Travels in the remote mountainous region of Spiti near the Tibetan border

Written: Sep 02, 2002
Location: Spiti, Himachal Pradesh, Northern India

This entry describes two weeks travelling in Spiti in the North Indian State of Himachal Pradesh. Spiti is located in the North East of Himachal Pradesh near the Tibetan border.

I had spent a week in Manali relaxing and recovering from a trip to Ladakh. I was planning my next moves and was unsure whether to attempt a circular route from Manali to Shimla via Spiti and Kinnaur. The roads were notoriously poor in this area to say nothing of the buses. Breakdowns and hold ups due to landslides and floods were common. In the end I thought it might be fun and bought a bus ticket to Kaza the main town in Spiti.

The bus left at 4.30am which meant I had to be up at 3.30am to walk the 2km into town from my guesthouse. Like most Indian bus stations there was no way of knowing which bus was which as the signs and announcements were all made in Hindi. Luckily a local pointed out the bus to me, probably hoping to act as a porter.

Attaching my rucksack to the roof I prayed it would stay on for the 12 hour journey. My seat was at the front over the wheel which meant that my legs were stuck up at an angle. After a couple of hours it became extremely painful to sit, especially as I was crammed up against the window, squashed by the people sitting next to me. There were three people sitting on a seat meant for two. This is a common practice on Indian buses, pack as many people on as possible.

Half way through the journey the bus got a puncture, which took an hour to repair. This also happens a lot. I was so relieved to arrive in Kaza. After a hot shower I collapsed onto my bed exhausted.

The next day I was stiff and tired so I rested and did some shopping. It was August the 15th and India celebrated its independence from Britain with a national holiday. In Kaza everyone had three days off to get drunk and go shopping. It was impossible to leave town as the buses in and out were all crammed with people.

In the market I bought a small Buddha made of Yak bone and an old Tibetan prayer bell used in Pujas. I was very pleased with my purchases as I am a notoriously bad shopper. I always take ages before I buy anything. The shopkeeper said I got a good price for the bell because there were so few tourists. I paid about ten pounds for it. There was also turquoise for sale and I would have liked to get some but it was a bit expensive at 15Rs per gram.

After shopping I visited the SDM office to pick up the paperwork for the Inner Line Permit that is required to travel from Spiti to Kinnaur, my next destination. A permit is required because the border with Tibet is a politically sensitive area that is off limits to foreigners. This permit is supposed to discourage tourists from absconding across the border to Tibet, although you would have to be a bit mad to do so. The Indian and Chinese have soldiers stationed either side of the border.

Girl with child, Ki village

The following day I walked 11km along the Spiti valley to the small village of Ki, home to the monastery of the same name. In the village I met a young girl carrying a baby. I was so touched by their demeanour that I was moved to take a photograph.

I proceeded further into the village and met a local man who invited me into his house for chai (tea). The room was very dark and dingy, there were the usual pictures of the Dalai Lama on the walls and a large shelf filled with cups, plates and various utensils. I was ready for a good strong chai after my walk but to my dismay the villager and his wife made me a very weak brew, quite unusual for India.

Husband and wife, Ki village

The man and his wife spoke little English so we were reduced to smiles and gestures most of the time. They introduced me to their son and were keen to see my photographs. Being Buddhist they were particularly interested in my photographs of monasteries and I gave them a photo of a monastery in Dharamsala which they were delighted with.

It was a steep climb from Ki village to the monastery where I stayed the night. Tourists are allowed to stay at the monastery for a day or so in exchange for a donation towards costs. I was allocated a dark and musty room overlooking the main courtyard.

Later, as I sat in the ancient kitchen, the walls blackened by smoke reminded me of scenes from an Indiana Jones film. I sat sipping chai with a monk and wondered what I was doing there. I ate with the monks in the kitchen. Steaming hot stews and soups were served from huge dark cauldrons. The monks were friendly enough but spoke no English. I was the only tourist staying the night although there were quite a few visitors during the day.

The view over the valley from the roof of the monastery was stunning; the valley floor was hundreds of feet below. However the weather was wet and miserable so I retired to my room to read by torchlight.

Next morning at 7am a monk brought me chai and ushered me into the main hall for the puja. Four monks of various levels of seniority sat chanting. Periodically one of them banged a drum and another blew a conch shell. I had seen similar ceremonies and wondered if the monks derived real benefit from the puja or if it had become mechanical, going through the motions. Certainly some of these puja had energy about them. 

As the puja proceeded I was given butter tea which was very oily and tasted disgusting. I was also given a handful of dry flour. I mixed some of the tea with the flour and produced a paste called tsampa. It was quite tasteless and could have done with some sugar to sweeten it. However not wishing to offend my hosts I dutifully ate and drank as much as I could.

Later that day I caught a bus and travelled the short distance up the valley to Kibber, claimed by the Indians to be the highest village in the world with a road and electricity. It is at 4200m above sea level.

The village looked impressive perched on the hillside. I shared a dorm room with a young Israeli man called Shi.

Dead Yak, near kibber

In the morning I went for a walk. Villagers were in the fields harvesting green peas. I followed a path upwards towards the mountains. Further up it was completely silent, I saw no one. I kept following the path thinking I would stop around the next bend but instead kept going. I saw a dead Yak with horns intact staring eerily with one eye. On the way down the sky cleared giving wonderful views of the mountains.

I stayed in Kibber two nights and then returned to Kaza. To celebrate Indian Independence day a school festival was held in Ranrich village. I had been invited to the festival by an aid worker I had met at Ki monastery, so I walked the 8km from Kaza to see it. At the festival, I was given rice, vegetables and chapattis, which I ate, sitting with the locals on the floor of the school hall. Arak, a fiery incredibly strong alcohol was also given though I could only manage a few sips even diluted with water.

Later I was invited by a Nepalese man to sit with some of the elders and drink Chang the local brew made from rice. It was sweet tasting and very nice. As soon as I had drunk half a cup, they re-filled my cup as is the custom. The people were Tibetan in origin and spoke no English. One old woman smiled full of wrinkles and said “Hello” to me, probably the only English word she knew.

Afterwards I sat watching the children perform cultural dances with a warm glow from the Chang.

On the way back to Kaza I hitched a ride on the back of a jeep. There was no room in the back so I had to hang onto the bars and stand on the back bumper. The driver was going at full pelt and the road was very bumpy. It was quite dangerous as a slip of my hand and I could have fallen onto the road or over the side of a cliff. In the end I got off and walked the last two kilometres to Kaza. My arms were getting tired and I did not want to risk falling off.

The next night there was a cultural performance of music and Tibetan dancing in Kaza. The music was mainly rhythmic, based around the drum. I met a girl from Belgium and two French girls. They were invited by their Nepalese friend to have dinner with his family and I was invited too. We ate tsampa with a fiery chilli sauce dip washed down with copious amounts of Chang. The family had a TV and we flicked channels and saw Hindi films, western films and even Arsenal Vs Birmingham City in the Premier League.

My next stop was the Pin valley, home to a few small villages and a national park. I dreaded the bus journey but all was straightforward if a little cramped until the bus was stopped by a landslide blocking the road. We all had to disembark as the bus could go no further. Luckily we were only a short distance from the nearest village and only had to run the gauntlet of the falling rocks to continue our journey on foot.

Landslide, Pin valley

I watched one or two local people cross the pile of mud blocking the road, before shouldering my pack and following them somewhat tentatively. I looked at the mountainside of dry mud embedded with rocks above me. It appeared like a trembling pack of cards about to crash down at any moment. The highest village in the valley is appropriately named Mud.

I walked in the fading light to the small village of Sangam and stayed in the Shambala guesthouse, really just a room in a village house. The room was only 50 Rupees per night, which is approximately 70 pence. Basic describes it pretty well. This was very different to the tourist guesthouses I had been used to. Very few tourists visit the Pin valley so it is rather untouched, unlike many places in India. Farming was very much the mainstay of the economy rather than tourism. Unfortunately the road down the valley was being extended when I was there which will have a detrimental effect on the place.

Village house, Sangam

The Shambala was a rustic family house, the largest room being the kitchen where the family cooked, ate and often slept. One of the sons was a monk as is often the case in these parts. It is seen to bring great merit to the family if one of the sons becomes a monk. Another of the sons was studying at the University in Shimla which was quite prestigious.

I took a shower and had a shock when I walked into the corridor to find a goat staring at me! I said the place was very rustic. In my room a Yaks tail hung on the wall, it was used as a brush to sweep the floor.

Children at a window, Sangam village

It felt great to be somewhere so quiet and remote. I saw no other tourists in the village apart from a couple of German cyclists.

Next day I went for a walk along the valley. I saw many people including women employed in road building, cracking stones with large hammers. I was amazed at how they went about their work with such grim satisfaction as they smashed each stone. It is a shame that the road is being extended along the valley, spoiling the wildness of the place.

Fields of barley, Pin valley

I walked beyond the road head and enjoyed it much more following small paths. At a small hamlet, a Yak was lying in the shade covered in flies. It was the first I had seen. I saw great views of the river winding down the valley with mountains at the end. I wanted to follow the river but had taken the wrong path so I turned back after sharing a chai, rice and biscuits (my contribution) with a local family. I walked slowly back taking photographs along the way.

After Pin valley, I took the bus to the village of Tabo where there are temples with some of the finest Buddhist paintings in India. Tabo is a relaxed place and the village is pretty but there’s nothing much to do apart from look at the temples. The food is limited to Chow Mein and Tibetan soup. I had only intended to stay one night but missed the bus and then was ill for a day so I spent three nights there.

Next stop on the way to Kinnaur was Nako, a traditional village of slate houses. The road to Nako had been completely destroyed by landslide so we had to walk down one side of the valley across the valley floor and up the other side. Our packs were transported across in a basket suspended on wires. We had to wade across a fast flowing river. I threw my boots across to the other side but one went in the river and drifted off down stream. Luckily it snagged on rocks and an Indian man retrieved it for me. It would have been a disaster if I had lost my boot, I had a lucky escape. The bus had given up waiting for us at the other side so three Israelis and myself haggled with a jeep driver to take us up to the village.

I could only spend one night in Nako as my permit was about to expire, otherwise I would have stayed longer. The lake in the village was not much to write home about but the village and surrounding hills were very atmospheric. Up the hill long walls of prayer stones were worn down by the wind. White stupas crowned the hill. Prayer flags flapped in the wind at a mountain pass in the distance but I did not have time to reach it.

Next day we had a long bus ride to Rekong Peo and a short ride up the hill to Kalpa in Kinnaur. The valleys are much greener in Kinnaur, it was nice to see the apple orchards and pine trees after the desert landscape of Spiti. I didn't do too much in Kalpa except recover from the bus journey. There were a couple of Hindu temples in the village but they were closed when I visited.

I had been looking forward to the view of Mt. Kinnaur Kailash, but it was obscured by clouds. I mostly hung out on the balcony with the crazy guys from the guesthouse as they smoked and obsessed about the local marijuana plants.

I liked Spiti very much. It has been the highlight of the trip so far.