police post is rife with tales of landslides ahead and 7k later this is confirmed as we grind to a halt in front of a sea of mud. We sat around for a couple of hours in the rain hoping that the promised bulldozer would appear but eventually after an exciting 23 point turn, we head off back to Koksor and arrange to sleep on the tea house floor. Baldwin's bargaining powers were tested here as the initial quote of 250 rupees each was reduced to 20 plus a promise to buy an evening meal. Soon every inch of floor space was bagged, and we settled down to an uncomfortably damp night.

Next morning the rain was still tipping down and, with no prospect of road repairs until it stopped, our fellow passengers were getting restive. These tough looking world travellers turned out to be  paper tigers who were frightened that if the Rotang La also got blocked they would be stuck.

Going back seemed pointless to us as the monsoon was due to continue for some weeks in the Manali area whereas in Ladakh it should be dry. Our stance was "we have paid to go to Leh and that's where we are going. By mid afternoon all our fellow passengers except Kenny and Mikki, a Danish couple, were hell bent on going back. So, after refunding some of our fare, the bus squelched off leaving us to our own endeavours.
Another wet night followed but, as the rain lessened next day, we got a truck ride up the road break. We then set off on foot, first crossing a small river by throwing the bags across and then, a mile further on, arriving at the real problem.  For 200 yards the road had disappeared leaving a deep channel of mud, rocks and rushing water. We spent half an hour picking our way back and forth, ferrying the gear and taking full advantage of Baldwin's long legs. At last, only slightly muddy, we could continue on foot to the village of Sisu. Here we found the bus to Kylong waiting outside a primitive tea shack and after some welcome refreshment we set off on a 25k ride to the town.

Lunching on the inevitable Dahl Bhat in Kylong we learned that yet another landslide was due to be cleared by 4pm, and the bus to Darsa would leave at 5.30pm. We passed the afternoon watching a patent medicine man selling weird herbal mixtures to the locals and then set off in yet another decrepit bus for Darsa.

The road was very impressive, just a ledge carved into the steep hillside with dizzy drops down to the rushing river below. At the landslip site the bus shuffled across with its front nearside wing rubbing the rock wall whilst its rear offside wheels scrabbled on the very edge of the unstable road. I looked down at the river some 400m below and calculated that, should we go over, we would bounce only once before hitting the water. Not good for the nerves.  Eventually, well after dark we arrive at Darsa and, after signing in at the police post, retire to a tent café for noodles and a 35-rupee bed.

Tomorrow the bus leaves at 5.30am but snow on the Barralacha Pass could cause delays. As we bed down for the night a Ladaki who has just arrived by jeep offers us a ride

back to Leh for 500 R's each. This is twice the bus fare but as jeeps are more comfortable, and have a better chance of getting through, we accept.

At 6.30am we set off up the very rough road towards the Barralacha. Hairpin follow hairpin and a vast array of snowy fill the skyline. Wet snow covers the road for the last 1000ft but we eventually stutter over the top and start our descent to the valley. In no time at all we are in a different landscape entirely. Suddenly it is arid, with pillars of wind-sculptured rock and deep dry ravines stretching for miles.

A lunchtime stop at Pang, which is a group of tents, set up in a deep Nala precedes the drive across the vast Rupshu plateau and then we start the long ascent to the Talung La. The initial climb consists of 21 hairpin bends stacked up on a steep hillside. This is followed by miles of grinding uphill until eventually the summit prayer flags appear in the distance. The pass itself is disappointingly scruffy and we hurry across to start our 5000ft descent into the Indus Valley.

On the way down whilst still about 17,000ft we pass a road repair gang working to keep the road open. These crews, who live in makeshift tents with no facilities whatever, are mostly from the poor areas of Behar in Southern India and must find the conditions very hard. Crowds of women sit breaking stones with hammers whilst young lads mix road stone and bitumen over open fires. They are all as back as sweeps but look cheerful as we pass.

The road winds down into the valley and back into inhabited countryside again. Soon we see the first of the traditional Ladakhi houses, which are constructed from a mixture of stone and mud. The two story buildings house animals on the ground floor with the families above and have flat roofs on which fodder is stacked for winter-feed. Some have intricately carved wooden doorframes and all have tall poles from which prayer flags flutter.

The hills now look very young with steep scree sides and deeply eroded ridges. The rocks are a mixture of the most unusual colours with purple and deep copper green mixed with grays and reds. At last we reach the Indus valley and roll along past the monasteries of Hemmis and Tisa to arrive in Leh Tired dusty and numb.

After a much-needed shower we stroll into town for a meal. The menu has much to offer but when Mikki orders Kashmiri chicken the waiter tells him "There are no chickens in Ladakh" and thinking back over the trials of the last few days we decide that he is absolutely right! 

Tony Edwards

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