Losing oneself in a timeless space In Ladakh, where roads are jagged and wind along snow-covered mountains, the destination is not as important as the journey itself

Losing oneself in a timeless space

In Ladakh, where roads are jagged and wind along snow-covered mountains, the destination is not as important as the journey itself



We don’t explore a place in a vacuum and there really is more to a destination than the sum of its sights, sounds and colours. Especially on a road trip in Ladakh, where the roads are treacherously jagged and wind along arid mountains, untamed rivers, stretches of sand dune, patches of forest, rocky outcrops with layers of stratified rock, all decked in a garb of snow. Ladakh is largely about the journey and less about the destination, barring stupa or monastery stops. Which explains why I am enthused by the invitation to test drive an SUV.
The first day in Ladakh is dictated to by the need to acclimatise to the high altitude. We spend the greater part of the day doing nothing more strenuous than pottering around the Leh market, admiring the traditionally- styled buildings with their ornate wooden window frames, and drinking endless cups of tea by lyrical streams. By the next day, I have no desire to move at all. All I want is to enjoy this slow pace of life.
Turns out the acclimatisation was essential, for to get to Pangong Tso — the loveliest lake in Ladakh, we have to cross the towering and world’s third-highest Changla pass (5289 mts). Now, while it may be a pleasure to drive in comfort with an expert who knows his cars, it’s altogether unwise to travel with a consort of men who cherish these vehicles above all else.
Over the next few days, a typical conversation with a companion on the road in the SUV goes something like this. Me: Ooh, look at the sand dunes, double-humped camels and the mist swaddling the mountains. He: That’s nice. But the performance with the engine is really something else. Me: Don’t you love that there’s no fat on the land, so to speak, just stretches and stretches of bare contrast-ridden landscape before us? But he doesn’t hear me, for he is swooning over the exclusivity of an engine created and signed by a star engineer.
In defence of the boys, however, their dexterity and skill with the vehicle allows us to climb steep slopes I didn’t think it was possible to ascend.
Stopping at Changla, all eyes turn with a mixture of admiration and envy at the spectacular fleet of vehicles arriving. An elderly lady with all the lines of the world mapped on to her face, offers cups of the usually free tea (courtesy the Indian army) available at the pass, in exchange for a ride. She advises us to save a few days for age-old monasteries. I tell her that the last time I went to Lamayuru and Spituk, I took pictures of monks supposedly in meditation, texting away on their mobile phones. Times have changes child, she says with a giggle.
The drivers are itching to speed on, and so we bid farewell to the ancient one and the brightly-coloured prayer flags, which wave back energetically in the breeze.
When we reach Pangong Tso however, all discussion of who drives fastest and under whose prowess the vehicle glides best disappears, for the lake’s surreal palate of vivid blues and monumental burnt-sienna landscape dissolves all ego. Against the backdrop of swirling mineral-colour mountains, whose peaks remain capped in snow the year round, we unpack our sandwiches. Mobile phones don’t work here and in this moment we’ve severed all relationships with family, work and other animals. Contemplation turns to the smallness of man in relation to the vastness of the scenery. Nature is the great equaliser. And in the vast desert of time that opens up before us I am reminded of the words of Chris Colin, who wrote in his essay, Into The Darkness, “ This is the essence of travel, or at least travel taken to completion: its not the change of scenery, or the new way of preparing lamb — it’s you. You are lost to yourself, you don’t know who will emerge from the pit.”