So, the Scorpio SUV I'm riding in talks to the driver. If you begin driving without buckling up, a male voice reminds you, "Do wear your seat belt for a safe drive." If your emergency lever is up when you start to move, it says "Your handbrake is engaged." Baba plugged in his iPod so we could play music in the car and so these reminders sounded like a techno remix sample along with the music. "Your handbrake is engaged... your handbrake is engaged..."

BRO, On The Bend, Go Slow, Friend

And finally... we reached the top of the pass.

After Naki-la pass and Larchulung-la pass (I think la means "pass" so it is just a redundancy like "ATM machine") and driving through a gorge that looks a little like Bryce Canyon, we reached the village of Pang. We all sat together and I had a helping of soup and a rice + dal plate. Not bad, but nothing exciting.

Yes, it was a concrete building with concrete stalls and each stall had a wooden door and a square hole in the ground. That was the toilet. But I liked it because 1. it was as scrubbed as it could be, really and, 2. there was a Ladies side and a Men's side and for some reason, that just makes it nicer... at least for ladies. I gladly put 5 rupees in the little bucket.

After Pang is 40km square of flatness called the "More Plains", pronounced Moray. It is apparently home to all sorts of high-altitude wild beasts, horses, and marmots. But there was also straight tarmac, so time to twist up the throttle! No dilly-dallying to look at wildlife. Rob was a bit disappointed to miss this (as he joined Richard and I in the SUV for a bit). Notably, our turnoff to Tsomoriri was unmarked and essentially invisible. We had to have people on the road as well as off to the side waving every last person in so no one was left behind (especially not the luggage truck.)

While we waited off the side of the road for our party to be complete, I marveled at the science of snacks.

BRO, Driving Faster Can Cause Disaster

The way we took to get to Tsomoriri was mostly a road. Except when it seemed to be just sandy dirt with a collection of tire tracks going in generally the same direction. In any case, it was a fairly bumpy ride. The sand and near-lifeless landscape reminded me of bouncing along across the steppe in Mongolia.

Ah ha, found some mammals up here. (Though the few birds I saw looked to be struggling to even stay in the air.)

On Raj's suggestion, the two SUVs in our group decided to stop for chai at a little 8-building village along the creek. All the men and children there (the women were in the background, peeking out of doorways) looked Mongolian, which added to the above impression. On further thought, they appeared Tibetan, which makes sense this close to the border with Tibet / China. They definitely did not look like what I think of as Indian.

Despite that the nicest building advertised itself to be a hotel/restaurant, they still seemed startled to see us.

Two little girls (maybe aged four and two) who appeared particularly unwashed came up to me and asked for what sounded unmistakably like "chocolate." No other words in English, though. I did happen to have a small bar of Cadbury in my purse and so I gave them two squares each and they seemed satisfied and ran off, playing I think. The men kept glancing at me when they thought I wasn't looking. (I suppose I was the only woman in the party at this point, but not the only westerner.) We eventually got served some chai.

Someone offered me their seat at one of the round tables in front and after a bit of hesitation, I took it. While I sipped mediocre chai, the little girls came back. I made some silly "b-b-b-b" sounds with the older one. They asked for chocolate again, but I didn't give them any more. Did some foreign woman give them chocolate in the past? Is that why they asked for it? They did not approach any of the men in our party that I saw.

These checkpoints don't seem to be physically compelling vehicles to stop with any kind of barrier (which I found strange), but we stopped like we were supposed to.

The sign said:

Akarsh handed over our permits. Richard and I handed over our passports. They told us no photos were allowed unless they were in the direction of the lake, but were otherwise friendly enough, returning our passports after not too long.

I was confused that the post said "Tibetan" as if we were at the border of Tibet. (We were still a good fifty miles from China.) But it seemed less weird when we entered the village along Tsomoriri Lake and it felt like we had left India behind.

(Actually, tso means lake. We're having another Larchlung-la Pass grammar moment.)

This village might exist because of Korzok, which is a Tibetan Buddhist monastery in this location. In fact, this whole place might be a monastery, which might explain the surroundings.

Pratigya and I hiked up to the building on the right (pant, pant, holy crap) because it is the one and only place you can make a call in the area. It is the village/monastery's satellite phone. Just in case I forgot I was above 13,000 feet? Yeah. Inhale, exhale, rinse, repeat, oh my God, more stairs? Pratigya seemed perfectly fine, content to stop and wait while I took (multiple) breaks on the way up.

The Nomadic Life Camp is pretty close to the lake, but on the other side of a fence and a bit of a walk so no easy sticking a toe in the water for me. Which you know I love to do.

It was nearly as nice as the camp in Sarchu including, yes, en-suite toilets! IN the tent! (I spotted no telltale hole dug beyond the tent. Perhaps actual plumbing is used? Who knows. Though using municipal plumbing would make it less nomadic...) I heard the other places to stay in Korzok aren't as nice, so glad we are here!

Apparently, the town turns on electricity for residents at 7:30pm on the nose. Guess what that means?

I don't remember what we were served for dinner, but it was hot and tasty. My energy hit a wall after we ate and I crashed right into bed after dinner (while these guys partied on). Must have been all that hiking...

I woke up at 6:30am with no headache at all! (Must have been all that hiking...?) At breakfast, I discovered that there is jam I like in India. Most of the jam I've seen here is full of artificial flavors, extra sweeteners, and chemicals. But not this stuff. This was made from pretty much only fruit from Himachal and quite delicious. The omelette was made from ostrich eggs. Along with a parantha, it was a satisfying breakfast indeed.

We had originally planned to have a rest day at Tsomoriri, but we decided to take that day in Leh instead, so we checked out and departed at 7:30am.

We headed back the way we came, on the dirt road alongside Tsomoriri Lake. Akarsh himself had taken the wheel now, so we were pretty much among the leader of our group now.

I was a little bummed that we did not have more time at the lake, but I was looking forward to Leh, where there was probably a lot more to do. Someone told me there were not really many lake activities anyway. Indeed, a lot of it was fenced off.

We all got our trip T-shirts in Sarchu. Hooray! Took the opportunity to wear mine today. (A couple guys on the trip joked that, now that I was wearing it, they could trace our route up the map. I told them they'd have to buy me a drink first.)

Around 10am, as we reached the river, there was another place where a sign instructed us to stop. This one had occasional army helicopters flying overhead. I did not actually see a single official-looking person, just a French tour group that was also pulled over. Apparently we had to wait for the entire group to arrive and show our permits yet again, but it all happened in the background.

The car in front of us, not one with our group, was stuck. It was having trouble plowing through a particularly deep river spanning the road. What surprises me is that a little car made it all the way up here to start with. Akarsh told me that the SUVs that we usually see up here (the majority of tourist vehicles) are not 4WD either. And that most people renting them are unaware of that fact! Luckily, our wheels are indeed 4WD.

The car finally made it through, as did the SUV behind it. Then we went through, no problem. Even though it seemed like the river could carry us off if it wanted. Akarsh called this a "free car wash".

Now it was the motorcycles' turn.

The crossing was intense enough that those who had made it across to the other side got out their mobiles and portable video cameras. No pressure!

Seriously. No, I mean seriously. Ladakh is like the driest place in India. And I'm not sure we have even had a day without rain yet.

One brave staff member stood out in the rain to guide the motorcycles into the petrol station. The riders huddled under the awning of the gas station. While I hung out comfortably in the car.

Then, one by one, the motorcycles left, going ahead of Akarsh (despite that he was the dude with the directions) and splish splashing through puddles on the way to Leh...