A Walk on the Wild Side in India's Himalayas

It

was our rest day. We were at the village of Janglic on the side of a glacial valley, 3,000 m up in India's western Himalayas. Tibet lay 50 km to the north. The road through the mountains had ended some 10 km back and 1,300 m below. A bank of wild marijuana was on our left, and a series of terraces on our right led down to a sheer 500-m drop into a river gorge. A priest had just decapitated a goat on the flat roof of a house. He lifted the animal's head to the sun, slowly turning so that all could see. Then his assistants cut off its hooves and placed one each at the four corners of the building. None of the villagers was quite sure what the sacrifice was for. Some said the family who lived in the house wanted to exorcise a demon. Others said the priest was invoking the spirits to help the village cricket team win that day's tournament.

The unannounced arrival of four Western hikers—three women and me en route to the 4,700-m-high Buran Pass—on such an auspicious day ensured we were soon installed as guests of honor at the competition. Seven teams from across the mountains would try to best each other on what was probably the world's highest and most dysfunctional cricket pitch. In the center of one terrace was a clay wicket. The marijuana meadow formed one boundary. The terraces below were another: fielders stationed there couldn't see the play and had to be alerted by spectators if the ball was coming their way. As the only male in our party, I was given a pair of scissors to cut a red ribbon tied around the stumps. Saffron paste was daubed on my forehead, a candle was lit, sugared sweets were given to me, a bat was put in my hand and the first ball was bowled.

Not every hiker in the Indian Himalayas gets this kind of reception. But be prepared for the unexpected if you leave the beaten track or the pilgrims' paths. This is a part of the world where having more than one husband is usual, sheepdogs wear protective tin ruffs to save them from leopards, and paths are often made of silver and gold quartz. And in these strange lands, foreigners are definitely exotic. Unlike Nepal where trekking is a developed industry and walking routes are lined with tea shops selling apple strudel and Swiss rösti—one of my companions actually claimed to have gained weight on one trip—a short walk in the Indian Himalayas can still be an adventure.

And often, it's not easy. Trekking facilities are rare to nonexistent. And the Himalayas are so vast you need a platoon of porters, a cook and a couple of guides to see you through. (Two reputable firms are Himalayan River Runners in New Delhi, tel: (91-11) 685-2602, and Zingaro Travels in Manali, Himachal Pradesh, tel: (91-1902) 52-736. Our 10-day hike cost $950 per person, including transport, accommodation at the end and a sleeping bag.) Try to do it on your own, as you can in Nepal, and you'll most likely disappear.

There are many walks to choose from. The Buran Pass trek is typical: the path snakes between the states of Himachal Pradesh and Uttaranchal and ends by leading the walker down into the fearsome gorge of the mighty Sutlej River as it rushes down from Tibet. The hike can only be done in early summer after the snows melt and before the monsoon turns the mountains to mud. On the other side of the pass, trekkers must traverse a glacier after being linked together with ropes. We safely slid the last 200 m to the bottom, but our stores, which the porters launched after us, smashed into the rocks below with a crunch that could only mean we had had our last egg breakfast. On another occasion, we were hauled on ropes from boulder to boulder across a wild, bridgeless mountain torrent. And once we found ourselves walking a stone path suspended on tree trunks jutting out over a cliff's edge as, above us, the mist closed in on our night's campsite. Keen walkers on the right side of 60, it was harder than we had expected. But we made it. And what we got were virgin views, flower-filled meadows and granite landscapes shared only with shepherds and the mountain spirits.

Because trekking is in its infancy in India, many routes are new. Trek organizers are yet to grade them, and in any case are unlikely to say anything to discourage you. So you're only likely to find how tough it's going to be when you reach your first precipice. Unless you're a professional athlete or a goatherd, you can expect aches and pains. But this is the Himalayas, their people and the air at their most raw. Naked nature. There's a purity to these paths. Everything else is just pavement.