I needed two days to recover from the heavy journey, and probably partly to get used to the altitude. Leh, the capital of the state of Ladakh, lies in the Indus valley, on a plateau at around 3500m altitude. Ladakh is a desert, mostly arid and rocky, but the city itself is very green, with plenty of trees. The wide valley is surrounded by high mountains with white snow-capped peaks. Because of the altitude, the sky is stark blue. It really looks - and, in a way, is, or used to be - like some kind of hidden paradise, cut off from the rest of the world. Ladakhi culture is similar to Tibetan culture, for which the region earns its nickname "Little Tibet". The majority of Ladakhis are Buddhists (although there's a significant number of Muslims). The valley is dotted with Buddhist monuments, like Stupas (mound-like structures containing relics) and Gompas (monasteries). The climate is extremely dry, with around 300 days of sun a year, and an annual rainfall of only 90mm (for comparison, Belgium gets about 800mm a year). The winters get extremely cold, with temperatures that can reach below -20°C, and in summer it can get as hot as 30°C.
Leh
In Leh, I finally wanted to do something I had become mildly obsessed with: driving around on a motorbike. The two-wheelers are probably the main means of private transportation in India - whole families on one bike are more rule than exception - and seeing all these people on their machines had somehow made me eager to try it myself. Renting a motorbike is one of the common activities in Leh. Of course, you need a license, but of course, you really don't. Quite a few people had told me it was fairly easy to learn how to drive, and great fun. Thanks to my experience on the scooter in the South, I felt pretty confident about facing the local traffic, which is much less chaotic there than in the plains. All I needed was partners in crime. These I found easily; after three days, I agreed with three Israeli guys to rent two bikes for the day. After a couple of hours of practicing individually - the others had very little or no experience either - we set out to explore some villages in the valley. I was a bit scared at first; it felt a bit like madness to do my first hours of biking in India, in the mountains, with someone on the back. But as soon as I mastered the gears, my confidence grew quickly, and I was really able to enjoy it. Driving the bike in the Indus valley around Leh is a great way to appreciate the scenery. The roads are broad and good, with little traffic. You can easily explore small villages, and drive up to one of the many temples and monasteries, which usually offer magnificent views of the valley. The others were leaving on a longer trip the next day, and invited me to join them. I regretfully declined their offer, because I had my mind set on something else. The Dalai Lama was giving teachings in the neighboring Nubra valley, starting two days later. A French friend had gone to this kind of teachings before, and he said it was a very special experience. Moreover, the Nubra valley seemed like a pretty interesting place to visit, as it is even more isolated than Leh; you need a permit to get in, which is valid only 7 days. To get to the Nubra valley from Leh by road, one needs to cross the pass of Khardung La, at 5602 m. This is sold as "the highest motorable pass in the world", although there seems to be some controversy about that. Clouds spoiled the view that day, but the altitude could certainly be felt. The bus drive was once again magnificent. Again, like from Manali to Leh, I spent part of the journey on the roof. I call it first class: the luggage makes far more comfortable seats than the ones inside, and the view is beyond comparison. Nubra valley, north from the Indus valley, looks even more barren than the latter. The rocks have a darker color, and there is less (human-grown) vegetation. This makes the bright green patches around villages the more surprising.
Nubra Valley
We arrived in Sumur, the village where the Dalai Lama teachings would start the next day, around noon. Most of the villagers were waiting for His Holiness' arrival, dressed in their fascinating traditional clothing: black robes with purple scarves and belts and very special high hats, with upward bending flaps on the sides. Unfortunately, since people told us how, predictably, all the hotels were packed, we missed the arrival because we decided to look for rooms first. After a lot of hassle, we - your faithful narrator, the French guy, a Latvian girl and a Spanish couple - ended up sleeping on the ground in a tent in some family's garden. We walked into their home quite awkwardly, thinking it was a guest house, but they gave us tea and food right away, and invited us to sleep and eat there. We could pay them how much we wanted; my first encounter with Ladakhi hospitality. They were extremely cheerful, laughing all the time, and all of us felt right at home.
People waiting for the Dalai Lama
We went to bed early to get up on time for the teachings the next morning. A podium was set up on a field next to the local monastery. Foreigners got a reserved area, just left from the podium, where an English translation would be heard through speakers. We got there early enough to be on the second row. There was some uncertainty as to at what time the Dalai Lama would make his appearance; in a typical Indian fashion, different people had told us different things. After roughly two hours, the tension was rising; more and more monks and local people were arriving, and last-minute adjustments (like installing a fan for His Holiness) were made. Then every body stood up, and the moment had come: the Dalai Lama entered the stage. I rejoiced at the sight of him; I was getting my revenge for having missed him at his birthday in Dharamsala. After greeting the crowd, the Dalai Lama sat down cross-legged on his throne-like chair. He started talking in his warm baritone voice. What struck me right away was his matter-of-fact way of talking. I had expected him to be speaking in an "enlightened" way, calmly, and smiling, telling us to be good to each other and all that. Instead, he had the self-assured attitude of a teacher, something like "Okay, guys, listen to me. If you want to be a good person, do this and that...". I must admit I didn't really listen to the content of what he was saying. In fact, I quickly realized, "wait a minute... I never liked going to lectures, and even less to church, and this is kind of a mix between both; what am I doing here?". The boring way of talking of the interpreter didn't make things better. So I started walking around in the crowd. The attitude of the audience, too, was not what I had expected. I had thought they would all be listening with open mouth, not wanting to miss one word of what their spiritual leader was saying. But the atmosphere was much more relaxed than that. A couple of thousand had gathered, of all ages. Most of the people were listening, but many were chattering with each other. I saw more than one monk shamelessly dozing off. There was a constant moving of people leaving, arriving or just walking around. It reminded me a bit of a music festival in Europe (without the beer, drugs and bikinis, that is), where people gather as much to socialize as to listen to the act. Just in front of the Dalai Lama sit the monks. The first rows behind that are mainly occupied by elderly people. These are the most fascinating persons to watch, with their Mongolian features, purplish skin because of the altitude, and their traditional robes and hats. Their weathered and incredibly wrinkled faces tell the stories of years of living in an extreme climate and working on the land. Some of them are holding and spinning a prayer wheel, or shifting the beads of a rosary. Walking around there, between the rows of Ladakhi spectators, was a truly special experience. At some moments, the audience started reciting mantras along with the Dalai Lama, which created a bit more of a religious atmosphere.
(Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of the teachings; we only took the camera of my Spanish friends, who will send me the pics when they get back)
The lecture lasted about two hours. Afterwards, we all agreed that we were very glad to have been there, but that we didn't feel the need to go back the next day. We decided to hitch-hike to Diskit, the capital of the district. Diskit houses a large and beautiful white-washed monastery and a huge, newly-built Buddha statue of 100 ft (about 30 m) high, which was to be inaugurated by the Dalai Lama two days later. It represents the Future Buddha; this ascetic is expected to be a modern guy, as he is portrayed as sitting on a chair. We visited both the statue and the monastery that same afternoon, and decided to go back to Leh the next day.
The next morning, after a well-deserved night of sleep in a real bed, we faced a typically Indian situation. Although three independent sources had told us there would be a bus at 7 a.m., there was no bus to be found. Luckily, there was a shared Jeep available at an acceptable price, and we got back to Leh without too much trouble.
Before I close this chapter, I would like to say something more about Ladakh. It's a very special region that has fascinated many people. One of those people is Helena Norberg-Hodge, the author of the book "Ancient Futures". She was one of the first foreigners to visit Ladakh when it was opened in the seventies, and spent a lot of time living there, having learned their language. After 16 years, she wrote a book about the region, and about the negative changes development brings about. Being so isolated, the people of Ladakh have enjoyed a simple lifestyle until very recently. They lived almost entirely of the land, creating no waste at all. The Ladakhi toilet, for instance, is brilliant in its simplicity. It's just a deep hole, usually on the first floor. When one has done his business, he simply covers it up with earth, which masks the odor perfectly; no water is needed. The dung is then used for the fields. The farming is done mainly during the summer months, as the winter is too harsh. A big part of the year, they have plenty of spare time for festivals. Working together on the land in summer and celebrating during winter, Ladakhis have an extremely close-knit community. According to the author, development has brought about many negative things, like pollution and conflicts. A documentary, based on the book, can be found on the internet (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPT3ILCYGfk). Many critics say Norberg-Hodge's story is one-sided. I agree with that; she fails to emphasize the downsides of such a "primitive" lifestyle, like low life expectancy and high infant mortality. Nevertheless, I think the core of her message is that - as we all know - development doesn't only bring good things, and more importantly, that there's a number of things we can learn from how things were done in the past. What's more, I have experienced myself the Ladakhi hospitality, kindness and cheerfulness. I have never met people who radiate so much happiness and joy of life. Ladakh, along with Helena Norberg-Hodge's book, has certainly made me think.
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