25 July, 2011, Monday Dras – Mulbekh 6 hrs kms unknown
At 4am – 15 minutes after we’d gone to bed – the call to prayer blasted through the rattly speaker from the mosque just next to our hotel. At 7:30am the alarm went off. We had a long ride ahead and very little sleep. Four Nescafes and 100ml of gearbox oil later and we were on the road. 15 kms outside of Dras I heard the unnerving sound of rubber on metal. We pulled over at a chai shack and found the luggage rack had broken and twisted. There was no possible way we could go on with 25kgs tied to a broken rack, tire rubbing on the frame over each and every bump. But how the hell were we going to find a welder all the way out here?? I sensed the beginning of a very long day.
“Namaste, ji,” said a road worker approaching Matthew. He scoped out our predicament. “No problem. There’s a welder there.” He pointed to a compound just 40 meters away. What are the chances?!
We pulled everything off the bike. Matthew rode down to the shop to get greasy and take care of the welding job; I sat under a tarp avoiding the oppressive heat and dust, dressed in thermals, synthetic pants, a tanktop, a hoodie, wool socks and hiking boots. I would have loved to have stripped off those layers of padding in the 37 degree air, but I was a woman alone in the middle of Muslim nowhere, surrounded by nothing but desert mountains, and a handful of road builders and truckers. Instead I sat glowering and making myself unapproachable as I waited for Matthew, trying not to think of how easy it would be for any (or all) of these men to take me behind the chai stall and…
But I’m a believer in mental projections, so enough of that.
An hour later Matthew returned greasy and beaming. All fixed! We loaded up and carried on, passing through desolate beige mountains splattered here and there with lush valley villages, the vegetation nourished by simple, but surprisingly effective irrigation canals. Aside from these oasis – so green in contrast to their barren surroundings that they seemed illusory – the landscape was repetitively stark, yet not in the least bit dull. We passed through Kargil and were happy to find that Mulbekh was only a few hours further on.
We drove into Mulbekh, happy to be in Buddhist country, with the clean, whitewashed houses, neat little vegetable gardens, and a plethora of warm smiles from the locals. Mulbekh is tiny – nothing but 3 guesthouses, 1 restaurant, and a famous Buddhist statue – the Chamba Gompa dating back to 700 A.D. We took a room at the Paradise Hotel. The room was simple with a shared squat toilet, and tempermental water source. But oh! The view! Our window and the terrace looked out into the azure sky; red rock formations lifted from the ground, melding into the Himalayan monsters beyond. It was one of the most gorgeous landscapes I’ve ever seen.
A British couple landed there shortly after us, complaining Mulbekh was the biggest shithole they’d seen in India. Where the hell have you been traveling? I wondered.
“Lonely Planet said this place was really nice!” the woman whinged. Matthew and I looked at each other in disbelief. After 45 minutes of bitching over chai, they decided to hitchhike on to Kargil. Apparently, they were looking for a chaotic, dirty Indian town, rather than this slice of heaven. Fortunately, they took their black cloud with them and we were left to enjoy the quiet of those golden mountains in peace.
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