The Pass (Day 4: Sangla to Kalpa)

The morning's apparently quiet arrival was marked by the birds, the wind in the trees, and the barking of dogs, followed by the definitive feeling of sore muscles announcing their existence rather unabashedly; I was then fully awake, with an all-telling groan that I heard myself let out.

What followed was my travelling companions and I pretty shamelessly yelling to each other across our tents, asking if the others were awake, and everyone was.

A hearty breakfast with the much-needed mug of fresh, steaming coffee was consumed with relish; all prepped and ready for the next stage of our journey onward to a town called Kalpa, from where one could take in the entire majesty of the Kinner-Kailash range, of which so far, we had only seen the rear side, whilst in Sangla Valley.

It was at this point that it dawned on one of us that we had one more stop on the way out of Sangla, the ancient Kamru Fort, the once capital of the old Bushahr Principate. Immediately, an air of uncertainty, almost comical, filled the air. I pulled out my phone, brought up some images and details of the fort. While we found the 300 plus step climb up to the fort extremely appealing, we decided to forego the climb with heavy hearts and take in the scenery from images off the internet. About 5 minutes later someone said - Wow, that was a gorgeous climb, the fort was wonderful, the views were breathtaking, and now we must head on to Kalpa!  And that was that; bidding farewell to the dogs and thanking the staff for their hospitality, we piled into our Innova and began our drive to Kalpa. 

The route to Kalpa took us back to the Baspa and Sutlej confluence at Karcham, and up the left side fork, this time along the Sutlej River, toward a town called Rekong Peo. Kalpa was a bit of a detour for us in the larger scheme of things, but in terms of breaking our journey because of the view from the town, it was definitely the place to halt for the night. 

While it wasn't the longest drive, it was still peppered with the crazy winding roads, the methodically mad HP buses, and of course the odd stoppage for debris falling off a mountainside, and roadwork by the HP roadworks department.

It also dawned on us that while we had been told it wasn't going to be all that cold, there were some areas wherein we would need some thermals, an extra sweater or so, and basically some more of cold-weather gear. Post a quick stop at Rekong Peo to buy thermals and a thick down jacket for myself, along with some spirits to keep us warm, we drove onward to Kalpa, which was about 20 minutes up the mountain through the winding roads.

Our hotel, Kinner Villas, was quite empty, with just a few other travellers showing up by the time it was night, but the view from our rooms of the Kinner Kailash mountain range, and of the Kailash and Jorkanden peaks was absolutely stunning. 

Something that was noteworthy, a tree that was in our line of sight, that pretty much looked like it had moved here from the Serengeti.

A light local vegetarian lunch and a nap later, we decided to take a walk around the local area.

Witnessing the most interesting display of hillside irrigation, wherein rainwater just flows down the fields/farms on the mountainside, controlled by a bunch of well-placed sluices that are opened and shut as per their timings, we decided to have our evening tea/snacks at this cafe which was essentially an incomplete terrace of a building(a travellers' hotel) on the mountainside.

With the fresh and hot pakodas, the mist rolled in followed by a little bit of rain as we sat there; it was all quite surreal, and we were definitely very awe-struck by the mountain range. 

Back at the hotel, the now customary pre-dinner drinks ritual took place, followed by a delicious but very basic dinner. Our drive the next day was to be a pretty taxing one as we were going deeper into the heart of the mountain territories (for us city lot anyway), and so with a few last looks at the mountains right in front of us, we bid each other goodnight, and retired to our rooms. 

Lying there, looking out as I nodded off to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder what stories, legends, and events literally spanning all of time had taken place in that very valley; atop and around those mountains and peaks, the sacrifices, the evolution, the pilgrimages, and all the myths that no one but time and the mountains had been witness to.

One Little Victory: Part 3 ( Day 3: Sangla, Batseri to Rakcham)

Relaxed, but aching in all sorts of ways after our trek, comfortably seated in our car, we made our way to a village called Chitkul, which was at an altitude of 11,320 feet and situated in a gorgeous valley. However, with all the hype and excitement that went along with the idea of the last village before the Indo-Tibet border when travelling Eastbound, there was nothing much to the village, except for being a tourist spot, or some sort of box to be ticked when visiting the area. Being about 90 kilometres through devastatingly rugged terrain away from the border, one can understand why this village nestled in the lap of serenity is the last publicly accessible point (apart from a few treks in the area).

Once we got over taking photographs and the much-percieved hype (took us all of 10 minutes to re-focus), we hunted around for food and a chilled beer. While we were successful in our endeavour to find food, which consisted of standard local fare (dal, rice, roti, kadhi, and rajma), the beer, unfortunately, was unavailable and was thus replaced by chilled Coke and Limca. Satiated, and ready to kick back and relax, we got back into our vehicle and set off back to the campsite at Sangla. 

This little one hour journey had two fabulous highlights:

The first: The HP state bus drivers behaved like they were meant to test their skills, their vehicles and the roads to the absolute limit. One could argue that this was a different and daily run version of the Great Himalayan Rally when you witnessed first hand how these folks drove. 

Consider this: You're sitting in an Innova, which slows down at sharp turns, stays to the centre of a snaking road, and all in all moves carefully at a moderate pace when on these roads, that are still coming together in that they're a little better than rough mud or gravel tracks. In the opposite direction, hurtling at you, at fairly regular intervals, are mid-sized (from a city person's point of view) public transport buses, wherein the driver is literally pasting this bus through the most efficient racing line on this road, inches away from the edge at some places, a credit card's width off the mountainside at others, with enough speed to warrant someone sitting there with a stopwatch to benchmark each and every journey for a rally stage. To sum it up, you even watch these guys drive with almost surgical precision, with your own heart in your mouth!

The second: Going back to the campsite, meant that we were travelling in the opposite direction from whence we came, but on the opposite side of the river. Only then did we realise that although it wasn't a long trek, the variation in terms of the terrain meant that there was no chance of settling into a rhythm, whether it was uphill, downhill or just walking. For the non-seasoned trekker, it felt like a bit of an achievement. 

Back at camp, there was nothing much to say or do, but just stretch, relax, and talk about the day's events which were all made much better by a few chilled beers, a much much-appreciated cup of fresh coffee, and then, of course, a nice hearty dinner. The latter part of the evening got rather interesting, as a certain Mr Negi, who was the camps outbound activities director, was back from a small trip he had taken some guests on, and we discussed the trek and other nearby attractions in detail, and he said that to truly enjoy Sangla Valley, one must come and spend about 4 or 5 days there at the very least. 

Well-fed, relaxed, and dreading the muscle soreness the next day, we retired to our tents ready to journey on to our next stop, while the moon rose and watched over us in all her serenity, with us not having any idea that this was the last time that we'd see her clearly, for a while.