The best and the worst day

Dear all

Yesterday was an incredible day. I drove over the world's second highest navigable pass at Taglang La: a staggering 5328m. I have only been at that altitude a couple of times previously in my life, but never have I attempted to journey from 2050m (Manali) to a comparable height in such a short space of time.

It started at 2am when I went to catch the jeep. Except, for some reason, I was given the wrong meeting place. And so for an hour, I waited on my own in the dark. The village was deserted. I began to get quite scared, hearing noises scratching in the night around me. Also I was peeved not knowing why the hell my jeep wasn't there. After 45 minutes, sick of waiting, I decided to return to bed. On the way back to the guest house, I bumped into a fairly irate driver who'd been looking for me. Once in the vehicle, an hour late, it was a quick stop in Manali to pick up the rest of the passengers. They hauled themselves in, putting the luggage on the top. Everyone breathed in hard to allow the doors to shut: it did not bode well for what was expected to be an 18 hour jeep ride.

I sat on the backseat with three Indian chaps. I was wedged in so hard that, after about nine hours, my left thigh was aching from being jammed against another human body. Every time I or my neighbour moved in the slightest, the other was levered away from the seat, like a pea popping from its pod. It was hardcore. But off we went. As soon as we left Manali the road worsened. It was narrow and often the pitted asphalt disappeared completely to leave churned mud which we, the buses and the multitude of trucks, had to negotiate. At one point we had to crawl through a quasi-ford, listening to the rocks ripping against the underbelly of the jeep. And on several occasions we were drowned by flocks of sheep. But at the same time it was incredible: after a couple of hours the outline of the sun began to make itself known behind the mountains in the distance. And I witnessed a glorious sunrise, as slowly the mountains appeared as black silhouettes and then little by little gained in colour and texture. The sun rose higher revealing a cloudless sky, aquamarine at the high altitude, against the Himalayas which towered around us.

At the start, the rich scenery was littered with green grass and scrub; it reminded me a little of the Black Mountains in Wales (except the Himalayas are a bit bigger). But as we travelled further north and climbed higher, the landscape changed into stark desert (more like Bolivia's altiplano), an array of ambers, golds and greys in the sunshine. Have you ever seen a view so beautiful it brings a lump to your throat and tears to your eyes? That was what it was like. Wisps of clouds cast elaborate shadows the mountain slopes, creating unique displays of colours and textures. It was a special experience to witness.

We climbed on; higher and higher; passing wrecked lorries on the road as our jeep sauntered on. We stopped a couple of times at -- what I thought were encampments since they were just tarpaulins stretched on sticks to create shelter but were in fact -- villages, for chai and latterly lovely dhal and chapati (which went down a treat, as I sunned myself in the moonscape). Each time we stopped the girls asked where the loos were; and each time the response was the same - a vague sweep of the hand, coupled with the word "open". By this point we were surrounded by gravel and shale, which dribbled down the mountainside. This meant there was little cover for girls to attend to toilet-stops with any modesty. Plus there is no where in India that is without people: they are absolutely everywhere. So, even on what would appear to be a deserted hillside, you'd soon manage to see six of seven Indians carefully positioned so all 360 degrees around you were covered.

As we reached higher, I began to feel increasingly ropey. Despite travelling to high altitudes in the past I hadn't suffered from altitude sickness before. My throat began to hurt, my head to pound and I felt nauseous. (It was this illness that explains the negative part of the title of the blog: I felt terrible.) I discovered later that one of the group was actually sick, which made me feel a bit better - a good does of schadenfreude. I tried to sleep. It was difficult - the road was too bumpy. Each time the chap to my left tried to drop off, invariably his head would wobble and fall against me and I could feel his chin ratattating against my shoulder as we bounced along the highway.

I was impressed by our driver and his stamina, as he carefully navigated the 450km over such difficult, potholed roads, overtaking the variety of vehicles we met, carefully avoiding the sheer drops on either side of us as we scaled the hairpins. I later discovered from our Indain co-passengers -- and this scared me more than anything else -- that this was his return trip in two days (ie he was doing nearly 40 hours driving on the trot without any significant break). This is why they kept encouraging him to pull over, each time they saw his chin nodding up and down, quietly drifting off to sleep at the wheel. It was with great relief therefore when we finally pulled into Leh. I was knackered and gratefully let a tout take me to his hotel, barely negotiating the price; clambering on his scooter, eager for sleep. I passed out immediately, dehydrated and too tired to think.

The other memorable part of the trip, which I wanted to share with you, was the road signs. These are placed at regular intervals along the route to encourage safe driving. Here are a few for your delectation:

"Drinking and driving make a lethal cocktail."

"Don't be a gama in the land of the lama." [The Dalai Lama lives in nearby McLeod Ganj.]

"If you respect the mountains, the mountains will respect you."

"After drinking whiskey, driving is risky."

"It is always better being later than being late Mr." [I thought that was quite a clever play on 'the late Mr ...' ie deceased.]

And my favourite:

"Curves are blind and sharp, drive your vehicle like playing a harp."

Rightio. I am going to explore Leh now - it is proving impossible to get flights out (it is high season) so I am not spending as long as I had hoped here.

Besos

PS I will try and upload some photos of the incredible views later.