Kalpa

On offer is a panoramic 180 degree view of the Kinner range, appearing to be touching distance away 

When summers scorch the plains the prospect of running away to the mountains soothes. But it’s the thought of finding snow that tantalises, and how. A mission comes into focus. Bragging rights garner attention and animated conversation revolves around swirls of white, flakes of white and sheets of white. Schedules are made and aborted, till one fine day the smug white heat outside the door unbearably appears in sharp contrast to the white the mind has warmed up to. In the titanic clash of whites, one is the expected winner, and plans get firmed to finally set-out. If life’s joys lie in small things, chasing snow in summer is the god of small things.

Some mountains roads overtime have come to acquire cult status. Amidst that line-up are a few which qualify as classics on the sheer strength of name. The Hindustan-Tibet Road is one among those. Though officially stripped of that aura and austerely referred to as National Highway or NH 22, nothing has altered its charm for the traveller for whom it still promises the heady romance associated with surface voyages of yore. This highway, an accomplishment of perseverance in itself, runs through the heart of Kinnaur, one of the prettiest regions of Himachal, and apart from quenching the thirst for adventure leads to sun and snow locales, certainly a blissful thought during blisteringly hot conditions.

The 459-km route runs across the colonial-meets-chaos landscape of Shimla, rises up to the alpine-line of Narkanda, zig-zags past the apple orchards of Thanedar-Kotgarh, races through Rampur and a little ahead of Jeori (a diversion here leading to Sarahan), enters the scenic valley of Kinnaur. The shift in terrain from the twists and bends of Shimla’s green hills to the ruggedness of Kinnaur is quite stunning and the mountains appear like sculpted art. More than the destinations, the road becomes a point of discussion as it rapidly ascends and descends, at times precariously clinging to the edge and on occasions grandly zipping through dramatically-carved sheer rock. The River Sutlej is its steady escort and moody waters add another irresistible element of gaze in the already-stimulating mountain canvas. Nature has the ability to sparkle in every season and bursts of summer resplendence are brought in often by a brilliant lavender jacaranda peeping through dense conifers, wild roses cascading down a barren hillside, a flame of the forest in red profusion or the silver oak proudly presenting its mustardy-orange flowers. The colours sparkle and the contrasting mountains heighten the effect. 

During the initial stages of the onward journey through Kinnaur, a driver’s skills are tested often in encountering the appalling Wangtu-Karcham section, where hydel projects are works in progress and have ruined the terrain. An unexpected spell of rain does add to woes of this segment, but these are the sort of challenges mountain addicts thrive on, the successes in such moments adding to the bag of brag to be dug into often, long after the journey is over. The intermittently good-bad tarmac clears out a little before the uphill detour for Reckong Peo, the district headquarters of Kinnaur. The NH carries on to Sumdo and enters Spiti where it winds up at Kaurik, the Indian frontier which needs to be accessed on foot. For mission snow, though, you needn’t stretch yourself the full distance. A spectacle awaits at Kalpa, a destination 14 km ahead of Reckong Peo and 220 km from Shimla.

The drive up to Kalpa (9,051 ft) is impressive to say the least, with the pretty chilgoza or pine-nut tree (this region is said to produce the country’s best) lining the winding road and the whiff of snow drugging the air. The mountains play hide-and seek and the eyes stay peeled to spot the White. The road is flawless, the drive is smooth and a few mountain twists later when the vehicle halts the spectacular stuns. On offer is a panoramic 180 degree view of the Kinner Kailash range, appearing to be at touching distance. And it’s white. Snow-white! It looks magnificent against the brilliant blue of the sky and to use a clichéd expression ‘takes your breath away’. Often the actual lacks the beauty a picture-postcard conveys. Kalpa is real and utterly beautiful. Its postcard will never be a lie. The search for sun and snow is rewarded here, and magnificently so.

Kalpa is characteristically quaint and picturesque. It has lovely walking trails and friendly people with lyrical voices, typical kath-kuhni (walls built with alternating slabs of wood and stone) homes with gently sloping slate roofs, apple orchards in blossom running down the hills and a reigning quietude that’s interrupted only by the chirping of the birds or chants from temples and monasteries. These are features quite mountain-specific but are elevated to a new high by the glorious Kinner massif. As with all ‘Kailash’ suffixed mountains, this is also considered the legendary winter abode of Lord Shiva. His homes are in choice locales and at Kalpa he lets you savour a bit of that experience. Do make sure, though, that you strike a deal with the weather gods to keep overcast grey skies at bay and let the White reign. 

Published in India Today Travel Plus, Jan-Feb 2011

The HPTDC cottage has a vantage location. There are comfortable mod-cons within its aesthetic, traditional structure. You would need to demand the best, though (housekeeping being a bit jaded). 

Hail Shiva! This is one of his many 'Kailash' abodes. Spotting the Kinner Kailash peak in this pix is akin to finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.  

The sun does shine in Kalpa, adding a glisten to the snow and surroundings. On such days the clouds tip-toe away to reveal a shy blue sky.   

Destination called Leh Road

Ladakh@Rs 924

If you thought the humble paisa can’t buy you nothing, think again. For the 1,026-km bus journey from Delhi to Leh, I paid 90 paisa per km. My entire expense, including fare, lodging and food en route, was a princely Rs 924. On a road journey that’s acquired cult status among travellers globally, it appears almost embarrassing to be paying such pittance for incredible views of a lifetime.
To begin with, the decision to board the bus had to be made immediately. All other options of travel had failed and if I was to meet my target of reaching Leh by September 1, to be in time for the Ladakh Festival’s opening cultural pageant, I needed to be on the bus right away, notwithstanding the long miles of a three-day, two-night journey and my being prone to motion sickness.
By 4 pm I was seated in a packed carrier, its overhead racks stuffed with luggage waiting to fall at the slightest jerk. All passengers aboard were proceeding ‘home’ or ‘on work’, as I discovered 17 hours later at Manali, having slept through Chandigarh, Mandi, Kullu. The bus emptied out here and when we took off after a short halt at Manali bazaar, I was one of the two women on board, the other being an elderly Ladakhi. My co-passenger now was a soldier, who enquired whether I was a duty-bound government official or school teacher. When I replied in the negative he said, “So, what are you doing on the bus?” My being a curious wayfarer bemused him. “Who in this age of cheap air tickets travels by bus to Leh,” he asked. “Only foreigners do. And, of course, helpless soldiers like us who don’t manage a warrant air-ticket.”

The journey up till Manali had been along the sprightly River Beas, on a relatively smooth highway racing past verdant hills. It was all set to change as we hit the onward trail. Short of Marhi, the popular breakfast halt before Rohtang Pass (12, 723 ft), kiosks advertising fur coats on hire had begun lining the road and a few hapless tourists, unaware that the Pass in end-August is a sunny meadow of green and not a carpet of snow, were seen haggling rates! “Anything for a fast buck,” grinned the soldier, a veteran of this route, who turned out to be a delightfully well-informed guide.
Beyond Rohtang it was a descent into the singular landscape of Lahaul district. Mountains that had appeared in soft shades were now handsomely rugged. Each seemed sculpted by the Master. Each spoke the story of creation that millions have been witness to. Within me, they evoked awe and anxiety almost in the same gasp as the bus rolled past, dwarfed by their might. The River Chandra often meandered into the canvas, sometimes as a gushing unruly brown and on occasions like an elegant silver ribbon. Its boisterous form had managed to chew the tarmac in many sections between Gramphoo and Sissu and the tyres would daringly cross such impromptu water beds. I had taken an air-pillow along which proved to be my sole luxury equipment that I would prop as a head-rest or use as a seat-cushion. Sometimes it was effectively employed as an ear muff to block the entertainment our driver insisted on providing, by playing non-stop hits of craggy Himachali music. So mandatory is such score in subcontinent buses, I’m surprised it still hasn’t been recognised as an honourable genre of music.
The moods of the mountains continued to inspire as the bus trundled past Tandi—famous with overland voyagers as the last place to tank up before Leh—and few two-shop hamlets before reaching the only major town en route, Keylong, the district headquarters of Lahaul-Spiti, famous for the Khardong Monastery. The sun was fast dipping and I needed to look for night accommodation. My single-woman status had help pouring in from all ends, and genuinely so, unlike the touts of Bombay or Delhi. The nice-looking tourism hotel was 500 meters away but my weary mind preferred something closer. I opted for a homestay a stone-throw away and hit the sack almost immediately.
At 3.30 am I was back in the bus as were some new passengers, among them a bunch of European backpackers. Sleep-deprived, I lost no time in escaping to slumberland. A monstrous bump awoke me and how providential that proved to be! Dawn’s inky blue shades were gingerly lighting up the sky even as we drove past enormous ranges of barren rock mountains in the valley of the beautiful River Bhaga, its waters reflecting silver and bronze. It was a stunning moonscape and here onwards it grew more awesome. The steady speed of the bus ensured the camera produced creditable images but to be true a lensperson has to do nothing, each frame is so perfect.
By forenoon we had summited the rocky Baralachala (16,049 ft), the second highest Pass we would cross. Soon after we hit the Sarchu plains (a favourite camping site), where ends Himachal and begins Jammu & Kashmir territory. All vehicles report at its checkpost, which allowed me to stretch my legs in starkly beautiful surroundings. The rocky face prior to Baralachala had given way to dramatically barren mud mountains. The whispers of the wind, by way of erosion, had made the mountains a playfield for creativity and carved on its face the most spectacular expressions ranging from castles to crowned monarchs.

The short break at Sarchu, though, stretched to an agonising few hours as the bridge ahead had collapsed, which meant we crossed Nakki la (16, 765 ft) and Lachung la (16, 600 ft) in the afternoon and arrived at Pang, the lunch halt, close to the evening. The menu was typical to the hills and included the ubiquitous Maggi noodles, parantha, omelette and soup, all of which manage to taste quite excellent in such surroundings. For the roadies bedding priced between Rs 80-Rs 120 was available at all tented ‘restaurant-cum-hotels’.

Up next was the fascinating Morey Plains, a 40-km flat strip, the land of the nomadic Changpa tribe. What captivated my imagination here was the way cottony white clouds speckled across the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky formed shadows over austere brown hills. The contrasting colours coalesced pleasingly and the swift movement of the clouds added fluent grace to the drama unfolding in this cold desert theatre.
The scheduled time of arrival in Leh was 5 pm and at that hour we were more than 100 km away traversing the highest pass en route, Tanglang la (17,582 ft) that fluttered with prayer flags. Its ascent had been gentle but by this time my mind had grown restless. The journey seemed never-ending and the other factor was I hadn’t booked accommodation in Leh, having hoped to walk around the pocket-size town and hunt for a suitable place.
Just before the sky wore its night cloak we reached Rumtse, where the first signs of civilization appeared after about 350 km. By 10 pm we finally reached Leh bus station. It was quiet and dark, but thankfully my cell-phone came alive. I rung up a friend’s decade-old contact, who materialised within minutes and in true tradition of Ladakhi hospitality escorted me to a cosy guest house.

It’s said 24 hours acclimatisation is a must before venturing out in Leh. I didn’t have a chance and early next morning I was on the streets capturing images of the Ladakh Festival. The road journey had naturally acclimatised me. And its magic still overwhelms.

Bus journey coordinates and suggestions:

Delhi-Leh bus (Himachal tourism)
Departure: daily (till Sept 15) from ISBT, Counter 7
Time: 3.45 pm
Fare: Rs 482 Delhi-Keylong; plus Rs 460 Keylong-Leh (The latter tkt is purchased in Keylong...the fares have gone up 15 pc since I travelled). Total: Rs 942

Tele contacts:
ISBT Delhi: 011- 23868694
ISBT Chandigarh (Himachal counter): 0172-2668943
Manali bus stand: 01902-252323
Keylong bus station: 01900-222245

Some options for bus travel are:
1. Take the morning train from Delhi to Chandigarh (Shatabadi Express), do a city tour and catch the Leh bus that departs at 9.40 pm.
2. Else, take the Delhi bus up to Manali, and stop over for two days or a day. Then take the bus till Keylong. Break journey as there is enough to occupy you around here for a day or more, and it's worth it to explore if you have come up all this way.
3. Take the morning bus from Keylong to Leh which will be around 15 hrs journey.

Published in The New Indian Express, September 2009