Some analogue photos of the gorgeous scenery of the Himalayas of Ladakh, taken on a collective camera between my travelmates, which I've finally gotten around to digitalising. It's somehow become a bit of a busy summer, and, as usual, I've not managed to surpass the stage of promising updates and travel-anecdotes. Perhaps it is a little daunting a task to attempt to pick out moments to write about from two years that felt like nothing and yet, in some ways, everything. So many things were different, so much has changed, although I'm (disappointingly?) consistent in my lack of filling in those "coming soon!" updates.
Starting over, starting small though - here's a brief recount of two days instead. Specifically, two spent at Pangong Lake, about which Wikipedia tells us:
"Pangong Tso (or Pangong Lake; Tso: Ladakhi for lake) is an endorheic lake in the Himalayas situated at a height of about 4,350 m (14,270 ft). It is 134 km (83 mi) long and extends from India to Tibet. 60% of the length of the lake lies in Tibet, which is today under China's rule. The lake is 5 km (3.1 mi) wide at its broadest point. During winter the lake freezes completely, despite being saline water."
To add to the bare bones of fact and measurement some human sensations, the lake and area around it are also bitterly cold, meriting the wearing of recently-acquired vintage jumpers and a curling-up-in-sleeping-bags instinct that was speedily indulged when we arrived at our home-stay of choice. Having spent five hours winding up a mountain road to the soundtrack of our nineties youth and Ladakhi chants (a strange playlist our driver apparently enjoyed), naturally with the occasional (and varyingly enthousiastic) sing-alongs, we quickly got back to reading and further enjoying the stunning scenery. Whilst we had been hounded by Indian tourists earlier on in our drive, the final stretch of road to the tiny settlement of campsite and home-stays was blissfully unadorned, empty and almost lonely in its isolation.
We stayed overnight with a lovely trio of elderly Ladakhis, eating by candlelight and conversing with the aid of our hostess throughout; the first-year roommate of my co-travellers. In the morning, we managed to force ourselves out of the warmth of our layers of blankets and sleeping bags with the thought of seeing the lake at sunrise. Goading each other on and grumbling and stumbling down a grassy lane, we found the sun already risen at five, but sat still and watched the light grow and time change by the lakeside nevertheless. There was a certain silence about the moment, the setting; refreshing, chilling, calming. The later revelation that Three Idiots had been shot by the same lake was a little at odds with the experience we'd had there, but I suppose the emptiness is sometimes just waiting to be filled.
Soon we got cold and hungry, and a brief cup of tea and a gifting of our paperbag-wrapped fruits to the wrinkled and smiling three later, we set off back onto the winding road to Leh. Accompanied once again by the sound of Shakira, bad disco and poetic string instruments, we quickly rejoining the Indian contingent in the race to reach the next restaurant/toilet stop at the half-way point.
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