by Reece Willis
I couldn’t believe my luck and thanked Kurt profusely as we walked into town, much to his eventual irritation. Before I returned to the guest house to check in on my 1pm and 4pm appointments, I crossed off the 10am from all the posters in town. With my afternoon empty, I joined Kurt and Eli for a few games of black jack. At the turn of dusk, Kurt took us to a small restaurant called the Tibetan Friend’s Corner Café. He knew the owner well, an elegant middle aged Tibetan lady called Dolma and like everyone else he'd reunited with she was over the moon to see him. We ordered a portion of fried momos and thukpa; a delicious Tibetan noodle and vegetable dish. It was accompanied by that strange tea once again. Tibetan butter tea I was told was great for high altitude and warming in cold climates and provided lots of caloric energy. Made from yak butter, tea leaves and salt, it was presented to us in a clay tea pot with small wooden cups. I had a feeling I would have to get used to drinking it.
A little later Ciri came in and joined us at our table, and just like I did in Manali, I felt a happiness and security that I’d never felt in England. Before I retired to bed, I opened my wallet and took out Kate’s telephone number. Her words whispered around my head, ‘I’ll wait for you, Sam, I promise.’
The sun rose slowly above the peaked horizon. Outside with my breakfast of steaming jam muffins, I heated my hands around a coffee flask. It was my favourite time of day. My mind was at peace and my spirits were high. It felt comfortable here, safe. People were relaxed and greeted each other with smiles. There had been a few touts, but otherwise I was left alone to go about my day. Locked away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, Leh was unscathed by negativity and interruptions of modern life.
I headed out for my morning appointment with Ciri, with only the essentials I needed for my morning's work: a bottle of massage and essential oils, a small wooden bowl, a towel, soap and a bottle of water. I followed narrow trails fringing the riverbank and passed men and women washing their clothes in the water and laying them out to dry on the grass. Avoiding the holes in the road, I climbed the hill and stepped into the house where Ciri rented her studio apartment.
I entered to the heady scent of sandalwood. ‘Good morning, Sam. Can I get you some tea?’
'Is it normal?' I asked.
'Normal? How do you mean?'
'Every cup of tea I have had in Leh has not tasted so good.'
'You do not like the butter tea?’ she chuckled. ‘It's an acquired taste, but the more you drink, the more you will get used to it. I was the same when I first arrived in Leh, but now I couldn't go a day without it. It is very beneficial.'
I removed the items from my bag and placed them on the table as Ciri poured. She removed her blouse and laid on her front as I prepared the oil in the mixing bowl. I went about slowly kneading her neck, 'How many times have you been to India?'
'Once a year for nine years now. I always stay in Leh for a couple of months. In Milan, I have three beauty salons. Six months a year I leave them in the capable hands of others and travel this wonderful country. I'm fifty-two now and with each year I appreciate the time away from work more and more. What are your plans Sam?'
'In life or India?'
'Both.'
'To be honest, I haven't thought about what I'm going to do when I return home. I met a lovely girl in Delhi called Kate and we travelled to Jaipur and Agra together. She doesn’t live too far from me in England and I'm hoping to see her when I get back. As for India, I'm not too sure. Kurt is here and he is a good friend and now I have work, so it seems I might stay in Leh until it’s time for me to go home.'
'Yes, Kurt is a good man. We have been friends for a long time. How much time do you have left in India?'
'Just under six weeks.' In my head, it sounded like a long time, but when I said it aloud it dawned on me how little time was really left.
Ciri sat up with her back to me. She rolled her shoulders and exhaled deeply, ‘That was wonderful Sam, thank you.’ Picking up her blouse, she redressed.
I looked at my watch, not realising how much time had elapsed, ‘I should get going. I'll catch up with you at the Tibetan Friend's Café this evening maybe, if not tomorrow for our appointment?’
'I will look forward to seeing you again,' she said, paying me as I left.
I checked in at the guest house for my next appointment, but nobody was there. I wasn't disappointed. The regular slot from Ciri was enough to keep my finances ticking along nicely. Instead I decided to visit the main bazaar and browse the shops. Traditional curios and artwork filled glass cabinets and shelves; silver jewellery mounted with turquoise stones, golden hand-held prayer wheels and wooden masks detailed with large eyes and long sharp teeth. At one shop, I gave in to the seductive sales patter of a sweet old lady who sold me a cream woollen jacket, candles for my room and a blanket.
A large percentage of Leh's population was made up of the Ladakhi people who traditionally wore long woollen robes – charcoal or tan in colour – tied under the arms and around the waist by a sash. Some of the women wore a colourful shawl on their back to carry goods or maybe an infant; their hair was worn in pigtails, sometimes also by the men. Occasionally I'd see people with a black top hat, pointed brims to the left and right, and beads worn around their necks. From time to time a small hand-held prayer wheel was spun amongst mutters of 'Om Mani Padme Hum.'
Although the region of Ladakh was predominantly Buddhist, a small percentage of the population was from Islamic Kashmir. The Jama Masjid – a small, but beautiful white mosque was tucked away under the shadow of Leh Palace. Several times a day I would hear the hypnotic tones of the call to prayer from a loud speaker perched at the top of the single domed minaret.
Returning for my four o’clock appointment, which again went unfilled, I found Kurt waiting for me at one of the tables outside. We shared a flask of coffee and were joined by Eli.
'I have rented a room here,' he said. 'I wasn't too keen on the other place and luckily one became available here this morning.'
'Any luck finding an expedition?' I asked.
'Some possibilities, but nothing that has struck me. I think I will go alone as planned.'
Making an early start the next day, I walked into town to explore Leh Palace. The sky was white without a single beam of sunlight, but this didn’t dampen my spirits. I'd found such tranquillity in Leh that it would have been difficult to find anything to diminish my positivity. Since meeting Kurt and Tyler all those weeks ago in Dehra Dun, my mind was clear and illuminated by sunshine. The thoughts that usually darkened and dirtied the water lay dormant and I could almost forget they were there at all. In this little town, a smile was guaranteed around every corner. People here had next to nothing by way of possessions, but they appreciated what they did have and that included family, which had a far higher value than any amount of wealth or material objects. Girish once told me in Manali, 'The more you have, the more you have to worry about,' and then gave me an all-knowing smile. He knew the secret to happiness and it seemed so did the majority of people in Leh.
I approached the summit of a hillock, which allowed a stunning view of the town stretching out to the mighty Zanskar range. Behind me, the palace loomed high above like a guardian of the town. It was built from reinforced sand coloured walls and overhanging balconies with window frames of rust red. To one side of the building an ornate wooden porch at the top of a flight of stairs, which I presumed was the entrance, had a hand-written sign that read, 'UNDER REPARE – PALACE CLOSE FRO ONE MONTH' dated yesterday's date.
Retracing my steps, I was met by a young monk no more than ten years of age who was dressed in a tan robe and wore white trainers. 'Sorry palace close,' he said with a smile.
'Thank you,' I replied, 'It's a shame, I imagine it's very interesting inside. What an incredible view of Leh though.' He tilted his head, seemingly unaware of what I'd said. Instead he replied with the same as before, 'Sorry, palace close,' and sat on a crumbled wall alongside a white stupa, gold pinnacle pointing t
o the sky.
With time to spare before my appointment with Ciri, I went back to the guest house for breakfast. I was at the door to my room, about to enter, when a fellow traveller approached me. His hair was long, dark and curly, his skin tanned and he wore loose fitting clothes; baggy fractal trousers and a Metallica t-shirt. 'Hey, how you doing? I’m in the room above you. I booked a car to go to Tikse Monastery tomorrow afternoon. The French couple next door to you were meant to be coming with me but they had an argument and cancelled, so there’s a free place if you want to come instead? It's all paid for.'
I paused and checked my mental diary, 'Ah yeah, sure. I'm Sam,' I said, reaching out my hand.
'Connor,' he said, shaking it. 'Okay man, do you know the Kashmiri restaurant near the mosque at the top of the Bazaar? Say we meet there at five this afternoon and we'll grab something to eat and discuss details.'
'Cool,' I said. He replied the same and disappeared up the stairs.
It was at Ciri's, after the massage and over a cup of sweet black tea, that we discussed Kurt. She'd noticed that he hadn't been himself and was unusually quiet in her company. She had quizzed him and discovered he was missing his ex-girlfriend a great deal. He'd never mentioned any previous relationship to me. I decided to find him to see if he wanted to talk. He'd never faltered in his friendship and it was my turn to be there for him. I went to where he was staying, but there was no sign of his whereabouts. I stopped off at the Tibetan Friend's Café, but they hadn't seen him since last night. It was at my guest house I finally found him in Eli's room laying on the spare bed.
'Hey guys, do you want to grab some lunch?' I asked.
'You two go, I will stay here,' Kurt mumbled.
Eli looked up from sorting through his rucksack with a cocked eyebrow, 'No, you two go. I need the extra bed space to pack.'
We made our way into town with Kurt's head down most of the way. I'd never seen him so lifeless. 'How are you Kurt? I haven't seen much of you lately.'
'I am okay, I guess.'
'It may not be my place to say this, but Ciri mentioned you might be missing someone from back home, a girl maybe? She’s worried about you.'
He stopped for a moment and managed a smile, 'I am sorry, Sam. Yes, I have been thinking of a good friend. We were very much in love, but life has a habit of getting in the way. Too much work leading to too little time for the important things. I miss her a great deal. It has been so long now since we last spoke.'
‘You should have spoken to me sooner. You know I know how you feel, right?' We'd arrived outside the Tibetan Friend's Corner Café, 'Shall we go in?' I said, placing my hand on his shoulder.
Inside the simple space, the air was filled with Ladakhi chatter, laughter and wafts of enticing food. Kurt sat and I went to the counter. A Tibetan girl in her early twenties greeted me with an amiable smile that complemented her pretty face. She wrote our order down on a notepad and a few moments later served our drinks.
'Julay Kurt,' she said placing the pots of tea on the table.
'Julay Tsering, it is good to see you again,' he replied warmly.
‘It is lovely to see you too. Your food will arrive soon.' She whistled her way into the kitchen as Kurt and I resumed our conversation.
'What about Saskia? You do not speak of her much either. What happened between you two?' he asked.
It was still a wound that wouldn’t completely heal, despite the time spent with Kate. I stared into my cup, ‘I was hooked from the very start. She was smart, confident and focused. We had fun and I loved her get-up-and-go attitude. I never thought in a million years she’d accept when I asked her out on a date, I was simply chancing my luck. Her interest in me caught me off-guard. It didn’t take long for things to sour but it was already too late. We were together for eighteen months; the majority of which I was miserable, but somehow always believed it was because I was doing something wrong. If I could do a better job of making her happy then everything would be great. I finally came to my senses and we split in January.'
'Sounds like you made a good decision.'
'Yeah. I know it was the right thing to do, but sometimes I find it hard to let go. When you spend that much time with someone, I don't know, I guess you just feel lost, like you don't know where you're going anymore.'
'Yes, this is how I feel too, very lost at the moment,' Kurt’s eyes searched his tea for the reflection of memories.
I sat back and sighed, 'I miss the whole idea of being in a relationship I think.'
'You may have a chance at happiness with Kate when you get home. Surely that's worth staying positive for. You cannot dwell on the past indefinitely. It is no good.'
'Maybe it is time for us both to look ahead towards a brighter future.'
'To a brighter future then,' he said and raised his cup.
The Kashmiri restaurant wasn’t where I expected it to be and I had to squeeze by a shaggy, black yak in a narrow alleyway to get to the entrance. Connor was already sitting inside drinking a Coke and waved me over, 'Hey man, I'm having Kashmiri chicken and rice, you want the same?'
'Is it safe?' I asked, cautious of not falling ill again.
'You mean is the chicken an escaped convict?' he laughed.
'No, I mean...'
'Hey dude, it's all cool. I've eaten here a lot and haven't got ill yet.' He signalled to the waiter, 'Two Kashmiri murghs, one pulao and two Cokes.'
'Are you from Israel?' I asked at a guess, considering the high volume of Israeli travellers I'd seen in the north.
'Ha? No man, I'm from Bombay.'
'Oh, so you moved to India?'
He laughed, 'Moved? From where? Na, I was born in India. I'm an Indian, yaar.'
'Oh, it's just that I don't see many Indian backpackers. In fact, you're the first. You dress, well, like a foreign backpacker.' I seemed to be digging a larger hole for myself by the second.
He laughed again, 'I get that a lot. I've been backpacking the north for a month now, just came up from Manali a week ago.'
Connor was very likeable and as we tucked into the food we chatted fluidly about all kinds of subjects. He was funny and smiley, but could be serious when appropriate. He talked about the poverty in India with sincerity and empathy and I found out that he lived with his family of two sisters, one brother, mother and grandmother in Bombay and was a successful studio technician. His long-term girlfriend Radhika was due to arrive in Leh in a few days’ time and we agreed we’d meet up again later in the week.
We headed back to the guest house and arranged to meet outside the entrance the following day for the ride into Tikse. It had been a long day and I was happy to see the inside of my room. I said goodnight to Connor and after a short time pottering I went to bed falling asleep almost before my head even hit the pillow.
28
The journey to Tikse was without drama. The roads were clear and the occasional drivers we encountered seemed relaxed. Not far from the monastery, a small hut selling refreshments caught my eye and I asked the driver to stop. I'd skipped lunch in a rush to get ready and was now feeling gnawing in my stomach. It was a quaint little place; tiny window frames, splintered paint and dusty windows, chequered red and white table cloths covered the old wooden tables and from one corner, the proprietors – an elderly man and woman – smiled a greeting of Julay as we entered.
We settled down to a bowl of mokthuk each, a delicious Tibetan soup consisting of momos and vegetables. Connor addressed the owners, who spoke little English, but enough for a comfortable conversation. They were husband and wife and ran this little café for the benefit of travellers to and from Tikse. In 1960 the couple had made a gruelling sixteen-day journey on foot from the Tibetan capital, Lhasa, over the Himalayan Mountains into India on the trail of the Dalai Lama to escape the cruelties of Chinese occupation in Tibet.
I asked more about Connor, about his hobbies. He loved music, playing instruments and working in recording studios, but his real passion was bass guitar. He'd been practising since
he was a boy and rarely missed a day without fretting strings. I went on to ask how he was finding Leh, 'It's so chilled here man,' he said, slurping the last of his soup. 'I mean it's a small place, and there's not much to do, but I can't seem to bring myself to leave. It's as if I could spend forever here, like a strange spell has been cast. I felt the same in Manali. When you're in the city, you get so used to the pollution, the noise and people rushing around, you don't stop to think that there might be an alternative. This is the first time I have experienced so much peace, space and such fresh air. I didn't know what to do with myself for the first couple of days when I got to Manali, it was kind of unsettling. I felt so small in such a huge world.'
Tikse Gompa was situated at the top of a craggy hill and stood at 3600 metres in the Indus valley, commanding impressive views of the mountains. The 15th century monastery of red, white and ochre was topped by golden finials, and the surrounding area was beautifully fringed with stone walls of whitewashed chorten. Similar in style to Leh Palace, it reminded me once again of Potala Palace in Tibet and I could see why it had earned the nickname, 'Mini Potala'.
We left the car and climbed the terraces of monk's quarters until we reached the entrance. The hallways echoed chanting voices in prayer and the shuffling of feet of young devotees draped in brilliant red robes who giggled at the sight of us as we passed by. The stone rooms were filled with Buddhist statues and murals exploding with colour, and within one room we were brought to a halt at the sight of the fifteen-metre-high Maitreya Buddha, exceptionally detailed and painted blue and red with a huge gold face.
Passing a row of prayer wheels, we ascended the steps to the roof terrace and were both left in wonder. Multi-coloured prayer flags lined the walls, flapping in the icy wind, introducing the expanse of fertile fields that led to the dark desert mountains.
An invisible weight had been lifted as a result of our visit. Connor and I agreed our spell in Ladakh was immensely relaxing, yet somehow the time spent within the walls and halls of Tikse awarded us a new depth to our inner peace. We said little to each other as we returned to Leh, mutually in awe of the monastery and aware of the gift we had left with.