26 July, 2011, Tuesday
Mulbekh to Lamayuru (3,390m) 70km, 2.5 hrs
The sun roused us early and offered up a gorgeous Ladakhi morning: full blue sky, puffy white clouds, and red rock mountains. We paused a moment on the terrace to take in the grandeur and entered a traveler’s conversation, speaking about the shift in energy when going from days in a remote, un-touristed area into a tourist town. There’s a hit of ego, sexual interaction, and judgment in the hot spots that you don’t experience when only with locals. Certainly, they stare relentlessly, but it’s a stare of curiosity. They also generally believe western women to be sluts, but beyond that there’s no game of having to prove yourself – a game that’s not usually noticed until you’ve spent time apart from it. The conversation rolled on to returning home and re-entering the world of friends and family who don’t travel. Or, at least, don’t travel in the same style. Matthew noted the effort that has to be made to adjust to that reality and lifestyle. There is no possible way to convey the events and insights of one’s journey in a way that is relevant to the listener or satisfying to the storyteller. The best one can do is skim the surface and move on.
A moment of silence followed, letting that disheartening truth sink in, yet a light rose as well, as I thought of how blessed I am to have a family who loves me whether they understand my life choices or not.
We moved on to our respective duties: Matthew to prep the bike and I to order our triple Nescafe jumpstart.
The road between these two monastic outposts was perhaps the most beautiful stretch yet…though I think I’d been saying that every day. The day held two high passes for us to climb: Namika La (3,760m) and Fortu La (4,147m). (La means “mountain pass”). The mountains rose in purple, green, grey, blue, and red. High peaks capped in snow lay beyond. Never have I seen such an array of colors in the rock! As if the Great Painter were experimenting with his pallet, testing out the tints and temperatures of his pigment, exploring the effects of line and shadow. Faded flags blanketed the tops of the passes. A high wind ripped through them sending tens of thousands of prayers in all directions: towards Tibet, Nepal, India, and Pakistan.
The freshly paved road wound down from Fortu La, weaving back and forth deeper into the valley; yaks and donkeys foraged along the mountainsides. We reached Lamayuru in the afternoon in high spirits. The 10th century Gompa – the oldest in Ladakh – sits atop a sheer cliff eroded into fat, brown spires and pitted with caves dug by monks for private meditation. The houses here have turned from the Kashmiri style of brick, wood, and clay to the simple, clean Ladakhi style of white washed walls, each with its own orderly flower and vegetable garden: lilies, sunflowers, morning glories; spinach, squash, and beans. The faces of the people have changed drastically as well, from Indian to Tibetan. The women wear traditional clothes; the girls don bright smiles and western dress. The vibe here is far more relaxed, friendlier.
I pause to wonder if it’s the natural energy or my preconceptions that have lead me to feel more on edge in the Muslim towns and at home here…and conclude it’s both. The Ladakhis clearly put more love and care into the daily doings of their lives. Their homes are cleaner and decorated not with the kitsch ornaments you see in the rest of India, but with the ordinary, quiet items of their daily lives. Their faces, too, seem purer – unmarked by the chaos and struggle of their southern compatriots.
Wandering through the village we find a cemetery of chortens crumbling under the weight of time and visitors. In the twilight we climb the mountain to the monastery, ringed by tattered prayer flags. At night I lay two cushions on the terrace and watch the stars with the poetry of Rumi whispering in my ear. Where else have I felt so at home, so loved, but in my solitude with the night sky? These are the moments of unadulterated Truth: utterly alone with the Divine. These are the moments when all else falls away: there is nothing but the purity of mind and the vastness of the Universe, and we are one.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Ah yes, I can breathe in that “falling away”, the stillness. Beautiful.