Elevation Baby: Kaza and Beyond.

When we first saw this slogan on the front of this bus, we laughed. Later, we cried. Luckily we survived to laugh again. We now bring you the escape from Spiti Valley.

Ah, what a lovely day in the Himalaya. We left Manali for the desert landscape of Spiti Valley, just one valley away. The difference in climate, elevation, culture, and landscape are as dramatic as any we have ever experienced. We were excited to move to Kaza, where we had planned to begin trekking from. Our bus left from Manali at 6 am. We stopped at the beautiful Rohtang Pass for breakfast.

Max looks like an advertisement for North Face.

The view from this famous 4112 meter pass was breathtaking.

Just minutes after we left from our breakfast stop, we encountered our first mini mini landslide. The crowd of men in the middle move rocks and mud to repair the road by hand. We only had to wait about 2 hours.

This is why it took two hours. Notice the two-man shovel technique.

The journey from Manali to Kaza is not for the faint of heart. The roads are some of the worst in all of the country and the very maximum speed gained by our local bus was 40 km/hr. After the Rohtang pass, the landscape quickly begins to change from luscious greenery to stark high desert.

The ten-hour bus ride climbs and descends 1,000s of meters at a time. Kara begins to feel sick, but the scenery is so spectacular and other worldly that at first she doesn't mind.

The barren canyons look like martian landscape.

Very few people live here. We felt like we had been placed on another earth as the terrain was so...weird.

Then, out of no where, sheep!

Mountains and the sheep who live in them.

A river runs through it. Because it rains so seldom in this area, the rocky soil has very little to hold it together. The average yearly rainfall is only 17 cm! This means that when rains do come, they carve deep channels into the gravely hillsides. Seen above are some of the bizarre and beautiful results of such flash floods.

We arrived in Kaza, the largest town in Spiti around dusk. Spiti is right on the border with Tibet and in fact was once part of a larger Tibetan kingdom. Not surprisingly, it is mostly populated by Tibetan Buddhists as well as Spitians who have their own distinct culture. "Spiti" means "The Middle Land," referring to its geographical location between India and Tibet. Prayer flags, seen above, color the khaki landscape.

We arrived to Kaza and put every single piece of clothing that we owned on our bodies, got under our down sleeping bags and piled two massive comforters on us. We were not prepared for the extreme desert cold. We were exhausted from our bumpy journey and our rapid ascent. The next 72 hours were spent essentially in bed as Kara got altitude sickness and Max fell ill to what we found out a month later to be giardia and E-Coli. A classic combination. At the time, we thought that Max had altitude sickness as well. After trying in vain to acclimatize and not wanting to suffer the 10-hour journey back to Manali in such conditions, we decided to descend a couple hundred meters down to the next town of Tabo.

As soon as we arrived in Tabo, Kara started to feel better. We were still holding out hope to begin a trek in the next days.

Tabo is a small and idyllic town, centered around an ancient monastery where the Dalai Lama plans to retire. We are not exactly sure how a lama retires-- basically he likes it a lot.

We feel great! Or so we think. Max does a handstand on the Dalai Lama's helipad in Tabo.

Not so fast, buddy. The next day, Max falls ill again and we lose all hope for adventuring in Spiti.

For the next 4 days, we read books, drink tea, and plan our escape from this beautiful yet deadly valley. Max gets a house call from a traveling French medical team who fortunately were visiting Tabo for 2 days. Kara acted as the clinic translator and gained some new local friends after translating Hindi to French and then back again. From then on our walks around town were greeted by warm smiles and inquiries about Max's health.

Miraculously, we get better. Tabo was not a bad place to be sick in after all. Not knowing that the e-coli and giardia were only lying dormant in Max's system, we booked a bus to the next valley of Kinnaur. But not before finally getting out of our hotel room to explore tiny Tabo.

Typical Spiti style house. The thick mud walls are excellent insulators and the flat roof provides a store space for animal feed for the winter months.

Traditional Tibetan clothing hangs on the walls of a local restaurant.

Entering the gates of the Tabo Monastery. It was founded way back in the '90s....996 A.D.! It's original frescoes and sculptures are immaculately preserved and is considered to be the oldest functioning Buddhist monastery in India and the Himalayas.

Inside the compound. There are many stupas enclosed within Tabo Monastery's walls, including 9 temples.

Just some nice landscape.

Main stupa.

Prayer wheels. Prayer wheels line the perimeter of many Tibetan Buddhist stupas. One should always spin the wheels clockwise as they walk around the stupa. Three times is supposed to be a charm.

Sunset looking towards Kinnaur Valley. We would leave the next day, assuming we would be in our destination of Shimla in the next 48 hours. In order to travel to Kinnaur from Spiti, you must obtain a travel permit from Kaza. Permits are required to travel in this region because of its proximity to the Chinese border.

The road to Kinnaur. We laughed at the idea of "shooting stones," sure that it was a mistranslation.

Within an hour of our climb, we came across our first landslide. The men of the bus diligently climbed out to clear the road of its rocks. The first few landslides were cleared within minutes and Max enjoyed the team building challenge and the adventure of it.

Smoothing out the road with fallen rocks so the bus could make its way over. The volunteers used these pieces of slate as makeshift shovels.

Couple of hours later our bus hit a patch of fog on top of a very high mountain. At first we stopped for about a half an hour with no information from our driver, however this is normal for traveling in India and we sat patiently, unfazed. Later, we were told that we would need to get off the bus, walk through a landslide, and change buses at the other side, as it would be impossible to drive through. After one of our party was struck in the shoulder by a fist sized falling rock, we quickly realized the seriousness of our situation. We ran through the 100 meter danger zone with our packs over our heads.

After changing buses, we began to see a pattern. By this time, the volunteer road clearing was becoming less fun and more frustrating.

By dark, we had reached the army checkpoint before the town of Spillo. The army informed us there were massive landslides ahead and that we wouldn't be able to travel through the night. They told us not to worry and that we would be able to move along by the early morning. Where to sleep, we asked? As there were many other buses, trucks, and tourists jeeps in the same situation, all the guesthouses in town were full. We slept on the bus along with several other travelers. Somehow the Indian passengers all managed to find bedding in town. Nevertheless, it was still an adventure and we were having fun.

The next day, we were ready to go around 7 am which was the time that the army had said the road should be clear. At 2 pm, we left Spillo. We traveled about 10 kilometers and reached another roadblock. This is when the trip started to really go downhill. The massive boulders seen in the photo had completely covered the road. They continued to fall all day long, even as workers attempted to clear them away. It was hopeless and it was also dangerous.

This is the diesel powered piece of machinery that worked at the pile for a couple hours before it broke. Another one, about twice the size, was brought in. It was welcomed by cheers from the crowd like a mighty warrior being sent out to sure victory. Within five minutes, the Galiath had been conquered by a falling boulder.

Just as it was getting dark, we were told to get off the bus to cross the pile of boulders on foot. We were told there would be another bus waiting for us on the other side, just like before. This was a bold faced lie.

There are no pictures for the next 48 hours of our journey due to the severity of the situation. Really serious folks. After we crossed this path, we walked for 3 km in the rain to the next town. There we found a bus that was not moving for the night. We had two options: sleep in another bus in freezing temperatures and wet clothes or hop on a jeep to the next larger town where guesthouses and food would await us. We took a jeep and were told by the driver that he would take us to the next road block, just 1 km before the next town. When the driver stopped, we got out, accepting that 1 more km in the rain wouldn't kill us. The jeep could go no further because the road had dissolved into a knee-deep mud pit. We crossed it in hopes of that 1 km town ahead. It was in this mud pit that Kara sprained her ankle adding even greater urgency to our situation. Max quickly relieved her of her pack and seconds after we hobbled out of the pit a MASSIVE river of rocks came flooding down the mountainside. It was like a biblical plague. Basketball sized stones literally flowed like water across the pass we had just escaped. When we looked back, the jeep was no where in sight and the pit was even more trecherous than before. The only option was to continue forward to the fabled town ahead.

With us were two Italians, Marco and Roberto who quickly became our best friends and family. They carried Kara's camera equipment and gave her some walking sticks to use as crutches for the next leg of the journey. Max carried both his pack and Kara's. We can not be sure how far we walked, but it was surely not 1 km. It took us about 3 hours, walking briskly (even with a sprained ankle) in the rain and in the dark, to arrive at the next roadblock. This was one of the scariest parts of our trip--we had to seriously consider where the most sheltered spot to spend the night would be as we could hear not only rain but falling rocks echoing throughout the valley. We finally arrived at the next impassable pile of stones. No town was visible ahead and by this time the road was closed for good. A caravan of trucks and cars lined the road which gave us hope in numbers and shelter. We found Marco and Robbie huddled under a shallow overhang, waiting for us. Robbie had spoken with one of the truck drivers who had a mostly empty cargo space with only a few bags of cattle feed left in it. He agreed to let us sleep in this tarp roofed animal feed compartment for the night. We were so grateful and quickly stripped off our soaked clothing and set up our sleeping pads and bags. We had no food and only about 2 liters of water between the 4 of us. The men had to lift Kara in and out of the truck for toilet breaks due to her ankle. Luckily we had one instant ice pack left in our first aid kit, and Robbie had some instant noodles to share amongst the men--they ate them like chips as there was obviously nothing to cook them with. Kara's gluten allergy barred her from even this small solace. Later that night, we learned that a village girl had died from the falling rocks as she tried to make it on foot to Rekong Peo, the "safe town" ahead. We had for sure been on the bus with her, but didn't know which girl it was. It was a sad night.

The next morning we "awoke," filled with hope that this would be the day we would be able to get to Rekong Peo. The rain persisted all morning long and we watched boulders the size of kitchen tables fall from heights unknown. The heavy machinery stood useless before the ever growing pile of rocks in front of us. There were 7 more spots like this up ahead, we were informed. At first we were comforted by the fact that we were stuck with a caravan of soldiers from the Indian Army. Surely they would know what to do, or send backup to rescue the civilians. It quickly became clear that they had no plan of action and didn't really care about us. They left us at around 3 pm without explaining where they were going, or what we should do. We had a decision to make again. The rocks were beginning to fall closer to our truck and even some small rocks were penetrating the tarped roof. After watching another gigantic boulder smash into the road 50 feet from our truck, we decided we would have to move. Another night in the cold without food or water and not knowing when the rocks would decide to fall on us was not an option.

We were just redistributing the pack weight amongst the men when a "rescue team" came to tell us that we had to move on. Although they were legitimately trying to help us, their incompetence was infuriating and many times put our lives at risk. They themselves were wearing hard hats but had not brought any for us. They did not even offer to help us with our large packs, even seeing that Kara could barely walk. After Max got angry with them, they asked what they could do to help and Max offered that they could take Kara's pack from off his front side. There were 7 points in which were termed "very dangerous" by the rescuers where rocks were continuing to fall. Very dangerous...no shit! Whenever we reached one of these points, the rescuers would cross first and then beckon us to follow. They had a whistle which they would blow when they wanted us to run, however the whistle was continuously sounding even during the most serious of rock falls. The only reason we made it out of there was by completely ignoring their admant whistling and bad advice. We had to gage when the rocks would stop falling and make our way over the towering boulder piles on our own. When we finally cleared the danger zone, we were relieved and overjoyed. There was a team of Indian armymen waiting for us there...or so we thought. We saw a bus that we assumed would take us the final 3 km to Rekong Peo and started to walk towards it when we were told that we would need to walk from here because there were no more landslides and that it was a army bus. Outraged, we insisted that they find us a vehicle. They flagged down a passing motorist and we hitched a ride to Rekong Peo on the back of a pick up truck.

Safe at last! Max stands with our friend and travel companion, Marco. We ended up sleeping in Kalpa, a couple km away from Rekong Peo for the next 4 days. All roads to and from this area were closed. This didn't surprise us and we were happy to not move for a while. Our clothes, completely soaked, didn't dry for the entire time we were there as it rained every night.

So we bought warm things. Kara sports a grossly oversized salwaar-kameez and shawl. Max is never doing the shopping for Kara again--one size does not fit all.

A view from our hotel in Kalpa. Mount Kailash sits across the valley. We were eventually happy to enjoy the mountains from a safe distance.
We would like to say thank you to Marco and Roberto for their morale and physical support during this extraordinary ordeal.
We're ok. We're just a little traumatized. If there is one positive thing we can say about this experience, it's that we are certain that there is no other person we would rather be trapped in a life or death situation with than each other.
Glad to be alive,
Kara and Maximilian

To the Mountains We Go: Naggar, Manali, Vashist

The Indian Himalaya. Treasured by Indians and foreigners as a refuge from the rest of the country's brutal heat. Himachal Pradesh (H.P.) is home to many Tibetan refugees as well as many distinct mountain ethnic groups. Many Indian honeymooners come to these "hill stations" to see their first snow; during the colonial period, the British ran to them to remember what its like to be cold again and we did too. Max left Chandigarh and stopped in a couple of towns in Himachal outside of Shimla, the former summer capital for the British empire in India. The highlight of his journey was the hot springs at Tatopani where he could walk from his small guesthouse to the bathing pools without even having to put shoes on. Knowing that Kara would want a few days to recooperate from her trip back from Europe, he chose a small town called Naggar for their meeting place. After a 8 hour plane journey, a 10 hour wait in the airport in Delhi, and an 18-hour bus ride, they were reunited. Seen above is a view of the Kullu Valley.

Naggar. Fresh air, beautiful mountain views, and hundreds of apple groves. All there is to do is walk around and take in the scenery--and that is enough. Here Max walks through a field of naturally growing cannabis. They grow rampantly throughout this section of the Himalaya.

This is the view from our homestay in Naggar. Max met up with a family who rents the bottom two rooms of their house to local and foreign tourists. It was nice to spend time with a local family. They cooked excellent food and the rates were very reasonable. Like many of the families in this area, the father owned an apple grove. The majority of apples sold in India come from this state.

Gauri Shankar Shiva Temple, Naggar. This small temple is a miniature masterpiece built between the 11th and 12th centuries! Two of the daughters dressed Kara in their clothing and makeup and brought her and Max to the evening puja.

The eldest daughter was really into treating Kara like her own personal Barbie doll. It was fun. Every night we would sit in their living room and talk or watch Hindi soap operas before going to bed. Before we left, the eldest daughter gave Kara one of her scarfs and kohl as a parting gift. The father encouraged Max to come back to work on his apple farm. They were a kind family and we enjoyed staying with them.

Hiking around Naggar. We met a group of giggling teenagers along the way and had a rather long photo shoot with them.

After 5 days in Naggar, we made our way up the valley to Vashisht, a town just 5 kilometers from the tourist hub of Manali. Manali was a popular stop on the "hippie trail" for years and still remains a place for long term travelers to relax and recharge. It is also the last major town on the route to Leh and Ladakh. Max is decked out in his most colorful outfit in front of a map of the region. He is sporting a traditional H.P. topi.

Mild traffic jam.

As it is the last major stop before the treacherous 473 kilometer journey to Leh, northbound goods trucks and adventure-seeking motorcyclists take the opportunity to refuel and retool at the town's many mechanic shops.

Walking over the Kullu River to Vashisht.

Kara loves hill stations.

Hot springs! Vashisht is blessed with an unlimited supply of scalding hot water, and the townsfolk are appropriately grateful. The source of the springs has a temple built around it where locals come daily to wash and pray. Foreigners are also welcomed into the temple's relaxing sulfuric pools. Inside the temple there are two pools for men and women separated by an ancient stone wall. Kara was pleasantly surprised to see that the strict taboo against nudity dissolved into the steam of the women's bathing area. It was the first time Kara ever saw an Indian woman showing her full skin in the 11 months she has spent in India. Go women of Vashisht! she says. Max was disappointed that the men's pool was in full view of the street above, and so he could not enjoy full relaxation in his birthday suit. Both pools are piping hot and it is a test of endurance to submerge one's full body in the holy water. We always left the hot springs completely rejuvenated and calm. Unfortunately photos are prohibited in the temple, so we can only show you what the public pool outside of the temple looks like--seen above.

Giant bunny. Several Manali locals earn their livelihood by holding giant angora rabbits for tourists to oggle and take pictures of. We really wanted to touch this rabbit so we paid 5 rupees for the privilege.

We went to the hot springs every day, sometimes 3 times a day. Seen here is another public hot spring station where many people come to wash their dishes and do their laundry. Behind the washing station you can see the stone-slated roofs of the temple.

Sleepless at dawn, we woke up early on the last day of our time here to enjoy the sunrise over the valley. A week in the Kullu Valley was enough time to restore us to full health before planning on trekking in the neighboring Spiti Valley. We would need every ounce of strength for the next section of our trip....
Kara and Max