Mrs. Kumarr was right. The small bus she hired to take us all to Leh was in a different class from the bus that had brought us back to Srinagar from Kishtwar. It was clean, there was ample leg room, and we felt better about having agreed to another bus ride. We all piled in; trekkers and baggage, Ashraf, and our familiar staff, Sibra, Indrapol, Yasim, and Gani. In addition there was a new person; we learned that his name was also Gani, and to distinguish the two men I started calling them "Gani Number One" and "Gani Number Two". Two, of course, was the most recent addition to the group. Gani Number One never said anything at all, so we never got to know him. Gani Number Two was a bit more communicative. Scot told me that Two had had a lot of experience in the mountains, and had been on some famous expeditions, perhaps even to Everest. Scot himself had recently been part of a team climbing Everest, though he was not one of those attempting the summit. Gani Number Two always seemed sullen and unfriendly to me. His voice and manner were rough and abrupt, and I felt he disliked me. Since there was no reason for the two of us to interact much, it did not become a problem.

Figure "The Srinagar-to-Leh Highway", 3 inches high, goes here. @Tag(srintoleh)

The first day of driving would take us out of the Kashmir valley, and we would cover about half the 270 miles to Leh that day. We drove north and east along a good paved road. Between 1959 (when China invaded Tibet) and 1962 the Chinese built a road into Ladakh, a region so remote that India didn't know about the road until after it was finished! The road from Srinagar to Leh was built after the 1962 conflict between India and China, to improve the accessibility of the region and, I suppose, to forestall any future surprises! We kept expecting the pavement to end after we got out of town. We would be pleasantly surprised to find that the road was paved for the entire distance.

We stopped for lunch in Sonamarg, a little alpine community, the last town in the Kashmir valley. We all got out of the bus to stretch our legs and look around. Sonamarg resembled a set for a Western movie; it was a one-street town. Shops lined the street, and we examined the wares. I bought a garnet necklace for myself, for a very good price. While we were sitting at a sidewalk cafe and enjoying some apple juice (Kashmir's apple juice is almost worth the trip to India in itself!), a disagreement broke out between some local men. Of course we couldn't understand what the argument was about, but it seemed violent; we were relieved when Ashraf, who could understand, could barely restrain his laughter. In between chuckles he explained the problem to us.

Sonamarg is a popular base for pony trekking, and many people make a living renting horses to tourists for a few hours, a day, or many days. People ride out to see the mountains, the caves, and the glaciers. Evidently the people who own the ponies are more or less organized into a guild, and the price of renting a pony is set. One newcomer to the system had tried to charge much less than the set rate. The fight was between this rebel and the person who normally rented horses for the destination in question, about whether the new person had the right to charge what he liked and undercut the established business people. We found the scene funny too, once we understood what was going on. Those pony people were very aggressive about trying to capture new business, as we discovered when we took a walk around town. We saw a bus drive up, a big, nice bus; and to our surprise, as the bus slowed, it was surrounded with shouting Indians. The scene baffled us. Why was the bus being mobbed? When the bus rolled to a stop and the travelers got out we could see that they were all Indians, well dressed and prosperous in appearance. After the same scene had repeated itself a few times we figured it out. The bus was filled with Indian tourists, and the shouting mob was composed of pony owners trying to convince the tourists to hire ponies for one scenic ride or another. Presumably that was what the tourists had come to Sonamarg for. Our bus was not mobbed; compared to the Indian tourists, we looked disreputable, seedy, and impoverished, and I suppose the locals didn't consider us worth the effort.

We saw another group of Western tourists in town, from Germany. Their appearance was so much nicer than ours! They were all neat and tidy, well dressed, taking pictures and buying things. We thought they looked so strange, so clean and Western, that we took pictures of them walking about and fingering wares. You must understand that our trip in Kashmir had taken a lot out of all of us. Our clothes were clean, thanks to the industrious launderers of Dal Lake, but we were dressed like trekkers, not like tourists, and there was a big difference. We certainly looked like Westerners - but not prosperous Westerners! We were traveling with a bunch of Indians who looked as rough and ready as we did, and we had a pile of gear and assorted stuff strapped to the top of our little bus under a tarp. I don't think anyone wanted to waste his time trying to get money from the likes of us!

We got back into our bus to leave town. On the way out of town we had to stop; our passports were inspected by some military men, and then we had to wait for an army convoy that was traveling in the opposite direction. From now on we would see frequent signs of military presence; military outposts along the road where our passports would be checked, long military convoys forcing us to pull off the road to allow them to pass (this road, for all its virtues, was mostly one-lane), signs warning that photography was prohibited. It is forbidden to take pictures of any military personnel, equipment or installations in Ladakh. Anything that might have military importance is on the proscribed list; signs at every bridge warn that pictures are forbidden, and places like the radio station in Leh are off limits, though a tourist might not guess it. The penalty for breaking this rule can be confiscation of the offending camera.

As we sat in the bus waiting for permission to proceed, we were noticed by some local children who came to the windows of the bus, begging. We very rarely rewarded beggars. I had not given much thought to my attitude towards begging before coming to India. Scot had strong feelings about it though, which he shared with us. He considers Nepal his home, and spends as much of his time there as he can. Nepal is a very popular place for trekkers, and Westerners have been too quick to reward cute begging children with money and other things. Now begging is a problem in Nepal. Scot felt that it was degrading for people to beg for a living, and wrong to encourage them to do so. We had read in our faithful handbook Kashmir, Ladakh and Zanskar that, especially in Ladakh, overgenerous tipping has contributed to inflation which is a problem for everyone who lives there. So we rolled up our windows and ignored the children. One boy really aroused our sympathy, though. He had something wrong with his eye, his face appeared to have been badly burned, and he was quite disfigured. We talked about what such a disfigurement might mean in his society. In some places in the world, people who are disfigured in some way are cared for. In other groups people like that are never accepted, and must live miserable lives scraping along on the fringes of their societies. Mary, who plans to get her Ph.D. in Anthropology, talked a little bit about that. No one knew though how this particular boy might be treated here in Sonamarg.

Another person who excited our sympathy was a woman who had a really large goiter. It was hard for all of us, but especially for our medical practitioners, to see suffering and face the fact that there was nothing they could do about it. We had so much iodine with us for purifying our water! We could probably have prevented goiter in the entire population of Sonamarg if there had been a way to explain to them what was wrong, what iodine was, how to use the iodine without poisoning themselves...but there wasn't any time because the army convoy had come through and the traffic waiting on our side could go.

After Sonamarg it was only about twenty miles to Zoji La, our first high pass on this road at 11,575 feet. Our bus really lost a lot of its pep as we gained elevation, but it carried us safely over Zoji La and out of the Vale of Kashmir. After Zoji La the countryside began to grow more arid. We drove along uneventfully for another few hours, and in late afternoon reached our stopping place for the night, the town of Kargil.

Kargil is a town at the junction of the Drass and Suru Rivers. It is the second largest town in Ladakh, but with a population of only about 3,000 people, it seems pretty small. There isn't much to do or see in Kargil. We did find some tasty hard candies in a stall along the main street while Scot and Ashraf walked away from our parked bus to try to find the Hotel D'Zojila. They had tried to make reservations there for us, but for some reason were not sure if their attempt had worked. That seemed pretty strange to me. Either you have reservations, or you don't! But I guess phone connections are bad, and unless confirmation of reservations is received, one can never be sure that the reservations are real.

In fact there was no record of our reservations at the hotel, but they were able to take us in for one night. Supposedly Hotel D'Zojila is the nicest hotel in Kargil. In places like Kargil, it is important to stay at the very best hotel available. The D'Zojila was seedy. It was the sort of place where I expect to see cockroaches, though I did not in fact see any bugs there. It was rather smelly, and pretty dusty, and I wouldn't have been surprised to see an earthen floor. But the floor was concrete. The biggest surprise was the water. It was almost black! I wasn't sure quite what to make of black water. I think it was pumped up from the river straight into the plumbing system without benefit of any filtration, and was full of particulates. I imagine it was polluted also. I don't think that the water that came from the tap was intended for anyone to drink. The shower didn't seem to work, but I suppose I wouldn't have wanted to use it. Fortunately the toilet worked just fine. I didn't notice much else about the place though, because my old adversary, the Ferocious Intestinal Monster, attacked with a vengeance; I spent most of the evening and night wrestling with him. From the reports I heard the next day, dinner was passable. As in Kishtwar, there was electricity in Kargil for only a few hours at night. The hotel room was thoughtfully equipped with candles and matches though, so the lack of electricity wasn't too much of a problem.

Next morning we set out early to drive through drier, irrigated countryside. We were entering Ladakh, a region known as "Little Tibet". Although Ladakh is part of the State of Jammu and Kashmir, it is situated on the Tibetan Plateau, and the people are related to Tibetans and are similar in their religious and cultural practices. Until recently, for instance, Scot told us that the Tibetan practice of polyandry was followed in Ladakh; a woman would marry a man and his younger brothers. This served as a effective form of birth control. Today polyandry is practised only in outlying villages. Ladakh is divided into three parts; part of it is held by China and part by Pakistan, which explains the very visible Indian military presence in the area. Visitors are not allowed to travel more than a mile north of the Srinagar-to-Leh road. The border between Ladakh and China (Tibet) is termed "disputed" and represented by a broken line on many maps.

Not far beyond Kargil, just past the town of Mulbekh, we came to a famous landmark - the Chamba Statue; a statue of the Maitreya, or future Buddha, thought to date from the time of Christ. The figure is carved on the face of a rock, and is probably thirty feet tall. A little temple was built at the feet of the statue in 1975 that partly obscures the figure and makes photography difficult. In front of the statue and temple, next to the road, a tablet bears the following message:

@begin(display) @BlankSpace(.5 inch) @Tabclear @Tabset(1.5 inch, 2 inches, 4 inches) @\@\This statue of Maitreya @\@\was carved probably in first @\@\century B.C. during Kushan @\@\Period. According to Buddhist @\@\belief the Fifth Buddha will be @\@\Maitreya in the series of one @\@\thousand Buddha who are to @\@\visit the world. Certain- @\@\inscriptions perhaps in the @\@\Kharoshti script on the @\@\back of the rock are reported @\@\to have been buried. This is a @\@\land mark in the history @\@\of Ladakh and we must @\@\strive hard to preserve it. @BlankSpace(.25 inch) @\@\@\Syed Mir Qasim @\Dated-8-10-74@\Chief Minister @\@\@\Jammu + Kashmir @BlankSpace(.5 inch) @end(display)

Near the statue we saw our first "real" Ladakhis, women working in a field. They saw us too, and after Mary waved to them from the window of the bus, they came up to the road to greet us. The people of Ladakh seemed very friendly; we were usually saluted with a big smile and a hearty "Jullay!" which replaced the "Namaste'" of Kashmir. Ladakhis are very different in appearance from the people of Kashmir. Their facial features look Tibetan, and their clothing is distinctive. The most arresting feature of their attire is the hat that everyone seems to wear. The hat is flat on top and perhaps six inches taller than the head. It fits close to the head down to the tops of the ears, with a curved opening in front for the face. At each ear, the hat rises to the side in a point or horn that swoops upward. Women wear long jumpers with tight fitting bodices over blouses. Everyone seems to love bright colors, and clothing usually sports colorful embroidery or other trim. Jewelry of turquoise, garnets, amber or lapis lazuli is common. I saw one woman in Leh wearing beautiful ceremonial headgear that my reference book tells me is called a "perag". It is a hat with a tail that hangs part way down the back, completely covered with turquoise stones. Very beautiful - but a bit beyond our budgets! I'll bet that those perags represent most of the worldly wealth of the people who have them.

After Mulbekh we crossed the Namika La, 12,195 feet, and before long the highest point on the Srinagar-to-Leh Road, the Fatu La, 13,428 feet. (Reported altitudes vary by from five to a hundred or more feet, depending on which book you read or which map you consult. I chose one of the numbers available for each point, and then tried my best to be consistent!) Our bus was really chugging over that one! We stopped at the summit. Hills (they would be tall mountains anywhere else!) were all around. We could see the Indus River. There had been much more snow than usual last year; there were still huge drifts of snow near the road, and the road itself was in poor condition, badly broken up, with water everywhere from the melting snow.

The next exciting landmark along the way was Lamayuru. Lamayuru is a monastery that is built in a spectacular, starkly beautiful natural setting. I have admired many photographs of Lamayuru, and it was quite a thrill to see it before us, too far away from the road for good pictures. The hills around Lamayuru are absolutely barren, and the only colors are the browns and tans of rock and soil. The monastery perches on a hill; taller mountains frown down upon it, and a small town is built below. The monastery has been there for nearly a thousand years. It seems a part of its setting, a thing that was shaped by the same forces that shaped the mountains, built of the same stuff, rather than a separate structure built by people. If the weather in Kashmir had been kinder, we would have ended our trek there at Lamayuru, to be picked up by jeeps and transported to Leh for a few days of city life and rest before flying out to Srinagar, Delhi and away. So the sight of the beautiful monastery was also a reminder of what might have been. Unfortunately we didn't have time to visit Lamayuru.

We had lunch that day at a restaurant in an absolutely dust dry setting. The restaurant was set a little distance from the road, down the side of a hill. We had our own lunches that Sibra had packed in bags for us, but it was nice to sit inside at tables and order apple juice to drink. (Some people actually seemed to prefer soft drinks - Indian made Campa Cola was popular. I never wanted anything else when apple juice was available!) This restaurant boasted a toilet, which consisted of a matched pair of outdoor stalls. The absence of a roof reflected the dry climate of Ladakh. The view was great from the raised pedestal within. I wish I had thought of taking pictures of all those toilets. There was certainly plenty of variety, and a pictorial record of the toilets we visited would make a nice little addition to our slide show of India! But alas, the thought didn't occur to me until far too late.

As we were getting back into our bus to continue to Leh, we were approached by a couple of Westerners with packs, hitchhiking. We also saw Westerners on bicycles. Ladkh is a very popular place for trekking, although it has only been open to foreigners since 1974, and flights have only been available into and out of Leh (more or less available, as we would learn!) since 1979. We would see many more Westerners in Ladakh than we did in Kashmir.

Especially this second day of driving, we had to stop several times to allow convoys of army vehicles to pass. There were a few military checkpoints along the road, little outposts, where we had to identify ourselves. But if the military was responsible for delaying us several times, they were also probably responsible for the paved road that we so appreciated. Also it was interesting to see the convoys on the road. We noticed, appreciated, chuckled at and obeyed the numerous signs warning us not to take photographs. Some of the forbidden objects were very mundane appearing things, and included little foot bridges. I think every bridge we passed, however insignificant, was decorated with a sign.

Although the road was paved it was very narrow, with a few spots where two vehicles could pass one another punctuating long stretches that were only wide enough for one vehicle at a time; of course this was why we were always having to stop for the Army. We had grown complacent about narrow roads and steep drop-offs, and since this road was paved, it certainly seemed like a fine road to me, and I think to all of us. We were forcibly reminded of how treacherous the narrowness and crumbling edges could be when we passed a spot where a truck had plunged over the side. It was a big truck, like the trucks we had hired in Kishtwar, and it lay in ruins below the road. There were several people gathered around the truck, examining the vehicle and the battered, twisted and bloody corpse laying beside it on a stretcher. In Leh we learned that the casualty was a Western trekker like us, a woman in her early twenties who had been killed when the truck went over the side. The accident happened a few days before we arrived on the scene.

The woman's body posed a problem that was difficult to deal with. Her family wanted her body returned to them in the United States for burial, and they were willing to pay the cost. The weather was quite warm, and something had to be done soon. But there was no way to get the body out of Ladakh. No driver would be willing to transport the body. It could not leave on a commercial flight from Leh; perhaps the body wasn't allowed on the flight, or perhaps it was simply a problem of having no way to get it to the airplane. I don't remember. A helicopter could have picked it up easily, but the only helicopters belonged to the military. The military was definitely not prepared to perform such a service. The last we heard was that she had been buried in Ladakh.

At last we arrived in Leh. As in Kargil, we weren't sure if we had reservations or not. We drove right through the center of Leh, and up to a hotel. Ashraf and Scot checked while we waited in the bus for what seemed like a long time; we were anxious to explore! No, there was no room for us at that hotel, but we could find rooms at a hotel out of town. With great difficulty the driver turned the bus around in the narrow street, and we headed a few miles down the road to the Hotel Shambala.

The Shambala used to be owned by the Oberoi chain, but I guess it never did meet their standards, and they finally sold it. It was a funny place, attractive in some ways, not up to snuff in others. The hotel sat on a fairly large piece of land, complete with trees and a babbling brook, so it made a nice first impression. The rooms all faced in to a courtyard planted with trees and set with little tables; that was very pleasant. The courtyard area was surrounded with a locked fence, so there was a fair amount of security. Children tended to gather outside of the gate, and Colleen later discovered that many of them were asking - not for money - but for cosmetics! The children were destined to be disappointed; cosmetics were in remarkably short supply in our group. I think Ann was the only person who was using them.

Our rooms were decent enough, clean, and each room had a bathroom. The shower was enclosed, so that water could not spray all around the bathroom when one was showering; that was a nice touch. We were also happy to have hot water (more or less, some of the time), and the water was clean. This hotel, like the hotels in Delhi, promised boiled, safe drinking water; but Scot suggested that we drink only commercially bottled water or our own iodinated water, and not trust the hotel's purification procedures. Leh, like Kargil, only had power for a few hours in the evening, so the rooms were equipped with candles. The service was variable. I think the people working there wanted to provide good service, but weren't quite sure how to go about it. I found that the towels in the room were dirty, but when I complained they were replaced in a flash and the clerk at the desk apologized sincerely. Rob was taking a shower once when he heard the bathroom door open; he stuck his head out of the shower to find a hotel employee, a janitor or something, looking around! Startled, he yelled "Hey! I'm in the shower!" The man responded with something like "Oh, that's O.K.," and had to be chased out.

All meals were included in the daily room charge. Breakfast was served to us at a table, and the waiter could never quite catch on to the idea that we wanted our tea and coffee with breakfast, not after. The flies in the jam provided entertainment for us while we waited for our eggs. But everyone seemed to try. Lunch and dinner were served buffet style and were always very plentiful. The food was variable in quality, but there was such a variety that usually there was something available to satisfy everyone. And it was service with a big smile - that makes up for a lot.

Next day was Sunday, and we had the day free to explore Leh. First off we headed out of town in jeeps to visit Tikse, one of the monasteries, or gompas near Leh. We saw several monasteries while we were in Ladakh, and although of course each was different, they had a great deal in common. The monks dressed in maroon robes, and had shaved heads. One or two would guide visitors, who were expected to make a contribution before seeing the monastery (often we received receipts - very businesslike). Sometimes an additional contribution was required before viewing a special room. Monasteries were usually profusely decorated with vivid paintings; the lives of the Dali Lama, the Tibetan calendar, the Buddha were represented with colorful images. Sometimes we saw American dollars framed behind glass. Perhaps they saved their "first dollar", as some American businesses do! Monasteries are centers of learning, and each had a library. Their books were most unusual; the "pages" were wooden plates (I have read that some very valuable books are painted with gold on lacquered paper). The pages are not bound into a volume, but kept stacked between two boards, wrapped in cloth. Each book is heavy, and takes up a lot of room. The "bookcase" consists of a series of large pigeonholes or cubby holes, one hole for each book.

Each monastery had at least one holy room for worship. We were allowed inside, without our shoes. The holy rooms were all crowded with various and sundry holy and interesting objects; books, statues and paintings of the Buddha, often (incongruously) photographs of the Dali Lama. There were prayer wheels kept spinning by heated air rising from small lamps; prayer wheels are wheels on which a prayer is inscribed, and it is believed that every time the wheel revolves, a prayer goes up to heaven for the one causing the revolution. Small prayer wheels are made to be held in the hand. Prayer flags operate on the same principle; a prayer is written on the cloth, and every time the wind flaps the material, a prayer ascends. We saw musical instruments, horns and drums, in a few gompas. Low cushioned benches and stools provided seating. A profusion of little lamps were usually to be found; they shed a gentle, golden light in rooms that were always dim. We noticed carved, painted masks and ornate robes (used for religious celebrations) in some rooms. Usually cameras were allowed; sometimes pictures were prohibited, and we had to promise not to try to sneak a picture. Sometimes we could use a flash; mostly that was forbidden, and we tried setting long exposures to take pictures in those dim rooms.

Today we were fortunate to see pilgrims visiting Tikse. We watched in the holy room as they added oil to the big lamp that burned continuously before a really large gold statue of the head and shoulders of the Buddha, perhaps six feet tall, one hand raised in blessing, and draped with prayer shawls (a close cousin of prayer flags). The pilgrims were older people, very rural looking folks, with Mongolian features. One woman in particular caught our attention; she was tiny, not much over four feet tall, dressed in colorful clothes with big soft felt boots on her feet, turquoise necklace around her neck and a prayer wheel turning constantly in her hand. Her long grey hair fell in braids on either side of her face, and her skin was tanned to the color of old mahogany. The pilgrims agreed to allow us to take their pictures, and the little woman posed happily for us. When we were done we gave them some money. They seemed quite astonished, and pleased; their surprise at being offered money was an indication to us that they were from the country! City folks were a lot more sophisticated.

The drive back to town from the monastery provided us with splendid views. Leh is at an altitude of 11,500 feet. Because of the Himalayan barrier, rain-bearing clouds rarely make it to Leh, and the air is dry and sparkling clear. The sky is that rare and vividly beautiful blue characteristic of high altitudes. All around Leh are the mountains; the snow-capped range that divides the Ladakh region from Zanskar is especially impressive. The town is an agricultural community, as well as a tourist center. Perhaps 10,000 people live in Leh, which is the largest city in Ladakh. Leh is situated at the end of a little valley, watered by a tributary of the Indus River. The contrast between the dry, barren, rocky hillsides, the snow topped peaks, and the vividly green irrigated valley provides a feast for the eyes. It is no wonder that Leh is popular with trekkers!

The people are sturdy, healthy, and very attractive in appearance. They are friendly and cheerful. The children sometimes beg, but I never saw a child that didn't look plump and well fed. Indeed, the atmosphere of the place is that of a prosperous, comfortable farming community. The vegetable market in the center of town is proof that the people there know how to grow vegetables! The produce makes a colorful, appealing display in front of the dusty adobe buildings. In the town itself of course there are merchants that do not rely on farming to make a living, and there one can see Kashmiri store owners, a familiar sight to us after Srinagar. The Kashmiris are reputed to be sharper traders than the Ladakhis.

Now there is an air strip in Leh, but before it was built Leh was only accessible for about six months of the year because of snow on the passes. The winters are very harsh and bitterly cold. A friend of Scot's (from the States, I believe) works in Ladakh teaching Ladakhis about solar heat. She has set herself a goal of seeing at least one heated room in every house. The summertime in Leh is quite warm, in contrast to the winter. The sun at that altitude is strong, of course, but the nights are pleasantly cool.

The airstrip was an object of interest to us from the first day we arrived in Leh. We had read in Kashmir, Ladakh and Zanskar that service was very unreliable, that flights were often cancelled, and that people might have to wait a week or two to get out. In the summer tourist season, flights into Leh are usually full. If a flight out is cancelled, stranded passengers must get on a waiting list, visit the airport each day that a flight is scheduled, and hope for an empty seat on a flight that makes it out. We guessed from the landscape that rain and clouds wouldn't often cause difficulties for aircraft, but it is tough for planes to lift off at that altitude, especially when the weather is hot, and we supposed that the wind could be strong sometimes. When we saw the airstrip we realized an additional problem we hadn't thought of. There was only one runway, and it sloped perceptibly downhill, so aircraft could take off in only one direction - if the wind was wrong for that one direction, the flight was out of luck. Of course sometimes incoming flights couldn't land, either. On Saturday, the day we arrived, and Sunday too, the flights in and out were cancelled; this wasn't an occasional, academic, remote problem! There were people in town who had been waiting a week to get out.

From the time we arrived until we left, those of us with tight schedules worried about getting out of Leh. Nat had a few days leeway, and the staff would be taking a bus back to Srinagar, so they weren't concerned. Colleen was using the same airline, Indian Air, for all her flights from Leh to London, so she believed she would be taken care of if a flight was cancelled. But Ann, Mary, Rob and I needed to make connections with other airlines in Delhi only hours after we were scheduled to arrive there; we didn't have even one day to waste on delay. Scot had to meet a new trekking group in Delhi the day after we were due to return, so he, too, had no time to spare.

Back in Leh again, the jeeps dropped us off with time left for exploring before lunch. We were all eager to look around the town, so we agreed to meet for lunch at the Dreamland Cafe which was owned by friends of Scot's from Nepal, and we went in separate directions.

Rob had a problem. The duffel he borrowed from his sister Louise had seen better days, and the stress of Kashmir had been too much for it. Its zipper had pretty well given up the ghost. Rob had hopes of finding a canvas sack, or something else to go inside his duffel to protect his clothing and gear while we were trekking. We looked in stores, little stores like the ones we had seen in Delhi, Srinagar, Kishtwar and Sonamarg, and we found what appeared to be an army-navy store. We were delighted to find it, and hunted through the piled merchandise. (The proprietor couldn't understand us at all, so we had to help ourselves.) Because so many treks leave from Leh, there is a fair assortment of used hiking and camping gear available there, since people often sell their gear when the trek is finished to avoid carrying it back home. Unfortunately we found nothing that would solve Rob's problem.

Abandoning the search for a duffel-fixer for the moment, we visited a few stores, and really found a treasure house in one. It was a bigger store than most, and carried a wide variety of things, from jewelry to clothing. Rob wanted a shirt; the shirts were long sleeved, meant to be worn outside the trousers, and beautifully embroidered. Some had v-necks, some had small collars, but the biggest difference between them was the color and quality of the embroidery - that, and the material from which they were made. Some were of wool; some of cotton; and some (the most expensive) of silk. Rob had a problem finding one to fit; most were sewn with smaller people in mind, and were too tight around his neck. After quite a while spent trying on shirts, he had built a small pile of desirables - a few cotton, a few silk, and a woolen shirt. I was happy for him; he had wanted a shirt back in Srinagar, and had looked in Suffering Moses, but could find none to fit. I found a cotton shirt that I especially liked, and it was added to the pile. A silk rug of pale colors caught Rob's eye too, and he added that as a present for his sister Louise.

Now came the crucial question. How much would all this stuff cost? A price was named. It was rejected; a counteroffer was made. Back and forth the bidding went, with the proprietor wringing his hands and swearing he was selling everything below cost, and Rob adamant that he would not spend more than a certain amount. Because Rob wanted to pay with his Visa card, the seller couldn't give him quite as good a deal as he could for cash, he claimed. Rob was as immovable as a stone. They were fairly close together, but neither would budge, so Rob threw up his hands, told the fellow to keep his wares, and we walked out. I couldn't believe it! They had only been a few rupees apart, and I knew Rob really wanted the shirts; since he had a hard time finding some to fit, I hated to think that he would lose what might be his only opportunity to buy one. But we hadn't gone far when we heard the store owner calling after us, asking Rob to consider another compromise...finally there was a meeting of the minds, the shirts and rug were wrapped to go, and the Visa card and blank form were put in the form imprinting machine. Then the fellow asked, "What price should I write down?" What? Seemed that he viewed this as a last chance to bargain. He really was selling these things below cost, he really couldn't afford to let them go for the agreed price...Rob could not be moved by pleas and desperate entreaties. A deal was a deal. The original agreed upon price must stand.

We walked on to the Dreamland with our purchases. Rob felt pleased about his hard bargaining, and I thought he had done a great job. When we met our friends at the Dreamland, they were impressed also, and they all liked the shirts very much. After lunch Nat found a shirt for herself, and bought it to wear on the upcoming trek.

Lunch was good. The Dreamland was unpretentious, comfortable, friendly, and crowded; it has the reputation of having the best food in Leh, and at a very reasonable price, too. While we were in Leh we only ate at the Dreamland and at two hotels; I enjoyed the Dreamland most. Scot ordered for us, and I especially liked the lemon tea.

After lunch Scot went off to take care of some last minute pre-trek preparations; the rest of us walked around looking at the street vendors' wares, and visiting shops, admiring the colorful Ladakhi clothes for sale. Rob and Colleen got tired first, and decided to head for the hotel. We all had an idea of the direction the hotel was in, but no idea of how to get there. Rob and Colleen were confident they could find the way though (it was a few miles), and off they went.

Ann, Mary, Nat and I walked and looked for a little while longer, then decided that we, too, had had enough of the heat and wanted to get back to the hotel. We wandered down some back alleys in the old part of town, and after a bit of walking found ourselves outside of town, in the midst of rice paddies. Neat, contained by stone walls, the paddies occupied many acres around the town. We decided to do a little non-destructive trespassing, and started off in what we thought was the right direction, walking on the stone walls that divided fields to avoid damaging the rice. Of necessity our path twisted around; there was no stone wall going straight in the direction we wanted to go! But we headed for a group of trees in the distance that we thought might mark the compound around the hotel. After a little time, and some effort spent climbing up and down the stone walls, we reached the trees - only to find that we weren't at the hotel, but at a little monastery, instead! The monk tending his garden in back didn't seem too surprised to see us. He couldn't understand what we wanted, though we asked for the hotel by its present and past names (Shambala and Oberoi), but he invited us to step down from the stone wall. We walked around the edge of his garden and kept on going.

Before we had gone much further we met a woman who understood what we were looking for, and directed us to keep on the way we were going. We came to a dusty road; turning south, we had perhaps a half mile to walk before sighting our hotel. We hadn't done badly! Much to our surprise, as we were approaching the hotel drive, we saw Rob and Colleen coming towards the hotel from the opposite direction. We thought with their head start they would have arrived before us. But they had had a much harder time following the road than we did going across the rice paddies, probably because we could pretty much head in the direction we wanted to go in the rice fields, but the roads twisted and turned every which way. They had realized they were lost and asked directions from a policeman; the directions weren't very helpful, and it took them quite a while of wandering around the dusty, hot roads before they found the Shambala. I felt guilty - our walk through the lush, irrigated paddies had been so pleasant! But jumping up and down stone walls would have been quite a sore trial for Colleen's knee.

Despite the rest that it had had, that pesky knee was still causing Colleen pain, and we all wondered if she would come with us, or if she would decide to stay behind and spend four days in Leh while we walked. Everyone was pleased when she announced her decision - she would brave the pain, and come walking with us. She didn't want to miss the chance to see more of the beautiful mountain country; she would wear Scot's knee brace, walk slowly, and do the best she could.

Unfortunately, although Rob was tired and could have used an afternoon of rest, he still had to face the problem of his defective duffel. He decided to walk back into town and try again to find something; perhaps he might have something made. Now that he knew the way, the route was not too long. I was too hot to go with him; I was also not feeling well, so I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing and doing some washing, while Rob walked into town and back.

Fortuitously he bumped into Ashraf on the main street. Ashraf was taking care of some preparations and purchases for the trip. When Rob explained his problem, Ashraf was ready to help. He found a tailor for Rob, and explained carefully what sort of thing had to be made; then he stayed and watched, from time to time admonishing the tailor to put more, stronger seams into the cloth. Before long Rob exchanged 17 rupees for a big, sturdy cotton bag (with very strong seams!). However when he got back to the hotel and we thought about the situation, we decided that, nice as the new bag was, it didn't really answer his need for something to replace or reinforce his duffel. So the final solution we decided upon was to pack all of our unnecessary things (such as the shirts and rug we had bought) into the new bag, and leave it in town while we were walking; Rob put only things he absolutely needed into his duffel, so that it wasn't too full. He wrapped the plastic that lined his duffel as tightly around the contents as he could, then he tied the whole bundle closed with rope. Scot was not thrilled with Rob's ingenuity, but Rob was satisfied enough with it; it only had to hold up for four days of trekking, and in Ladkh it almost never rained, so he wouldn't have to worry about the contents getting wet.

One more preparation we all made, was to begin taking our Diamox. Diamox is a drug that seems to help prevent altitude sickness. "Altitude sickness" is a term that describes a whole suite of physiological disorders, including Acute Mountain Sickness, High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, Cerebral Edema, High Altitude Retinal Hemorrhage, and Peripheral Edema. These problems are not completely understood, but seem to result partly from an oxygen/carbon dioxide imbalance that occurs in the body at high altitudes, where the air is thinner. People at high altitudes (and altitude sickness can occur at altitudes as low as 7,000 feet, though it is more common at higher altitudes) tend to breathe less, instead of more, especially when they are sleeping; Diamox is a respiratory stimulant that helps keep the pace of breathing up.

Another cause of problems at altitude is improper handling of water by the body. Diamox has a wonderful side effect; it causes frequent urination. Just what we needed! Since another, very important step to take to stay healthy at high altitude is to drink lots of water, we could all feel sure of not getting a full night's sleep until we left Ladakh! But since altitude sickness can result in death, and is very unpredictable and can strike quickly, we would just have to put up with the inconvenience.

A good night's sleep was the last important step to take before going trekking at high altitudes. I had no trouble with that!