The Himalayan kingdom of Nepal has recently taken a well-publicised knocking
from Maoist rebels. The turmoil has hit local people, not tourists; and for
those of us foreigners who love to explore the Himalaya, the uprising is
more a nuisance than a danger. Nepalese trekking remains popular and vital
to the country’s economy, and I for one will be leading a World Expeditions
trek there in April. However, the occasional flurries of alarm over the past
few years have made potential visitors consider alternatives, reminding us
that the greatest part of the Himalayan range lies not in Nepal, but in
India.
The Himalaya describes an immense arc from the desert landscape of northern
Ladakh, through the old kingdoms of Zanskar to the lush forests of Garhwal,
where Nanda Devi, the twin-peaked goddess mountain, rises above the
headwaters of the Ganges. Further east, beyond Nepal, there is the
once-autonomous kingdom of Sikkim, first made famous in 1842 by Sir Joseph
Hooker, Kew’s rhododendron collector; further east still, beyond Bhutan,
there is the verdant jungle of Arunachal Pradesh reaching all the way to
Burma.
The scenic variety is dazzling. So also is the cultural diversity of northern
India, with a special interest for any British visitors nostalgic for faded
remnants of the Raj. Another attraction is the easy accessibility of
mountain treks. Last time I was there, our group saw Delhi, visited the Taj
Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri, and did a fantastic trek over a high Himalayan
pass, all in a round trip of 18 days from home.
We were a mixed bunch. The eldest was 74, while I was the youngest at 43. My
co-leader, Harish Kapadia, from Mumbai, is the world’s foremost expert on
the Indian Himalaya; while two members of the team, both in their fifties,
had never slept in a tent before.
Our adventure started on the night sleeper rumbling northward from Delhi. We
awoke at dawn to the shrill cry of the chai wallah and the dewy green of the
first hills rising abruptly from the northern edge of the plains. We then
transferred to the “toy train”, a 96km triumph of narrow-gauge engineering,
completed in 1903, for the slow climb to Simla.
With its English church dominating the Mall, and hotels preserved in 1950s
aspic, the former summer capital of the Raj exhibits a faded gentility, but
as you head north, everything changes. You may be following the route of
Kipling’s fictional pundit spy, Kim, but the old Hindustan-Tibet road has
been superseded by the gritty rawness of Highway Number 22. The road
contours high above the great gash of the Sutlej River, the site of a new
hydroelectric scheme to harness the titanic potential of the Himalayan
meltwaters. Our journey was delayed several hours — a small matter of
walking across a landslide and then boating over the newly dammed lake
behind it, jostling in the queue with hundreds of porters laden with crates
of apples bound for the plains.
Three days after leaving Delhi, we reached the village of Thangi, at the end
of a winding 4WD track. To the north lay the arid province of Spiti; beyond
that and to our east lay Tibet. We were remaining in Kinnaur, a softer
landscape famous for its forests and orchards and carved wooden temples. Our
route was part of a parikrama — a clockwise pilgrimage, this one sacred both
to Hindus and Buddhists, around the holy Kinner Kailash massif, crossing a
5,200-metre pass on the way.
Tough local pilgrims might do the trip unaided. We had a gang of helpers
organised through the daughter of a famous Sherpa called Nawang Gombu. It
was a closed-shop operation, manned entirely by Nepalese sherpas, and they
were a fantastic bunch. They helped the English memsahib novices and their
husbands over awkward passages, carried the luggage, pitched tents and
produced a steady supply of excellent cooked meals, lunch included. It was
all a far cry from my own first scrimping, shoestring trips to the Himalaya,
and I loved the cosseting. And I loved the valley we walked up: the resinous
scent of cedars; white-capped redstarts darting among the river boulders;
luminous autumn birches fringing granite cliffs 900 metres high; cool
village meadows shaded by ancient walnuts. And the people: local Kinnauris
walking with an elegant ease that mocked our laboured struggle, chatting,
laughing, spinning or knitting as they passed us on the trail.
The best Himalayan journeys always include some magical, serendipitous
encounter, and that was the case for us on the third day, when we reached
Charang village in the middle of a flower festival. The men beat drums and
cymbals, while all the women, flowers behind their ears, paraded in their
best tweed skirts and velvet-trimmed hats and jackets, dancing their hearts
out. The following morning, while we enjoyed a rest and acclimatisation day,
the young women from the village appeared with translucent papery bracts of
Brahma’s lotus flowers at the Buddhist nunnery where we were camped. Then
Harish had us all invited in for a puja — a blessing to help us on the next
stage of our journey.
We needed it. This was where the hard work started, climbing for two days to a
cold, bleak camp site just below the Charang Ghati. The reward, when we
reached the pass itself the next morning, gasping in the thin clear air, was
a glorious new vista of snow peaks gleaming above dark pine forests. The
trek finished in the Baspa valley, at the village of Chitkul, and this, for
me, was the real highlight of the trip. Blue smoke rose lazily into the
autumn air.
People went about their work with a quiet sense of purpose, or waved from
balconies on their exquisitely carved timber houses.
And at the top of the village there was a more modest Buddhist shrine, strung
with prayer flags. On the step outside, surrounded by marigolds, sat Sonam
Gyatso, an old lama friend of Harish’s in his late nineties. He peered at us
through two thick pairs of spectacles, then invited us in for a quick puja.
He mumbled a few incantations, but then his voice petered out. He turned to
Harish and said that that would do. It was time for us to start the journey
back to Delhi.
Pick a trek
OF THE trips listed below, the Hidden Valleys of Ladakh and the Kinnaur trek
are only moderately challenging (although Kinnaur does involve a strenuous
5,200-metre pass). The others are longer and tougher.
LADAKH
Also known as Little Tibet, Ladakh is one of the great centres of Lamaistic
Buddhism. The landscape, north of the main Himalayan divide, is quite arid,
with bitterly cold winters and hot summers. Because this region, even more
than Kinnaur, is only affected marginally by monsoon rains, it is possible
to trek here during the summer months of June, July and August. The Ultimate
Travel Company (020 7386 46464, www.theultimatetravelcompany.co.uk) offers
tailor-made trips from £1,480pp, with one night in Delhi, four nights
staying in a yurt camp near Leh, visiting monasteries, then nine days
trekking in the Marka valley.
KINNAUR
Kinnaur lies quite far north in the Himalaya and enjoys moderately dry
weather. However, there is sufficient rainfall to sustain magnificent
forests and high alpine meadows. The trek we did was a good introduction to
the Himalaya. Although it is quite strenuous, adventurous travellers could
do such a trek independently, hiring local porters on the spot.
Our itinerary was arranged in Delhi by Rimo Expeditions (00 91 124 280
6027/8), which operates throughout the Indian Himalaya. In the UK, try High &
Wild (01749 671777, www.highandwild.co.uk), which offers a 17-day itinerary
for about £2,150pp, including flights.
GARHWAL
Near the Nepalese and Tibetan borders, Garhwal is dominated by the highest
peak located wholly in India, Nanda Devi. As one of the sources of the River
Ganges, it is revered by Hindu pilgrims, who throng many of the routes into
the area. The landscape here is on a grander scale than Kinnaur, with many
famous summits towering above huge river gorges. World Expeditions (020 8870
2600) offers a 27-day Nanda Devi Circuit for £2,010pp, including flights.
SIKKIM
Since 1973, Sikkim has been a semiautonomous province of India. Lush forests
rise from semitropical river valleys to the cooler rhododendron zone,
visited by Hooker in 1842. All this lushness is sustained by heavy monsoons,
so there is no summer trekking. October usually gives the finest trekking
weather; spring tends to be cloudier, but you’ll see magnificent
rhododendrons flowering. Himalayan Kingdoms (0845 330 8579,
www.himalayankingdoms.com) runs a “vigorous” 14-day trek following the
Singalila Ridge, on the Sikkim-Nepal frontier, then ascending to the Goecha
La pass at 4,900 metres. Towering above it is the world’s third- highest
mountain, Kangchenjunga, at 8,598 metres. The trip lasts 23 days and costs
£2,350pp, including flights.
ARUNACHAL PRADESH
India’s most northeasterly province, beyond the tea gardens of Assam, is a
region of dense forest, with high snow peaks only appearing occasionally
from behind the clouds. The local tribes have learnt to live in this
difficult environment; for outsiders, it’s tough. High & Wild
(01749 671777 www.highandwild.co.uk) is leading an exploratory trek into the
Pemako area in May 2006. The itinerary is flexible and the company warns,
“Do not even think of joining this expedition unless you are prepared for
difficulties and setbacks.” From £3,615pp, including flights.
