Mumbai to Ladakh: A 48-hour escape

The monsoon rains arrive in Mumbai, school is out, the family is away and work all consuming. Having lived in Asia for over 12 years, and India for the last five, I have come up with a systematic approach to get through these long, and occasionally depressing, stretches of summer. You go off the grid, and map, for 48 hours.

Every few weekends, one must get away from the craziness of Mumbai (or pick your Asian city) and explore a new destination with an intellectual and edgy angle. My criteria are simple: departure late Friday night or early Saturday morning, return Sunday night or early Monday morning so no impact on work; use the hoard of frequent flier miles one builds up on Jet Airways or Kingfisher while working in India; a destination with something new and novel, ideally off the path; and of course a topical read for the weekend.

Recently, I took this approach and returned to Ladakh, a previous destination in years past on these weekend adventures. The occasion this round was the opening of Turtuk, an area in far Western Ladakh, formerly part of Pakistan until 1971 and since that time totally closed off to travelers.

Arriving in Leh before 8 a.m. on Saturday after a very early departure from Delhi, I met my guide Gaurav and driver for the 200 kilometer drive to Turkut. After securing copies of our permit and grabbing a quick but hearty breakfast of Ladakhi bread and coffee, we were off climbing out of Leh and over Khardung-La, at 18,380 feet, the highest motorable pass in the world. Note: the altitude of Leh is 11,000 feet and the quick climb out of town over the pass can be tough for those that suffer from altitude sickness; thankfully a childhood of growing up in Colorado's mountains has provided ample preparation for my body and enables the trip to still be done in a weekend without the acclimatization day.

Crossing K-Top, as the summit is known, the long winding descent takes us down in to the Nubra Valley, a moon-like landscape, bordered by the beginnings of the Karakorum Range on one side and the just-crossed Ladakh Range on the other. We follow the Shyok River through various towns, including Diksit and Hunder where preparations are underway for the Dalai Lama's visit in a few days, past a large and remote Air Force base (a reminder of just how close we are to the Line Of Control with Pakistan and the Siachen Glacier) and finally into the deep canyons at the end of the valley where we leave Buddhist Ladakh and enter Muslim Baltistan.

The road, much of it a donkey path until upgraded by the military in 1985 for strategic reasons, continues on for 77 kilometers beyond what was, until a month ago, as far as one could go. After multiple checkpoints and dramatic span bridges over the raging river, we arrive in Turtuk. We have made arrangements in the village’s only guest house, run by Ali and his lovely family, which opened a couple of weeks back, and has seen only a handful of guests.

Waking up at 5 a.m. on Sunday morning (sleep is not a big part of these weekends in order to maximize experiences) the dramatic setting of this village, occasionally visited by the mystical snow leopard, becomes apparent. After a walk through the stone maze of the tiny hamlet, I find a rock from which to watch the sun come up over the mountains that surround the village. The apricot trees, local Baltisani cherries and some grounded barley meal, along with the local salty butter tea, provide an ample breakfast for us to power through a hike around the village, its surrounding fields, past a memorial to some of the earliest soldiers killed in the 1999 Kargil Conflict, and along the Class Five rapids river pouring through the canyons.

With no tourist infrastructure in place, one has to search out the two local artifacts in Turtuk, rugged wool and Pashmina shawls, and ornate walking sticks made from horns fallen off the elusive ibex. As the only show in town, we find both quickly and begin the long journey back to Leh. Along the way we take in the desert sand dunes in the mountain valley, a beautiful incongruity similar to the Great Sand Dunes National Park in my home state of Colorado.

The only hitch to the "48 hours in Ladakh" plan comes on the return trip over the Khardung-La where the warm temperatures have triggered avalanches and washed out the road in some places. We spend a night in the last village before the closed gate to the pass, eating instant Maggi noodles at a local restaurant and then sleeping on the same floor for a few hours before awaking at 4 a.m. to make another run. Thankfully, given the Dalai Llama's visit, the army and Border Roads Organization were on the case and would be repairing the road over the course of the day.

Not wanting to wait given our departure flights, a group of us decided to hike up to 17,500 feet, beyond the sight of the wash out, to meet a jeep that had come down to the other side. This strenuous hike proved that one can also get a lung-busting workout on these weekends and not feel guilty about missing Saturday at the gym.

Back in Leh, the warm sun, hot shower and fresh momos at the Hotel Shambha La, my favorite place to stay in Leh, await and provide the perfect end to an intellectually stimulating and physically demanding weekend.

Several hours later, I am in a suit in Mumbai, back in the grind, but energized by this precision strike, deep into the outer reaches of India.

Given the reality of the large army presence all around us in Ladakh and the harsh terrain in which they operate, the chosen topical book for the weekend was Sebastian Junger's new book "War"; the story of the U.S. Army in Afghanistan's very remote Khoringal Valley.

Other favorite weekend adventures over the course of the last five monsoon's since I moved to Mumbai have included hiking in Gulmarg, Kashmir with a stop on Dal Lake in Sringar; a Le Corbusier architectural tour of Chandigargh; a mission to Cherrapunji in Assam to see the wettest place on earth (strange choice for leaving Mumbai's Monsoon, yes, but it hit all the criteria and did not disappoint); a 24-hour shot to Dharamshala to walk among the cedars and soak in the atmosphere of the Dalai Lama's home while reading in the excellent espresso shops; and a previous trip to Ladakh to see the confluence of the Zanskar and Indus Rivers and look into the road being built, hopefully slowly, that will open Zanskar to the outside world in the winter.

The "bucket" list of potential trips is long, and the realities of work mean that one can only do one or two of these a summer. However, there is no excuse for sitting around Mumbai in the rain, pining for the family, when one can be on that 6 a.m. flight Saturday for 36 to 48 hours of weekend adventure travel in this amazing country.

Brooks Entwistle is the country head for a major international financial institution and has been based in Mumbai for the last five years. He used Ladakh Eco Trips (ladakhecotrips@gmail.com) to secure a permit for the trip to Turtuk.