Apparently mine and Maria (my roomie for the trip)'s room was the only en-suite one. Enjoyed a nice shower and barely noticed the funky bugs sharing the room with us.
It was 4am and raining. I was kind of hoping it would not be raining for Rohtang Pass day.
I don't envy the other guests of the hotel (if any) for the motorcycle revving sounding throughout most of the night in preparation for our 5:00am departure. Ragini was kind enough to provide us a breakfast at 4:30am of cereal, toast, and other staples. I do much better when I have breakfast, no matter what time of morning.
Yes, it's true. "Rohtang" really does mean "pile of corpses." I'm not nervous at all.
Incidentally, going over Rohtang pass might not be something you can do in five years. They are building a tunnel through the mountain and might no longer maintain (i.e. clear the landslides off) the roads. I hope somehow that they still keep the pass open, because it is really stunning even though a lot of the beauty is before where the tunnel would start so you wouldn't miss it all.
We reached the checkpoint entry to the road to Rohtang Pass where we had to stop. Tourists are only permitted the Manali-Rohtang direction in the morning. Luckily it was definitely the morning. Not so luckily, we could not immediately locate our permits (they were in another vehicle?) But what permits don't solve, several hundred rupees can. This is India. On we went.
By 7:20am, we had crossed an 8,000 foot elevation. Just 5,000 more to go!
To my disappointment, the asphalt came and went at random. Then we passed a sign that said: "Landslide Prone Areas" a bit later. Not nervous at all.
The rain had settled to a occasional drizzle, but the fog everywhere made for some cool-looking mountaintop vistas. The twisty road with no where to pull off, though, made for some tricky photo snapping. But I managed to get a few.
One disadvantage of being a woman when on a long road trip above treeline is... we can't just pee by the side of the road. This is a practice perfectly accepted all over India for men, even in the city, within full view of the road. But for women, there is not even a bush up here for us to squat behind. There are... facilities. But the quality is always a toss up. Take these port-o-potties near the top of the pass for instance...
We're peeing where?
I was glad that one of the port-o-potties was a squat version. Because the rest were nasty. We were able to get in and out (with our own supply of toilet paper and hand sanitizer) without making physical contact for the most part. When they say "drink a lot of water to avoid altitude sickness", also bring a lot of hand sanitizer for the inevitable effect of that.
Up here is where I first noticeably felt the tingly fingers and toes that is a side effect of Diamox (high altitude pill of awesome). A little weird, but it did not last that long.
Once we started over Rohtang pass, the roads became under the jurisdiction of the Border Roads Organization. This organization provides lots of road signs, some telling you the distance to places, other urging you to drive slow, safe and sober. (There don't seem to be any actual speed limit signs.) These road signs usually have the acronym BRO instead of the full name. The wording on them is often amusing (in a
Burma-Shave kind of way) but, even when they aren't, it is still kind of funny to read a notice that begins with BRO. Google "bro road signs" for some silly ones, though I liked the one I passed today: "BRO, Let's Save the Planet."
The Other Side!
We made it over Rohtang! What does that mean?
- No more mud! Over the rain shadow and into dry country.
- No more mobile phone reception until Leh (and severe penalties for using satellite phones.)
- No more trees until Leh (at least, much scarcer trees.)
We stopped for lunch at one of the tiny roadside villages nestled in the switchbacks and enjoyed parantha and bhature (potato-stuffed flatbread and garbanzo bean curry).
As a foreigner, I had to voluntarily show my passport and have my presence recorded at the police station (the semi-cylindrical building in the far right of below photo.) The officer inside was friendly and, once he learned that I was American, started asking me about WWF wrestlers. I only knew The Rock. (I'm outdated. He isn't a wrestler anymore and now it's the WWE.)
Khoksar Village. Don't even think about using a satellite phone here. Don't even carry anything that looks like satellite phone.
For all your Vegitarian Needs
After making our way to the bottom of the switchbacks and along the river valley, we found continuing beautiful scenery and the all-important petrol station, now few and far between.
Tandi Junction
At only 8,400ft (2,570m) above sea level, this is the lowest altitude we will be at for the next week
First Gas after Rohtang Pass
Motorcycle Maintenance in Keylong
A bit further up, we had a bit of motorcycle trouble. Some locals and the I Am Adventure staff tinkered (and welded even) until the machine was comfortably ridable again, the improvising making the ride better than it would have been with proper parts. Looks like we are embodying the spirit of jugar, a great word in India that means improvisation, finding-a-way-to-make-it-work, doing-the-best-with-what-you've-got, and the self-sufficient attitude that comes with it.
To Keylong for Repairs
There were two very cute young children there, a girl and a boy, both under 8, studying to be monks we were told. They were friendly. Their mother cheerfully looked on as we chatted with them (me getting to use my "What's your name?" and "Do you speak English?" phrases in Hindi) while several others worked on the motorcycle. The girl showed us pictures she drew and we were trying to figure out if it was a good idea for the little boy to be munching on that grass. An older girl, with surprisingly good English and willingness to use it, showed up a little while later. Lovely folk. I tried to imagine growing up here, in the lovely mountains of Keylong, with a population of (I just looked it up) a surprising 14,200. I would have guessed less.
It was also a pretty stopping point and a good photo op.
More Keylong Sights
After Keylong, the scenery became very moon-like and increasingly desolate.
About 75km from Sarchu, we stopped at a police checkpoint and had a maggi-noodle lunch there. (With the driver! Usually, the laborers eat separately - read: at someplace less expensive - than everyone else, but we just all ate instant ramen together here which was kind of cool.) We confirmed with the one woman whose guest house did not post the sign "No Toilet Unless Overnight Customer" like the others, but she too agreed. There are no restrooms here for our use. Sigh. Luckily, my bladder can last quite a long time.
While we were eating maggi, I had a bit of a surprise. Beggars. I mean, this place is covered in snow most of the year, right? How are there beggars out here? There aren't even any towns around here, just tiny villages. I did not donate to the cause.
Patsio Lake and surrounds
Approximately 12,300ft (3,750m)
Suddenly, I could really feel the altitude. I have always had trouble above 12,000 feet. I felt a bit light-headed, headachy, sleepy, low on oxygen, though nothing as intense as I expected. Next chance I had, I tried some "pressure breathing" which I found a YouTube video on before I left. It is a technique involving exhaling forcibly that raises your blood oxygen level. It seemed to help.
But there was really no place at all to pee
Up this high, there are no trees, few wild animals, and only the rare bird. Barely any life whatsoever. The rocks and sand on the peaks changed color as we rounded bends from red tinted to white to beige to gray. The scenery here was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Amazingly, on this road, we passed a pair of folks on bicycles. (Every time I think I'm doing something a little hard core, I run into someone else doing something ten times as intense. That's why when people say, "Wow, Melissa, you've been to lots of places!" I have to point out the people I've met on my journeys who make me look like I'm taking a walk around the block.)
Sarchu
When we reached our tent camp, no one was wearing any pants.
(Offscreen to protect your delicate sensibilties)
After the requisite jokes about needing a Pants Permit at this camp, I realized that the luggage truck had somehow gotten behind us and had not yet arrived. The motorcyclists had reached here an hour before us. Everyone's gear was wet from all the river crossings and so they were laying it out to dry while there was still sun.
I kept my pants on.
Anyway, I love our camp! I mean, look at it. It's out there.
My first order of business was to ask where the facilities were. I saw kind of a lone, small tent near the parking lot. Maybe that was a shared toilet? The need was getting dire.
I quickly approached someone in our group. They told me that there was a toilet in my tent. What? An en-suite tent? I'd never heard of such a thing. They were probably kidding.
A real, flush toilet in the back of our tent. How was this possible? No matter. Awesome! The water flow into the sink was barely more than a drip from hose, but there was time to fill a tank in between flushes. The bedsheets themselves were "India clean" which is my term for sheets that looked like they've been rinsed in cold water with minimal soap and dried outdoors. Which is the best they can do out here. (Some city hotels I've applied the term to don't have this excuse.) I don't even know how they have running water above 13,000 feet in the first place. Or electricity for that matter, though I suspect they have generators for that.
I found out by accident later, when I was taking a walk around the site, where the output pipe of the toilet and sink went.
Yeah. The PVC pipes don't extend very far. In fact, they empty out into a big hole dug out behind each tent! Oops, wasn't supposed to see the toilet Oz behind the curtain. I wonder how often they have to move the tents and dig new holes. And how often it has already been done.
There was talk of a campfire, but then someone pointed out that there was nothing to burn. Indeed, not so much as a small bush was in sight in any direction. Just patches of short grass.
The Antrek hosts served a decent hot dinner of tomato soup, dal (lentil curry), rice, potatoes, and roti (wheat flat bread) in the dining tent. We brought our own liquor, giant bottles of Copenhagen beer, for those people (i.e. pretty much everyone except me and a very few others) who are having no trouble at 13,000+ or who just won't let lack of oxygen sap the good cheer.
During dinner, a lone traveler sat at the end of our table full of partying Indians and Europeans. Turned out he was a 26-year-old ex-marine from Denver! (After I told him where I was from, Nick said, "Yeah, when you meet people abroad from Colorado, they're usually from Boulder." Ha!) He was struggling with the altitude, having not been inundated with the Diamox tablets passed around like after-dinner mints with every meal in our group. I gave him some Diamox and ibuprofen, which he was thankful for, though he was unimpressed with the pressure breathing.
It was finally cold enough for some layers. We needed the blanket on the bed. My sweatshirt and raincoat did the job of keeping me warm.
And the stars. Oh my God the STARS! A conversation under the Milky Way is a wonderful way to end an evening.
