Chicham - It's been a weird day

16 July

Today started as normal.  I was at my volunteering, at a family in a village called Chicham.  I woke up at 5:30am (I slept late, because I’m on my sabbatical).  Stretched (kind of like yoga, but not really), and had a breakfast pancake, with peanut butter (the cooking here is great).

I am staying in their house and getting the experience of living in a small village in the Himalayas (sitting at 4,200m altitude).  Today I knew that I would be going with some of the villagers, taking the animals (some cow, donkeys, yaks) to pasture – but that was all the information I was given the previous night.

At 8:30am, we left with our family’s cattle, and as we passed each house, theirs joined.  Soon, over 100 cows, yaks and donkeys were running through the streets of the village.

Picking up cattle through the village,
Chicham, Spiti Valley

Three children (couldn't be older than 13), who I would learn would be coming too, and Punchuk (a 16-year old worker the family has taken in - but you will learn about him later) took the lead, along with the odd adult, in herding the animals out of the village.  Unfortunately, this was done - and with what seemingly looked like with lots of joy - by hitting the animals with sticks, and throwing rocks at them.  This behaviour, I was to learn, would continue throughout the day.

Though, I could not blame the children, or interfere.  I was brought up in a society that abhors such behaviour. However, I was a guest in a different culture, and they were merely following what they had learnt from their parents (who I saw did the same), and who all saw nothing wrong with their actions.

And maybe there isn’t?  There is no reason that my societies' values have any cogency over theirs (#deepthoughts).  I held my tongue and shuddered each time a rock hit its mark, or a stick or boot made contact with an animal’s hide.

Nevertheless, we were soon out of the village, and playing shepherd.  Well, they were.  I was watching and surprised by their very casual approach to herding.  Basically, soon after leaving the village, any attempt at herding stopped, and the animals were left to roam.  We ate.

Herding.  Well, I was taking pictures
while 100 cattle walked around.  Still counts?
(Damn, that's a glorious beard)

It was a time to stop and just look around at the surrounding that I found myself in.  My fellow herders surely took no notice, as this was their view every day (and as the oldest could not have been more than 13, I realised they do not occupy themselves with such things.  Rather, as the youth do, they found it very amusing when I tried to put my hoodie on, and it was upside down).  The green-tinged, snow-capped mountains in the distance made some setting for breakfast.

The herders.  10? 11 years old?

Breakfast time, Chicham, Spiti Valley

After food, the various herders made some ad-hoc sorties to somewhat control the herd, who by now, had roamed all over the vast mountainside.  It should be noted, that none spoke English, I spoke no Spiti, and so even if this was done as some sort of coordinated effort, I was no wiser to it.

We carried on walking through the hills, until Puntchuk went off and came back on a donkey, carrying two sacks.  This was when an already out of the ordinary day, got weirder.

He tried to explain what the bags were for, but because of the aforementioned language barrier, I was not picking up what he was trying to put down (or rather what was going to be put down in the bag).  Though when he showed me what they were for, I had no further misconceptions of how I would be spending the next few hours.

My host had mentioned a while back that we would be collecting dry dung, which they use for many things around the house.  Thanks to Puntchuk's demonstration, I now knew that this was the time we would be doing just that, and accordingly the purpose of those bags.

In my (short) time on farms so far, I had learnt many uses for poop.  To: create floors, walls, heat fires, cook food, make jam, and nourish soil (I only made one of those up – can you guess which 😊?).

Dry dung is a funny thing.  It is definitely shit, but it does not have any “shitty” properties.  It is light, dry, and does not smell.  Really, in fairness, not too bad to handle.   The fear though, is assuming a mud pie is dry.  Because there is a BIG difference between dry poop, and getting into shit by touching only slightly dry shit (which has all the feared poopy qualities that come with why people generally try avoid activities involved handling it). 

I was therefore careful with my initial attempts to fill my bag with shit, but as I got more confident, I realised that this shit ain’t too hard (avoiding the soft stuff).

Along I then went.  Soon, I was merrily collecting shit to put in my bag of shit.  Soon I realised that this shit was heavy.  Also, while I thought I was the shit, Puntchuk was way better at this shit than me, and had almost filled his bag.  Shit, he also seemed to be finding the good shit: large, dry plate-sized ones, and I was settling for pellets.

The competitive streak in me rose up, as you would be shitting me if a 16-year old would outdo me.  I suddenly found myself searching for the best shit the mountains could provide (some would say if I was in the mountains of India, I should be searching for different shit).

No luck though, and he clearly filled his (far bigger) bag before I could, and not only that, proceeded to give me shit (with his eyes, because we could not understand each other for shit) about my shit, walking around pointing out (better) pieces for me to pick up.  And like a subservient little shit, I obliged.

My office for the day, collecting poop.
Chicham, Spiti Valley

We used the smaller bags to fill a bigger bag,
that the donkeys would carry back.
Chicham, Spiti Valley

Task completed, we carried on as before, casually sheperding, until we got to a waterhole, which was the sign for lunch (the same food as breakfast, only colder).

Lunch time,
Chicham, Spiti Valley

We stayed here for a while, and the children went on seemingly trying to round up the herd, while I wrote this (fat help I was - outside of poop collector 😊), apparently because I had no skill in what they were doing, or really any idea what they wanted me to do (see above – language barrier).

In my wildest dreams, when envisioning in my mind how this trip would play itself out, did I ever imagine a day where I would be in an imaginary competition in the mountains with a child, about who could collect more poop.  Well Ryan, you wanted to see how the villagers live, and all in all, it was a good day.

Taking the herd home,
Chicham, Spiti valley

You’re fired. Thank god: Tabo, Dankur, Losar

10 July - 12 July

By now, my host and I were getting considerably on each other’s nerves.  I am still unsure why she did not like me, but her passive-aggressive manner of telling me so was irritating.  The first week of volunteering went well (in hindsight, because my host was sick in bed, and did not get my way much), but the second was far less fun.  By the end, I was counting the days before I would be done.  But, I did have a greenhouse project to finish, and I am definitely not one to does not finish.  Plus, I could not move very far, as I had new volunteering starting the following week (not to mention, I was getting good food and board for free).

My first hint that she did not see me as too valuable, was her mentioning – out of the blue – during one of our meals, that if I wanted to, I could leave two days early.  Her reason being tjat I had started two days early.  Subtle, and bitchy.  Until then, I (had mistakenly) thought things were going swimmingly. 

For the reasons already mentioned, I stuck around, and subtle, became more overt.  Also, I do not think that this change coinciding with the same time as her friend (and new business partner) arriving at the homestay was only a coincidence.  

The first new change, was that I was asked not to come into the kitchen anymore (which I had been invited into by the host on the first day, and had eaten all my meals there for the last week, seemingly without a problem).  Their reason was that this was where they slept too and now felt they needed more privacy.  The second “subtle” sign I was no longer wanted was that I was moved into the guests’ dorms, out of the staff, private room where I had been staying.  The excuse here was that a new, female volunteer was arriving.  Fair enough, I thought, but the new partner then also mentioned, as if in passing, that I would need to sleep in the common room if they needed the bed for guests (fat chance).

They then started commenting on how they felt the work in the greenhouse should have been completed in one day, although nothing was mentioned in the previous 6 days I had been working on it.  Finally, as if they felt I was not getting the message, they just didn’t serve breakfast  one day (I am supposed to get breakfast, as part of the volunteering).  When I enquired, at 10:30am, if there would be any breakfast, I received a begrudging answer that they were making it, and would be ready soon.  On the same day, lunch also just never came, and at 15:30, again after enquiring (and after working all day in the greenhouse), they indicated that they had decided to change their meal plan to 2 meals a day – brunch and dinner - it was more healthy.  Thanks for the heads up (bitches).

A pretty damn good job I think

The next day, you can now understand that I was over the moon, when the host approached me and asked if I wanted to leave  (read – fired), because I seemed to not be enjoying myself (read - because I was damn hungry for starters).  Respectfully, and with as much tact as I could muster, I accepted the offer, briefly explained my reasons, and was off as quick as I could.   

With my new freedom, and a few days before my new volunteering started, I had an opportunity to explore the surrounds of the Spiti valley.  My first stop was the destination I missed, to ditch Princess and my previous travelling partners.  I heard also, that the monastery had accommodation available.  I caught the bus, which only left in the evening.  So, while I found the dorm rooms that they provided, the old monastery had closed. 

Monastery guesthouse

Tabo from the roof of the Monastery guesthouse

In the morning, I went to see the monks pray (puja), and attempt yoga.  You would think that all monks were yoga masters, but maybe these were new monks, because they were far from dignified or proficient in their attempts to mimic the yoga teacher.  Something felt off that a western yoga teacher was trying to show monks how to do yoga.  

Monks "trying" to do yoga, Tabo monastery

Nevertheless, it was then a short trek up the mountains, to see the caves that monks used.  The cave network forms part of the old monastery in Tabo, until a few years ago, it was the oldest still-operating monastery in India (originally built in 996AD). #welearningwhilehavingfun.  

Cave network above Tabo

Check the glorious beard on that stud.
Oh, and there are some old caves, Tabo

The old monastery is the highlight of the small village, as it still has paintings, murals, and statues still preserved from when it was first built.  One is not permitted to take photos inside, but it is really something to see.  It is incredible how these are still intact and preserved after such time, and (apparently) they have not been restored or touched up.  The main chamber has 3D statues of gods protruding from the walls, the whole room is dressed in colourful material, and there are paintings from wall to ceiling depicting gods, and other cultural scenes.  The other chamber that they open up (also with photography prohibited) has a 3m high buddha statue.  Amazing to think that over 1000 years ago, they could create, construct, and beautify, in such detail.

The entrance to the old monastery, Tabo

Courtyard of the old monastery, Tabo

That pretty much is Tabo though, and by 10am, I had seen what it had to offer.  I was planning to go to Dhankar, a small village on the road back to Kaza, but the bus only arrived somewhere around 14:30 (times though cannot be given precisely: (1) because it is India (2) the busses are travelling some of the most insane mountain ways, and can be stopped or slowed for many reasons).  

With nothing better to do, I decided to try my luck at hitching.  There was only 1 road, so if cars were going the right direction, they would be able to take me, at least part of the way.  For 2 hours I had no luck, and at 1pm decided to call lunch.  Full from a seriously good thali, I resumed my attempt, and to my luck, a van pulled up.  Three Israelis who had bought a van, and were travelling through north India in it, and were actually on their way to Dhankar.

Getting into a van with strangers.
Lesson learnt - ignore everything your parents say

They turned out to be great guys, typically Israeli – fresh out the army, stereotype, stereotype, stereotype, but uncharacteristically were not following the typical Israeli route, and generally avoiding the hummus trail (the set route Israelis follow around India).  They had a good attitude about them, played good music, and were offering me a way more comfortable trip than I had alternatively planned (a one hour bus, followed by a 10km uphill walk, or attempt to hitch to the village).

When we arrived, I was so delighted to have chosen to go to Dhankar.  Out of all the small villages I have visited in the Spiti valley, this one is the most strikingly beautiful.  It is perched on cliff tops, overlooking two major rivers, the Spiti and Pin rivers converging, all with the Himalayas in the background.  The main attraction of Dhankar (apart from the monastery, which we never got to), is its lake. 

A city perched on a cliff, with a decent view too,
Dhankar

An hour climb, at altitude, challenged even my new army-hardened buddies.  But, the lake is beautiful and worth the effort.  There is a very serious sign at the beginning of the lake, which explains that the lake is for drinking and holy practices ONLY, and littering around, or bathing in, the lake will attract the wrath of the gods!  So, we were very careful to make sure our dip in the water was a holy one (😉).

One of the best signs I have ever read, Dankhar lake

Holy swim in Dhankar lake

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the lake, and by the time we climbed down, it was time to find a place to stay.  Though, when you living in a van, the world is really full of unlimited possibilities.  I was, again, going to stay in the monastery, but was invited to stay with my new crew.  Their spot for the night would be beside the river bed, which sounded too good an opportunity to pass.  We set up camp, made a fire, and they cooked some seriously good pasta.  

Home for the evening, Dhankar

The next day we packed up, and made for Kaza.  I was going to relax here for two days, before my next volunteering started.  The Israelis were going off the Chandratal lake, on their way to Kashmir, and invited me along.  Initially I declined, as it was the opposite direction to where I was going, but with some reassurance from a local that I would be able to get a ride back, some carpe diem attitude telling me to stop being such a whimp, and checking with my new travel buddies that it would not be any inconvenience, I joined them after a short re-fueling, and supply collection in Kaza.

The road there, like the rest of the Spiti valley really, is amazing, with breathtaking landscapes.  The journey passed by looking at the landscape, listening to music, and trying to appreciate the present, comfortable journey that was on (compared to travelling through the rest of Spiti on public transport), and good company.  Only occasionally we had to stop to push the van up a hill or through a water hazard (you must note, it’s a 4^th or 5^th hand van, bought off some other traveller, which has been put through the rigours of the Indian road system).  Only slight speed bumps (lol).

However, our journey ended abruptly when we reached a part of the road that had been washed away by some melting snow from the mountains.  It was late in the afternoon, and the road workers we encountered there warned us it would be incredibly risky to try cross.  Also, as I just have explained, we were not exactly travelling in a land cruiser.  The Israeli / army mindset took over in my travel companions, as they contemplated a way to cross, but thankfully sense, and caution prevailed, and they reluctantly turned around to head back from the last town we had passed – Losar.

This was the "road" that finally stopped us
(because it was washed away)

We had passed through just before, because there is not much staying there for, but we quickly found a homestay, and a kind enough host to let us use their kitchen, and soon a feast had been cooked up.

As we sat to eat, I reflected on what was truly an Indian-esce few days.  Travelling here, you really do not know what is coming up next.  From abruptly leaving volunteering, to seeing two new villages, hitching in a van, camping by the river, and ending an impromptu trip to a lake in a small, at an one-horse-town village, eating an Israeli meal, with new friends, I could hardly wait for what is coming up next.

For now, it was enjoy a meal, and in the morning, catch a 7am bus back to Kaza (apparently a bus would be here at 7am).

The hitching crew,
stopping to enjoy the view

Kaza: Wanderer’s nest

 29 June – 10 July

My next volunteering experience was in a homestay in Kaza, Spiti valley.  Owing to being in Spiti valley for two days already (remember I left princess and my Bengali travel mates from Nako, as they went off the bus to see a mummy in Gue – keep up), I had no cellphone signal.  I only realised as signal was fading rapidly, a few days prior, that while I knew volunteering was in Kaza, I did not know the name of the place, or its location.  I tried to message my host for these details, but not in time to get a reply, before losing signal.

So, now I was in Kaza, with no idea how to find my volunteering.  Walking through the market, I did notice a sign for Ecosphere - another volunteering opportunity that was arranged in Kaza for just over two weeks’ time.  I figured that I should head there, as at least I had a connection with the place, and hopefully they could assist with some internet, or a phone.

Thankfully, this worked, and after some explaining and a little bit of up and down, I got hold of my host, and she gave me directions to the homestay - not very good ones - but after walking around for about 30 minutes, I found it.  What helped in my favour is realsing that Kaza - while being the hub of the Spiti valley – is a very relative term, considering the sizes of the villages in the region, and therefore was not too big.  On the plus side, I had made contact with both volunteering places, and got to know how to get around Kaza.

A good sign when entering the city
is to see monks playing sricket

I had in fact arrived two days early to my volunteering – at a homestay called Wanderer’s nest, so the host was not ready for me, and another volunteer was still working there.  She was however very accommodating, and agreed to let me stay in one of the dorms.  The other volunteer would assist with my orientation the next day, and otherwise, I could just make myself comfortable. 

View from the porch of my new volunteering home,
Wanderer's nest, Kaza

The next day, after a quick orientation, I came to understand that there was not going to be much work here.  Basically, drinking water is provided twice a day in summer (once in winter), and the chores (at 7am and 5pm) centered around water – filling the drinking water for guests and cooking, as well as the tanks for washing, bathing and showering.  I also needed to water the plants in the greenhouse and sweep the floors.  If done with some energy, all these could be completed in an hour.  

Working the greenhouse, Wanderer's nest, Kaza

Chores: on the roof, filling tanks
Wanderer's nest, Kaza

With only two hours of each day seemingly going to be filled, I began wondering how I was going to be passing the time – but ceased this pandering quickly, I left it to future Ryan to figure out, as the incumbent volunteer was going exploring of the villages around Spiti, and invited me to join.

There are three villages in ‘close’ proximity to Kaza, which - I was told - are the main tourist attractions of the area.  Getting to these though involved a hike up a steep mountain, and already at an altitude of 3800m, in the middle of summer, this was not looking like an enticing prospect.  My volunteer friend though was confident we could catch a hitch, at least part of the way, so with adventure in mind and nothing else really to do, I joined her.

Luckily, we walked about 5 minutes, before a car with some Indians from Delhi pulled up and offered us a lift.  Again, hitching seems to be really easy in India, especially when you are with a white, blond girl.  We had hit upon a really good ride this time though, as not only could these guys give us a lift to the first village (once you are there, getting to the rest are relatively short and flat walks), but they were visiting all three, and offered us to ride with them for the day.  We quickly took up the offer of an air-con, leather seated car, to walking around at altitude in 30-degree heat (I know, what kind of backpackers are we – boo yourself). 

5 minutes after walking out the city,
this was our view already

Driving around Spiti valley, the views are amazing.  There is very little infrastructure, and between villages (which are not much in terms of size either), are unspoilt views of the mountain side.  We took pictures, but they really do not do justice to just how vast, daunting, and magnificent, this part of the world is.  

Spiti valley

Our first stop was Lhangsa, which is famous for a large buddha statue, and fossils.  Once we took some pictures with the statue, which really was large, and something worth seeing, we had tea café at +4300m, and here we saw some of the fossilised crustacean shells from simple creatures that lived in the Spiti valley, where the whole place was underwater – hard to believe that we were  looking at snow-capped mountain, and fossils from a river which flowed through the same place.

Big buddha statue, Lhangsa

14,200ft = 4,300m.  May not look like much,
but makes a mean cuppa

Fossilised shell, Lhagsa

Tea and mountain,
like a mensch

A short stop by their monastery, and we were off to the next village – Komic, whose claim was having the highest restaurant in the world.  We quickly realised that each of these villages had to get something to attract tourists there, and these three villages had apparently settled for height records.  

In truth, a good idea, as besides for these attractions, these villages are really less than 10-15 or so houses, and not much else presents a reason for the crowds to visit (they are definitely worth staying overnight, to get an experience of how remote these places are, how the locals live, and what the sky actually looks like without pollution or lights #seeimarealbackpacker).

Highest cover drive in the world, Komic

Highest restaurant in the world, Komic

Before having a sandwich at the highest restaurant in the world, we visited Komic’s monastery, and joined in on a game of cricket the locals were playing (so I assume, the highest cricket game in the world?).  Our last stop for the day was Hikkim, which boasts the highest post office in the world, and tourists all send postcards home from here.  Unfortunately, being a Sunday, it was closed, but the restaurant owner assured that us that they would give all the postcards to the post office when it opened the following day.  I, being in Kaza for a month, wanted to experience this properly, so declined the offer, with the intention of coming back another day (which I did).  The others though, more trusting, and with more limited travel time here (1 day), hurriedly completed their letters (really, I think, one of the most active post offices around.  When was the last time you sent a letter?).

Inside the highest post office in the world.
Not what you expected?

First letter in a looong time
(at the time of writing, 3 months later,
SAPO has still not delivered this)

On our way back, we thanked our hosts, who indicated that they were going through Kaza, and to another village, some hours away, before coming back in the evening.  They invited us to come along, but I declined, as we had our afternoon chores at 5pm.  The other volunteer, this being her second last day, accepted the invitation, seemingly without much disregard for her responsibilities back at the homestay, and thus we parted ways when we reached Kaza.

This place man,
Spiti valley

How's that beard? (and  the view too) 

Back at the homestay, as my volunteering proceeded over the first week, what I feared was true.  There really was not much to do, and boredom quickly crept in.

My days though were filled with working in the homestay’s greenhouse, trying to use the exceptionally slow wifi at one of two restaurants in the city, eating momos at the local restaurants, reading, and enjoying the exceptional views of the place I found myself in: Wanderer’s next is located outside of the hustle of the market, with a largely unobstructed view of the Spiti river and mountain ranges.  The host though wanted me to stay at the homestay when she was not there, to welcome any guests, or provide anyone searching for a room with information about the place.  So, I am not going to lie, there a lot of twiddling my thumbs.  The food was good though, and the place beautiful, so I accepted my lot, and things were generally going ok, so I accepted my lot.

There are worse places to be
twiddling your thumbs

Spiti valley stop 1: Nako

28 June - 29 June

Our bus deeper into Spiti valley started at 5:30am, but we had to get to the bus station at 4:30am to reserve a ticket.  It was at 4:28am, while in the queue for a ticket, that Princess then decided that he needed an ATM, and left the bus station.  I tried to get him a seat, but could only book one, and at the same time, also had an altercation with a Brit who pushed in line.  I said don’t push in.  He swore at me, and told me I should reconsider who I was.

In perfect karmic style, we then got sat next to each other on the same bus.  Princess sat on the floor (and didn’t get money from the ATM).

I realised that the next 7 hours would be way too awkward, so I tried to reconcile with the Brit.  He apologised too and explained his situation.  He had been on the overnight bus from Shimla, and needed to make sure his ticket was valid for the bus he was changing on to.  He was, as such not so much as pushing, but merely enquiring as to which seat he needed to take on the new bus - as he was (allegedly) told to do when leaving Shimla (although I was not sure why he could not stand in line for this).

He went on the explain that the reason for his urgency, and therefore fluster and even more so - the resulting outburst, was he had 2 days left on his permit to get up to Kaza (another 6 hours, after my 7 hours) to get to a police station, to meet a policeman who had his phone.  The phone was picked up by a local, who had tried to extort him for money, and through a series of events the local ended up being handed over the police station (ruffed up a little for trying to extort a foreigner), and the phone returned.  Added to this, he had 4 days to get to Delhi, to fly home.  An amazing, but classically Indian, story.  Stress understood, and argument forgotten, he actually turned out to be quite a nice guy, and we chatted through the whole ride.

Raring and excited for my
early morning bus

It is probably time to explain why I call Princess, Princess.  This guy is 21 years old, and my first clue that this was not the normal, hardened, rough-it backpacker, was that - while he was indeed carrying a backpack - he was also travelling with a roller bag.  If there is one thing high school taught me, is that roller bags are only useful for being kicked.

Though, it was his first time travelling alone, and considering my poor packing and the massive pack I was carrying, I was not quick to judge, and this 'red flag' passed under my radar.

The second, more clearer sign though was, when asking him what he does at home, he told me was an Instagram fashion influencer (oh, my, god, vomit).  Very importantly, at 21, this kid believed he had... nah the people needed him, to understand fashion and how to dress.  Oh, the youth.  But again, these millenials have all sorts of crazy ideas, so you must excuse me if I was not too alarmed when another pisher felt like he could change the world with one hashtag. 

However, alarm bells rang, and his name was born when, on arriving at Nako, we spoke to some tourists who were getting on the bus we had just got off.  They recommended a good homestay.  We got there, but Princess could not believe there was no internet, or no electricity at the time

For some context, intermittent electricity is commonplace in the mountains, and not even scoffed at when it turns off.  More importantly. literally everything one reads about Spiti valley explains that there is absolutely no internet connection here.  It was on hearing this news that I could see his puzzled face, frantically trying to comprehend how he was going to use his phone.  But there was no electricity and internet.  But he needed to post on Instagram.  But there was no internet and electricity.  But he needed to speak to people.  He looked lost.  Classic princess.   

Oh, he also had two different hair brushes and a straightener, but back to Spiti.

Nako is a tiny village, which is touted for its lake, and temple.  We went to the lake, which is a man-made green lake in the middle of the village, surrounded by concrete.  The monastery was closed.  

Nako lake

View from the main (read only)
road in Nako

Being such a small village though, one does get some incredible views of the vista and mountains.  The old village was also good to explore, and we hiked up the mountain to a large Tibetan prayer wheel, which gave a great view of the mountains and village.









  

Tibetan prayer wheel above Nako

The Nakonians have some strict rules about
coming up to the prayer wheel

The quaintness of the village though was already lost, as with everything else in Spiti, it is subject to massive, new development of hotels and homestays, in response to the burgeoning tourist industry.  I fear within a few years, there will be nothing remarkable, or attractive about the place, and will just be another village on the Spiti valley trail one needs to tick off.  Though, and if for nothing else, I also had a damn good banana lassi there.  

A proper good lassi,
and gotta sneak in a few momos
at the same time

We were over Nako in a day, and so on the next we moved on.  We had picked up some Bengali travellers too, who wanted to go see a mummy in Gue.  I was growing tired of Princess, so left him with them, literally the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere.  I carried onto Kaza – where my next volunteering was.  They got off the bus at a junction, in the heat of the day, with nothing else around, except 8km to the temple where the mummy was, and a promise that there were taxis a kilometre or two down the road. 

I met them a few days later, to my surprise.  They had made it, although it was a 3km walk, in the heat, with all their bags (including Princesses’ roller bag) before they found a taxi.  Happy to have skipped that.   So I carried on, 3 more hours to Kaza.  Oh, this was the same bus that starts from Reckong Peo, so there were no seats, and I stood for 5 out of 6 hours of that trip.

The whole city of Nako

Up a hill near Nako, at sunset

Entering the Spiti valley

25 June - 28 June

What first needs to be mentioned, is that any love, or even respect, I had for Google maps is gone.  India, with its winding roads and offshoots, because of landslides or construction or some evil design, and mountain ranges and paths, have defied even the great Google.

Google maps indicated that the 390-odd km bus ride from Dharamshala to Reckong Peo would be 12 hours (and still does).  You would therefore have all rights, and a very sore bum, to be quite disappointed when said bus pulls into Reckong Peo station 20 hours after leaving Dharamshala!

And like elephants fighting for supremacy, only the ground suffers (in this case, I am the ground) #africanproverb.

At some point into the 20 hours of bus

Look, driving at night, in the rain, and around some of the narrowest roads, lined by cliff faces I have seen (though I was soon to learn that this was child’s play compared to what Himachal Pradesh had in store), can push the time out.  Though, come now, an 8-hour difference means Google is just guessing.  I must count myself lucky though (seeing the glass half full.  Look what India has done to me), as there are horror stories of busses getting stuck, or stopped by landslides, snow, accidents etc.  So, I guess, I should just happy to be alive.

The view from the bus of the
cliff face, oh I mean the edge of the road

The view of Kinnaur Kalish
from where I was staying

The reason for going to Reckon Peo at all, was to get an inner line permit.  A permit is required by all foreigners travelling past Reckon Peo, up to Nako (and the surrounds).  I put this off for a few days, and went touring.  However, Reckong Peo is really nothing more than a pit stop for travellers.  So, the town does not have much to offer in terms of sightseeing.  Oh, except the incredible, close-up views of the part of the Himalayas, called Kinnaur Kalish.

Kannaur Kalish from town

There is however a small village up the mountain, called Kalpa, which is definitely somewhere to visit.  A short, 20 minute bus ride up from Peo (as the locals call it), and you get some breathtaking views of the mountains and valleys below.

View of the Kinnaur Kalish mountain
range, from Kalpa

Just some tea and snow-capped mountains,
nothing out of the ordinary here

Kalpa contains a large monastery, which has intricate wooden carvings on its doors, pillars, and posts.  We did have to go into a school to get to it, but no one seemed to mind two men walking around a school, taking pictures.  I say we, because as I got off the bus I met an Indian guy.  We connected after mutually agreeing that the person who had hooted at him for being on the side of the road, and for in no way being an obstruction of any sort, was just inpatient and overall, an ass.

Kalpa monastery

Carvings on entrance to Kalpa monastery

Princess, as I have named him (for reasons that will become clear in the future) and I toured around Kalpa, exploring the village and entering a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant, where this nice Nepalese couple served some of the, nay, the best, yet also the cheapest, momos (steamed dumplings with filling – in my case, vegetables) I have had in India.

Many Nepali, and Tibetan people have moved into the state of Himachal Pradesh, owing to its proximity to their countries, to find work and escape Chinese occupation respectively.  The food, and culture is therefore heavily influenced.  Local food - all of which is so tasty - includes momos (already mentioned), thupka (soup with noodles), thentuk (also soup, also with noodles, but different), and tsampa (porridge - the least tasty of the lot - though, I was to learn it could be spruced up with a little village, homemade, beer - which helps a lot).

Momos: little bundles of glory

Back to our adventures.

Princess and I decided, after exploring the small village, to walk to Roghi village, an even smaller village about 5km away.  The reason for this, apart from seeing the other village, was that there was apparently a famous point on the road, called suicide point (you can guess why).  The walk took us around the mountains of Spiti and, again, some amazing views.  On the one side of the road, was mountain, and the other a big drop into the valley below.  Truly, if one wanted to prematurely end their life, they could do it anywhere on the road, which provides ample drops into the rocky abyss.  There is really no need to travel to any specific point, especially now one with gawkers and onlookers.  

Suicide point, Kalpa

Suicide point, we established, was the place where a whole bunch of cars stopped, and started taking pictures, although there was no insignia to indicate that this was in anyway different to the rest of the road we had been on.  There was nothing particularly dark or depressing about it either.  It was quite nice actually.  Maybe the name was ironic?

Anyway, we stopped, took some pictures, and moved onto Roghi village, which apart from a very nice monastery, again with some incredible wooden carvings, was not too eventful.  Literally, apart from the monastery, there is one shop that you can get some biscuits and coffee, but nothing else.  As such, after such a poor showing, no pictures of Roghi will appear in this post.

We visited Kalpa the next day too, to get some (more) momos and explore the village some more, but not before getting my inner line permit.  Administratively this was quite quick, but somehow I feel that I got scammed, by paying a tourist agent 400 rupees for the permit.  I was stuck though, as despite my protesting, and checking with some administrative clerks (although the internet research I had done said it was free), they all confirmed that this was the charge.

All went smoothly in the permit office,
once I found the permit officer.

Anyway, I paid, and with permit obtained, and Peo and Kalpa explored as much as we could, it was onwards, deeper into the Spiti valley.

Kalpa village

View from the road outside Kalpa