Good Morning Yangthang,
You look pretty nice!
Before jumping into the wilderness again, it was time for the daily pleasantries.
Look, the same house also had a fancier washroom — with a local toilet.
Of course it had Chai.
Of course it had what they call here "chapati".
The rest of India probably wouldn't agree. Chapatis are usually really thin.
Then a small negotiation started.
And I noticed something had changed in me.
I know what I want.
I know what I deserve.
And I communicate it.
Yesterday the lady had said lunch was included in a rent of 1000 INR per person. Honestly, 1000 felt too little to me too, so I had offered 1200 myself.
Now, after originally asking for 1000, she suddenly said:
"With lunch, 1500."
I reminded her of yesterday's price.
"Here are 200 extra. But I only have 1500. Do you have change?"
She looked at me.
Thought hard.
Shook her head.
"Difficult."
Then she pulled 200 INR out of her kitchen money box.
I told her I'd check my backpack once more. I genuinely did, but I didn't have smaller notes.
And after the sudden price change, I had become pretty firm inside:
Either there's change, or we stick to what we agreed.
Cash is basically everything out here. There is no internet for anything else. So I suspected change existed somewhere.
When I returned to the kitchen, another 100 INR had miraculously appeared.
Problem solved.
No lecture needed.
Moments like this were rare anyway. Overall, I hardly ever had to be strict.
I paid the 1200.
The stay had been nice.
The food had been warm and energizing.
That's enough.
The moment our transaction was finished, I put my backpack on and left.
On I went.
At eight-something in the morning, I enjoyed beautiful weather.
And a beautiful...
street.
To walk on.
But no worries.
It would get exciting enough that day.
Actually, "exciting" doesn't quite cover it.
By the end, it would demand nearly every bit of energy, skill, and concentration I had.
That was the official route profile:
Thing is, I turned it into something more difficult.
But not until later. At first it was simply a nice hike.
Hi cows!
A couple more turns on the road and I found this:
A water crossing.
One of the things Ladakhi treks are famous for, I think.
Better come prepared to wade through water.
Ice-cold water.
This one wasn't very deep though. Perfect for my "waterproof" shoes.
I already loved that description when I bought them because...
I mean...
How in the world are open shoes supposed to be waterproof?
But they were perfect for India.
In the South, they allowed my feet to breathe.
Here, they allowed me to climb rocks, walk through water, run behind buses, and comfortably walk through cities.
All in one shoe.
I simply love them.
And I love the following images.
The rocks were quite sharp and slippery.
Trying desperately not to touch the water in places like this can actually become more dangerous than simply getting wet.
I have all different kinds of shoes, almost all of them waterproof.
But water is never really a friend.
Unless you're wearing those sandals.
So I simply stepped into it.
Awesome hiking feeling!
For anyone interested in coming here for some natural sightseeing:
Go ahead.
You'll find all different kinds of animals.
They even mapped them!
Hi shadow!
Earlier, a car had passed me and pointed me in the right direction.
And specifically about the next turn, they had told me:
"Move right. It's the shortcut!"
Looking at my GPS, though, it didn't look like much of a shortcut.
Why they called it one became clear a little later.
At exactly the right moment, I saw what looked like a moving thunderbolt descending the mountain.
There was no road.
No sign.
Nothing.
Just a guide coming down.
That's how you live in the mountains.
You don't necessarily need a path.
You create one.
Especially if you're a little late for your next group.
He pointed me left.
That was the shortcut.
Well.
First of all, I knew whom I trusted.
And second, I finally understood what the driver had meant.
New roads are constantly being built in the mountains, and compared with the old routes around them, those roads themselves become shortcuts.
He had meant the car shortcut.
For hikers?
We have even shorter ones.
We just cut straight through the mountains.
Like goats.
And that was once again a beautiful hiking path.
I saved about three kilometres like that.
That's a gain!
And it made me advance like crazy.
Felt pretty good.
And kept feeling good by avoiding touching those.
See?
Someone built a road marker!
And eventually I reached my first mountain pass of the day.
I had just climbed about 400 metres and reached almost 4,000 metres in altitude.
My body felt strong.
It felt awesome.
And then I had an idea.
My GPS showed me existing paths.
But it didn't show the paths I was taking.
There had to be some kind of mapping feature.
And there was.
So I started recording the paths I took whenever they diverged from what was already mapped.
Not just for myself.
For others to follow.
Next time you do this trek using OpenStreetMap data, you might find some of those paths there.
Descending was actually kind of fun.
And judging by the green space ahead, Hemis Shukpachan — or however I'm supposed to spell it — was super close.
It wasn't even 11 yet.
I rocked.
And rolled.
Until I reached it.
And shot one of my favorite images:
More mani stones.
A mountain stream flowing through the village.
Turning everything around it green.
A village canal.
Upgraded into a lovely footpath.
The famous Buddha statue.
On top of the hill.
Reached by flowing through the narrow rocky paths between the houses.
Time for a break.
Not even midday.
The actual goal for today was already reached.
My body felt good.
I knew I could continue.
And judging from the route profile, that should be no problem at all.
I looked up.
And saw something incredible.
The Buddha actually had a halo.
Crazy.
Just to give you a little size reference, look how tiny my backpack is in comparison.
And just as I was thinking:
"I'm feeling dope. The only thing I could protect a little better are my lips. Damn, I forgot to get something like Labello in the city.
Nevermind."
I checked through the pockets where I had stored the food.
And look what appeared:
That felt surreal.
I remembered Mom had put it there for the flight.
Thanks, Mom!
That village didn't call me at all.
I unpacked lunch.
Packed chapati.
Peanut butter.
Jam.
Biscuits.
Water.
Mango juice.
Life clicks in those moments.
After a proper trekkers' lunch, I stepped out of the village again.
And wait.
Was I in the Alps now?
Beautiful.
Careful with the next turn.
That's where the map shows a path, but apparently somebody had intentionally blocked it.
So once again, I had to find my own way.
I went around.
And above.
In real life, the red soil created a crazy contrast.
I'd become more intimate with it later.
The next mountain pass was calling.
That wasn't much at all.
Maybe 200 metres of elevation gain?
But this was where my GPS started being simply wrong.
It pointed me toward the car tracks.
On the left, though, there were clear trail marks.
Obviously, I followed the trail.
And climbed another 50 metres.
What for?
To be faced with a decision.
Something was fishy here.
My map indicated that I should take the road.
You can see it in this image: the straight line near the top, cutting through the mountain from right to left.
But there were also two trekkers down there, coming from the opposite direction.
They had just climbed the route visible on the serpentine to the right.
They're tiny in the picture.
They almost look like bushes.
Anyway.
I had two options.
Take the road.
Easy.
Boring.
Fast.
Or take the adventurous route.
The actual hike.
I stood there on my side of the mountain and took some time to plan ahead.
Can I actually do it?
Do I have enough energy?
I looked at the terrain.
And I was confident.
Yes.
But only if I avoided that crazy section on the right.
First I needed to find a path down.
Then I would try to find my own way back up on the left.
I gathered my energy.
And committed.
This was off-route, unstable mountain terrain.
Not something I'd recommend following unless you really know what you're doing.
I had trekked hundreds of kilometres in alpine and mountainous terrain before.
Still:
DO NOT REPEAT THIS ROUTE JUST BECAUSE I DID IT.
And so I started descending.
Then I found something interesting.
A square made of stones.
It was in such a random place, far away from where normal travellers would ever pass.
I had absolutely no idea what it was.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe just stones someone had arranged there.
But standing in front of it, it somehow felt special.
I've occasionally come across places like that before — places that, for whatever reason, make me stop.
So I stepped inside.
Asked permission, in my own way.
And prayed for protection and a safe journey.
Maybe I already had a hunch that I would need it.
Because actually...
I did.
And here you can see what I was aiming for:
Descend into the valley.
Then climb the reddish hill in front.
From where I stood, its angle looked pretty manageable.
The only problem was that I was drifting away from it.
Because even the descent was already getting crazy.
At first, there was a path.
Eventually there wasn't.
I was sliding more than walking.
Black earth.
Red earth.
Brown earth.
Loose stones everywhere.
It was fascinating to feel all these different surfaces beneath my feet.
I enjoyed it as much as I was thinking:
"My God, Felix.
What did you do?
What are you doing?
Please let there be a path down there."
When I finally reached the bottom of the valley, I was relieved.
And amazed.
Thousands of tiny, sharp stones had accumulated inside my shoes, and to this day I don't understand how they didn't cut my feet.
My feet became heavy.
I couldn't really feel the soles anymore.
It felt as though I was walking directly on the mountain itself.
A unique connection indeed.
Also slightly insane.
Even closed shoes probably wouldn't have helped much.
I was sinking into the loose mountain surface anyway. They would likely have filled up too — and probably annoyed me even more.
Down there, I tried to capture what I had been walking on inside my shoes.
By dropping into that valley and climbing out again, I had easily added another 200 metres of ascent to the trek.
After already crossing two mountain passes.
But reaching the bottom also confirmed something.
My intuition had been right.
There was a path down there.
A great one, even.
I followed it.
Missing one fairly obvious detail.
It was taking me exactly toward the one direction I had wanted to avoid.
Looking at the image now, it's obvious.
At the time?
I didn't notice.
And so I went.
Gathering everything I had for the final ascent.
And finally unpacking my superpower.
Something I hadn't used all day.
My walking stick.
A great hiking friend.
More stability.
More speed.
More power.
Getting some of the strength of the upper body onto the trail.
And gosh...
I needed it.
At first, it was awesome.
Then I realized where the path was taking me.
I had hoped it would lead left.
It didn't.
It led right.
Exactly where I hadn't wanted to go.
During the ascent, my peripheral vision wasn't helping.
Left and right, the terrain dropped away.
Steeply.
At each step the valleys left and right moved way faster than the path in front.
It was kinda hypnotic.
At the first place that wasn't ridiculously steep and offered enough room to sit, I sat down.
I finished every energy booster I still had.
Biscuits.
Juice.
Everything.
My breathing was heavy.
Really heavy.
But I knew I still had control.
The terrain was difficult, but the actual danger would come from losing concentration.
So I rested.
Not too long.
By then, I had already walked roughly 15 kilometres and probably climbed around a vertical kilometre in total that day.
I could feel my body.
I was getting close to my limit.
I briefly looked left.
Then right.
I knew I couldn't stay there forever.
Relax too much and I might lose sharpness.
Stay too long and the sun would keep draining me.
Rest too little and I'd overdo it.
I slowly stood up.
And faced the trickiest section.
I started counting my steps.
Putting my focus onto the one thing I could actually control:
Where my next foot landed.
The path itself wasn't impossibly narrow.
On an ordinary road, the same width wouldn't have bothered me at all.
The difference was the valley dropping hundreds of metres away to my right.
That changes everything in your head.
Technically:
One step.
Psychologically:
Don't think about what happens if that step goes wrong.
I told myself:
Maximum 100 steps.
Then I'm done.
Can I do it?
Absolutely.
After 100 steps, I wasn't even halfway.
But there was one huge blessing.
It wasn't steep anymore.
I had climbed the damn thing.
Now I just needed to be careful with my footing.
And the footing itself was actually good.
The real challenge was keeping my mind from wandering toward the consequences.
Occasionally I slid slightly.
In a few places, rocks had taken parts of the path with them.
But those were situations I knew.
Adjust.
Counter.
Continue.
Next step.
Next step.
Next step.
Next step.
One after another.
And eventually...
Reaching
I was on the other side.
I dropped down.
Relieved.
Exhaling.
Thanking those stones.
Whether they had helped me or not.
And on the other side, I got a reminder of what one wrong step could have meant.
What a welcome.
That section had demanded every bit of concentration I had.
There it was.
My hiking adventure of Ladakh.
The official Sham Valley Trek is often described as a baby trek.
And honestly, on the normal route, that's probably fair.
But normal people don't join two days together.
And more importantly:
Normal people take the road here.
I didn't.
I had taken a simple trek and turned part of it into a serious mountain challenge.
I actually mapped the route I took.
But I decided not to publish that particular section.
I don't want someone following a line on a map and randomly ending up in the middle of that terrain because I put it there.
Some paths are useful to share.
This one isn't.
The rest, thankfully, was easy.
All I had to do was descend.
And it was actually really beautiful.
I already knew I wouldn't walk all the way to Temisgam.
There was one more small settlement before it:
Ang.
That became my goal for the day.
Only a couple more kilometres.
Enough.
And when I reached it, I thought:
"Nice.
That looks good.
Now I only need to find a nice homestay."
First, though, I missed the turn and continued on the road.
Here you have to turn right.
And hike through bushes.
Apparently not everyone takes this path.
It was beautiful, though.
It followed a little stream, and you could see exactly how the water breathed life into the dry soil on both sides.
But when I arrived, I was still too early.
People weren't home yet.
I would have loved a nice cup of tea.
Some biscuits.
A hot shower.
I needed energy.
So I simply rested under a tree.
Put my feet into the water.
Then I heard a splash.
And couldn't believe it.
Earlier, Mom had greeted me through the Labello she had secretly packed.
Now Aunt Lisa greeted me from afar.
A "Griachal" had dropped and rolled right toward my foot.
The locals call it an "apricot".
But I know a Griachal when I see one.
After all, it's been one of my favorite fruits.
I looked up.
I was sitting directly beneath the tree.
Awesome.
Nature's gift.
I collected some.
Ate.
And lay down.
Then, from a completely unexpected direction, I heard someone approaching.
From a field.
A woman appeared.
And she had a homestay.
The floor was sooo soft.
She invited me for Chai.
Biscuits.
Showed me the rooms.
Everything was perfectly fine.
But somehow...
I wasn't hooked.
After a day like this, I had the strange feeling that something special was still waiting.
Maybe that sounds ridiculous.
But staying here would have felt like ignoring something inside me simply because my body was tired.
So I sat there.
Played with the thought.
Once again, I had a decision to make.
Easy and comfortable.
Or whatever that inner pull was telling me.
Again, I chose the inner calling.
And left Ang.
Looks kind of nice though, doesn't it?
And you know what...
The strange thing about an inner calling is:
Is it ever wrong?
At that point I was convinced that something was going to happen.
Maybe I'd meet my future wife.
Or maybe I'd stumble into some completely unexpected story.
Either way, I wasn't tired anymore.
I was moving again.
Fully trusting that something nice was waiting ahead.
And something was.
But it wasn't my wife.
It was a homestay.
The Skarat Homestay.
And with it came another Hunam story.
