By day two, our guide Tashi become not the group guide but our personal guide. He was just as enthusiastic as us and liked that we were well-paced trekkers. This lead to favouritism which was much appreciated (such as giving us the option of the better homestays. #win) and in Demul, when we really needed a comfortable stay, Tashi came through a 100 percent.
The trek from Komic to Demul was the toughest and the longest. From the get go, we had a mountain to climb and I’m not talking in metaphors. Once we scaled that, that’s when the challenge really began. We had four mountains to climb. The thing is, normally you would have a downward climb but these were mounts one after the other which meant that the easy bit barely lasted a few minutes. The group trekked closer together here but since we were always ahead and so fast, there was a really boring joke established by one of the chaps. He would keep asking us “do you have a meeting to get to?” which, let’s face it, was and is still not funny! I’m pretty sure that the three of us rolled our eyes every time we heard that. Life was too hard to be nice at that point so I’d ask that you forgive us for that. We had three friends (all photographers) from South India who were actually really good trekkers. They were struck by AMS which resulted to their slow start. Debbie and I enjoyed (extremely enjoyed!) listening to them talking because while we understood nothing, Tamil was an amazing language to listen to and we managed to at least pick up one phrase (which we still use sometimes to greet each other).
Demul was set in a valley with a nameless mountain looming and overlooking this tiny village. What a sight it was from the distance! We had climbed the last (and the toughest) mountain and reach the peak marker. While exhausted, it was an exhilarating feeling. Personally, every time I reach one of these markers, I feel that my adrenaline just kicks in and makes me feel that I can climb another mountain (and as I am writing this, I am saturated in memories from the trek and rearing for the next one). We saw the sight of Demul, sitting so serene and calm, and we were rushing to reach. Tashi took the trail while the three of us basically just cut across the valley creating our own path and walking through thorn bushes and streams.
Demul was our best homestay experience not just because it was clean, but because of the family. We had the nicest couple (and their very shy son) hosting us and they made everything so accommodating to the extent that there was toilet paper and a water filter in our room! There was also a separate washing section within the room which basically works like an open washroom. Tashi and our other guide Tobgay came to help our homestay couple with the cooking. While Tashi has been operating as a Spiti trek guide for years, this was Tobgay’s first trek. Debbie made it her mission to tease Tobgay and his responses were always a shy smile and a blush. It was a hilarious sight and it still makes me laugh thinking about it!
We not only had the best dinner (BEST parathas) but we also got our personal supply of ‘Chang’ and ‘Arakh’, local barley alcohol that must be tried. We first tasted it in Langza and really enjoyed it but I reckon we all felt too pushy to ask for from then on. We were offered in Demul and it was a solid, harmonious yes.
But it wasn’t just the alcohol that we were privy to. We tasted the most amazing from of curd.
Full disclosure, I do NOT like curd/yogurt/dahi. Add all the other names it has, you’ll still get a big N-O from me and if you try to force it upon me, you might as well be ready to get a smack across the face. Yet, in the face of travel and experiencing new things so to speak, I’m not fussy so I gave it a go (very much to the shock of Debbie who constantly says I have ‘weird food habits’). Even more shocking was that I went in for a third helping. It really was that good and the saddest part was this was not an over the counter commodity that we could purchase. It was made by the villagers for their personal use and I assume travellers that pass by get to taste this ‘magic elixir’. The curd was a speciality of Demul and it was made with goat’s milk making all the difference. It tasted like the world’s greatest version of cream cheese. It tasted like fluff, like what great dreams are made of. You get my drift right?
Demul also had a shop. Now this was rare here. Either there are just no shops, period. Or there is one. While we tried to communicate with the old woman, her in the Spiti dialect, Sarju in Hindi and hand gestures, a young girl came to help the woman, her grandmother. The young girl said smiled and said hello to us and asked us where we were coming from. She was smart and spoke in both Hindi and English which was rare! She invited us to her home for a cup of tea to which we suspect was objected by her grandmother but she took us in anyway. She was very shy and after asking us a few questions, left us alone to finish the tea. I am pretty certain even her name was Rinchen. She seemed like a goofy girl and the next morning before embarking on our trek, we looked for her to take a picture for her with the polaroid. I took one with my camera as well and the photo captured exactly the person she is.
By the time we got Demul, a truth was established: the people of Spiti are some of the nicest and most friendliest people you will meet. They will never pass you by without their friendly greeting, Julley. So you greet them back or you greet them first even. The friendliest meeting for me was a man on a wheelchair of the shop we went to. He was staring out serenely towards the mountains and while I didn't want to disturb him, he saw me. He had a stern face; an elderly man. Yet, he broke out in the kindest smile to say a hello.
The next stage of the trek, Demul to Lalung, was a short one but slightly dangerous. It was the opposite of the trek to Demul because this one was going to be all downhill. I’m going to keep this real: it was pretty bad. We did it and again reached first but that’s not the point. We were cool with downhill because it’s obviously less tiring but one wrong step on this one and that’s that. It wasn’t even a trail exactly. It was just sand and gravel. Debbie and I did this in 40 minutes and waited another hour for the rest but we didn’t really complain because it was hard. We were joined by another eight people who technically were part of our group but didn’t want to trek. A large part of our discussion was WHY they even signed up for this in the first place. They rented a private car, packed their own mineral water, dried nuts and food. And a carton of Jack Daniels. They sure came trek ready wouldn’t you say? We also heard that they refused to eat anything that was offered to them in their homestay, did not come out of their rooms and stayed up late, making loud noises disturbing the people. "They came looking for a good time" said someone. So did we but our definition of ‘fun’ were poles apart. During this downhill trek to Lalung as well as the first visit to the Kee Monastery, we spotted their shoes: loafers and knee high boots. We were shouting out WHAT WERE YOU THINKING (in our heads) because that’s just senseless. Basically, they looked like they were ‘bout to get turnt to a Honey Singh song.
So yeah.
the three of us did not exchange a word with them mainly out of anger about their behaviour. Their behaviour went beyond what could be marked down as ignorance. They were behaving like Donald Trump. Donald Trump saying that ISIS can be taken out by a covert ops mission in the dead of the night is not just ignorance*, it’s sheer foolishness. Their foolishness in their conduct, behaviour and attire was on par. What a bunch they were!
But let's move on. After crossing rock formations that looked like penises sticking out from the earth (and photographing it to send it to our perverted friend) and an age old shaky British-made bridge, the trek to Lalung was on tarmac and while we could see Lalung, it was impossibly far. We even got to a gateway and ran, reaching out of Lalung, thinking we were there but it was a farce. Lalung was still a good 45 minutes to an hour away. I have to add that Lalung was the strangest sight to see. Surrounded by mountains and rock formations, there it was, a patch of lush green. It was one of those moments when Mother Nature surprised me.
By the time we reached, we were 'hangry' (hunger leading to anger) and even the super modern homestay with clean bathrooms and hot water was not observed until a packet of maggi was consumed (nay, gorged!). All eight of us wanted to use the bathroom to bath and from time to time, snuck out with towels in hand to check.
*paraphrased
Lalung too had an unnamed mountain looming over it. Sarju and one of the chaps got into a discussion about climbing it, naming it and imposing an entry tax (you should know by now that that wasn’t Sarju’s idea). Following our last meal, everyone decided to sit outside under the clear skies filled with stars and quite fittingly, I remembered the wonderful Before Sunrise.
“You are both stars, don't forget. When the stars exploded billions of years ago, they formed everything that is this world. The moon, the trees, everything we know is stardust. So don’t forget. You are stardust”
We carried on late, not talking too much, just listening to music and enjoying the stars, unaware that the worst was yet to come. Our last day consisted of a trek – bus ride – trek – ride back to Kaza.
The important thing about trekking or any physically enduring tasks is mental preparation. As we set off from Lalung, we had already trekked the tarmac road so it was fun. Debbie, Sarju and I as usual led the pack and at one point, we had a huge distance between ourselves and the rest. So we burst out dancing on those empty roads, something we did throughout empty stretches of trails. We shuffled (okay. Attempted), we sang and before you knew it, we became a three-man troupe. This was our way of keeping our spirits alive. If only it worked!
Dhankar, the old capital, was our last stop. The Dhankar monastery was a gallant structure built upon rocks and following a quick look around, we set off for Dhankar Lake.
We saw a mountain and I think all of us looked at our guides with the same question and expression. “It’s just there. Behind the mountain” said Tashi. Okay then, that’s not too bad thought all eight of us. Loud Chap decided that today he would show what he was made of and jetted off to be the first. As he ascended, he didn’t stop and that’s when it hit me: this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. This is where mental preparation comes into play. We discussed it later with the other chaps who also came to the same conclusion. The trek to Dhankar Lake was hard, yes but it became and seemed much harder than normal because we weren’t prepared for it. it became the classic “are we there yet?” segment. It was never ending. We saw a couple who were making their way down and I think all of us stopped them at whichever point we were at to ask how much further. “just there” they told me (IT WASN’T. LIARS).
During this trek, I devised a scheme whenever life got hard on the trail. Run it. And that’s what I did during some really demoralising parts and this pretty much motivated one of the chaps so good on me. It’s pretty simple really, if you want to try: I would run and count to 50, walk 100, run 50 and so on. Just don’t do it the whole way. I am not sure of the repercussions as I suffered none but I want to state that you cannot hold me accountable should you try and things go south. You have been warned.
The lake was not stunning or drop dead gorgeous. It was okay. “we trekked for this?” said one chap, unanimously echoing everyone’s thoughts. I don’t know! Maybe if our trekking experience wasn’t so bad, we could’ve appreciated it more. Dhankar Lake just caught us on our off day. A lake formed at the top of a mountain is actually a pretty cool thing.
The trek downward wasn’t as easy because again, the trail was just gravel. After a quick lunch at the monastery restaurant/café, we were on our way back to Kaza and it was a quiet journey. I was mostly lost in thoughts gazing out the window.
We took away a lot from this trip one of which was a song. This was unanimous amongst all of us. Om Mani Padme Hum is a Buddhist mantra and we heard it played every morning in almost all of our homestays and also through Tashi's phone as we trekked. It has a very calming effect and with the sight of the mountains, the reality that you were traversing so high up in a place where not many people have been (or have heard of), made you assess life in general. The chaps took the song from Tashi's phone while we continued to sing the tune as we travelled further.
The journey to Spiti was a gift from the forces that control our existence. Will I be back again? In the uncertainly that is life, who knows. It’s possible this was going to be the first and last time that I will ever jaunt about through Spiti Valley but because even this cynic has a ray of optimism somewhere, I hope I will.