Tucked at the top of the world, between the Karakoram and the Ladakh mountain range, is the scenic valley of Nubra. To reach there by road from Leh (helicopters are only for the Army!) one has to cross the world’s highest motorable pass; which is why it is on the wish list of most adventure travellers, especially bikers. At more than five kms above sea level, Khardung La, (La means Pass in Ladakhi) however, is not more than a 15-20 minutes stop-over due to the harsh rarified air there. However, we could not resist playing in the snow around. Free tea offered by the Army camp was a respite when the hands started going numb with the chill.
And thus we moved on to Nubra, almost alongside the ancient silk route from Central Asia to Punjab, for which Ladakh was a place of rest after crossing the mighty Karakoram. Nubra is the gateway to some of the world’s tallest peaks and glaciers, Siachen being the most prominent one. For the very reason, only some parts of it are open to tourists. Our destination though was Terchey on way to Turtuk (the last village in Nubra open to tourists) from Diskit, the block headquarters of Nubra. Terchay is a small hamlet but world famous in Ladakh. Because it is here that Ladakh’s poison comes from. Chaang, the local barley brew that Ladakhis savour on every occasion, be it marriage or death, owes one of it’s main ingredients to this place. Terchey makes Phaap or the fermentation tablets for Chaang which is then transported to Leh and then all over. When the winters sets in, Chaang and Tsampa (roasted barley floor) keeps the Ladakhis ensconced against dipping temperature.
We went to Terchey in March, the first month of the Tibetan calender, when the entire Ladakh is busy with prayers and religious rituals. The prayers at the village monastry had just got over and the entire village, a population of about 300, was gathered there. Mountain women with wrinkled phases and traditional woolen gowns and head gear swayed to the beats of Daman and Surna (drums and Shenhnai for us!) as they sipped on their Chaang. Intermittently, they would form a large cirlce along with the men and break into an impromptu dance. It was a total sense of freedom: from deadlines, work hours, worry to go tend the fields and animals; yet everything was getting done, as if on its own.
It is this sense of freedom from hassles and the joys of a life close to nature that one should come to Ladakh for. Somebody has said and very rightly, if you are not working in Ladakh, the place works on you. Even a die-hard urbanite won’t remain immune to Nature’s surprises in Nubra: sand dunes and a flowing river in a flat valley at the same time, and that, after one has crossed Khardung La.
