hills. Perfect. Till we walked 100m down the path on the other side, and through a gap in the hedgerow, behind which lay a grassy green field shaded with poplars - and carpeted FULLY with chips-packets and the varied cast-offs of a hundred picnics / drinking parties. Yes, something is seriously wrong. And it is not primarily that the Leh Authorities aren't good enough at cleaning up.

My question is: If it were truly believed that everything in the natural realm had been created as "good" and understood that (among other places) Ladakh has long represented something of the original natural beauty and purity of that creation, in a world that has become largely "paved over" / compromised / corrupted / uglified - then wouldn't we regard it as something "holy", something of rarity, undefiled and worthy of real appreciation and special protections? Not that our cities and towns need be corrupted either, mind you, but in places like this the contrast - and horror of it all - ought to be particularly striking. What will it take for people to show the respect it deserves? To take personal responsibility?

We all should introspect re: our motivations and impacts. For our part, we didn't waste a morsel of food, throw a scrap of litter in our wake, or leave any place (including our guesthouse rooms) in an even slightly worse condition than we found it. If my kids drop a wrapper or make some mess, we ask them to clean it up - something they have learned to do willingly and without complaint - they now understand their responsibilities in the interest of the common good. We made a point of connecting with locals and their culture and values, of demonstrating an interest and respect, of learning whatever we could, and fairly compensating them for whatever sincere efforts they made on our behalf.

But none of this to claim that we aren't nonetheless "part of the problem" directly or indirectly.

Also not claiming that locals themselves aren't violators, having seen plenty of refuse thrown from the windows of private LA-registered vehicles out there - just like we see thrown from HP vehicles here.

Attitudes and convictions matter. Yesterday morning someone in our local WhatsApp group here had caught a middle-aged man throwing a bag of garbage over a new government-installed chain-link fence designed to prevent that along the Beas River. It was asked why he was doing it, and he replied with, "This is India and we are Indians". To which our member inquired, "Do you teach your kids this?". He retorted immediately (and shockingly) with, "My kids are IAS"!!!

So not claiming that destruction in these places is the exclusive domain of tourism; But it does tend to upset longstanding social standards and general "flow" of life, with whatever related stability, also to put a lot of added problems and strain on authorities often ill-equipped to handle such massive upswings in activity of every type. No time to be visionary, they're just trying to keep their heads above water, so to speak.

Lots of people justify no-holds-barred "development" (I would use that term loosely) of various kinds as win-win simply because the economics of a place tend to improve. And they overlook any downsides, washing their hands of it all. The trouble (as exemplified broadly) is that improved economics do not necessarily lead to holistically healthier, happier, more sustainable communities. Quite often the trend moves in the opposite direction in many respects, especially socially speaking. Hence Bhutan's "GNH" and similar motivating ideologies, that are more honest, holistic, realistic.

As for subtler environmental impacts, one could go further and ask why we are driving a car at all, why we brought along packaged snacks, etc. Might we not do Ladakh the better by simply trekking or cycling it, and eating - I don't know - barley cakes and curd and dried yak meat (though by now there certainly wouldn't be enough to go around)? There are, of course national parks in India and elsewhere wherein driving is NOT permitted and no shops are to be found, and that can be a reasonable standard, too, little as we motorheads (and snackers) may appreciate it. Places like Bhutan and Sikkim have banned things like polythene and disposable water bottles entirely, and may even enforce it (unlike H.P.). Convenience and habit are secondary concerns in such places vs. cleanliness; I don't think it's hurting their tourism at all in the short-term, and further out it will actually save them by promoting a wiser, healthier form of it, with higher quality (and/or better-behaved & more responsible) guests. As for food, we did snack on our own home-made dried apple slices and some of Ladakh's finest as well, but no denying it, we had also brought along an overflowing box of plastic-packaged, manufactured junk-food, the "imported" wrappers of which we of course had to leave in Ladakh, however "properly disposed". We many a time ate omelettes made with eggs that must have crossed hundreds of miles of plains and ranges to arrive at those remote roadside tent-dhabas. Some of this is inevitable and not really damaging, some of it can border on the truly absurd if one really thinks about it - there's a full spectrum there and everything seems a compromise.

I suppose that in the modern age few have the time, schedule, and patience to really give a place or people the time they deserve. How many have the inclination to say, "I'll leave those other half-dozen places for next time, let me focus on only ONE this time? We didn't. Especially with the real possibility that these could turn out to be "once in a lifetime" tours. And even if we ourselves were so inclined to extend our time in each locale, what class teacher or Principal sees the value in a student's being absent from their classes for multiple weeks?

A friend here was visiting her fiancee's family in Zanskar and viewed the lifestyle with a little amusement: "His mom will just lead the yaks up into the mountains and disappear for two or three weeks at a time... nobody knows exactly where she's gone or when she's coming back."

We moderns know little or nothing of that kind of living, one which constitutes less of "time management" and more of "existence management" maybe: So-called "event-based" cultures vs. time-based, something I learned way back. Your life-sustaining livestock are hungry? You take them to eat, and for as long as they need to - nobody's going to worry about when you're going to return. A day will come for that, and you will be back.

So many of us dream of "getting away from it all", whether solo or with friends / loved ones. We yearn for a bit of time to think, pray, to see some new places, meet new people, read a long book, challenge our minds and presuppositions, or just to relax, reset or revel in an open-ended, free-spirited manner. Manali used to be a place that drew mostly people like that, now they constitute a very small minority. Few of us in this age are practically able to just ride it out, to see personal goals through to their natural ends, to live without respect to clocks and maybe even calendars, to experience the true freedom of being moved by other currents: "The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes - so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit". There is nothing wrong with timekeeping and scheduling and planning - we could have done better with a little more of that ahead of this trip. But we do become slaves to it all sometimes, too.

So what is the solution, the anecdote to "modern living" as we've come to know it - and would we even want it if we discovered it? These days there are more and more "digital nomads" - I suppose we could call them high-tech 21-st century hippies more or less - not so rooted, relatively free to move around as and when so inclined. But most I've known and met were either single or young childless couples. For the rest of us, formal education seems to get in the way of just about everything else for quite a few years. My wife and I have thought sometimes of moving towards some form of home-schooling for our kids, so that wherever we may be inclined to wander (especially where there's internet) they can still get some structured daily inputs, while opening up entire new realms of learning and experience that over the years the classroom will otherwise necessarily deny them. We know many who've done that.

It may be a good idea and maybe not. I knew a mixed-origin family who lived with their four or five kids for a couple years in an urban Indian slum - just for the experience of it I guess - and then for some months on a raft floating down the Mekong. They let their kids run around in the snow barefoot when resident in the Himalayas. The epitome of "freedom", right? But a few years onwards they were settled down somewhere amongst a lot of "elites", fully employed with all the kids studying in a prestigious old International School. When I was a youth it was occasionally noted that many of the free-living, long-haired, self-consciously counter-culture hippies of the American 1960's had eventually morphed into lawyers driving BMW's. I think that taking time to immerse ourselves for a time in something completely different can be a good way to learn about oneself, others, the world, hopefully even the Divine. But there are "practical realities" to be considered, and "all in" on either side of things is likely to prove ultimately impoverishing. So here we are trying to broaden minds and experience within the confines of those too-brief school breaks, to somehow do justice to amazing places, giving them their due while operating within strict time constraints. It is certainly unnatural, un-ideal and at some level unsatisfying, and there's a part of me that would like (as a couple others I've known have actually done) to just settle down in a place like Tso Moriri for a year or two - it would be so fascinating. Assuming locals still had time between servicing van-loads of tourists to actually interact with you. Short of such radical steps though, most of us have to work with whatever we've got.

******


I like this final pic because one can see the Marshal, halfway along a shortcut between the Tso Kar and Pang roads, covered in the dirt of Ladakh and beginning to look a bit more like its surroundings - at least to the extent a metallic orange vehicle is able to do that!




I think there's an old and widespread principle out there in the world that suggests we generally do better to try and blend in unobtrusively with any settings and others within them: "When in Rome..." speaks to that reality. There are times to take our stands, even to swim against the tide... but still we usually do better to handle things respectfully, in a manner not too unnatural to the context.

All this to say, if we would not ruin and degrade places and people, we probably need to demonstrate more sensitivity when we travel. We should not be seeing these destinations as simply places to tick off from our lists: "Been there, done that", on our own terms. There is in reality so much more to be explored, enjoyed, experienced - and it's better to ask beforehand, during and after, questions like: "What is to be gained from this?" How is it changing me? What have we learned? How can I honor the people who live here? And do I really need to eat mutter paneer or butter chicken with roti (or for that matter banana pancakes!) in the midst of, say, some small village in Mizoram (where NOBODY there eats ANY of those things EVER!)?

When I first started researching Ladakh for my first trip sixteen years ago, I came across the story of two fellows who had attempted riding towards Zanskar on a Bullet in November or December the previous year. They finally had to turn back on account of the extreme bitter cold, but what had amused (and befuddled) me in their story of failure is how they had insisted, after an almost unbearably frigid night of camping in their tent, on both having their usual morning baths out there in the fields in those sub-zero temps. Any such lack of flexibility & adjustment would seem to lead to any number of failures, once outside the familiar and comfortable. I heard from a Zanskari friend not long after that traditionally the locals out there - including herself as a young girl - had only taken a full bath once in a year, the day before school started; While that might sound like an opposite extreme, the reality is that contextually (dry and cold year-round and practically no microbial action) it would make far more sense (and probably be downright safer!) than what these particular fellows were trying to do! Realism is helpful here: In steaming hot plains these guys might realistically have bred more germs and accumulated more filth on their persons by lunchtime any given day than an unwashed resident of Zanskar might in six months!

In short I daresay we would often do better, rather than insisting on our usual food / drink, habits, entertainments and demeanor when away from our homes, to (literally or figuratively) pick up a bit of the "dirt" of whichever place we visit and let it stick to us for awhile!

For anyone curious, yes, we took a number of baths (albeit not daily) whilst in Ladakh, and our hostess took it upon herself (despite my protests) to rinse off the Marshal a couple of times, too. But I never did wash the car upon return - the rains have done that well enough for us in an all-natural way, and as for whatever residues remain, whether visible or hidden underneath somewhere, let them be souvenirs of the long, hard road that COULD have been its last... but by God's grace was not! I can only hope that we, too, have brought things back that will remain with us a long while.

More pleased than ever with the car and with the wonderful places and experiences it carried us through.

Till next time,

Happy Trails,
Eric

[Aditya]

Thread moved out from the Assembly Line. Thanks for sharing!

[AnishRanjan]

Absolutely fantastic thread and a that too in a old school vehicle like the marshal that i always loved. I get the feeling as i recently drove to zanskar and leh in my 22 year old gypsy. The charm of taking on the mighty ladakh in these old time tested vehicles is something only the die hard enthusiast will understand. Please keep driving the marshal and looking for more stories on uncharted paths.

[Nilesh5417]

@ringoism - Thank you for this travelogue!

I'm spellbound by not just the pictures but also the prose. I share your heartfelt anxiety that Ladakh really needs to be treasured, preserved for generations to come. We could really do without tourists who come to Ladakh and do what they do in Goa - just drink, play loud music and litter. But my optimism is fading fast now that the locals have had a taste of what money can buy - I really wish them better lives yet wish more that better sense prevails. The tourist count should really be controlled via permits. It will soon be an ecological disaster with rampant / unplanned permanent construction, like Uttarakhand is fast rolling towards.

I've visited Ladakh twice on 2 wheels, once in 2006 and then in 2012 - the difference was stark but still positive. Better roads and slightly better equipped accommodation enroute at Sarchu. I would still prefer the 2006 experience when More Plains was just that - plains, no roads. While Pangong was breathtaking, Tso Moriri was absolutely mesmerizing. We encountered light snow and a herd of yaks gently grazing. The lake changed colors with changing weather - spellbinding.

Am sure your kids will remember this trip for the rest of their lives. I pray the place remains what it is today when they take a trip with their kids!

[Caadmara]

What a beautiful thread! Your musings delivered so eloquently hit home hard for me. I personally have stopped going to any tourist location which is freely open to our "public" as I feel such an overwhelming sense of despair. I sincerely hope things change and our citizenry learn to appreciate the beauty of our land and preserve it's sanctity for the generations to come. Thank you.

[edunata]

Nice write-up and beautiful photographs.
I have a very special place for Ladakh in my mind, because long ago, when I was searching for pieces of information, before my visit there, I came to know about TeamBHP. The wonderful travelogues and pictures made me change my route. Instead of flying to Leh, I hired a car and went through Manali - Keylong - Leh. I was very happy that I did. It was a wonderful experience.
Hope one day, I can go there again driving my own car.

[Red Liner]

Originally Posted by ringoism

On our way out of Karzok, while down skipping stones by the lakeside, we saw a biker turn around on the road and then turn to negotiate the same little track we'd followed. "Are you that Team-Bhp guy with the Jeep?" he asked... As I was pretty sure there were no other members with orange Marshals, I answered in the affirmative. It was Redliner, whom I've come across quite often over the years, of late in the bicycle threads. He would be able to tell you more than me, but sounds like we are pretty like-minded re: tourism, and he's embarked on some positive initiatives along better lines. May God bless his best efforts.

I was standing by the road in Karzok, just off the monastery (we were there for the Karzok Gustor the day prior), and I saw your orange truck kicking up a sandstorm as you blew down that dirt track out of town.

I just about managed to sneak a peek into your cabin and spotted you with the fam. I do recollect reading about all the work done on Mr Marshall for your family road trips and it sent the bells ringing in my head.

Luckily, you had stopped just by the lake Tsomo Riri, and I had ridden up just a bit enough to turn back and ask if it was you.

Hope to see you in a month or so over some nice river trout!

and thank you for pulling over to let us all through on those little mountain roads. Much to learn from by a lot of drivers.