Enough of the pure rarified air of the Himalaya!!!! I should have been satisfied with the leeches and the rain in the Nepali Himalaya, but no, I had to see the Indian Himalaya as well! I was going to see the snowy peaks from Indian side and I was going to have great trekking in crisp clear mountain air. Well, I did see snowy summits, but the crisp thin air almost killed me. I was supposed to write up about Kathmandu and my endless quest to have my camera fixed and being politely told each time that the camera was too old to repair, but the altitude sickness meant I was not going to be anywhere near a computer for a long time. The only things I remember vividly about Kathmandu are: sweet adorable little Thida (long story), a glorious grilled fillet steak, falling into a flooded street on my way home, and showing up at my host’s house stinking of raw sewage.
I knew I would get some symptoms of altitude sickness, or Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) when I left Nepal for Ladakh, but this was not what I expected. Maybe I was naive in some ways. First day I was obedient to Lonely Planet recommendations and stayed in my bed for the body to acclimatise. I didn't feel anything, except for remnants of a flu fever I had had for two days before Ladakh. By the second day, I was bored of lying around doing nothing and so, stupidly, I decided to go clambering up to local Buddhist monasteries- why are they always built on top of freaking hills? By the end of the day I was coughing like a TB patient and attracting a lot of stares in the restaurant. But taking comforting from hearing others wheezing about and knowing that you are not the only wimp around. I swear things were rattling in my lungs, which, I found out later, means that fluids were accumulating in my lungs. If pink foam had started frothing from mouth, it would have meant being put on oxygen and immediate evacuation to a lower elevation or face possible death. All I could think was how I am going to cough up $10,000 for evacuation, if things do get worse.
I guess in some ways I had it coming. The terrible flu I had just before coming to Ladakh meant that most of my lungs were probably in tatters and the monthly flow could not have come at the worse time. I must have been losing the precious red blood cells as fast as my body was making them to make up for the rarified air. I was walking around the streets of Leh in Ladakh stoned from lack of oxygen. I could not focus; even reading a book was hard work. For four days I was in bed, just managing to drag myself out for lunch and dinner before collapsing back in bed in a fit of coughs. No appetite and constant threat of throw up all over the restaurant table. The most common dinner table discussion was of course comparing notes on the mountain sickness. I have never seen so many pale, dazed, coughing and wheezing tourists in such a small space. Even the cows and yaks seemed to be in some kind of stupor. Maybe I was hallucinating; it is after all one of the AMS symptoms. By the way AMS has got nothing to do with fitness, age or gender. Two people had to be evacuated from Leh while I was there and so many people were sick for as long as I was or even longer. Of course there were the occasional odd ones who puffed way on cigarettes and felt absolutely fine. One of my travel companions found out about AMS the hard way when she went trekking one day after arriving in Srinigar and had heart palpitations so bad she had to be put on a donkey. She could not walk.
I realised that I was in a bad shape when one of the shopkeepers I had to pass by everyday on my way to the restaurant suggested that maybe it was time I went to see a doctor. Then my hotel owner suggested the same thing two hours later. I guess I must have looked quite a sight with grey peeling lips from the dry mountain, peeling nose from the flu and the uncoordinated walk. Was I scared? Naah, except for the two really bad nights that I made sure I was wearing my filthy pajamas in case Ladakh woke up to find an African cadaver stiff in a hotel room. The bloody snout did cause me great deal of stress. I could not work out if the stuff was from flu or sinus irritation from the dry mountain air or if it was a sign that all was not well with the lungs. The scariest, was when I became aware of my own breathing. The first time it happened I completely panicked. I mean breathing is unconscious thing, you never think that I now have to breath out and breath in, and so when the lungs forget to do this natural job and you have to jump-start the breathing in a gasp, it's very unnerving. The worse was when it happened while you are just falling asleep.
When I could finally manage to walk up five steps without feeling like I have just run a marathon, and when the words didn’t seem to jumble and dance around the computer screen so much, and when I was emotionally stable enough not to cause panic I emailed my mother that I have been sick. Of course Ladakh being so close to Pakistan, and India being so neurotic about Pakistan, meant my phone was without network the whole time I was there and my scared mother could not call me. I finally decided to risk it and visit Nubra Valley and Pangon Lake. What is the point of coming all the way to Ladakh if all I was going to do is lay in bed eh? This required going up to a loft 18,300ft; highest motorable mountain pass in the world. Ladakh, which was causing so much havoc on my lungs and brain, is a mere 11500ft. The drive to Nubra Valley turned out fine. Seeing people building snowmen and having snow ball fights on the pass while they gasp for air, was quite surreal. Coming back three days later, my travel companions and I were jerked gasping every twenty minutes for air, except for the only smoker in the car. We went to the army medical clinic that is stationed on highest pass for some free oxygen but sadly I was told my oxygen levels were ok. I was disappointed. I thought being put on oxygen high on the mountain would be a great story to tell one day.
I survived the Indian Himalaya. Was it worth it? Absolutely, Ladakh is one of the most beautiful places I have been to in India and I intend to come back some day. Hopefully Himalaya won't finish me off next time. For now I am so glad to breathe in the dirty polluted air of Delhi, at least I don’t have to think about how to breathe it in.
I knew I would get some symptoms of altitude sickness, or Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) when I left Nepal for Ladakh, but this was not what I expected. Maybe I was naive in some ways. First day I was obedient to Lonely Planet recommendations and stayed in my bed for the body to acclimatise. I didn't feel anything, except for remnants of a flu fever I had had for two days before Ladakh. By the second day, I was bored of lying around doing nothing and so, stupidly, I decided to go clambering up to local Buddhist monasteries- why are they always built on top of freaking hills? By the end of the day I was coughing like a TB patient and attracting a lot of stares in the restaurant. But taking comforting from hearing others wheezing about and knowing that you are not the only wimp around. I swear things were rattling in my lungs, which, I found out later, means that fluids were accumulating in my lungs. If pink foam had started frothing from mouth, it would have meant being put on oxygen and immediate evacuation to a lower elevation or face possible death. All I could think was how I am going to cough up $10,000 for evacuation, if things do get worse.
I guess in some ways I had it coming. The terrible flu I had just before coming to Ladakh meant that most of my lungs were probably in tatters and the monthly flow could not have come at the worse time. I must have been losing the precious red blood cells as fast as my body was making them to make up for the rarified air. I was walking around the streets of Leh in Ladakh stoned from lack of oxygen. I could not focus; even reading a book was hard work. For four days I was in bed, just managing to drag myself out for lunch and dinner before collapsing back in bed in a fit of coughs. No appetite and constant threat of throw up all over the restaurant table. The most common dinner table discussion was of course comparing notes on the mountain sickness. I have never seen so many pale, dazed, coughing and wheezing tourists in such a small space. Even the cows and yaks seemed to be in some kind of stupor. Maybe I was hallucinating; it is after all one of the AMS symptoms. By the way AMS has got nothing to do with fitness, age or gender. Two people had to be evacuated from Leh while I was there and so many people were sick for as long as I was or even longer. Of course there were the occasional odd ones who puffed way on cigarettes and felt absolutely fine. One of my travel companions found out about AMS the hard way when she went trekking one day after arriving in Srinigar and had heart palpitations so bad she had to be put on a donkey. She could not walk.
I realised that I was in a bad shape when one of the shopkeepers I had to pass by everyday on my way to the restaurant suggested that maybe it was time I went to see a doctor. Then my hotel owner suggested the same thing two hours later. I guess I must have looked quite a sight with grey peeling lips from the dry mountain, peeling nose from the flu and the uncoordinated walk. Was I scared? Naah, except for the two really bad nights that I made sure I was wearing my filthy pajamas in case Ladakh woke up to find an African cadaver stiff in a hotel room. The bloody snout did cause me great deal of stress. I could not work out if the stuff was from flu or sinus irritation from the dry mountain air or if it was a sign that all was not well with the lungs. The scariest, was when I became aware of my own breathing. The first time it happened I completely panicked. I mean breathing is unconscious thing, you never think that I now have to breath out and breath in, and so when the lungs forget to do this natural job and you have to jump-start the breathing in a gasp, it's very unnerving. The worse was when it happened while you are just falling asleep.
When I could finally manage to walk up five steps without feeling like I have just run a marathon, and when the words didn’t seem to jumble and dance around the computer screen so much, and when I was emotionally stable enough not to cause panic I emailed my mother that I have been sick. Of course Ladakh being so close to Pakistan, and India being so neurotic about Pakistan, meant my phone was without network the whole time I was there and my scared mother could not call me. I finally decided to risk it and visit Nubra Valley and Pangon Lake. What is the point of coming all the way to Ladakh if all I was going to do is lay in bed eh? This required going up to a loft 18,300ft; highest motorable mountain pass in the world. Ladakh, which was causing so much havoc on my lungs and brain, is a mere 11500ft. The drive to Nubra Valley turned out fine. Seeing people building snowmen and having snow ball fights on the pass while they gasp for air, was quite surreal. Coming back three days later, my travel companions and I were jerked gasping every twenty minutes for air, except for the only smoker in the car. We went to the army medical clinic that is stationed on highest pass for some free oxygen but sadly I was told my oxygen levels were ok. I was disappointed. I thought being put on oxygen high on the mountain would be a great story to tell one day.
I survived the Indian Himalaya. Was it worth it? Absolutely, Ladakh is one of the most beautiful places I have been to in India and I intend to come back some day. Hopefully Himalaya won't finish me off next time. For now I am so glad to breathe in the dirty polluted air of Delhi, at least I don’t have to think about how to breathe it in.
