July 28th, 2012 - Leh, Ladakh, IndiaHello all!
It's Orion here. Where did we leave off...Mcleod Ganj...
While we were staying in Mcleod Ganj, we had a little faithful "hole in the wall" restaurant that we went to for every meal. Marina noticed this little hidden place behind a giant electricity box; it was packed with locals. We immediately knew that it would be an amazing restaurant. And it was! The food was different every day, and it was legit Indian-style, and legit Indian-cheap! And SO GOOD. One day, however, we thought we'd try out one of the many tourist restaurants that filled the town. We ordered momos, a traditional Tibetan dumpling and another Tibetan specialty, noodle soup. The food was delicious, but that night both Marina and I got super stomach sick. The next day was wasted in bed, and our plan of hiking and bouldering were foiled. I suppose it was karma for betraying our favourite little restaurant!
After we had recovered sufficiently, but not even close to fully, we jumped on the local bus to Manali - a 10+ hour drive. We met some other nice travelers who were also suffering from sickness, and we endured the heinous night bus together. We managed to survive, but the entire time we were trying not to vomit, staring bleakly out the front window, reciting frantic healing affirmations, as much as our troubled brains could handle. When we disembarked, we consulted our friends, and agreed that it was the worst bus ride of our lives.
We arrived at 4:30am. Our friends weren't on as tight of a budget as us, so they quickly agreed to go with one of the hotel touts, but Marina and I decided to walk around the town for hours looking for something cheaper. Eventually we found a place, right next door to our friends. We slept most of the day and when we woke up we decided that Manli wasn't worth staying for. We met some other travelers at the hotel our friends were staying at and booked a minibus (no way we were going by local bus this time) to Leh leaving that night at 2am. Our friends (Conor - Irish and Anna - German) were worse off than before, suffering from a bad fever and terrible Delhi-Belly. Marina spent most of the day in bed and I wasn't feeling too hot myself, but we decided to get on the bus anyway...probably a bad call...
And we were on our way! For 45km... We rose quickly up the first mountain pass on treacherous switchbacks in the pouring rain and with fog as thick as pea soup. Everything seemed to be going smoothly (as good as the roads/weather could), until we were literally "stuck in the mud." About two hours had passed when we came to an abrupt halt. There was a huge line up of cars, all turned off. In India, idling is the norm, so something was up. Trusting that we would soon be on our way, we took the opportunity of the still vehicle to fall asleep. When we awoke, we were in the same place, and the line up of cars had increased exponentially, about three switchbacks below and above.
We got out of the car to investigate, and found three vehicles literally buried in the thick, squishy, serpentine, suctiony, death grip of the mud. Despite the obvious issue, everyone was sleeping and chilling out. We learned that they were waiting for full daylight and hopefully the stop of the rain before they began the ordeal ahead.
We went back to sleep, and woke up to the sound of engines revving and people shouting. It sounded like a cross between a Canadian hockey game and a Nascar race. Eventually the first car rolled up towards our parked bus amidst a flurry of cheers. As far was we could hear, the next vehicle took a lot more effort, but eventually it too was free of the muck. At this point we were all awake and walked over to check out the scene. The last stuck vehicle was a huge "Goods Carrier." There were about 20 or 30 Indians getting ready to push. It was remarkable to watch as people's natural roles came out in the time of crisis. There was a leader, shouting instructions, faithful followers, and everyone in between. With a yell of "Cello!" ("Let's go!" in Hindi) everyone started yelling and pushing. The truck revved and revved and lurched and seemed like it would tip over again and again, and finally rolled forward out of the first mud hole. Marina took a great video of the scene, hopefully soon to be on our youtube channel (www.youtube.com/soundsplashmusic), internet quality depending. The truck got stuck several more times, but the Indian's spirit was undanuted. They succeeded again and celebrated by cheering and beginning to fill the mud pits with the mica slate rocks lining the road. We were on a giant scree slope, so materials to fill the holes were in abundance. Soon the drivers on either side were revving their engines, and soon they were off roading across the pit, having a good ol' time. When people got stuck, there were always plenty of hands to help push. Soon it was our turn and we got across with no difficulty at all. It was so amazing to see how these people took care of the problem all on their own. In Canada we would have waited for hours for the road crews to come, and then hours more while they fixed the issue. We probably would have turned back. The Indian way is far more exciting, and worked fine!
With jubilant hearts, we drove off, talking excitedly about our success. But not for long. Within about 10 minutes, we encountered another line up of vehicles, this one longer than the last. We found out that there had been a landslide and the road was blocked. I went to check it out, but it was a very dangerous situation. The mountain was in the process of collapsing, and when you looked up, you could see constant streams of mud and rolling boulders in all directions. Above the road was a huge precipice, probably at least 70 metres high, and every few seconds, giant boulders would launch off it with deadly speed. Most landed about halfway down the slope towards us, but a few went farther. At one point, a man was walking to check out the road block when I heard several panicked shouts from the people around me. I looked up to see a stone almost as large as me hurtling off the cliff. The man began to run, his robes flying and mud spattering all around him. The boulder landed about 3/4 of the way down the slope with a deadly crunch, and bounced once more, landing with a thud in the middle of the road, exactly where the man had been walking. We were all reminded of the gravity of the situation and got to work with a bit more fervor.
The road block consisted of two huge boulders blocking the way. Once again the roles of leader and followers were magically esablished without a word, and we got to work. There were about 10 or more of us pushing, and it the rock hardly budged. We hoped to find a lever of some kind to help, but we had no such luck. We eventually found a rope, and to the chant of, Ek, do, TEEN!" (1, 2, 3 in Hindi) we managed to clear the first boulder out of the way. The second was even more of a sturuggle, but with the help of our mantra, we finally succeeded. We only had to retreat one other time to avoid falling boulders, but the memory of the rock flying from the cliff weighed heavily on our minds. Soon we would be driving through that same danger zone, and a car is a much bigger target... We drove through slowly and precisely in complete silence, and let our held breath out as we reached the other side. But we still had no idea of what was to come.
The road improved remarkably after that point, and we were rewarded with sunny skies and amazing views of the largest mountains any of us had ever witnessed. It was absolutely incredible. We took hurried photos out of the windows and gasps of amazement were the only words uttered. We had reached the top of the first pass. To top it all off, alpine flowers littered the meadows beside the winding road. We didn't spend too much time on the plateau, and began to descend another set of intense switchbacks. The road got worse, and we got our first glimpse of an utterly massacred vehicle that had strayed too close to the edge. Another reminder of the dangers we were facing.
The scenery changed gradually from snowy peaks to an alpine desert. It no longer seemed like we were that high up, but we evidently were. At about 3000 meters, the altitude sickness began to hit me. I stopped taking photos except for a half hearted snap every once in a while and started feeling my brain expand in my skull. I had a crushing headache first of all, and then began to get super light headed and nauseous. As we continued to rise, the syptoms got worse and worse. Marina and Anna were suffering as well, but I think I got the worst of it (for now). We took homeopathic coca (a remedy for altitude sickness) and it helped a little, but nothing can fully get rid of the dreaded illness. After driving for several hours more, our driver said that we were going to stop for the night in a little village called Pang. At this point we had been sitting in the bus for a night and most of the next day - about 18 hours. I was incredibly grateful to hear this as I was not faring well at all, and it was good to hear that our driver would be able to get some sleep. The drive is usually over 20 hours, and some drivers do it all in one stretch. I'm glad that we weren't on one of those buses.
By the time we were about 30km from Pang, I thought that I was dying. My head felt like my brain was about to ooze out of my ears, I was as weak as Ghandi's fast unto death, my joints were aching so much that I could barely move, I was extremely dizzy, and I was so nauseous that I was expecting to vomit at any second. Just the simple act of lifting my arm took as much will and energy as hiking for 5 hours up to Monashee Lake on a normal day. But worse. So much worse. We had also just fallen behind a huge army convoy about about 20 massive trucks spouting black fumes. We were going much slower than before, and the smoke was unbearable and inescapable. I had my scarf wrapped around my face and was trying to reciting positive affirmations in my head, but my delerious mind could only manage, "Om, om, om, om..." My entire body felt like it was going to pop. There was so much pain, but I couldn't decipher where it was coming from. It was everywhere. It was by far the worst I've ever felt in my life. I actually thought that I might not make it to Leh alive.
When we finally got to Pang, at about 4200 meters, I mustered up all of my energy and lunged for the door. I stumbled outside and collapsed on a pile of dirt, oblivious to my surroundings. My head was reeling, and all of the symptoms from before were magnified. At least I was off the bus. Marina, who wasn't in full health but was better than me, commanded me to take off my shoes and "earth." It helped the nausea a bit, and I was able to walk around a little, in a painful daze. I was so grateful for Marina's help as I probably would have just sat down on the ground and frozen that night. She carried my heavy bag and walked me to our dorm-style tent, covered me with blankets and told me to sleep. I did manage to sleep a little, and every time I woke up Marina was there to tell me to drink water. We were both terribly dehydrated; when we left our stomachs were still sick and every time we put anything in we felt like throwing up. Unfortunately, drinking water is very important when battling altitude. The stars seemed to be against us. Taking little sips throughout the night helped my horribly parched throat a little, and when I woke up in the morning I felt marginally better. At least I didn't feel like I was going to die.
But Marina had a terrible night. Stopping at high altitudes when you are already suffering from severe altitude sickness symptoms is a big no-no, but we had no choice! The whole trip was planned. There was no way for us to retreat down the mountain, and even if there was, our driver wouldn't have done it. He's paid almost nothing for these savage drives: only 3000 rupees for the round trip. One of the other symptoms of sever altitude sickness is the inablility to sleep. Marina didn't sleep hardly at all, and when she did, she was tortured with trippy hallucinogenic nightmares. The blankets, which weighed a lot already, felt like they were crushing her, and she developed all of the awful symptoms that I had had the day before. When we woke up in the morning, I felt slightly better, but she felt indescribably worse.
And then we got back in the bus...the last thing any of us wanted to do. Praying that the ground would stay flat, we watched helplessly as we rose and rose, higher and higher. We read later that if you have any of the symptoms that we were experiencing in Pang, you should retreat IMMEDIATELY to lower altitudes. Even 300 meters can help. Instead, we were rising to the peak of second highest motorable road in the world. The Tanglang La mountain pass is 5360 meters at its peak. Instead of descending, we were going up another thousand meters. Our painful bodies got steadily worse. Our joints got especially torturous, and Marina was getting to the same peak of pain and delerium that I had experienced the night before. I was also getting close to that point, but the night of rest had helped me to acclimatise somewhat.
Tanglang La. When we saw the sign proudly stating our altitude, our inflamed brains swelled in horror. We leveled out for a bit, and then came to another dreaded line up of parked trucks. We were told that workers were in the process of blasting to widen the road. Oh! I forgot to mention that this entire road is one lane, rarely paved, and has drops of hundreds of meters the entire way. Passing is terrifying and near head on collisions are common. As I stated earlier, we passed many car wreaks, some of them with almost no remains. Add that to the altitude sickness and you have quite an epic little road trip.
At this point, Marina was feeling the cold clutch of death. When we stopped, she squatted at the edge of the road/cliff and tried to comprehend consciousness. She was seeing spots instead of mountains and the vertigo was nearly intolerable. Tears were streaming from her eyes and her gaze was distant. I tried to talk to her but her responses made no sense, so I made her take off her shoes and touch the earth to absorb some healing energy. Even the other travelers, some of whom had been fine so far, were feeling a bit dizzy at this point. The feeling is so difficult to describe, but just imagine the worst thing you could ever feel, across your entire body. It's worse than that. (We were confused as to why we had been hit so hard with the dreaded sickness compared to the others. Later we read in the Lonely Planet that often the younger, fitter members of groups are the ones who are most destroyed.) As we were sitting at the top of the pass, we could see descending switch backs in the distance. To us, it was like a watery oasis to a man stranded in the desert.
Finally we reached our goal and started descending. I felt immediate relief, but Marina took a little longer. As we were heading down, the driver decided that he wanted to put on our Canadian favourite, Justin Bieber. For the rest of the journey he had been playing decent contemporary indian music, bangra, etc. It would have been nice, except that he had the worst musical A.D.D. that we've ever witnessed. He would listen to about 5 or 10 seconds of a song, and then skip. And that would go on for all day and night. But he had no problem listening to full albums of Justin Bieber! This was the last straw for Marina. She was too nauseous to speak, but frantically motioned to her bag with her waiting ipod. I grabbed it and asked what she wanted me to put on. As far as I could understand, her response was, "ANYTHING." I chose Jesse Cook, and the music seriously healed us as we descended to the valley floor.
We listened to music for the rest of the journey, with one rest break and one last military passport check (of which there had been many). We felt much better the more we descended, but the sickness lingered. When we finally reached Leh, we were 2000 meters lower than the highest mountain pass of hell. We found a "cheap" guesthouse (for Leh), and collapsed in gratitude.
For the past few days we've been recuperating, and now we are finally back to normal! Leh is a beautiful place that reminds us so much of Laos. We visited a donkey sanctuary for helpless, sick and abandoned cute little beasts. Marina, who was feeling sick that day, was healed by the loving donkeys. We got to pet them and they are so trusting! They approach you and nuzzle you and we even got to hang out with a cute little fluffy baby that loved Marina so much. It kept following her around wanting more pets.
The people here smile instead of angrily staring, and they cheerily say, "Julay!" just like the greeting, "Sabaidee!" in Laos. The vibe is super chill and there is also an amazing amount of beautiful mountains and scenery to explore. Ladakh (the state we're in) is probably the most eco-conscious in India, and organic food and clean streets are prevalent. We LOVE IT HERE! We hope to do a trek sometime soon now that we're fully recovered, but as always, we're playing it by ear.
We are fully healthy and happy and grateful to be alive! Sending love to all of you. I started a gypsy jazz song today and we'll probably record it soon. Hopefully we can post it for you to hear! Uke, guit, and shaker, and lots of exciting chunk-a-chunk rhythms.
Peace and love! Hope this novel isn't too long for you to handle. We don't want your brains to explode like ours did on the mountains!
ॐOrion (& Marina)
P.S. All three of the highest motorable roads in the world are in Ladakh. Maybe we'll check out the other two! Google it.
It's Orion here. Where did we leave off...Mcleod Ganj...
While we were staying in Mcleod Ganj, we had a little faithful "hole in the wall" restaurant that we went to for every meal. Marina noticed this little hidden place behind a giant electricity box; it was packed with locals. We immediately knew that it would be an amazing restaurant. And it was! The food was different every day, and it was legit Indian-style, and legit Indian-cheap! And SO GOOD. One day, however, we thought we'd try out one of the many tourist restaurants that filled the town. We ordered momos, a traditional Tibetan dumpling and another Tibetan specialty, noodle soup. The food was delicious, but that night both Marina and I got super stomach sick. The next day was wasted in bed, and our plan of hiking and bouldering were foiled. I suppose it was karma for betraying our favourite little restaurant!
After we had recovered sufficiently, but not even close to fully, we jumped on the local bus to Manali - a 10+ hour drive. We met some other nice travelers who were also suffering from sickness, and we endured the heinous night bus together. We managed to survive, but the entire time we were trying not to vomit, staring bleakly out the front window, reciting frantic healing affirmations, as much as our troubled brains could handle. When we disembarked, we consulted our friends, and agreed that it was the worst bus ride of our lives.
We arrived at 4:30am. Our friends weren't on as tight of a budget as us, so they quickly agreed to go with one of the hotel touts, but Marina and I decided to walk around the town for hours looking for something cheaper. Eventually we found a place, right next door to our friends. We slept most of the day and when we woke up we decided that Manli wasn't worth staying for. We met some other travelers at the hotel our friends were staying at and booked a minibus (no way we were going by local bus this time) to Leh leaving that night at 2am. Our friends (Conor - Irish and Anna - German) were worse off than before, suffering from a bad fever and terrible Delhi-Belly. Marina spent most of the day in bed and I wasn't feeling too hot myself, but we decided to get on the bus anyway...probably a bad call...
And we were on our way! For 45km... We rose quickly up the first mountain pass on treacherous switchbacks in the pouring rain and with fog as thick as pea soup. Everything seemed to be going smoothly (as good as the roads/weather could), until we were literally "stuck in the mud." About two hours had passed when we came to an abrupt halt. There was a huge line up of cars, all turned off. In India, idling is the norm, so something was up. Trusting that we would soon be on our way, we took the opportunity of the still vehicle to fall asleep. When we awoke, we were in the same place, and the line up of cars had increased exponentially, about three switchbacks below and above.
We got out of the car to investigate, and found three vehicles literally buried in the thick, squishy, serpentine, suctiony, death grip of the mud. Despite the obvious issue, everyone was sleeping and chilling out. We learned that they were waiting for full daylight and hopefully the stop of the rain before they began the ordeal ahead.
We went back to sleep, and woke up to the sound of engines revving and people shouting. It sounded like a cross between a Canadian hockey game and a Nascar race. Eventually the first car rolled up towards our parked bus amidst a flurry of cheers. As far was we could hear, the next vehicle took a lot more effort, but eventually it too was free of the muck. At this point we were all awake and walked over to check out the scene. The last stuck vehicle was a huge "Goods Carrier." There were about 20 or 30 Indians getting ready to push. It was remarkable to watch as people's natural roles came out in the time of crisis. There was a leader, shouting instructions, faithful followers, and everyone in between. With a yell of "Cello!" ("Let's go!" in Hindi) everyone started yelling and pushing. The truck revved and revved and lurched and seemed like it would tip over again and again, and finally rolled forward out of the first mud hole. Marina took a great video of the scene, hopefully soon to be on our youtube channel (www.youtube.com/soundsplashmusic), internet quality depending. The truck got stuck several more times, but the Indian's spirit was undanuted. They succeeded again and celebrated by cheering and beginning to fill the mud pits with the mica slate rocks lining the road. We were on a giant scree slope, so materials to fill the holes were in abundance. Soon the drivers on either side were revving their engines, and soon they were off roading across the pit, having a good ol' time. When people got stuck, there were always plenty of hands to help push. Soon it was our turn and we got across with no difficulty at all. It was so amazing to see how these people took care of the problem all on their own. In Canada we would have waited for hours for the road crews to come, and then hours more while they fixed the issue. We probably would have turned back. The Indian way is far more exciting, and worked fine!
With jubilant hearts, we drove off, talking excitedly about our success. But not for long. Within about 10 minutes, we encountered another line up of vehicles, this one longer than the last. We found out that there had been a landslide and the road was blocked. I went to check it out, but it was a very dangerous situation. The mountain was in the process of collapsing, and when you looked up, you could see constant streams of mud and rolling boulders in all directions. Above the road was a huge precipice, probably at least 70 metres high, and every few seconds, giant boulders would launch off it with deadly speed. Most landed about halfway down the slope towards us, but a few went farther. At one point, a man was walking to check out the road block when I heard several panicked shouts from the people around me. I looked up to see a stone almost as large as me hurtling off the cliff. The man began to run, his robes flying and mud spattering all around him. The boulder landed about 3/4 of the way down the slope with a deadly crunch, and bounced once more, landing with a thud in the middle of the road, exactly where the man had been walking. We were all reminded of the gravity of the situation and got to work with a bit more fervor.
The road block consisted of two huge boulders blocking the way. Once again the roles of leader and followers were magically esablished without a word, and we got to work. There were about 10 or more of us pushing, and it the rock hardly budged. We hoped to find a lever of some kind to help, but we had no such luck. We eventually found a rope, and to the chant of, Ek, do, TEEN!" (1, 2, 3 in Hindi) we managed to clear the first boulder out of the way. The second was even more of a sturuggle, but with the help of our mantra, we finally succeeded. We only had to retreat one other time to avoid falling boulders, but the memory of the rock flying from the cliff weighed heavily on our minds. Soon we would be driving through that same danger zone, and a car is a much bigger target... We drove through slowly and precisely in complete silence, and let our held breath out as we reached the other side. But we still had no idea of what was to come.
The road improved remarkably after that point, and we were rewarded with sunny skies and amazing views of the largest mountains any of us had ever witnessed. It was absolutely incredible. We took hurried photos out of the windows and gasps of amazement were the only words uttered. We had reached the top of the first pass. To top it all off, alpine flowers littered the meadows beside the winding road. We didn't spend too much time on the plateau, and began to descend another set of intense switchbacks. The road got worse, and we got our first glimpse of an utterly massacred vehicle that had strayed too close to the edge. Another reminder of the dangers we were facing.
The scenery changed gradually from snowy peaks to an alpine desert. It no longer seemed like we were that high up, but we evidently were. At about 3000 meters, the altitude sickness began to hit me. I stopped taking photos except for a half hearted snap every once in a while and started feeling my brain expand in my skull. I had a crushing headache first of all, and then began to get super light headed and nauseous. As we continued to rise, the syptoms got worse and worse. Marina and Anna were suffering as well, but I think I got the worst of it (for now). We took homeopathic coca (a remedy for altitude sickness) and it helped a little, but nothing can fully get rid of the dreaded illness. After driving for several hours more, our driver said that we were going to stop for the night in a little village called Pang. At this point we had been sitting in the bus for a night and most of the next day - about 18 hours. I was incredibly grateful to hear this as I was not faring well at all, and it was good to hear that our driver would be able to get some sleep. The drive is usually over 20 hours, and some drivers do it all in one stretch. I'm glad that we weren't on one of those buses.
By the time we were about 30km from Pang, I thought that I was dying. My head felt like my brain was about to ooze out of my ears, I was as weak as Ghandi's fast unto death, my joints were aching so much that I could barely move, I was extremely dizzy, and I was so nauseous that I was expecting to vomit at any second. Just the simple act of lifting my arm took as much will and energy as hiking for 5 hours up to Monashee Lake on a normal day. But worse. So much worse. We had also just fallen behind a huge army convoy about about 20 massive trucks spouting black fumes. We were going much slower than before, and the smoke was unbearable and inescapable. I had my scarf wrapped around my face and was trying to reciting positive affirmations in my head, but my delerious mind could only manage, "Om, om, om, om..." My entire body felt like it was going to pop. There was so much pain, but I couldn't decipher where it was coming from. It was everywhere. It was by far the worst I've ever felt in my life. I actually thought that I might not make it to Leh alive.
When we finally got to Pang, at about 4200 meters, I mustered up all of my energy and lunged for the door. I stumbled outside and collapsed on a pile of dirt, oblivious to my surroundings. My head was reeling, and all of the symptoms from before were magnified. At least I was off the bus. Marina, who wasn't in full health but was better than me, commanded me to take off my shoes and "earth." It helped the nausea a bit, and I was able to walk around a little, in a painful daze. I was so grateful for Marina's help as I probably would have just sat down on the ground and frozen that night. She carried my heavy bag and walked me to our dorm-style tent, covered me with blankets and told me to sleep. I did manage to sleep a little, and every time I woke up Marina was there to tell me to drink water. We were both terribly dehydrated; when we left our stomachs were still sick and every time we put anything in we felt like throwing up. Unfortunately, drinking water is very important when battling altitude. The stars seemed to be against us. Taking little sips throughout the night helped my horribly parched throat a little, and when I woke up in the morning I felt marginally better. At least I didn't feel like I was going to die.
But Marina had a terrible night. Stopping at high altitudes when you are already suffering from severe altitude sickness symptoms is a big no-no, but we had no choice! The whole trip was planned. There was no way for us to retreat down the mountain, and even if there was, our driver wouldn't have done it. He's paid almost nothing for these savage drives: only 3000 rupees for the round trip. One of the other symptoms of sever altitude sickness is the inablility to sleep. Marina didn't sleep hardly at all, and when she did, she was tortured with trippy hallucinogenic nightmares. The blankets, which weighed a lot already, felt like they were crushing her, and she developed all of the awful symptoms that I had had the day before. When we woke up in the morning, I felt slightly better, but she felt indescribably worse.
And then we got back in the bus...the last thing any of us wanted to do. Praying that the ground would stay flat, we watched helplessly as we rose and rose, higher and higher. We read later that if you have any of the symptoms that we were experiencing in Pang, you should retreat IMMEDIATELY to lower altitudes. Even 300 meters can help. Instead, we were rising to the peak of second highest motorable road in the world. The Tanglang La mountain pass is 5360 meters at its peak. Instead of descending, we were going up another thousand meters. Our painful bodies got steadily worse. Our joints got especially torturous, and Marina was getting to the same peak of pain and delerium that I had experienced the night before. I was also getting close to that point, but the night of rest had helped me to acclimatise somewhat.
Tanglang La. When we saw the sign proudly stating our altitude, our inflamed brains swelled in horror. We leveled out for a bit, and then came to another dreaded line up of parked trucks. We were told that workers were in the process of blasting to widen the road. Oh! I forgot to mention that this entire road is one lane, rarely paved, and has drops of hundreds of meters the entire way. Passing is terrifying and near head on collisions are common. As I stated earlier, we passed many car wreaks, some of them with almost no remains. Add that to the altitude sickness and you have quite an epic little road trip.
At this point, Marina was feeling the cold clutch of death. When we stopped, she squatted at the edge of the road/cliff and tried to comprehend consciousness. She was seeing spots instead of mountains and the vertigo was nearly intolerable. Tears were streaming from her eyes and her gaze was distant. I tried to talk to her but her responses made no sense, so I made her take off her shoes and touch the earth to absorb some healing energy. Even the other travelers, some of whom had been fine so far, were feeling a bit dizzy at this point. The feeling is so difficult to describe, but just imagine the worst thing you could ever feel, across your entire body. It's worse than that. (We were confused as to why we had been hit so hard with the dreaded sickness compared to the others. Later we read in the Lonely Planet that often the younger, fitter members of groups are the ones who are most destroyed.) As we were sitting at the top of the pass, we could see descending switch backs in the distance. To us, it was like a watery oasis to a man stranded in the desert.
Finally we reached our goal and started descending. I felt immediate relief, but Marina took a little longer. As we were heading down, the driver decided that he wanted to put on our Canadian favourite, Justin Bieber. For the rest of the journey he had been playing decent contemporary indian music, bangra, etc. It would have been nice, except that he had the worst musical A.D.D. that we've ever witnessed. He would listen to about 5 or 10 seconds of a song, and then skip. And that would go on for all day and night. But he had no problem listening to full albums of Justin Bieber! This was the last straw for Marina. She was too nauseous to speak, but frantically motioned to her bag with her waiting ipod. I grabbed it and asked what she wanted me to put on. As far as I could understand, her response was, "ANYTHING." I chose Jesse Cook, and the music seriously healed us as we descended to the valley floor.
We listened to music for the rest of the journey, with one rest break and one last military passport check (of which there had been many). We felt much better the more we descended, but the sickness lingered. When we finally reached Leh, we were 2000 meters lower than the highest mountain pass of hell. We found a "cheap" guesthouse (for Leh), and collapsed in gratitude.
For the past few days we've been recuperating, and now we are finally back to normal! Leh is a beautiful place that reminds us so much of Laos. We visited a donkey sanctuary for helpless, sick and abandoned cute little beasts. Marina, who was feeling sick that day, was healed by the loving donkeys. We got to pet them and they are so trusting! They approach you and nuzzle you and we even got to hang out with a cute little fluffy baby that loved Marina so much. It kept following her around wanting more pets.
The people here smile instead of angrily staring, and they cheerily say, "Julay!" just like the greeting, "Sabaidee!" in Laos. The vibe is super chill and there is also an amazing amount of beautiful mountains and scenery to explore. Ladakh (the state we're in) is probably the most eco-conscious in India, and organic food and clean streets are prevalent. We LOVE IT HERE! We hope to do a trek sometime soon now that we're fully recovered, but as always, we're playing it by ear.
We are fully healthy and happy and grateful to be alive! Sending love to all of you. I started a gypsy jazz song today and we'll probably record it soon. Hopefully we can post it for you to hear! Uke, guit, and shaker, and lots of exciting chunk-a-chunk rhythms.
Peace and love! Hope this novel isn't too long for you to handle. We don't want your brains to explode like ours did on the mountains!
ॐOrion (& Marina)
P.S. All three of the highest motorable roads in the world are in Ladakh. Maybe we'll check out the other two! Google it.
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