I knew that today I was moving on from Old Tar.
The rain made everything mystical.
And made leaving right away a little less attractive.
Leaving around 11 seemed perfect.
The sky was getting brighter by the minute.
Time to look at the kitchen... and bedroom.
Time to admire some more Indian engineering.
Time for breakfast.
Nine in the morning.
Then time to rest a little.
I feel tired.
I try to take a power nap.
But something feels off.
Something was pulling.
It's not the right time.
So I got out of bed and started writing.
And then, not exactly to my surprise, someone knocks on the door.
It's the community manager.
He tells me the lady has to go to the field to take care of the cow.
Wow. So much for leaving at 11.
Great.
I ask:
"What about lunch?"
Apparently, she had completely forgotten.
Or wanted to skip it.
I told him:
"I need ten more minutes."
Pack.
Go downstairs.
Look outside.
The rain had stopped.
The host presses one chapati into my hands.
And I leave without looking back.
What a farce.
Out of here.
Back into peace.
Next stop:
Lamayuru.
One of the monasteries I had shortlisted.
Today it's time to try something new...
No bus.
No taxi.
No hike.
But hitch-hike.
Or, as local Ladakhi people say:
To take a lift.
Descending
This wall is supposed to contain a big face. Do you see it?
The river of air.
I am tired. And you see it.
I decide to walk down in the valley.
Need to cross small streams.
Another bridge.
And another one.
Each somehow looked less stable than the one before.
Time for lunch.
Dry and cold Chapati. With jam.
But actually, I didn't care. It is Yum.
Then it was time to cross the river and get closer to the highway, where I could find out how easy taking a lift really was.
But this bridge is actually too beautiful to just walk across.
It was the first piece of art from the first Biennale here in Ladakh.
Imagine that.
The bridge was decorated with bells that played music whenever the wind moved through them.
A beautiful place for a proper lunch break.
I loved the bridge's description:
"The river is time.
The bridge the instrument.
The wind the conductor."
A French couple joins.
We have a fun conversation.
And funny enough, they had also stayed in Old Tar.
But had had a completely different experience.
Their stay was nice!
I was genuinely glad to hear that.
Then we talk about my plans:
Lamayuru.
Philippe knew Ladakh quite well.
He says:
"They ruined the place. It became a highway stop. The road runs straight through it."
Wangchuk had said similar things.
But Philippe had another recommendation for me.
"For you, Rizong Monastery might be better. You can stay there. Live with the monks. Eat with them. Just be there."
What a recommendation that would turn out to be.
And how right they were about Lamayuru.
But first things first.
They leave.
I leave.
And see a basket with bells.
Free to take, with a nice board:
Take it, ring it, and know we're connected beyond space and time.
The artist, whoever it was, is clearly a deep thinker.
It's quite nice to think about placing it in our garden, hearing the sound, knowing where it came from, knowing that a couple of thousand kilometers away the bridge will still make music.
I walk out of the place.
And onto the street.
Hitchhiking
It's time.
Time, to try hitchhiking.
How easy would it really be?
People had told me it was easy.
Especially for foreigners.
But...
how easy?
I reach the highway.
Stand there.
Hold out my hand.
Ask for a ride.
And you won't believe it.
It takes maybe 15 seconds.
The first car approaches.
The same car stops.
I'm amazed. Really, the very first car stopped.
I am like...
"Holy smokes.
Guardian Angel again."
Super easy.
Super friendly.
I give the driver some biscuits.
And actually, I need two lifts.
The first one to Khaltse, where I'll have to withdraw some cash.
The second one onwards to Lamayuru.
And in the end?
Both times.
I arrive with ease.
So now I stand in Lamayuru.
I look around.
And what can I say?
Philippe had been right.
Lamayuru was loud.
It was more a road, than a village.
Busy.
The monastery didn't feel particularly welcoming to me.
I pay the entrance fee for the monastery.
And would leave again pretty quickly.
Nothing kept me there.
But the view on the other hand?
Pretty nice.
In the background you can see one of Ladakh's famous sightseeing attractions:
Moonland
If you ask me, though...
I had already been hiking through moonland for days.
The official Moonland itself?
Mostly sand, in my opinion.
But anyway.
Let's not spoil their fun.
Or their money.
So many people go there that I think they should rename it:
Moneyland.
I capture the place with my phone.
My heart is long gone.
One of my favorite images:
One particularly new-looking and beautiful prayer wheel.
Together with an Om Mani Padme Hum inscription.
It was getting late.
It's already after 6 PM.
Which left only one important question for the day:
Where am I sleeping tonight?
My highlight
On the way down, I acknowledge how special the landscape is.
And how special it is to build the houses into the rocks.
Just look at how they built the monastery into the mountain.
Further down.
I spot a homestay sign.
I ask.
They show me around.
Hot water?
Check.
Private bathroom?
Check.
Private room?
Check.
Three meals?
Check.
Price?
Check.
No need to look any further.
I take it.
And relax for some time.
And the longer I stay, the more members of the family appear.
All girls.
We joke that their family apparently only had girls in its genes.
Mine?
Only boys.
Mom would have loved a little baby girl.
Let's see what the future brings.
That family was easily the highlight of Lamayuru.
They save the place for me.
We like each other.
And naturally, the usual questions begin.
Married?
Single?
Work?
Where are you from?
How old?
Done.
That was apparently all the information they needed before proposing two of their daughters to me.
They pointed at them.
"Single."
The daughters themselves joined in.
"You can stay one night longer, right?"
I actually consider it.
But to make a long story short:
I don't.
And if I had...
I might have left Lamayuru with a girlfriend.
Light and Love, Felix
