To an islander who has lived an entire life by the sea, the Himalayas, the world’s highest mountain range, can easily be perceived as awe-inspiring, what to speak of reaching dizzying altitudes of 5,360 metres above sea-level.

My first step into the Himalayas was to an area known as Dharamsala, in Himachal Pradesh, a western state of India, which is considered to be at the foothills of the ever-growing mountain range. Naturally, being my first time on any mountain whatsoever, the place took my breath away, and I do not mean for lack of oxygen. If anything, there was much less of the stuff in Delhi, whence I came!

Dharamsala itself is unimpressive, with several shops and houses lining the main street, but just 10 kilometres up a winding road, McLeod Ganj, Dharamkot and Bhagsunag offer an entirely different ambience. The entire area is covered in pine trees, scattered with strings of coloured Tibetan prayer-flags. A deep valley lies below while Triund mountain’s snow-capped peak seems the watchful eye over the extreme varieties to be found here.

McLeod Ganj is, since 1960, home to the 14th Dalai Lama, the spiritual leader of Tibet. More than 100,000 Tibetans have fled their homeland and continue streaming into Dharamsala, a name which literally means “a place of rest or refuge”. Also known as “Little Lhasa”, here lies the only hope of Tibetans to continue practising their language and religion without the risks of breaking Chinese-imposed law in Tibet.

Spinning their prayer-wheels, Tibetan elders chant mantras as they walk the colourful streets alongside monks, nuns, pilgrims and tourists from India and the West. Tibetan youths attempt some business selling traditional and non-traditional goodies, especially to the scores of western travellers – some seeking spiritual advancement by meditation and yoga practices and others simply enjoying good food, good views and good company in one of the several guest-houses in the area.

In fact, Dharamsala has also become a social venue for western travellers who often take the time to rest here, mainly because it offers such diversity, beauty and relative comfort as well as the opportunity of several things to do. Many take a “living” as opposed to a “holidaying” attitude while here, learning a new skill or craft or studying Buddhism.

I was pleasantly “stuck” in Bhagsunag for two months, fulfilled by a simple life at the wooden “Samadhi House” on the mountain-side, in the company of my friendly neighbours from all corners of the world. We exchanged experiences, discussed reflections about life and the world, enjoyed nature treks and made music into the night.

After a 10-day-long retreat at the Dharamkot Vipassana meditation centre that remains one of the most remarkable experiences of self-discovery I have ever had, I felt I must leave now… or never! Within two days I took the 10-hour bus-ride to Manali. Leaving the home-comfort behind, I intended to embark on an adventure: the journey along the Manali-Leh highway, the second-highest road in the world, in a local bus!

Leh is the capital city of Ladakh, which is at the east of the Jammu and Kashmir state, bordering Tibet. Deep into the Himalayas and reached via a 485-kilometre-road which is only accessible between the end of June and mid-September, it is India’s most remote and sparsely populated region. The Manali-Leh highway opened to foreign tourists only in 1989, but the 26- to 30-hour-long journey is still interrupted by several isolated military checkpoints requiring registration of passport details into a ledger.

Leh can also be reached by air, but travelling in a dilapidated bus along the highway is incomparable – touching both extremes of possible human emotional experience. The journey, winding along a variety of landscapes, is so long to require an overnight stay.

The first of four passes to reach Leh is one of the most treacherous. The Rhotang Pass at 3,978 metres literally means “piles of dead bodies”. I did not know that before I embarked on the journey! I did, however, find myself praying for our lives for a good portion of the time, until time and time again I would get distracted by the striking beauty of the ever-changing landscape.

Past Keylong, where we spent a very short night, the mountains take on a deep red colour or a pale green hue – a painter’s delight! At the next pass, Baralacha La, three rivers fall away from its sides in different directions. Following the Lachuglang La pass at 5019 metres, the bus descends into a canyon with water gushing through and the rock showing obvious signs of erosion by glaciers.

Too often, the road is so narrow that while winding our way up or down, if I looked out from my window seat I could not see the mountain-side but just a drop of several hundred metres below. Even more worrying was the glimpse of a rusting metal shape, tiny in the distance, at the base of the mountain, marking a less fortunate journey of the past. Occasionally I would strain my neck to see the tyres of the bus just inches from the edge, and with a sense that we are travelling at dangerous speed, again I would start to pray… but soon I would forget as the next natural beauty transformed before my eyes.

To make a grin inevitably creep across your face are the “safety on the road” signs which appear every hundred or so metres. They offer imaginative and humorous advice, such as “Shut up and let him drive!” written in big red letters on a white sign post on the road side – so I ended up looking forward to what the next one would say!

And how is it possible not to be entertained when the dilapidated bus is bouncing uncontrollably, flanked on both sides by a wall of ice four feet high and water is gushing around the tyres? Driving through a glacier is not a thing one does every day is it?

Eventually we could enjoy a much-welcomed relatively safe drive along the Moray Plains surrounded by white peaks. In the vast mountain desert landscape, where it is sometimes easy to mistake the mountains for sand dunes, both in colour and shape, a sudden realisation of how small we really are suddenly hits you. Another remarkable realisation is how well humans can adapt even to the most arid of lands, when in the middle of nothingness, you might glimpse a Pashmina-rearing herdsman in the distance.

Eventually, the road starts up towards Tanlang La, the fourth and final pass at a staggering 5,360 metres, the highest pass on the highway. The people in the bus went strangely quiet, until I realised I too was focusing all my concentration on simply inhaling enough air not to feel overly dizzy and keeping my stomach appeased.

Our arrival in Leh was welcome, both for looking forward to rest after a highly emotional and tiring journey, as for relief in arriving at all, let alone in one piece. The city is known as “little Tibet”, while La Dags means “land of high mountain passes”. Both are very appropriate names. Cream-coloured barren mountains surrounded the old city which is overlooked by a ruined Tibetan-style palace made of mud brick and concrete.

Surprisingly, the locals manage to maintain farmland between late June and October despite the sandy soil and horrific weather conditions with temperatures often reaching 40ºC in winter while summer afforded a scorching sun due to the high altitude. It never ceased to surprise me how the temperature could vary a few degrees from sunshine to shade on a normal day. The elaborate irrigation systems using melting snow for water supply mark the landscape so mountain desert and lush green farmland are separated by a definitive straight line on the edge of the city.

The area is sprinkled with Buddhist monasteries, perched mystically on hilltops as if reaching for the skies. Impressive art-works and a sensation of ancient wisdom reside within their walls, and visitors are welcome. The most famous is the Tikse monastery.

Several natural beauties such as Tso Moriri lake usually require the rental of a Tata Sumo or a Gypsy via the several travel agencies that exploit the large distances involved in visiting several places of interest, while the traditional trekking method may be organised independently or through same.

My greatest fortune was to be in Ladakh on the occasion of a visit by the Dalai Lama. I had already had the honour to be awe-struck by his presence during a Puja (holy ceremony) performed at his temple in McLeod Ganj, where several Tibetans fell to tears at his mere presence. On this occasion I was lucky to witness hundreds of Tibetans and Ladakhis wearing their traditional attire and gathering at a village on the outskirts of Leh, for a four-day discourse about the Four Noble Truths.

The Four Noble Truths

• Life means suffering.

• The origin of suffering is attachment.

• The cessation of suffering is attainable.

• The path to the cessation of suffering.

I have often been asked if during my travels in the Himalayas I have visited Nepal and Tibet. I feel that I have experienced more of Tibet in India than I could have by visiting Lhasa as it is today.

For more information about the places mentioned, you may visit the following sites:

Dharamsala: http://himachaltourism.nic.

in/kang.htm#dhar

Manali-Leh Highway: http://www.sentient-entity. pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/route.html

Ladakh: http://www.jktourism.org/cities/ladakh/index-l.html