Spiti Valley - Demul / Lalung / Dhankar

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.

Spiti Valley - Kibber / Langza / Komic

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The girls help our homestay hostesses make momo’s while I tried to figure out how to open some giant windows, roughest and most basic version of French windows, in our Komic home to soak in all the sunlight and warmth that has been missing since yesterday as well as the first half of the day today. It’s already 6:30PM but the sun is so bright as his noon self. I think even he’s lost track of time up here in the mountains. 

The mountain peaks from the room look magnificent. I am unsure which peak it is though as judging by Harsh Kapadia’s notes, the Spiti Valley has quite a few to show off!

The terrains of Spiti is mostly desert-like and rocky and in many ways, very much resembles the Grand Canyon. That was pretty much what struck us the moment we reached Kaza. On the other hand, there are also stretches that give you the feeling of the Scottish Highlands too. The trans – Himalayan ranges provide great company as you trek. Every time you look up, the snow-capped mountains give you the surging urge to power on no matter how difficult the path that laid ahead was. 

If I am left alone here, there is a great chance that I could continue walking the roads not caring where they stopped, if they stopped or if they lead right to the foothills of one of the peaks. 

Komic has 12 households while Hikkim had around 15 including the post office and the postmaster’s home/office. Langza, with less than 25 households, has so far been the most developed of all these villages up here at 14, 000 feet. The trail was good but not too tough and Komic didn’t give us the dramatic welcome as Langza did with Chau Chau Kang Nilda (previously Guan Nelda) towering over it like a gentle giant. At 6,303 meters, it is one of the highest peaks in the Spiti region according to Harish Kapadia’s book. The highest is Gya at 6,794 meters. Wait, I think Chau Chau is the second highest. Okay, you need to fact check this when you can access some form of internet. 

We reached Komic by 12:52PM. I walk much too fast for my own good but even after a wrong turn, I made good time and reached first followed by Debbie, Sarju and our guide Tashi. Which was shocking considering how many times Debbie stopped to continue her fossil hunting. Although, I should admit, archeology could well have been a profession for her considering how many she found. I don’t know what to make of the others in the group. One thing's for sure: they’re slow and if we have to slow down on their behalf, I’m not going to take that too well. I’m not missing out on anything trekking fast but I’m also not stopping every two minutes to take a picture. I mean, seriously. What happened to being and living in the moment and just inhaling that sentiment of just being? We don’t do that enough. Not just the people in our trekking group but just all of us. We’ve lost the knack of living in the moment. 

But here’s what I’m surprised by, the five guys in the group. Judging by how eager they were at the Kee Monastery yesterday, hiking up that hill to get the money shot of the monastery, I was gearing and preparing myself mentally to be on par at their speed. My competitive spirit shone through and there was no way I was going to let them get ahead of me in the actual treks. Clearly, I was setting myself up for nothing because they didn’t offer any competition whatsoever. What a waste. 

Which reminds me, I wonder when the postmaster is going to send forth our postcards. Postcards from the highest post office in the world! I mean come on! That is just really cool. Although, considering the luck I've had sending postcards and them not reaching my friends, I shouldn't have such high hopes. The postmaster didn’t have a wide variety of postcards to choose from. You could make out that they were really old and the quality was just not good. He also didn’t have enough stamps so I gave him some of my own for his future use. They were really good stamps and while I kind of didn’t want to give them away, it seemed like he might need them. Although… do people still write letters? Especially up here? The postal service is coming up with really good stamps these days though, so that’s a positive but there’s no replacing those stamps. Right, let that go. That’s not your focus. What I should focus on is that we had tea in the world’s highest post office in the world (4,440 meters/14,567 feet) with the postmaster Rinchen Chhering who has held the post for 32 years with eight more years till his retirement. Yet! I am mildly excited for Sarju's postcard to Debbie to reach Debbie. haha... I think they wrote a postcard to each other. These two are hilarious. If not any, I hope that one makes its way home!

I gave the postmaster a polaroid of himself which seems to have amused him I think. of course, he wasn't as intrigued as those kids in Langza. Maybe he's already gotten one from others. Like our Langza homestay. Some previous travellers had taken some pictures of them with the polaroid and it was now on their kitchen wall. 

I wanted to give the kids a polaroid but Debbie and Sarju said it's better I don't because they'll fight for it. I think it must've been like a magic trick for them. I'm certain that travellers who pass by take their picture because 'poor unfortunate kids in the mountains' (what an original idea) so a camera or the idea of a photograph isn't new but the polaroid? I guess it was a pretty darn cool thing to witness. I mean, I still find it cool myself every time I develop a picture! 

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It’s 6:40 and the sun slowly shy’s away behind the hill I see through the window, his crown still intact. The animals come home as if a silent whistle was blown right across the village. The wind has also begun to sharpen its edges and it’s piercing cold. It’s definitely colder here than Langza but the wind in Kibber was no less. I reckon it has to do with being so close to Kanamo. If this is going to be the case, I’m basically done for. All I have is my $5 Target flannel shirt that is probably losing all its warmth. Clearly layering up is going to have to be the way but honestly, what the hell were you thinking not even carrying a jacket you, idiot!! I mean, for the sake of being light, I have decided to give up on my wellbeing. Great going. It’s no point blaming the Kaza weather since it’s set in a valley. I think Debbie and Sarju are going to murder me if it gets any colder since I convinced them not to carry their jackets too. Right then. 

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It’s 8:00PM and there’s still light enough for one to walk without a torchlight. Our hostess is a 29-year-old woman and her aunt. It’s a fairly comfortable house if you don’t count the toilet. But that’s just something we were going to have to get used to. The three of us are the most adjustable travellers. We will complain about things in our daily lives but when we’re in travel mode, we adapt to survive. I think we all tried our best to not raise an issue but sometimes, you’ve got to give away. We'll survive but we''re certain about some friends and family who definitely shouldn’t make the trip here. 

All the Spiti villages are lodged high up in the mountains which means extreme conditions (COLD). So for fuel, they collect the fecal waste not just of animals but also humans. More often than not, the toilet is just a hole in the ground. I imagine they hope all their guests have something to ‘contribute’. 

So our host. She's gotten me thinking... It’s odd having to call her a ’29-year-old woman’ considering we are all 27. She has four kids of which the oldest is in 4th grade, studying in Kaza living with the father. I can't, for the life of me, imagine the three of us in that situation! It's just too terrifying and hilarious. Point being though, do people refer to us as 'women'? I don't think we really care about revealing our age and I for one have no qualms growing old but 'woman' is a term I'll never get used to on myself. It's odd! I don't know.

I shouldn’t be exceedingly shocked looking at the way they live their lives considering that I’ve visited many villages of Nagaland but there are obvious differences of which culture is one. But here’s the similarity: they’re all happy and friendly people, just taking it easy. Life isn’t fleeting for them. Oddly, it’s just been two days on the trail for us and it already feels like time is standing still for us too. 

Ever since we reached Kaza, we’ve had absolutely no phone service. Apart from the brief moments of wifi at the Himalayan Café and at that shop which we’ve now dubbed as ‘wifi Uncle’ who charges 40 bucks for 30 minutes of usage. We’ve been utilising the time well by conversing and discussing and reading and writing. I understand that our families may be worrying but being this cut off? I wouldn’t lie. It sure feels free and it’s goddamn gratifying. 

Everything we’ve come across since yesterday, since the trek began, has been enigmatic. The highly iconic and photographed Kee Monastery for example. I mean, we got why it’s got the status it has. It’s got so many myths and legends as well affixed to it and thanks to Harish Kapadia’s 'Adventures in the Trans – Himalayas', I am learning more about the places we are visiting at every turn of the page. It’s a big book and maybe it was a senseless idea to lug a book around rather than a jacket, but I reckon I’ll choose literature over my wellbeing any day. So far, the book has been a good read. It has historical and geographical notes but it is also very personal as he talks about the death of his friends during expeditions. I’m not sure how much time I can give it over the course of the next few days though. The only thing bothering me is the editing. He needed a better copy editor or just a better publisher.

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It’s 8:23PM and it’s finally dark.