The Mother of All Drives - Part 7. Kaza - Tabo - Chango.

The road through the Tabo valley as seen from the caves (left) used by monks in the past for meditation.

One of the supreme male delights at the end of a climbing or trekking expedition is the ritual of heading out to the barber shop in a small hill town in the Himalaya and treating oneself to the Deluxe Package. You can close your eyes and luxuriate in the sensuous feel of shaving foam being applied vigorously to your face and chin with a brush that spreads the lather in a comforting mask, burying your sun burnt skin in a white layer. Then, as the barber's razor gently carves a swathe of clear skin like a mini bulldozer pushing a mix of bristles and foam, the exposed area is caressed by a wafting, cooling, menthol-scented micro zephyr. Meanwhile, old Hindi film songs play on a transistor radio suspended on a nail, jostling for space with a plethora of garish posters displaying movie idols and divine images from all the major religions of India and some off beat cults. Thus the serene Buddha is juxtaposed with Kali with her garland of decapitated heads, Jesus Christ and Guru Nanak co-exist harmoniously with a bare chested Salman Khan and an air brushed, impossibly perfect portrait of Karishma Kapoor sporting tinted contact lenses.

Kaza Gompha. We were privileged to spend the night at this complex.

The barber then applies a block of alum, massaging the cheeks, chin, and forehead with this soothing balm. A head massage follows, executed with an energetic thumping of the skull with the palms of his hands intertwined. He then grasps your hair and pulls upwards, the force just short of what could easily turn into a good old fashioned scalping! Just as you are recovering from these pleasure-bordering-on-pain sensations, he grasps your head by your chin and the back of your skull and torques it quickly to the left and the right. You feel that your neck will break, but of course it doesn't. Refreshed and a little limp from his ministrations, you gladly pay the fee and walk out into the gorgeous sunshine outside and take a deep breath of mountain air!

8 July 2001. Kaza - Tabo - Chango.

Somehow we had missed out on this ritual in Leh after the Kang Yaze jaunt (see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/10/kang-yaze-trekking-peak.html ). After a great night's sleep at our lodgings in the Kaza Gompha, we proceeded to the bazaar for breakfast and to seek out a barber shop. Franklyn and Franco opted out of this self indulgence, so Ravi and I took our place on the chairs.

We emerged a half hour later, hair trimmed, clean shaven and ears tingling with a delicious electric charge. You could say that there was a spring in our step as we walked back to the Gypsy whose new front suspension matched ours, leaf spring for leaf spring! We drove to the Indian Oil fuel pump to tank up on our fuel supply, keeping in mind that the next opportunity would be at Poari, a long, long way away. A sign proudly proclaimed it to be the world's highest retail outlet. Kaza is about 500 feet higher in altitude than Leh, hence the honour...

The Kaza fuel station.

The road in this part of Spiti was a sheer delight, often fringed with stands of poplar and willow, stone walls separating the road from meticulously cultivated oases of green, crossing shallow and sometimes not-so-shallow effluent streams which gurgled forth from gullies and fissures in the cliffs above, a result of the summer melt of the glaciers hidden from view. The clarity of the air matched that of Ladakh, as did the ruggedly arid landscape.

Tabo valley

The thousand year old monastery at Tabo seemed like an appropriate place to halt for lunch. Like all places of spiritual significance, Tabo too emphasised the fleeting nature of human existence and our efforts to create a road map of meaning.

A convenient little cafe redirected our attention to the here and the now and a tasty meal of fried noodles and fresh vegetables helped us to focus on living in the moment.

The village of Hurling

Driving leisurely through the villages of Hurling and Shelkar, we arrived at Chango, five hours after leaving Kaza. The village of Chango, perched on the left bank of the Spiti river and cradled between the life giving arms of the Kuru Tokpo stream and the Chango nala, has morphed in my mind as a kind of Shangri La after my previous three visits here and I was looking forward to meeting up with Chokdup Negi, the young man who had helped us arrange mules and donkeys to carry the expedition baggage up to the stony wastes of the Chango glacier for our adventures and misadventures.

The Rest House (belonging to the Irrigation Department) was locked. Knowing where Gimmet the caretaker lived we walked up to his new concrete house next door and located him via his wife. We then drove up to Chokdup's house. He had received my letter more than two months ago and had even tried to phone my house in Mumbai from a new long distance telephone booth installed in a little tea shop, little knowing that I had left for my extended Farewell to the Himalaya tour on 5 May!

It was a happy reunion - both Ravi and Franklyn knew Chokdup from our previous trips here. We crossed the Chango nala to the other side where his father lived and while sipping tea a thunderstorm passed overhead, spattering the dry earth with big drops of rain. When the storm had passed a rainbow appeared and we all rushed outdoors to admire the suspended spectrum of light. A small everyday miracle like this is all that is required to remind us of the beauty and transience of our lives.

Dinner was a generous event at Chokdup's house later in the evening. His sister, a "chomo"(Buddhist nun) and Ramgopal, the young lad who had climbed his first Himalayan peak with us in 1998, joined us for this memorable meal. Karma, Chokdup's little daughter who was a year and a half old, kept us entertained with her happy smile. I was amazed at how independent she was, even to the extent of eating her dinner all by herself with panache, a feat which I had never seen a city bred toddler ever accomplish!

Karma smiles happily as her mother shells fresh peas and Chokdup slices radishes in preparation for dinner. 

At Chokdup's insistence we slept in his house that night, looking forward to seeing the famous lake at Nako and the Sookha Lama at Gue the next day.

9 July 2001. Chango - Nako - Gue - Chango

I had read glowing historical accounts of the trout filled lake in the village of Nako, nestling high above the Chango - Yangthang road. We arrived trailing a cloud of dust behind the Gypsy and Chokdup and his daughter greeted a host of people as we walked towards the lake. Chokdup's wife was a native of Nako, so inevitably there were many cordialities exchanged en route to the water. Regrettably, the lake paled in comparison to Chandra Tal which we had visited just two days ago.
(See http://accidentaldriver.blogspot.ca/2015/02/the-mother-of-all-drives-part-6-chattru.html)

Nako

Seeking more excitement than a placid body of water, we boarded the Gypsy and drove to the village of Gue, home to one of Chokdup's aunts and also home to the shrine of the Sookha Lama. A sudden rain squall loosened the slope of loose mud and scree along the final stretch of the road to Gue. Chunks of mud and flying pieces of slate slithered down the slopes, some hitting the roof of the Gypsy and others bouncing off the windscreen. We just about managed to avoid further damage by waiting under a rocky overhang till the thunderstorm had passed.

Gue

The shrine of the Sookha Lama was locked. The keys were kept with the small detachment of ITBP (Indo-Tibetan Border Police) soldiers posted in the village and one of them escorted us up the small hillock to the shrine and unlocked it for our benefit. We had to crouch to enter the low slung room and could barely see a thing until a devotee who was just behind us lit the butter oil lamps in front of the skeletal remains of a monk - this was the Sookha Lama. The story goes that a long time ago there lived a very holy man in this village and like all mortals holy and otherwise, had completed his time on earth and passed away and was buried. Many years later there was a massive earthquake (probably the one in 1975 which had its epicenter in this part of Kinnaur - see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1975_Kinnaur_earthquake for more details) which caused the earth to rupture and a peasant found the lama's remains sitting in a meditative pose in his field. It was taken to be a manifestation of the divine.  "Sookha" in Hindi means dry and it was a convenient way to name the phenomenon in a land where the chilly dryness of the air can preserve things for a long, long time, perhaps even for eternity.

As the dim light flickered in that shrine, I asked the accompanying soldier if I could take a photograph. The sacred scene bordered on the macabre as my camera flashgun illuminated the interior, clearly showing the strands of hair on the skull, the strands that the woman worshipper had touched as she sought the blessing of the lama.

Shrine of the Sookha Lama

For our part, Chokdup dragged us to the home of his aunt where we were served tea and refreshments. The generosity and hospitality that one encounters in people's hearts and homes all over the Himalaya is something that the rest of the world can emulate and be the better off for it.

One more visit to the Gue Gompha and we were ready to go back to Chango. The Gypsy got bogged down in a particularly muddy section of the road but the 4WD managed to extricate the vehicle out of the morass.

Our time with our friends in Chango was drawing to a close. Ramgopal invited us over to his house for a round of strong locally brewed spirit. Franklyn and Franco sportingly knocked down a couple of pegs. I took one sip out of politeness, then excused myself, pointing out that I did not wish to suffer from a hangover during the next day's planned drive to Chitkul in the Sangla valley.

to be continued....

To understand why Chango means so much to me you have to read the following:

1. http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/01/the-chango-chronicles-1993-first.html

2. http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/01/the-chango-chronicles-1995-grip-on.html

3. http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/02/the-chango-chronicles-1998-third-time.html

Karma

Chokdup's aunt weaving a rug at her loom in Gue.