Journey to Leh, continued.

I found a nice room in a hotel down a back alley from the main walking thoroughfare and immediately passed out to the sounds of a stream running right outside my window. The next morning, I set out to find the hotel of my dear friend Angela and with luck, to surprise her. We had been in contact a few times but the last words we had exchanged--including her resting place--were from several weeks before. My two-day journey was unbeknownst to her, as were my intentions for a surprise reunion. I found her hotel with ease and proceeded to talk to some American students there, one of which, it turned out, was her roommate! Perfect. I instructed them to keep my existence secret and that I would return later in the day when she arrived back from the school where she was helping build shade structures for the school's sunbaked campus. My favorite breakfast of aloo parantha with achar and curd, plus delicious chai fortified me for my morning ramblings, although I was bemused by a man consistently making eyes at me across the cafe. Unable to ignore our exchanged glances, I simply nodded, to which he responded in kind. Awkward with this somewhat mutual salutations and not wanting to engage further, I did not tarry long and instead headed out immediately following the meal. I later ran into him again outside a shop selling toilet necessities as well as some medicines while I was looking for a place to repair my sunglasses. He recognized me from the cafe and told me as much, but I skirted around his offer of a tea date, continuing down the road. Awaiting Angela's evening return, I hoofed around Leh, exploring the tourist areas, refilling my waterbottle at a few of the filtered water stations around town, and inquiring about a flight leaving Leh. Leh, which rests in a sand bowl surrounded by snowcapped peaks, is reached by flights only on select days to select locations. This fact prompted me to purchase a ticket to Jammu, departing in a few days. I was worried I would miss my international flight booked for July 24th to London if I dallied and the next flights were not until the following week. While exploring the streets of Leh, I happened upon a friend made much earlier in my travels. Tarja, a blue-eyed firecracker from Sweden, was full of stories from when we had last parted ways in Udaipur. Perhaps because of this chance reunion, and also because it seemed safer to sign up as a pair, Tarja and I decided to plan for yet another journey of transportation wonders of an epic proportion. We booked ourselves a journey up to Khardung-La, one of the world's highest motorable passes (according to the mass signage at the pass) with the intention of riding rented bicycles back to Leh. Heady with anticipation, I walked away from the booking office excited for the events to come. Back in town and toward evening, I revisited the hotel. I found a larger group of American students, one of which I recognized as a neighbor from my first year in Portland. Following her surprise at my presence, she invited me to join them for dinner, as Angela had not yet returned from the school. I acquiesced and enjoyed a delicious thali of several small vegetable dishes, roti, naan, and rice. With the meal coming to a close, this friend--Sam--ran back to check the hotel. When she returned, she announced that Angela was there with some other students, and that she was still unaware of my presence. Perfect. I followed Sam back to the hotel where I attempted to be as inconspicuous as possible, sneaking through the courtyard lobby. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and, rounding the turn, saw Angela talking with some other students in the hallway. As I approached, she turned, looked at me, and turned back to her friends. What followed next was the classic double-take, followed by intense bouts of yelling, laughing, tears of excitement and joy, and many a disbelieving stare. 'Twas glorious. A surprise reunion in one of the most isolated parts of northern India, surrounded by beauty both natural and human was a chance of a lifetime. We tore it up. After being slightly overwhelmed by the fast-talking group of American students (I hadn't spoken to an American in weeks, let alone a group for the most part from Portland and PSU), we headed out on the town, going to the group's local bar. I hadn't had alcohol in over a month and at this elevation, my MacGyver-esque hot toddy (double shot of Stag mixed into a ginger-lemon-honey-tea) was especially delicious and heady. We met some adventurous and hilarious young men traveling from the UK with whom we spent time during our days together in Leh. I dream of starry nights laying in a dirt road between lush crops surrounded by friends new and old, embracing the beautiful feeling of contentment arising from travel. I was caught off guard by this influx of people with whom I could commune and immensely sad when my time to leave--solo again--approached. However, there were still fine times to be had before then, such as the bicycle trip with Tarja.

After somehow convincing the patrol to let us pass although I did not have my passport with me, we arrived at the top of Khardung-La. With two jankey old mountain bikes, we walked along the pass, struggling to breath at 18,380 feet elevation. After a quick chai at the top, we proceeded to barrel back down towards Leh, a 7,000 ft, 40 km drop of winding gravel road with patches of asphalt offering panoramic views of Leh, the surrounding peaks, and the occasional driver-less herd of donkeys underneath wind-whipped prayer flags. Plus a yak! I was giddy with adrenaline, often stopping after a long stretch of cruising to laugh and take photos of the landscape bathed by the dazzling blue sky. I soared down the road on my own, having left a more hesitant--yet wiser--Tarja behind, passing trucks headed up toward the pass and zipping past laden passenger busses, eliciting yells and cheers from within. This was too fun. A pause for some chai and vegetable samosas and then off again, barreling through turns and inching closer to the verdant green that signaled Leh's boarders. I made it back to town, sunkissed and wind whipped and full of laughs. So. Much. Fun. Ha!

After a somewhat tearful night of goodbyes, I left at around 5:00 AM to catch my flight to Jammu. The serenity of Leh and my mental relaxation there remained as I watched peak upon peak pass beneath the plane's wings, spreading out to the horizon. This peaceful calm lasted the entire hour and a half, but was abruptly ended as soon as I arrived in Jammu. Whereas in Leh, I had actually experienced chilly nights and clear days, it was immediately apparent I wasn't in Ladakh anymore as the wave of humid heat hit me as I stepped onto the tarmac. I had been told by travelers in Manali and Leh to not stay in Jammu and to use it only as a juncture in travel. I followed this advice and barely made it to the bus station with a girl from Israeli before hopping on a government bus to Amritsar. The only foreigner on the cheapest of mass transit, I was the subject of much observation. Ah, India. The bus ride was long, but fascinating as usual, seemingly an endless film of vitality. In the late evening, I arrived in Amritsar, home to the famed Golden Temple, holiest shrine of the Sikhs.