Ladakh – Dreamy Horizon (Final Part)

Article and photos:The Thang

Finale: Tso Moriri Watercolor Painting

We arrived at Tso Moriri Lake in the afternoon, the sun was slowly setting behind the mountains, shadows were spreading across the vast lake. It is hard to describe in words, I just knew that I was silent, except for my mind and emotional senses. Partly because the sun had set, there was less oxygen, and partly because my eyes were following the last golden sunlight of the day, running along the lake and imprinted on the other side of the mountain, far away on the horizon. And when it touched the mountainside, the magic happened. This will forever be the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen in this life. The wind was strong, the clouds were drifting away quickly, the sun was sinking quickly, that magical light only took a few minutes to return to the sky, the scene returned to normal as if it had never been so splendid during the time I had been here.

I stood there, the air growing cold. I was becoming more realistic, but it still felt like waking from a dream, like what I had just seen was unreal. I returned to the small hotel in the mountain village where I was staying for the night, looking forward to tomorrow's dawn, and to the sun-dappled hillsides and the nomadic goats. There was no electricity, so I went out to buy candles while the others prepared the meal.

Have you ever heard of altitude sickness? We are at 4,800m above sea level, the air is very thin, not easy to adapt for people coming from the coast. The night is long, the lack of oxygen makes it difficult to sleep, the headache is like a hammer. Sometimes, I feel myself slowing down, both in thinking and in performing any action. I look forward to the morning, for the physical comfort, and for the experiences I am looking forward to.

The night on the lake was beautiful. I had arrived in Ladakh during the moon phase, and was at Tso Moriri just as the moon was about to be full. The sky was bathed in an eerie blue light, dotted here and there with a few very bright stars. If I had felt well, I would have wished. If it had not been for the altitude, for my body not being in control, I would have been sitting out there somewhere, watching the night and exposing for a few pictures of the stars flying across the clear sky. I did fall asleep, I remember, until I woke with dawn breaking on the other side of the lake.

The Tso Moriri sunrise was so beautiful, I thought, slowly and sleepwalking. I didn’t have enough energy to run around somewhere in the fields, carrying my camera in my hand, I took short steps on the road that was starting to be covered with golden sunlight, with the Ladakhis in the village, as they were starting their daily work. I sat down, leaning against the mud wall of a house hung with Ladakhi flags, watching the red clouds gradually dissipate, as the sun rose and took up all the space for me. The sun here seemed bigger, and also brighter. The sun shone on my face, dazzling, the sun spread across the fields and covered the lake, in contrast to yesterday afternoon, together with the clouds, giving the lake and the mountain slopes a patchy sunlight.

I left in the car. We were on our way to find the nomads. Our friend and guide knew where they were, and that was something special for us, different from the usual tourists. I saw them, very close, but the car took forever to get there. The sky was so clear, everything looked closer, but in reality it wasn’t, after a few kilometers up to almost 5,000m, I met them, people I thought were extraordinary.

Nomads live on the slopes of the mountains, near streams formed by the melting snow. I came here in the dry season, the snow had not yet fallen and the streams were dry. The nomads were red from the sun, their clothes were covered with dust and sand. Some families lived in tents, their “houses” dug into the ground. I saw beautiful herds of goats, their horns painted red and blue; the nomads tied them together in a herd, their heads together, it was poetic. They did this to milk them, and when they were done, they released them, herding them to find the rare grass in this place.

We were about to leave, saying goodbye to the nomads, though we wanted to stay with them for a long time. The sun was getting hotter, my heart was beating faster and my lips were chapped. While the local children were running around, herding the goats for grass, we walked slowly, got into the car, and quickly returned to Leh. The road was still long.

That night in Leh, we went to bed earlier than usual, partly because we were exhausted and partly because we had descended to over 1,000m. I had never slept so well, and when I opened my eyes, the sun was pouring through the window, flooding the room. This was our last day in Ladakh. Today's plan was simple and short, to conquer the challenge of crossing Khardung La, the highest pass in Ladakh, at an altitude of about 5,800m.

I had watched a documentary about Khardung La Pass, and there was a bit of fear present. The winding red dirt roads seemed endless, just enough for two small cars to pass each other beside deep abysses ranging from hundreds to thousands of meters. We had to go to Khardung La, because it was autumn, only at that altitude there was snow. It took us half a day to slowly reach the top of the pass, partly because the road had some landslides, and partly because we needed to gradually adapt to that altitude. The top of Khardung La Pass was so beautiful and majestic, from here we could see the white Himalayas at the same level. Some of my friends had never seen snow before. We played around like children, although we were exhausted, but in return there was indescribable joy. Snow started to fall from the high clouds, we only had 15 minutes here, that was the regulation for health safety. However, we tried to linger and stayed for 30 minutes, double the allowed time.

I was still at Himalayan level, then higher. It wasn’t like we were crossing a pass higher than Khardung La, I was just on a flight out of Leh. I counted myself lucky, the Ladakhi man had offered me a window seat, to see and photograph another wonder, the Himalayas.

The snow-capped peaks stretched far into the horizon, with swirling clouds, streams melted from the snow and merged into meandering rivers. And most magical of all, far away on the horizon, I saw Mount Everest rising from the sea of ​​white clouds. I watched until Mount Everest and the Himalayas were lost in a magical mist. I closed the window shades and fell asleep, perhaps I would dream a real dream of Ladakh, a very long dream.

The Thanh