Zanskar

Sandwiched between the Zanskar and Great Himalayan Ranges, a rugged road snakes through the upper Suru Valley, traverses the windswept 14,500-foot Pensi La, and eventually dead-ends in Zanskar. We pedaled there, to one of the most remote places in Ladakh, the land of high passes, deep in the Indian Himalaya. As the views intensified, the road crumbled into a sea of dirt and rock.

We rattled down the road lined with simple mud-housed villages rich in grass, wheat, and barley. Families were busy in the fields slashing the harvest by hand using crude, rusted sickles. The grass and wheat they were cutting would be dried and stored to feed the animals through the barren months. Stacks of cow dung sat drying along the streets, soon to be kindling for a warm fire.

Summer is a time of rejuvenation for the land and preparation for the impending winter. Seven months of inhospitable winter isolate the Zanskar valley from the outside world. The sole road closes and families live in the one room warmed by a stove with barely any electricity. The harsh conditions in this isolated region of Ladakh have kept its beautiful people, Tibetan culture, and stunning landscapes untainted for centuries.

The small villages that dot the valley rarely see foreigners. As we pedaled by, children rushed to the streets, reaching for high-fives and demanding, “One chocolate!” Finding anyone to speak English with was difficult, but we easily negotiated lodging and food through simple words and hand signals. Our basic meals of dal and rice and beds of thin pads with rugs on the floor were simple but adequate.

For days, the road curved around the eastern side of two of India’s tallest peaks, Nun and Kun, both reaching well over 23,000 feet. The gravel ribbon bent around the massive peaks and rose up quickly. A few false summits, like bread crumbs, led to a pile of prayer flags and yaks munching grass and drinking from the shimmering alpine ponds at the top. Finally, we reached the official sign that falsely proclaims, “Pensi La, 14,000 ft.” Pensi La actually sits at 14,436 feet, and our legs demanded recognition for each extra foot. High winds had us escaping down the mountain just past the alluring Drang- Drung Glacier, the second largest glacier in India. Exhausted from the climb, we still couldn’t help exploring the Drang- Drung’s Martian edges.

People from surrounding villages were gathering for music, prayer, and masked dancing in Sani, a humble village just outside of Padum. The most famous festival of the year was taking place just as we happened to be cycling through. Monks wandered about, merchants lined the roads, and Ladakhi women and children piled onto one another for the best seat to hear the Lama’s words. For two days, the faces of Tibetan Buddhist statues are unveiled and shown to the world in celebration. Villagers come to Sani to catch a glimpse of the unveiled statue of Naropa and to receive their annual blessing. A stupa in the backyard of the Sani monastery dates back to the second century, the earliest evidence of Buddhism in the area. Padmasambhava, the founder of Tibetan Buddhism, is said to have lived in the building next to the stupa for half a decade, where he spent many years meditating in the cave across the river.

We left Sani through a steep gorge carved out by the rushing Tsarap River and continued our search for the end of the road. Jeeps were replaced by wild ponies, the sound of horns replaced by the roaring of the Tsarap below. The sharp rocks that were cobbled together to form a semblance of a road became rougher and the climbs grew steeper than anything else we’d encountered in India.

Our arrival in Anmo marked the end of the road. We were granted one of the most charming homestays with a family in a hundred-year-old mud home. Generation after generation had been brought up on the same dirt floor. Doorways barely stood four feet tall and an entire wall woven like a wicker basket bowed above the winding stone staircase, polished smooth from a century of use. Small rooms and balconies adjoined in every direction, as if designed from a child’s imagination. Although antiquated in its materials, this home was one of the cleanest stays we had.

The family agreed to watch over our bikes while we continued trekking further down the valley toward an ancient monastery, following a narrow ribbon of trail that hugged the cliffside next to the Tsarap River. Small “village” indicators on our map turned out to be just handfuls of mud huts surrounded by patches of green grass dotting the brown, rocky hillsides. The valley was so narrow we could hear voices coming from the fields on the other side.

Passing a row of stupas, we caught our first glimpse of Phuktal Gompa, the ancient monastery only accessible by foot, built into a cave, perched on a cliffside, and perfectly illuminated by the setting sun as we arrived. One of the 16 original disciples of Buddha once meditated and blessed this cave. Phuktal is said to be one to two thousand years old. We climbed the stairs to the picturesque monastery in awe. Buildings seamlessly blended together with the side of the mountain. Ringing and chanting drew us closer to the center of the cave, the prayer hall, where a monk signaled us to enter. Removing our shoes, we entered through a haze of incense smoke. The walls of the prayer hall were covered in murals and photos of the Dalai Lama. Forty maroon-robed monks from ages 6 to 75 sat in rows. The elders in front chanted, rhythmically rocking from side to side. The little monks goofed off and fell asleep in back corners until the head monk rose to straighten them out. We were given salty butter tea, and we closed our eyes, breathing in the essence of such an incredible experience.

The Zanskar valley is not easily reached, nor is it easily forgotten. The simplicity and difficulty of life we witnessed as we traveled through the valley made us question our own lives and the things we perceive as necessary. Though the road was challenging, the serenity we found at the end of the valley made it well worth the journey.

Written and photographed by Eric Timmerman and Olivia Cuenca