India, Day 19

I wake up to a mobile siren announcing some news in Ladakhi. I decide to get an early breakfast, head for the bazaar to find the much-praised hot breads with butter and honey. Everything is still shot at 8am. Over the next 30 min I’m told there is a strike, a revolution, an uprising, a demonstration, and a government order to close business. I get smuggled to the back of a coffee shop and fed with a very untasty pastry and a glass of chai. I feel lucky. I feel like a Polish Jew in WWII. The entire town of Leh becomes a ghost town. I go back to the more touristy areas – ghostly as well. All foreigners pass each other with surprised looks, ask each other what’s going on, where to get food and water. I feel bad for having eaten. My plans for a massage and last-minute shopping get substituted with street photography and portraits of people of this beautiful province.

I come across Kay, an Aussie woman from Melbourne, in her 50ties. She tells me that Ladakh wants to separate from Jammu & Kashmir and be independent We see a demonstration in full swing now, a river of people coming at us. Everything looks peaceful. The authorities feared riots, hence the order to close business. Kay works as a volunteer at the local school for handicapped children. She teaches them art, it apparently stimulates their brains, allowing them to learn other skills. She plunges into giving me a complete picture on the corruption of charitable organizations in India and Nepal where she just came from. She’s very frustrated, angry, disillusioned. I tell her that the time she spends with the kids is beyond the mess. Ultimately, the kids benefits from spending time with her, it’s about the final result, I say. She subscribes to a different philosophy and names it (and I forget what it is) – it is not about the final outcome, the results. It’s about the path alone, about doing the right things along this path. Results can be influenced by too many other factors. I think of converting my boss to this philosophy. Kay has no kids of her own. I wonder if one day I turn out like her.

At 4pm life returns to Leh, all shopkeepers try to make up for the lost business. I opt for a 2-hour ayuverdic massage. The massage technique itself is not too impressive, her focus is not defined. She dips a herbal pouch into hot oil and whacks me with it. The pouring of oils on my face and head is thrilling. My head is lying in a paddle of oil. My face gets vigorously rubbed with sandalwood oil. I’m then put in a steam room. All facilities highly improvised and simple, the result is good. I feel like a baby.

At 7pm I meet Ania, my new Polish friend in Leh. She found out from the travel agent that another Pole is in town. She’s a taxation lawyer at KPMG. Her friends thought she lost her mind going to India all alone. She’s a beautiful, vibrant, funny girl. We are joined by her friends at a Nepalese restaurant for dinner . One of them is a Ladakhi mountain climbing guide. I guess his age as 35, he’s 29 – he shakes my hand with joy. He likes the seniority, it adds years to the perceived years of experience. His girlfriend, a Dutch girl, just arrived to spend 4 weeks with him. She talks about a ‘normal life’ for him. He gets our undivided attention on his climbing stories. He almost died twice. Tells us about how the white men protect each other but him. Tells us of marital feuds at high altitudes and the subsequent divorces. Tells us how a horseman saved him and 2 climbers. Tells us he has no insurance. He once had a medical cover, but took him 2 years to get back some claim money. “What do you mean they don’t pay you?” exclaims Ania. “This is fucking India” he says. His girlfriend reaches a point of saturation for the evening. This is more than she’s ever heard.