There was paratha and eggs for breakfast. I ate really well and even packed two rolls with cheese for the journey (what a good move I later realized!).
I kept a steady pace through the day - a deliberately slow one - with the realization that it was the last day in Zanskar (for now). I was prolonging my being with Himalayas as much as possible.
I recall that I was very happy, happy during lunch. Fooling around and taking pictures of everyone. D took one of me feeding pasta to the skull of the goat. Played with the snow. We were at the same spot (Deepyokma) where we slept the first night. I had the sense that hey, it's almost over and whether we like it or not we'll be enroute Leh now. Little did I know then that the rest of day would turn out to be as unpredictable as the previous day.
I walked pretty much by myself. Wanted to be with the Himalayas. Thinking and thinking and absorbing the endless surroundings. Most of what I thought was about the Himalayas themselves. How it blocked the clouds, brought the snow and rain down, created rivers, sent them down below to India and everywhere, changed seasons, how the same water evaporated again, joined clouds, drifted towards the same Himalayas again, came down again....meaningless but full of meaning! The Himalayas are so huge, so vast, so timeless that everything else seems so very small in front of it. It pretty much ignores everything and everybody - quite stoically - yet, observes everything very actively. You dump on it, sleep on it, pee on it, love it, meditate on it, tread on it, die on it - it all means the same. It's all the same. It keeps on doing its thing - as it thinks is right - again and again and again. There are no goals, no destinations. It seems so purposeless that in it lies every purpose. The Himalayas have been around for millions of years before my time and they'll be there for millions of years after my time. I am but a speck of dust.
There were areas along the trek that were difficult and downright risky. One fall and you are in the Zanskar (remember: "end of story). How the porters did it with all the weight on their backs - is quite amazing. I slid and fell a few times on the ice - sometimes a couple of feet from the river. Nice!
When Namgyal (one of the kitchen staff) told me we have another hour of trekking left, I took it as my "last hour in Zanskar" and prolonged as much as possible. I didn't realize then that that one hour would be rolled into several and would turn out to be a mini-adventure in itself.
Once I reached the road (one had to hike up and away from the Chadar), I kept walking and walking - expecting to find the vehicles that would transport us back to Leh. I didn't see them! I must've walked for 5 km in the solidifying snow with no vehicles in sight. We passed through the Hemank - Border Roads Organization - camp site. We had driven past all this on our way to the Chadar. What happened to the vehicles?
Dorje, the 20 year member of the kitchen staff joined me after awhile in my walk. We walked together. He told me about his village in Zanskar, his family of 10 (4 brothers, 4 sisters, 1 mamma, 1 pappa). When I asked him if he ever considered moving to the city for a living - he matter of factly told me, "There's great milk in Zanskar from big cows, why would I want to move to the city?" He added thoughtfully, "It's also too hot and there are too many vehicles." He made sure both of us prayed at a mini temple that we found on the way and also that we offered something to the Gods. He then said it's a local ritual and now the Gods are happy and our journey would be safe. (What did he know that I didn't? Where are the vehicles?)
When we reached the next camp site/ village, I somehow assumed the vehicles would be there. There weren't. Instead, we saw Ajay - all ready and set for a hike. He said that the road's broken down (due to either an avalanche or a broken truck) and everyone's in the village restaurant. We went it. A curtain closed the dark room everyone was sitting. Everyone cheered as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I saw everyone happy on local rum (Chinar). What? Aren't we going to hike to Chiling? Where are the vehicles?
Milan amazingly organized a military truck to get our chilled butts to Chiling village - about 12km away. I tore my Goretex pants trying to get on top of the truck. Back of the truck, my fingers froze. I tried everything - from sitting on them to cupping them in my armpits. Nothing worked. They stayed frozen. The military truck (which almost run a couple of us down), dropped us at Chiling (thank you, thank you, thank you!). We played Anthakshari and waited for the vehicles, which finally arrived. It took us another 3+ hours of driving in the snow before we got back to Leh. I packed and got ready for my early morning flight out of Ladakh.
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