In North Pullu, halfway to the bottom, we stopped for snacks and tea. I also made use of the facilities, which cost 10 rupees. In general, I welcome restrooms that cost money because they tend to have standards. (Not high standards, but standards.) Although it wasn't the cleanest ever, it was an actual porcelain squat toilet that flushed. It was an agreed-upon fact by every woman I surveyed that the restrooms at Khardung Pass were not something you'd want to use. The ones at North Pullu were serviceable.

Our group got separated as we wandered down. Sigi, Maria, Baba, and I ended up walking aimlessly around the village, picking apricots off the endless apricot trees, and saying hello to the cutest children who all seemed to know a bit of English and Hindi as well as their native language (Balti, someone told me because this is / used to be part of Baltistan.)

Narrow canals criss-crossed the town alongside the sidewalks; the road and sounds of passing traffic were nowhere to be heard. Almost a paradise, it seemed a safe and fun place to be a child, running up and down the sidewalks, grabbing a drink or an apricot whenever needed. The villagers lived in sunken stone houses with vegetable gardens and walnut trees were also in abundance. I do not remember the last time I've been so charmed by a place. I tried to imagine what it was like in winter, which I suspect might mean harder times here, especially since it was unclear whether the houses had electricity. This village may have remained unchanged for decades.

The children were friendly and Sigi played silly games with them, prompting squeals of delight. The older locals tended to keep their curious distance (Turtuk was only open to foreigners in 2010, so I wonder if we are some of the first westerners they've seen?) but some teenagers and young adults talked to us. One particularly friendly brother and sister spent a while chatting with us in Hindi and English, though asked that we not post any photos of them to the internet. The sister wore a headscarf, like the majority of women I've seen here, but wore it pretty loosely.

You cannot spend time in Turtuk without learning "Juley!" (emphasis on the "ey".) It appears to be an all-purpose "Hello", "Goodbye", "Good health", everything kind of word. I said it to all sorts of random people we passed and they pretty much always said it back.

We finally found our way back to the bridge that led over a fast river and returned us to the main road. We stopped for tea in what might have been the town's only restaurant next to the bridge. All the other patrons inside were local men (with the same Tibetan features), so we must have made quite a sight: an Austrian, a Guatemalan, a South Indian, and me.

We made it back just before sundown and the 7:30pm call to prayer. I was too lazy to eat the chicken part of the dinner which would have involved stripping it from the bones. The others joked that I'm a lazy American - I can't eat meat unless it's done up in a patty.

After dinner, I helped Maria think of some "awards" to give various motorcyclists. Things like "Back of the Pack", "Overtaking Demon", "Most Unexpected", and "Best Performance".

We stopped not once, but twice, for rocks in the road. Amazing how fast they got cleared. It was not snowing this time when we reached the top, but there was snow on the ground. We got out and took some photos near one of the at least four signs.

As we drove along the switchbacks on the other side, someone pointed out the metal remains of a truck that had fallen below. It was the third such vehicle I had seen. On one hand, it definitely makes the drive down a little scarier. On the other hand, if such things happened very often, there would surely be much more evidence since I assume no vehicles are ever removed from their final resting places.

We saw other bicyclists (hard core!) making the journey up and gave them some of our bottled water.

Akarsh kindly told me the names of all sorts of Hindu (and otherwise) Gods I could pray to as he sped as fast as humanly possible down the curvy roads on our approach to Leh, blasting music.

I had an idea that I would film the cruise down, just so I had evidence of the speed (and awesome view). I did. But then I ended up just making a little video with all my clips set to the soundtrack of the Song of Our Trip: "Ambarsariya." Makes it look relaxing, almost. (The actual soundtrack to the fastest part, notably, was "We Will Rock You.")

Even after all that, the bikes still beat us.

After we reached Leh, we discovered that the internet had returned!

Though that might be overstating it a bit.

Not wanting to type out a long email on my phone, I went to one of the ubiquitous internet cafes. The first computer I sat at simply was not responding. (Granted, I have extremely high expectations, working in the tech industry.) I restarted that one and tried the machine next to it, but nothing connected, then I received an SSL error. The attending dude reset some IP settings, then things seemed to work. I finally had a chance to write my (one) email. But as soon as I hit send, a message appeared across my screen.

"The Internet has gone down."

At my groan, another couple on their way out laughed sympathetically, saying the same thing had happened to them.

Ten minutes (longest ten minutes ever) later, it came back up. Luckily, the email looked like it had sent and, more importantly, was not lost. I re-sent it, just to be sure.

The attendant felt bad for me and so only charged me for the hour(!) it took me to send my one email. 70 rupees instead of 100.

I was going to sleep in, but instead woke up early to eat breakfast (read: Nutella) with everyone heading out. A couple of the original motorcyclists were staying one more day in Leh, but most everyone was on the morning flight. They hopped into the waiting taxis and left (the motorcycles were being shipped back separately).

For those of us staying on, we decided to take another day in Leh instead of going to Kargil. Since we were all going by vehicle, we could cross a much further distance in one day and make it to Srinagar in a single shot.

I think this may have been the first entire day without any rain at all. Enjoying the (sunny!) day, we wandered around the neighborhoods of Leh, heading in the general direction of the hill behind us, clearly with subconscious intent to see what the heck that white thing was.

By some coincidence, we found ourselves on the road that led directly to the beginning of the stairway up the hill. We looked at each other, then started climbing, taking many rests along the way. We saw other tourists doing the same thing, though during one rest period, after we said, "Oh, we'll get there sometime today," one snarky older fellow on his way down retorted, "Today, or tomorrow?" It was pretty funny.

Did I mention the donkeys?

And...

Next >