Motorcycle Diaries

After our wickedly taxing trip over the mountains to Ladakh, we spent a week exploring Leh, the capitol of the province. It really felt like we arrived in a different country, perhaps because our journey was so arduous but also because the people and culture are quite separate from India at large. The town looked like an oasis of green in the midst of the stark mountains surrounding it like a bowl and, like all the families that stay in Ladakh through the incredibly cold and long winters, our guesthouse proprietors had cultivated a beautiful garden that we enjoyed staring at. The people of Leh are mixed between Tibetan Buddhists and Muslims, and multiple times during the day we could hear the azan and Buddhist chanting (which sounded hauntingly like Radiohead) competing for airplay over the town. There were a number of fascinating Ladakhi men and ladies with wacky tall hats and traditional cloaks to be seen mingling amongst the flown-in European monastary-freaks and Kashmiri merchants with their pashminas and trinkets. And being local product-freaks ourselves, we were delighted by the jars of preservative-free apricot and piquant seabuckthorn jams, as well as completely foreign things like dried cheese and apricot powder (we succeeded in eating, at some point or another, every single part of the apricot fruit). There were also bakeries with fresh tandoori bread and kashmiri kulcha available throughout the day and their wares tasted excellent when hot with our jams.

After being turned back by a police officer with jubilant twinkling eyes for not having the appropriate permit approaching the highest pass in the world, Khardung La (18,000+ feet), we obtained our paperwork the next day and climbed over to the Nubra Valley. This enigmatic valley managed to have both cool streams bursting with water and sand dunes with wild camels and donkeys, flowers aplenty and barren mountains. We returned after tenting for a few days to Leh and were happy to return to our routine of going to our favourite restaurant, Lamayuru, for stuffed tomatoes and naan. We ran into my brother Walt's future brother-in-law, Doe Young Song, and his travelling companion in the main square of Leh and were thrilled to have pizza with him on one of the many rooftop restaurants.

We leisurely made our way west towards Kashmir, believing that, in any case, the danger of the Line of Control would be far less than the treacherousness of a return trip south to Manali. We stopped in Likir and tented in an apricot grove, with an old Ladakhi couple's home in front of us and they kept us entertained. We visited the admittedly disappointing Alchi monastary and were happy to simply take photographs of the Likir monastary. Buddhist gompas and monastaries aren't the most enjoyable places to visit, often with young monks demanding an enforced donation for what seems like shoddy restoration work. They are all in stunning locations though and it is easier to appreciate them from afar. We next travelled to Lamayuru, the namesake gompa and village of aforementioned restaurant, the most ancient gompa in Ladakh and very beautifully situated. Then onto Kargil, very close to the Line of Control with Pakistan, which was a dusty town dominated with military, as most of the towns in Ladakh are.

After passing huge convoys of military vehicles (which are driven with characteristic machismo by army personnel), we came upon the Zoji La, our last mountain pass and rather low in elevation at only 3500 meters. Despite this, it was a maddeningly ride, as a persistent rain settled in, fog descended, and from what little I could see over the edge of the road through the mist, had steep thousands of meters drops. From the top though we could see a massive camp below on the verdant green meadow full of thousands of Hindu pilgrims hoping to see the weather clear and visit the natural linga in Amarnath Cave. We arrived in Sonamarg throughly soaked and beginning to shake, passing a night there before making the final push to Srinagar. Coming into Kashmir from Ladakh, the change in vegetation and the plentitude of green was overwhelming but sadly, we couldn't fully appreciate it because of the persistent drizzle.

Once in Srinagar, we were embarrassingly filthy and stayed in a hotel for a few nights to clean our clothes and bags. The old city was surprisingly lovely, full of artful and old buildings made of stone and wood in small alleys. We visited the bustling and beautiful Shah Hamdan Mosque and shared apricots with the many curious people who wanted to meet us. We shifted to a houseboat on Nagin Lake to complete our Srinagar experience. Our boat was bigger than our apartment on Monticello Road and done up in a 1930s English style, as the owners said it belonged to a British woman with a wave in her short hair whose picture hung in the living room. It was curious and uncomfortable to essentially have a servant serving us our meals in the dining room overlooking the lake. Merchants patrolled the lakes and invited themselves on to our boat, and we hid often inside the boat to be free of their wily and unctuous come-ons. It was peaceful though to have a little canoe, called a shikara, to paddle out into the shallow lake filled with lily pads, floating vegetable gardens, and blooming lotuses. Nice yes, but we were ready to come back to Delhi. But not before travelling the 300 kilometers to Jammu, the railhead for Kashmir.
cheers~
Ingrid

First I want to say hallo to all the lovers out there... it has been a long time. Now that we are down from the mountain roads and back to travelling in cyber roads, I am exited to be able to communicate with all that read the blog; miss you very much. The roads were tough, all in their own way. The road from Manali to Leh was really most enjoyable as there are no towns on the road and traffic was very low. From Leh onto Srinagar the military presence was kind of annoying if not a bit dangerous as they are vowed against courtesy. The bike did not leave us on the road once which was amazing, many tourist we talked with either had had a bad experience or was under the impression that Bullets are bad bikes. Most of the bikes on the tourist circuit change hands at least every six months and have been around for a long time, but one can't say that sex sucks after having sex with an old whore. Our bike was not a virgin but a widower, and you know those are good (sorry for my language but i imagine the analagy is apt). Leaving Srinagar we thought we would do the 300km to Jammu in one day but for the first time the bike did't start. After kicking the starter for two hours, I got the mechanic and he put a new plug in it and it started (of course I had checked the plug, even put another used plug in it that worked but I guess it needed more of a spark). So it was almost noon when we left Srinagar and the road was so much harder than any of the mountain roads. The asphalt was perfect, which made everyone go quite fast and there very hundreds of jeeps on the road that carried the pilgrims going to Amarnath. The pilgrimage is no longer prostrating yourself for weeks until you reach the destination, rather you take a jeep until you come to the last ten kilometers then take a pony, say your prayers, take your pictures and back you go home more pious, right? You can see a funny picture of how dirty we got by looking at the Eduardo Riaz picture in the new album called Himalayas. Second day towards Jammu started kind of similar, within the first five minutes we got a flat on top of this mountain but miraculously there was a tire wallah 300meters down the road, which made me suspect that they might have given us the flat overnight but the fact that they did not know how to fix a Bullets back tire assured me that was not the case. Luckily I had all I needed to fix the flat except air and that they had, so once again it was noon when we got going but this day was more calm then the previous and our luck held when we arrived in Jammu so we got a ticket for the same night and loaded the bike as well on to the train.
Now friends and family we will try to pass some bureaucratic mountains and if we are successful we shall return to your country well and MARRIED!
lots of love,
alp!

ps link to the pictures from the title
pps there were really funny and insightful roadside signs all along the roads such as:
"if you love her divorce speed"
"mind your brakes or brake your mind"
"better be Mr. Late than late Mr."
"I like you darling but not so fast"
"on the bend go slow friend"
"go easy on my curves"
"no race, no rally, enjoy the beatiful valley"
"slow driving, long life"
"always expect the unexpected"