The Road to Tabo
Monday 30th April
Bursting with Tulsi’s fuel filled breakfast, we left the chill of Kinner Camps by 7am to begin the long leg up to Tabo, the site of a thousand year old Buddhist monastery.
It had been a short night, broken eventually by the 6am cuppa. As Anil pulled away in the Toyota we rolled around quietly in the back of the car, allowing the day to dawn gently upon us. We had 150kms or so to make in order to reach Tabo. But first we needed to obtain our permits for entering an area so close to Tibet from an office in Reckong Peo. What none of us had quite appreciated was that the day had been declared a public holiday and that the permit office was likely to be closed…. Anil revealed this cautiously to us as we drove along. Instant questions and concerns attempted to flood our minds, but Anil’s prior knowledge and bouncy optimism held sway. “We will see,” he declared, and got on with the driving.
We arrived in a sunny Reckong Peo by 9am. No one at the permits office. Anil had done some diplomatic telephoning as soon as he realised we might have a problem, and tracked down one of the officials. There was going to be a Buddhist festival that day and the relevant official would be attending it. Anil suggested that we went along too while we waited.
It proved to be a glorious sight – a crowd of people seated happily on the ground in the sun, watching a group of children perform for some Buddhist dignitaries on a dais at the front. We beheld a sea of reds and yellows, against the glistening backdrop of the Kinner Kailash mountain range, and all overlooked by a mighty golden Buddha. Anil and I walked round it three times in a clockwise direction, as is customary, muttering the Buddhist chant ‘o mane pad me hum’. Then to my embarrassment he yanked out his mobile phone and was suddenly making a little ‘Facebook Live’ transmission, involving me, to share with all his friends. But it was so enthusiastic and for the happy purpose of sharing a lovely event, that I was happy to be swept up in it all. We then just stood and gazed at the whole event..
I was captivated by these little faces, who coyly agreed to being photographed.
Reckong Peo itself had a real mountain feel about it – a good many of the neighbouring peaks standing at over 6000m. It was the closest we had felt to the Himalayas so far.
After a time we left the festival and bumped into the official we needed to open the permit office. He was extremely affable, thanks to Anil’s negotiations, and in due course we were ushered into the relevant office to begin the lengthy process of getting the permit.
This began with tea. Then came the form filling, followed by hours of waiting, literally. Another official had to drive 50kms in to Reckong Peo to inspect and stamp our forms… As we sat and waited it became very hot, and we lay around like overheated dogs, almost panting for refreshment. Anil was despatched to find food, and later returned with containers of delicious momos and some ‘hot sauce’ for dipping. Boy did they taste good!!! Then, there was more waiting and desultory conversation with some other permit hopefuls, also in the office.
Very eventually, five hours after arriving, we were granted our permits. Those in hand we jumped in the back of the Toyota and started on the drive to Tabo. It was already 3pm.
Little did we know quite what lay ahead. Let’s just say it was a ‘rocky road’, a good portion of which was unmade. We were jiggled, bumped and whirled like the ingredients in a magimix until there was no point in resisting any of it anymore. The whole journey was going to take at least five hours, plus or minus potential landslides. One had to gear one’s body and mind accordingly. This road sign spelt it out!
At one point we crossed a clattery bridge but 
somewhat gingerly..!
The day was wearing on. I was racked by gathering fears about continuing in the dark. Should we do so at all? Should Jeremy go and sit in the front and be a second pair of eyes for Anil to help spot boulders etc??? It was also a ‘shooting stones’ area, and anything could drop on us. But somehow I couldn’t speak. Anil was concentrating hard. Casting doubts on the journey or his driving would not build confidence, or trust. Plainly at one with his vehicle, he was already doing really well. Then, as if to bring more energy to the job in hand he put on some music. It was playlist of blasting sound (heavy metal) and pounding tracks; Metallica, Guns and Roses, Foo Fighters, you name it, not the sort of thing one might ordinarily just sit down and listen to. But here it was perfect. Anil could have been a tank driver. He said gleefully, “I like to drive in the day.. but I also love to drive at night! We felt like an heroic little band of adventurers, strapped into our cockpit, heading bravely towards the vast chasm of Spiti Valley.
At long last, the worst of the unmade road ceased. The peace of the tarmac gliding under the wheels was balm to our battered behinds. In addition, having been crawling through twilight murk lower down in the valley, we began to climb. Gradually we were rejoining the day, as the sun became visible again until suddenly the beauty of the place was revealed: snow caps still adorning the brown rock of the mountains, and the widening floor of the valley opening out the path of the snaking river, thousands of feet below. On we climbed, up the narrowing road, round bend after bend. Anil timed our zig zags perfectly, never straining the engine, allowing her to accelerate as we dropped a gear without any effort. It was so steep at times he told us he was ‘tacking’ across the road just to keep the momentum going.
One of our tracks was Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. It couldn’t have been more appropriate.
Out we popped at 3,500m, near a village called Nako. It felt as though we were on the roof of the world. We stopped the car and literally inhaled the valley, embracing the entire scene. It was wonderful to step outside. We had not seen any other cars for hours. 
After many joyous breaths we began a long descent back towards the valley floor. Amazingly, despite the five hour delay, we were making good progress. At around 8pm, road weary but triumphant, we pulled up outside our next resting place: The Maitreyor Hotel.
I was looking forward to a hot shower and unwinding. Something I had eaten was just beginning to alert me to its presence. My Tum (that inner voice) felt indefinably uncomfortable.
We received a warm welcome, but the hotel was very cold and starkly lit. Entering the our bathroom I noted the typical projecting shower head into a room with no shower tray and a (raised) drain into which one had to sweep the flood of water. A bucket and jug were positioned beneath a tap. Stripping off in the cold and turning on the tap, hot water came there none. It was a sad moment. I did the best I could and got hastily dressed in rather more clothing. Perhaps I could have a beer or something. Beer was there none. Oh. Wine? No mam, sorry. We returned to our plumbing issue. Jeremy managed to round up the nice man on reception who then came and played with a complicated set of levers beneath the geyser. There was no electricity either so we were on solar power hence the complication. This presented untold challenges for new visitors such as ourselves. The gentleman eventually managed to turn something the right way and hot water became possible, but by this time I had dressed and was hungry. Jeremy enjoyed a quick hot shower, paddling out of the resulting lake in his flip flops. We went downstairs and ordered dinner. We were the only guests. The starkness of the overhead lighting, the silence and the lack of heating lent a bleak air to the place, but the food when it came was good. We got up at the end. “Would you have any hot water bottles?” “No mam”. Oh. Bed socks and thermals again. Never mind. Fortunately the bed was large and comfortable. I dived under the sea of the duvet, in search of oblivion. But even this was elusive thanks to the ominous Tum.
Stoke Tours 