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Travels in
Turkey, Iran, Pakistan & Northern India
Newsletter 5: 11 August 2002
Location
: McLeod Ganj (India)
Total
ridden kilometers today : 17,360 km
30
days in Ladakh and Spiti (Northern India) / 2,470 km
And
then... we see a thin bright turquoise line between the mountains. We continue
to descend in loops. The line disappears. All of a sudden we arrive at the tip
of Pangong Tso, the lake I discovered on a faded postcard in '89. It's a
magnificent blue high altitude saltlake surrounded by the most magnificent mountains.
Each mountain has a very different colour : brown, sand, gray, orange or black.
One has strange tree-like lines on it, others are plain, massive piles of grit.
We're
all alone and the silence is deafening. Walking to the edge on
white-ish
crumbly soil, it makes a snowlike sound beneath our boots. We look and look and
smile. Then, we ride the 5 km back to where we left my bike, push Iris's bike
back through the mountain river, and start on our long, rough, but splendid way
back up, through this remote region.
Our
route in Northern India (Ladakh and Spiti) - part 1
After
the luxuries of McLeod Ganj, we ride to Manali in 2 days. The Manali of 2002
clearly has nothing to do with the Manali of 1989, so we ride straight through
this bustling shopping mall, up the hill to cosier Old Manali. Again we find a
dreamlike room-with-a-view, and more muesli,
cheesecake,
coffee and beer.
Here
we mainly prepare the practicalities for the major challenge of this journey :
the Manali-Leh road. We have no recent bikers info on this stretch, only two
Internet stories of a few years old ridden at a slightly different period.
But... "slightly" makes a HUGE difference on these kinds of roads :
for a start the Manali-Leh road is only open from early July to mid-September, plus
a few unstable weeks on either end. At the beginning of the season there's lots
of melting water and mud; at the end snow is a bigger risk. And throughout :
frequent landslides, collapsed bridges, sudden weather changes, etc. can
possibly add to the adventure. Additional to that, there is the challenge of
the heights. The road goes over 4 passes, gradually higher : the Rohtang La (La
= pass) at 3,975 m, the Baralacha La at 4,940m, the Lachlung La at 5,065 m and
the Taglang La at 5,365 m. This means risk of AMS for us (Acute Mountain
Sickness) above 3,000 m, and "breathless" motorbikes. The latter is a
technical matter; the credo for the first is "climb (ride) high, sleep
low" and "don't ascend more then 300 metres a day" (sleeping
height). But what about having a puncture at, say, 5,000m? Since the 485 km
journey is totally impossible to ride in one day, and even two is a real
achievement, one has to choose sleeping places carefully. We picked Darcha
(3,400 m) and Sarchu (4,100 m) but had no idea if we would be able to avoid a
third stop in Pang (4,630 m = risky).
Another
challenge is the fuel : the last fuel station before Leh is situated after the
first pass which leaves a 380 km journey without supply. No problem for our 25
liter tanks --normally good for 450 km-- BUT... we had no idea how much more
our bikes would consume riding so high and climbing so much. We heard "no
worry"- and "worry very much"-stories.
Needless
to say we were a bit holding our breaths, so to speak, when
leaving
Manali. We rescheduled our departure day twice because of thick fog up the
valley, and then finally left on July 5th.
50
kms to the Rohtang pass makes 14 kms as the crow flies... winding and
rewinding
through thick, green forest. Just below the pass lays a flat area full of
teastalls, tentrestaurants and shops caring for the Indian daytrippers. The
shops rent fur coats in any colour (bright pink is
possible)
and gumboots to have an exclusive walk in the two patches of dirty snow up the
mountain.
Saddled
ponies and even yaks can take one for a look into the deep gorges across the
pass.
We
continue in bright sunny weather, over badly potholed tarmac and the
first
stretches of rough dirt road. We pitch our tent in Darcha as planned, and meet
two Australians on one Enfield (*) informing us about the road ahead : the next
pass will be the roughest with lots of water (one knee deep) and very bad,
stony tracks. After Sarchu we should be fine.
And
so it was. The next day we covered barely 83 kms. We spent one hour
unloading
the bikes on one side of the torrential mountain river, pushing them across,
and reloading. How they manage this on Enfields is a question that will come up
quite a few times during the next weeks.
Three
weeks later, on our return journey, they have constructed a bridge at this
point ! BUT from afar we notice something is very wrong. We see a truck halfway
on the bridge, and some thirty trucks behind it... As we approach, we see the
problem. The bridge is unfinished, with wooden boards 30 to 40 cms apart. The former
"road" (or what was left of it) has been completely washed away, and
the river thunders some 10 metres below. The small truck is plainly stuck with
its rear wheels up to its shaft, between the side and the first board. Pulling
and pushing, even with another truck attached, brings no movement.
Luckily
(for us), there is JUST room enough (5 mm, I'm not exaggerating) for our
handlebars to pass between the truck and the railing of the bridge. But pushing
the bikes across is one of the scariest things we've done in life : the wheels
sink into each gap and leave my feet dangling
mid-air.
Unlike in Pakistan and Iran, we have to beg the Indian truckers for much-needed
help. And as if this blood-curdling experience wasn't enough, we have to
squeeze, push and paddle our bikes through the line of trucks, all dumped in
the middle of the road with the cliff on one side - another half an hour of
begging, shouting and unpolite manners on our side, and stupid grins on the
other. One trucker has written a note in Urdu to inform the next army post of
the deadlock situation. We are the messengers.
Another
camping night under an amazing starry sky in Sarchu. Two German Enfielders made
it from Leh to here in one day. Leaving at the crack of dawn, we now head for
the two real high passes. The road indeed gets better, even including long
stretches of tarmac, but half of it remains unsealed, tricky and rough,
especially around the passes.
To
reach the Lachlung La, they have constructed the "21 Gata Loops". We
have
seen more hairpin bends in a month then most bikers in their entire career, I'm
sure.
At
Pang, another tentcamp only existing in summer, after one more river
crossing,
we meet the Himalaya Riders Club (see further, "Meet the boyz"). We
now ride for 80 kms on an amazing plateau at 4,700 m. Not a single sign of
human life here. The mountains around look like hills, and the silence is
total. We reach the Taglang La, the highest pass on this road, in the beginning
of the afternoon. Prospects for reaching Leh look good. As on other passes,
this one also has a big concrete sign, a stupa or two covered in fluttering,
colourful prayerflags, stones piled on one another, and... a massive collection
of empty tar drums. The amount of empty tar drums laying scattered all along the
roads here is simply revolting.
From
the Taglang La we get our first breathtaking view of the Ladakh Range
stretching for hundreds of kilometres ahead. Contrary to the days before, we
meet very little traffic of any kind now. We reach our first Ladakhi village,
with the typical block-shaped white houses, a thick layer of straw and dung on
top, and we meet our first Ladakhis. Their features are Tibetan-Mongolian, with expressive
faces, often wearing dark red, woollen robes with a rope belt. They say
"juley" as a greeting, a goodbye and a thank you, and we didn't meet
one who wasn't friendly.
Through
a narrow gorge we reach Upshi and the Indus river. The very same
river
winding downstream into Pakistans North and then straight south as "the
mighty Indus", flowing into the sea at Karachi.
We
reach Leh at dusk, exhausted but extremely happy. About ourselves, about the
motorbikes, and about the unbelievable road.
We
find a perfect basecamp-hotel in the middle of fields close to the
centre,
and a few very good restaurants plus an unrivalled breakfast place. Perfect !
From
Leh during the next weeks, we make small journeys : west towards the Photu La,
Lamayuru, Alchi and Basgo (three gompas) on the Leh-Srinagar road; north to the
Nubra valley; and east to Pangong Tso (see above, the introduction). And on the
days in between we visit more gompas which seem interesting in the region - and
there are many!
(*)
Note : Enfield is one of the Indian produced brands of motorbikes, the most
(in)famous. The British started production when India was still a colony, and
after independence India simply continued to build the very same bikes, meaning
since 1947. Quality control quickly became a
problem,
making all the bikes "Monday models". They exist in 350 and 500 cc
versions, all are kickstart only. The bikes are low, heavy, but have a distinct
classic look that appeals to many.
The
350 has 14 HP for I believe 180 kgs.
Ohm
mani padme hum (= Hail to the jewel in the lotus, THE buddhist mantra mumbled
and written everywhere)
Ladakh
has mountains and has gompas. Gompas are buddhist monastries. Their structure
is a tight assembly of block-shaped, multistorey, white buildings with
elaborately decorated front porches, windows set off in black, and roofs with
funny skull sculptures on all corners.
The
first gompas date back to the 10th and 11th century, and were built on the
valley floors, often along important trade routes. Alchi (west of Leh) and Tabo
(in the Spiti valley) are the most important and best preserved gompas of that
era. Both employed Kashmiri and even Afghan
specialist
painters to cover the walls of the prayer halls. When I say
"cover"
this is to be taken literally : not one nook or cranny is left unpainted (or
unsculptured). They are exquisite, very
fine,
colourful paintings, ALL symbolic of which we don't understand the first thing.
After the 14th century the gompas were perched on hills or cliffs. For reasons
of defence, but also to be spiritually extracted from the temptations of the
"worldly life" in the villages.
And
what makes some of these gompas so magic is the fact that:
-
there's just one bulb to light a hundred square metre area full of pillars,
seats, tables, altars and other furniture;
-
there're small rooms behind the altar, depicting upside-down skeletons, wicked
staring masks, atrocious martyr scenes of different kinds, and a few
butterlamps making everything move;
-
the friendly monk-with-the-key usually speaks no English but thinks he
does,
and points out Chenresig, Channa Dorje, Padmasambhava and the Great Translator,
accompanied by a fully uncomprehensible story - we continue to smile and humm
along one or two names;
-
the entire building smells of rancid butter, mouldy carpets and unwashed feet.
Sinking
passes
In
theory, according to the guidebook and all the different maps, we have now
ridden across the highest, the second highest and the third highest motorable
passes/roads in the world. But a few details make us doubt about this
"highest", the Khardung La, situated north from Leh on the way to the
Nubra valley. The signpost on the pass reads "18,380 feet" thus
5,602m, yet my GPS read 5,399 and 5,360 m on two different days (my altimetre
didn't even reach 5,200 m), just like the GPS of a
Swiss
biker. It's HIGH all right, but I suspect Indian Engineering "fixed"
the data a bit upward here. Secondly, one of Hanif Sama's collegue bikers, a
well-informed ex-army guy, claimed there is a higher motorable road somewhere
in China, in a military (i.e. forbidden) zone. He couldn't specify where but
I'm curious enough to do some research back home.
The
second highest, the Chang La on the way to Pangong Tso at the Tibetan (Chinese)
border is 5,390 m; the third, the Taglang La on the Manali-Leh road, lays at
5,365 m. GPS and maps agree on both heights.
Oh
yes, the highest peak in Europe is the Mont Blanc at 4,807 m.
No
HAF (High Altitude Flatulency)
And
did the bikes cope well with these heights ? YES they did ! We modified the
carburettors to a leaner mixture in Manali (smaller main jet and lowered
needle), and took off the lids of the airfilters above 4,500 m. Both bikes
consumed what they consume in the plains, and rode with the same punch. We were
very very pleased of course.
And
the girls ? We slept at Darcha (3,400 m) the first night and at Sarchu (4,100 m)
the second. Slight headache then (paracetamol) but slept well. Crossing the two
5,000+ passes the next day saw a bit more paracetamol, but no other complaints.
And
by now, after an entire month between 3,500 and 5,000 metres, we are
running
the 100 metres in 10 seconds flat !
But
we did have small/big bits of bike problems, nothing to do with the
heights
however.
-
My bike developed a leak in the tank, 5 km before the Khardung La ! A tiny
invisible crack where the left front side is suspended, enough for a loss
of 2 litres in a couple of hours. We seal it with special plastic epoxy, but
that's not enough : we'll have to find another way to suspend the tank. A
solid Indian flipflop brings the sollution, and it's holding very well - we
rode Spiti with it and that says it all. (by the way : Acerbis tanks are supposed
to last a lifetime, but they clearly don't)
-
Iris's bike is also developing a very annoying flaw (since Leh) : her
battery
doesn't have enough cranking power, usually in the morning when it has been a
bit colder (I mean 25 degrees). Obviously we started off with new batteries,
but I made the decision to go for the "special
NASA-tested
unbelievable Hawker" battery on her bike... It clearly is not up to the
job. We cablestart her bike when this happens (3 times so far), and the rest of
the day, she starts just fine, just like nothing is the matter.
-
My starting problem will probably re-occur when we reach the scorching 45
degrees, but hey, then we deserve a fresh coke anyhow.
-
Iris hit a big rock frontally in Spiti, and bent one crashbar. In the
same
elegant swoop she also crashed one horn. Crashbar was re-straightened and
welded (argon !), and a bright new horn was installed.
More
facts and figures
-
In Northern Pakistan, at one stage, we rode east towards the Line of
Control
(= the factual border between Pakistan and India) up to Khapulu.
In
Northern India the most western point we rode to was the Photu La on the
Leh-Srinagar road. These two points lay 95 kms apart as the crow flies, and
looking at the maps, one cannot help but seeing the roads that go from one
country to the other, and dream that one day...
-
Pangong Tso lays at 4,260 m, is 150 km long in an L-shape, and only 4km at its
widest. Together with Tso Moriri and Tso Kar, two other lakes in the region,
it's all that is left of the Tethys Sea, the ocean of the Jurassic era (80
million years ago) before India broke away from
Gondwanaland,
floated like a massive island until it collided with Asia and formed the
mountain ranges of the Karakoram, the Hindu Kush and the Himalayas (and more
that we never heard of).
Pangong
Tso belongs only for a quarter to India, the rest is Tibet (now
China).
In 1994 the area was opened to foreigners with a special (easy-to-obtain)
permit, but few people go since it's a two day rough journey with virtually
nothing in the way of supplies.
-
At the far eastern end of the Spiti valley, at Tabo gompa, we have
reached
our furthest distance from home : 6,280 km as the crow flies. How about
barbeque next Sunday ?
Indian
drama
It's
an area with plenty of blind bends, so we almost continuously blow our five
loud horns. The road is good tarmac and quite large. As I round a corner,
there's this scooter on the wrong lane right in front of me. He JUST manages to
pull over to his side with a millimetre between us.
I
stop with a heartbeat of 200, but he has already disappeared behind us.
A
long straight stretch of empty road. A bus is parked on the side. As
always
we blow our horns passing slowly, and then, right behind the bus, an old
Ladakhi lady runs across. I brake with all my might, flashes of 99 shooting
across my head, and just manage to skid pass by her. As I stop to recover my
breath, I see Iris giving her a full lesson, shouting.
We
ride two up through the centre of Leh. The streets are narrow and one
way.
I turn off to the right using my indicator as always, when all of a sudden I
spot a jeep to my right trying to squeeze through. I'm so furious I slam the
brakes in front of him (quite a
stupid thing to do as he could've easily hit us) and park in the middle
of the road. Iris,
normally
a quite peaceful character, is off the bike in a second. She's at the drivers
window the next, and whacks his face, shouting all along. I slam the bonnet of
his jeep which makes a suitably dramatic sound. The guy grins stupidly and the
entire street watches. What a relief to be able to ventilate our frustration
for once.
Meet
the boyz
Just
before a much-needed teastop, with the tentstalls of Pang within
tempting
distance, there's another large river to cross. The water is low but the
underground consists of large boulders for some 30 metres. Heart in my mouth
and throttle fully open, I manage to ride across, sliding and slithering. All
of a sudden a small Indian bike with an Indian rider appears behind the bend.
And another, and another, and more. The thing which strikes us is that these
guys wear helmets, vests
and
gloves, and... shinprotectors (above tennis shoes). They also have
numbers
on their bikes and most ride two up. This is the Himalaya Riders Club !
We
watch as one after the other wobbles neatly through the river, seated, feet dry
on the footpegs. Amazed and intrigued --I stupidly presumed only foreigners
rode around here for pleasure-- we head for teas and dry socks, as more
clubriders turn up, some fifty in total. At
first
there seems to be no-one speaking English, but then one produces a
huge
video camera and another comes up to us for an interview. Indeed they're all
here for holidays, come from all over India, all riding four stroke, kickstart
bikes of 100 to 150 cc - India-produced bikes like the
Bajaj
100, the Hero Honda CBX 100, the Suzuki Fiero, and the new Pulsar 150 cc (the
ad on tv of the latter reads "Definitely male"). A support vehicle
carries spares and fuel. We are convinced these bikes are much more suitable
for this road then the massive, low and unreliable Enfields.
On
our return journey from Leh, before dusk, just as we decide to spend the night
at the tentcamp of Sarchu, Iris spots a group of heavily loaded bikes in the
military base closeby. Being her curious self, she immediately rides to meet
them. I presume they're soldiers on exercise, but then I see Iris shaking hands
with one (Indian) biker and yelling something.
The
guy walks up to me with a broad smile :
"Then
you must be Trudy !"
"I'm
Hanif Sama", he says.
At
the beginning of 2001, an Indian, much-travelled biker contacted us via the
Internet, intending to ride overland to Europe. After 11.9 obviously his plans
died instantly, as Indians already have a very difficult time obtaining
Pakistani visas (and vice versa). But a
month
ago, we found an e-mail telling he was coming up to Leh. We answered with our
schedule, but never got a reply – as he was already on the road, we
learned. Now they were six Enfields, Indians from all over India who met over
the Internet and made this journey to Ladakh and further afield. Heavily
sponsored by the Enfield factory for spares, a new Bollywood
movie-in-the-making, and with lots of contacts in the army, they looked the
part in their black jackets-with-logos.
In
the morning as they left for Leh, the newest Enfield, the Thunderbolt
(with
front disk brake!), was stuck with starting problems, and another choked and
died every ten metres. But eventually I'm sure they all made it to Leh and
further.
We
also meet a Swiss, Fabian and his Indian girlfriend on a BMW R 1150 GS with a
massive 42-liter tank. They're riding east and have been on the road for nine
months.
And
we cross two wonderfully flamboyant Italians, Emerson Gattafoni and his friend,
on two stylish and sponsored Aprilia Pegasos. Followed by a (hired) support
vehicle with his wife and two more friends, they are professional filmmakers on
a three week journey through Ladakh. They made me laugh till well after our
first rivercrossing.
Then,
of the 1,795 (I am NOT exaggerating !) other motorbikers we met, I can more or
less generalize :
100
% on Enfields
99.9
% Israelis (*) (0.1 % = 4 very nice Danish, 2 Australians and 2
Germans)
99.9
% riding helmetless, in T-shirts, shorts and sandals (I even saw flipflops)
99.9
% under 25
99.9
% riding through town in the afternoon after a good hashpipe
Oh
yes, and...
99.99
% MALE ! (0.01 % = one of the Danish, Pernille)
Makes
us really REALLY wonder : where are the rest of us ??!????
(*)
Note : in McLeod Ganj and Manali the percentage of Israelis compared to other
nationalities is 10 to 1. In Leh it is down to around 6 to 1.
High
life
As
it happens, the very best Italian (and Tibetan and Indian and Chinese) restaurant
in the whole of India (so we've been told) sits in Leh. And of course it didn't
take long for us to find it. Not yet in any guidebook, its name is High Life
and this is not an exaggeration. Run by Ladakhis, it specializes in Italian
food, importing the dry goods directly from Italy. Moreover they have succeeded
in producing an entire menu in the correct spelling - an achievement that we
haven't encountered anywhere else. In total they must've seen us 15 or 20
times, mainly for supper, and after we rode up their parking site one morning,
fully loaded ready for Alchi, we became "the Belgian biking madames".
Welcomed
each time by the whole staff and always asking about the bikes.
On
our last night in Leh, naturally we had our last supper at High Life.
One
of the waiters somehow knew our stay here was drawing to a close, and asked to
tell him when we would come for the last time. We said "tonight" and
presumed they might add a tiramisu or another dessert of some kind. Also good
for an extra tip of course. But nothing happened. We finished our meal and paid
our bill. As we got up, there was some commotion and we were summoned to stay.
Then the Ladakhi boss of the restaurant --whom we had never seen before-- came
and hung a silky white scarf around our necks. "In our tradition, we give
this to wish you good luck." Astounded and moved, we shook hands with
everybody and walked 'home'.
Our
route in Northern India (Ladakh and Spiti) - part 2
As
Leh is our turning point, we slowly have to think about "turning" after
these weeks. But we will add the Spiti valley before heading to Manali. Riding
the Leh-Manali road in the other direction seems like a whole new road to us.
This phenomena also occurred when riding back down the Karakoram Highway - the
light, the weather and especially the view is entirely different.
From
Keylong, before the Rohtang La, we ride east instead of south to
Manali.
It proves to be the roughest of all rough tracks we've ridden so far : 120 kms
of grit, big loose sharp stones, sand, mud, and some 20 watercrossings of which
3 of the "push-through"-type. We knew from the Danish it wasn't going
to be "your Sunday stroll", but after the second rivercrossing and
our feet sloshing in our boots, we very much thought about turning around. We
somehow kicked ourselves ahead, and reached Kaza, the biggest village in the
valley, after two days. Iris by now suffered from severe diarrhoea and took her
first antibiotics of the journey. (actually the German word
"Durchfall" described her situation much more accurately...)
We
rode around in the valley for two days, visited the startling gompa of Tabo
(where the Dalai Lama will retire) at spitting distance from the Tibetan
border, and marvelled at the sights on the valley from side roads. When we had
enough and started craving for the luxuries of Manali, we rode back. And for
some reason not entirely clear to us even, we rode the two day stretch in one :
Kaza to Manali, 210 km, over two high passes, leaving at 8 and arriving at 5 in
the afternoon. We flew
over
the tracks, pushed the bikes through the rivers in five minutes, left several
jeeps crawling behind and must have looked like mad racers on a dessert rally.
We both enjoyed it very much. In Manali we couldn't lift an arm or a leg for a
day, but we felt in top condition.
Now
we're back in McLeod Ganj, in front of our nunnery. From here we'll try to make
it into Pakistan in one day. The border closes at 4 so our chances are slim.
And
then... west for the next two months, sun in our backs for a change.
Yes,
we're riding back if you wouldn't have guessed by now.
Two
to three weeks of steaming hot Delhi trying to get the paperwork done for
shipping or flying our bikes out is extremely unappealing; moneywise riding or
flying comes down to the same; and most importantly : we both feel like riding
back and 'do the full lap'. The visa work was already done in Islamabad, bikes
and girls are feeling fit.
One
more country of left driving, then it's back to normal.
One
more rupee-country, then rials, lires and euros.
For
the biggest chunk back in muslim surroundings.
Some
10,000 kms ahead.
Pakistan
in 7 to 10 days in a straight line from Lahore to Quetta and
Taftan.
This part, together with the first 3 days in Iran, Zahedan to Mashad, will be
even hotter then before. August is definitely a very bad idea for this. But
after that we should be fine.
Europe,
we're comiiiiiiiing !!!
Iris
and Trui