Ladakh “Land of high passes”
Altitude. I started to think about altitude.
Having grown up and lived at sea level for most of my life, it was only when I joined Ronald and was introduced to his beloved mountains in Switzerland, that altitude came into my awareness.
I learnt that trees no longer grow above 2,000 meters and that one can trace the tree line on mountain faces above which barren rock formations chisel out their huge watchful presence, becoming white with snow and overnight changing the panorama quickly and completely.
I could sense how the air changed in subtle ways as we went up in a telecabine to the top of the Berneuse in Leysin, our highest point at 2,045m (6,709ft). There are a couple of other higher points in the vicinity, for example at Diableret the glacier at 3,000 metres which means skiing is possible throughout the spring. I’d been up twice. Not to ski but to marvel at the exquisite beauty and purity of the air.
The heights in Ladakh I was now reading up about were mind-boggling. Ladakh means ‘land of high passes’, and for eight months of the year this land with about 150,000 people is cut off from the world with snow blocking all access routes.
I had flown to Delhi, and not even ventured out into the polluted smog-laden air of the densely populated city. I rested up in my hotel room until we were due to fly to Leh, the capital of Ladakh. Leh is at 11,000 feet above sea level. To put this in perspective, the highest point in Southern Africa is Thabana Ntlenyana (in Lesotho) at 11,400 feet. Arriving at Leh airport, a recurring announcement advised visitors to take two days to adjust to the altitude. The atmosphere changes radically above this and we were planning to reach much higher altitudes than Leh.
Our group of 22 took it easy, but even so two persons went to hospital on the first night and four others were given oxygen. I was pleased that I had spent a few weeks at least climbing up and down around Leysin. But this was more than double the altitude, and I took time to adjust. Walking slowly, mindfully. It encouraged one to slow down. Being in Ladakh demanded a different rhythm.
Then we traveled up to and over the KhardungLa Pass, 18,380 feet above sea level, the highest motorable pass in the world. To put this pass in perspective, the peak of Kilimanjaro is 19,340 feet above sea level. Every year piles of stones from frequent avalanches block the small access roads, and then in summer road gangs work for months at the side of road clearing this. Then the snow falls and makes it impossible to traverse the routes for another eight months.
At the end of our journey in mid August, we drove up one pass during the first snowfalls, giving us a grey and grim glimpse of what was to come. Our group of 22 travelled in five white vehicles forming a modern ‘caravan’ as we curled our way down from the Khardungla pass to the Nubra Valley where we stayed for two nights in a tented oasis in the desert. It was 40֯֯֯֯ degrees F inside my tent.
The driving was spectacular. I sat in the front passenger seat with the precipice falling away steeply away down the ravines on my left. I lost my fear of heights completely during this time in Ladakh, becoming able to peer down the almost vertical ravines we snaked around in our small caravan of cars, each with its own magician in the driver’s seat. They could clearly see through everything, including the huge trucks we found ourselves behind. How else could we have nosed out from behind to pass them on impossibly narrow ledges on tight curves ? There was no visibility as to what might be beyond the next bend.
There was however total reliance on hooters, so the silence was punctuated with staccato-like hoots, which echoed like Morse code back to us again and again from the towering mountain sides.
We were all in a meditative state. A combination of the altitude and the Buddhist chanting of ‘Om Mani Padme Hum’ coming through the speakers. It was very conducive to just allowing, going with the flow, in the present moment. Clichés which had their place.
There were several Buddhist monasteries perched on impossible hilltops, several of which we stopped nearby to climb up to and to visit. Stakna, outside Leh; Lamayuru monastry a stopover for travelers on the Kashmir road since ancient times; and Thikse Monastery founded in 1480 which is the headquarters of the Dalai Lama when he is in Ladakh. Today the monastery houses 120 lamas and novices. Its main attraction is the 40 ft high gilded statue of Maitreya, the Future Buddha. Overnight at a hotel looking up to Thikse Monastery, meant we could walk up at sunrise and join the monks for a meditation, being offered yak butter tea before we left Thikse and journeyed up and over the Changla pass at an altitude of 17,500 ft.
The road then wound its way to Lake Pangon, a magical and mysterious lake, the highest in the world, and sprawling 81 miles into Tibet and China. No cell phone towers, no electro-magnetic fields interfering – this was a special place. The perfect place to conduct a small peace ceremony sending our intentions in the water to China and Tibet.
We were in Kashmir, and a very distinct Indian military presence had struck me immediately. Hundreds of army trucks creeping up and down passes. The scene made me think of Ronald. He would have enjoyed, if that is the right word – this adventure. A journey along the Silk Route had been on his wish list since he was a young man. Here I was undertaking at least a portion of it.
Of course, the main reason I was in Ladakh was Judy Satori. I felt exceptionally privileged to have this time with her. We had daily sessions where powerful energies were transmitted to us; most people experiencing deep shifts as they gained more awareness of their spiritual paths.
We had a meal out at a local restaurant on one occasion; to celebrate Judy’s birthday. I had the opportunity to sit next to her and this was when we really connected and shared many things about South Africa, Switzerland and the Amani Harmonic Foundation.
I was guided to share something about the successful ‘Mastering Alchemy’ event we had hosted in Leysin for Jim Self a few months earlier and suggested that we could host an event for her in Switzerland in 2019. The seed was planted and over the next few months it took root and sprouted, and we began to plan our second major international event in Leysin.
It was to be a Symposium exploring ‘The Sound of Light’