A few years ago I traveled to a Northern region of India with a group of students. Ladakh is a predominantly rural region nestled between the Himalayas where Buddhist and nomadic-tribal cultures merge to create an incredibly unique and welcoming atmosphere. We spent a few weeks living and working for an organization called Students' Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh (SECMOL). At SECMOL we helped tutor students in English, prepared meals for the students, and worked in the community garden. For part of our time in Ladakh was spent trekking to a remote Nubra valley where we stayed with local families in between our days of hiking from one village to the next.

In this narrative series, I will share some of my adventures in the Himalayas that have been adapted from my travel journal. While I haven’t had the time or opportunity to share my experiences, I am looking forward to finally telling the stories of the incredible place where the people never say “goodbye,” only “see you later.”

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Where the Butter Tea Goes Down Easy: (Part 1)

After 16 hours of flying and 8 hours in the back of a jeep we finally made it. We had reached the Khardung-La. The so-called world’s highest navigable road* seemed like the natural place to start our trek into the Nubra Valley. This tiny pass—historically a strategic connection between India and China—is now little more than a military outpost. In the Kashmir region of India, heavily armed soldiers patrol nearly every mountain pass, highway, and town. Apart from a tiny shrine and a tangled collection of faded prayer flags, it was desolate.

Thankfully I am able to remember my visit to the Khardung-La by the T-shirt I purchased in the outhouse-sized gift shop/museum (where a men’s XXL was about the same size as a US men’s M). They don’t have any toilets at 18,000 feet, but they naturally have T-shirts for tourists to buy. As we glanced at the cartoonish map of the surrounding region we began to conceptualize our long descent into the oasis towns along the Nubra River.

From here on out we were pretty much on our own. The military doesn’t patrol the tiny settlements in the next few valleys so we were alone in the silent foreboding expanse of the Himalayas.

As we set out, a mist began to envelop the mountain range. For the first few hours of the trek, each of us focused most of our energy on keeping track of the scant marking along the way and each other’s bright jackets. We slowly descended out of the clouds and it became easier to see further along our path. Leading the group, I spotted it first. I could barely make out the faded looking tent behind a short rock wall a distance away. Having seen nothing but clouds, peaks and the occasional trail-marker all day it seemed like a miracle that anyone was able to survive and live in such a remote and inhospitable place. We continued to approach not really knowing what the proper protocol was or if we would be seen as intruders.

When a frail old man stepped out of the tent and approached us we weren’t sure what to expect. We knew that we wouldn’t be able to speak whichever one of the many Tibetan dialects he used to greet us, but his friendly face and welcoming gestures suggested that he wanted to show us inside. The tent actually seemed much larger from the inside. The warmth of the stove relieved our chapped faces. A young child in his mother’s lap flashed a sheepish smile at us before hiding his face in her loose shirt. Tibetans and Ladakhis take their hospitality very seriously! If you ever travel to this part of the world, EVERYONE will offer you food and their company—and it is considered rude not to hang around for at least one cup of tea.

I had heard about the infamous “yak’s butter tea” but I haven’t had a chance to try it. The man in the tent handed me a small clay teacup and smiled. I looked down at what looked like an oil slick floating on top of the tea. What looked at first like an opaque ice cube floating just below the surface was in fact a healthy slice of Yak’s butter! I cautiously took a swig of the greasy stuff. WHOA! Thick and rich like a stew, one cup of butter tea felt like a whole meal. The salty fattiness of it seemed a little off-putting at first but my tired body craved the rich elixir.

One cup became three and somehow the silence between us became comfortable. The little boy conquered his shyness and came over to inspect my digital camera and showed us some of his small plastic toys. Even though we couldn’t communicate through language, we were somehow able to share in the hospitality ritual and enjoy the company of a host and his guests before continuing on our journey.

*It turns out that the Khardung-La is actually falsely advertised as the world’s highest navigable road (it is topped by a few other mountain passes in Tibet).