An Icy Adventure: A Thrilling Trip To Spiti

We woke up in a dhaba an hour or so before the crack of dawn. Not shivering, because we had rented heavy fake-fur coats to sleep in from the shop across the road -- the more-suitable-for-Siberia drag that tourists wear for their first encounter with the snow in these parts. But we were stiff, for dhaba benches, even when put together lengthwise, are not exactly comfortable. As we were waking, a bunch of young goras (white folks) walked in to get a morning cup of tea. They spent the night in their bus.

Stuck In The Middle

We were all in Marhi, 17 km short of Rohtang Pass, the last place to stock up on parathas and fur-coats till you got to the top of the pass, where there are more shops selling parathas and renting fur coats amidst the glaciers and snow. But the top of the pass had proven to be deceptively far. Rohtang, for the past few days, had been a massive traffic-jam at just shy of 4,000 m, possibly the highest traffic jam in the world. A dubious distinction to be stuck in the middle of. Unusually heavy rain, the resultant landslides and increased traffic on the road to Leh meant that Rohtang was a complete nightmare. Army convoys and oil tankers, hippies and honeymooning couples were all stalled by the hundreds in the cold, rutted slush that passes for a road up there. It wasn't all miserable of course.

People usually manage to find bonhomie in strange situations, and there were bhuttas to be had at only four times the normal price. The road had been intermittently open, giving everyone false hope, but the rocks kept falling, including two massive boulders just as evening fell. The road was closed for the night as explosives were rigged and we headed back to Marhi, walking down steep mule-paths and then hitching a ride in an army truck, to spend the night warm and try again in the morning. Our driver elected to stay up and sleep in the taxi so he wouldn't lose his place in the queue.

But Marhi is just a string of dhabas stretched out along the road. There are no hotels and virtually no rooms to be had for love or money. Hence the night at the dhaba and the morning scramble to get across Rohtang as quickly as possible. We hauled ourselves up a nearly vertical shortcut for over an hour to get back up to our taxi, optimistic that the road would open soon. But there had been more landslides in the night, the road ahead was blocked by hundreds of tons of rock and mud and the boulders kept tumbling from on high. We were done with the waiting. Following local precedent, we walked ourselves and our luggage across the landslide, found a taxi returning to Kaza and got in. In retrospect, that was a bit of luck. Kaza has all of four taxis. Maybe five.

The other side of Rohtang was blissfully quiet and empty, a welcome and complete contrast to the traffic and cacophony and junk on the other side. While there had been fog and cloud on the one side, the other side was brilliantly clear and we could finally see the dazzling snow-clad peaks that surrounded us on all sides as we began our descent. But then Rohtang is a watershed in a more than merely literal sense. On one side lies Kullu, the valley of the Beas, which originates from Rohtang. On the other side is Lahaul, the valley of the Chandra, which is a source for the Chenab. Kullu is is fairly densely populated by mountain standards, and mostly Hindu. Lahaul and Spiti are sparsely populated, and heavily Buddhist. But the most striking contrast is in the landscape. Kullu is picturesque in a conventionally alpine way, with pine forests and rolling meadows. Lahaul and Spiti occasionally feel like they belong to another planet.

As we eased out of the hairpin bends, descending the pass into the straight road heading to Kaza, we were in a steep, lush valley, falling away to the Chandra river. Above us, the snow-peaks gave way to glaciers, and the glaciers gave way to meadows and the occasional stream that rushed across the stony road bed. The grass was a deep, rich green covered with the blue haze of wildflowers growing thick. An occasional car would pass us, an event rare enough that Angdui (our driver) would stop and exchange greetings and news with the other driver. The only traffic jam-like situation was when we had to pass a herd of a thousand sheep and goats on their way to summer pastures around Chandratal.

Geologist's Delight

It was amazing to be within touching distance of so many glaciers. And as we got closer and closer to Spiti, the work of the glaciers upon the land became more and more obvious. Soon we were driving through glaciers coming down as far as the river -- the road cut through them with bulldozers. All around us was the work of glaciers past, the hierarchical arrangement of boulders falling down to the river in descending order (boulders at the bottom of the slope, pebbles at the top), the grey slopes of moraine falling symmetrically from near vertical cliffs. Just gazing upon the majestic landscape made me want to become a geologist. Once we crossed the Kunzum-La into Spiti, the feeling became stronger.

Stark Landscape

The landscape of Spiti was starker, drier than that of Lahaul and sublime. The mountains were all around and bare, except for snow high up and the shift of colours as they caught the sun at different angles was breathtaking. As was the play of light and shade upon them as the clouds scudded across a huge turquoise sky. There were virtually no trees, but yaks and horses grazed on the narrow strip of green along the Spiti river at the bottom of the valley. Hardly any people. It was more than a hundred kilometres from Rohtang before we came to Losar, the first village in Spiti. And that was a village of a few hundred. In some ways it was like being in the mythic West, in empty big-sky country. Except that the landscape was a little too strange for that. In the mountains above, you could clearly see the twisted, folded layers of multi-coloured sedimented rock stark illustration that the Himalayas were, not so long ago, under the sea. This was the Wild West at its most primal, a geologist's dream, where Wyoming meets the moon.

Outside the Ki monastery, a 30-minute ride from Kaza, an old woman was selling souvenirs. Most of them were the usual Buddhist trinkets that are as easily found at Janpath, but she also had something unusual -- highly polished and varnished chunks of rock with marine fossils in them. "Where do these come from," I asked her. "From the hills above," she replied. It was confirmation of something our friend Sunil had told us in Kaza -- that Spiti is a geological paradise, including coral reefs from the Tethys Sea now resting at 5,000m above sea level. This fossil heritage, he also told us, is in considerable danger because of its commercial exploitation, like the old lady selling fossils outside the monastery. The local panchayats recognise this and have passed a resolution against excavating these fossils, but the trade still continues, as we saw. (If you see someone selling fossils, don't buy them)

Nomadic Ghetto In Kaza

Sunil had also told us another thing that was depressingly true -- Kaza is rapidly becoming a slum. It hadn't seemed so when we had come in at evening -- it seemed like a picturesque enough town in the gathering gloom, all red roofs and river rushing by. But as we explored it in the morning light, the truth of what he said became appallingly clear. Kaza has been discovered and that's not necessarily a good thing. There are ugly concrete buildings coming up everywhere, totally out of sync with the local vernacular of building, most of them meant as guest-houses for backpackers. Which means cheap accommodation, surely, but also a visibly soulless sameness -- the generic kitsch of tie-dye clothes, signs in Hebrew and the inevitable German Bakery that mark a new kind of nomadic ghetto from Pune to Rishikesh. Kaza is rapidly on its way to becoming Paharganj exported to paradise.

Working Towards 'Responsible Tourism'

But all is not yet lost. And this is where Sunil comes in. Sunil is one of the partners who run an organisation called Ecosphere, which works with what they call 'responsible tourism', and other ventures that aim to integrate environment-friendly attitudes with people's livelihoods. One of the things they have done is promote home-stays in the villages around Kaza. The idea is that people hike up into the spectacular scenery of the mountains around Kaza, and after half-a-day's hike, find food and shelter with a family in the village they come to. This way, people can trek from village to village, stay comfortably with local families and need not carry cumbersome camping gear. The guests get well looked after and are exposed to local culture. The hosts make some money. Everyone is happy.

Mountain Tops At Touching Distance

A hiking trail ran from just outside our hotel, past the Sakya monastery, up to the village of Hikim. Since we didn't have the time to hike up to the village, we hitched a ride with Sunil, who was going up to Komic, with a population of less than a hundred. Komic is the highest village in Spiti, perched at 4,600m. Up there, we were barely below the snowline, even in July. Mountain tops always seem close enough to touch, but here they really were. There was a monastery up there and a dozen British volunteers (the responsible tourists that Sunil is proud of) who were building an insulated greenhouse for the monastery, so that they could grow vegetables even in winter (which goes down to -30 degree Celsius, and colder). Sunil was carrying supplies for them. As they knocked off for the evening, people started drifting towards the nearby volleyball court. It started with two people and soon became a five-a-side game. I landed up on the team with one of the young lamas from the monastery playing in centre court. He was crazy energetic and enthusiastic, leaping and finding the ball, creating chances out of nowhere and exultant every time we scored. We won and I had whimsical headlines in my head 'Lama leads international team to victory in highest volleyball game in the world'. Or, just another day in Spiti.

Picture-Perfect Langza

At sunset, we reached the village of Langza. A picture-perfect village with an exceptionally beautiful snow-clad mountain looking over it. A golden statue of the medicine Buddha sat high on a knoll above the village, warding off the illnesses coming up from below. Our rooms (the family guest-rooms) were large and comfortable, with mattresses and cushions all around the walls, all ready for a mehfil, as someone remarked. When we sat with the family, they insisted on giving us the seat of honour, at the head of the living-room/kitchen/dining-room, closest to the stove that both cooks and heats. There were endless cups of tea and conversation, of course, and as the night drew on, the local alcohol, made from barley. It tasted wonderful. And then it all made sense. Short of the maturing in oak casks, what we were drinking was essentially fine single-malt whisky.

We were sitting in a mehfil in the highlands and drinking fine Spiti whisky in the homes of kind, gracious, hospitable people. The mountains and the Buddha watched over us. Who could ask for more? The travails of Rohtang seemed totally worth it for this.

Getting There

One way is to reach Chandigarh by train or flight and then take a cab or bus to Spiti Valley.  The other is via Shimla. You can tale the Kalka-Shimla toy train that travels between Shimla and Kalka. Those travelling from Delhi or Chandigarh by flight can reach up to Kullu airport and then take a cab to Spiti.

Best Time To Visit

Between March and June is the ideal time to visit Spiti.