Raw. Stark. Stunning. Three words to describe Ladakh.

Located in northwest India's Jammu and Kashmir state, the remote Ladakh astounds first-time visitors with its surreal landscape - craggy peaks, barren deserts, plunging gorges, turquoise-green rivers and a backdrop of ancient gompas (Buddhist monasteries) carved into sheer limestone cliffs.

Closed to outsiders until 1974, Ladakh is often dubbed 'Little Tibet' due to its uncanny resemblance to neighbouring Tibet - from the whitewashed gompas, vast plateaus framed by lofty peaks to the Ladakhi language written in Tibetan scripts.

One of the oldest gompas in Ladakh built in the 11th century.

Literally "the land of high passes", Ladakh is one the most rugged regions in the Himalayan Range. Its elevations, even in the valleys, rarely dip below 3,000m. Passes and ridgelines average 4,500m-5,500m (Mt Kinabalu sits at 4,095m) and peaks top out at 7,135m/7,087m (Nun-Kun massif).

What draws climbers most to Ladakh are the high-altitude treks, extreme climate and 6,000m-7,000m peaks. Even alpine newbies can summit the popular Stok Kangri (6,153m) with basic ice axe and crampon skills.

Hostile conditions

Adding to its mystique is the fact that eight months in a year, the region is shut off from the rest of the world. Snowbound passes are closed to traffic from late September to early June, and flights into Leh (gateway capital to Ladakh) are erratic at best. Even in the height of summer this year, my flight out of Leh was cancelled due to thick fog.

In winter, the temperature plummets to a bone-chilling -20°C. A summer's day may start at a pleasant 15°C-20°C then dip to below 10°C at night. Ladakhis (what the locals are called) depend on melting glaciers for water due to the mere 110mm annual rainfall.

Trekkers' playground

Ladakhi children of Lamayuru

One of Ladakh's earliest settlers were the Khampa nomads who traversed high, windswept trails in search of pastures for their yaks. Originally from Tibet, the Khampas settled in the Nimaling plains in the upper Markha Valley. Today, foreign hikers decked in high-tech gear pay local guides to retrace the same route that became part of the popular 10-day Markha Valley trek. As early as the 19th century, British explorers have been traipsing these Trans-Himalayan mountains.

Ladakhis are of Indo-Aryan and Tibetan descent and speak Ladakhi, a language similar to Tibetan. Traditionally, Ladakh had an agricultural-based economy producing barley and wheat and breeding livestock. Apricots from the lower valleys and pashmina (wool from the Himalayan mountain goat) are the main exports. Today, tourism makes up 50% of the region's GNP and in peak seasons - July and August - Leh is overrun with tourists.

Sampling a trek

I signed up for the popular five-day Lamayuru-Chilling trek with Leh-based operator, Nomad Travel. My trekking companion was Dutch tourist Marc Teunissen, whom I met at Mahabodhi International Meditation Centre where we were staying.

The 65km-journey would take us across the high ridges of the Zanskar Range, traversing four passes averaging 4,700m (the highest pass, Konze La, sits at 4,950m) and through quaint, far-flung hamlets beyond the Indus Valley. Our tiny group of four included Raju Gurung, our guide cum cook (a Gurkha from Nepal), and Tashi, the 'ponyman' with his four mules that would lug our stuff.

A five-hour, butt-jarring drive from Leh through hairpin roads in a 4WD took us to the rustic village of Lamayuru (3,430m), famous for its ancient gompa. Dating back to the 10th century, Lamayuru gompa is perched on top of an eroded crag with tiny caves.

Part of the Kaygupa order, the gompa has been destroyed and restored over the centuries and stores a vast collection of antique thangkas (Buddhist scroll paintings), statues and frescoes.

Passing a rock pile with the curved horns of the Himalayan Thar forming its peak

Our trailhead starts across the road from the gompa along a small stream. After an hour's climb up a scree slope towards the Prinkiti La (3,700m) - La means pass in Ladakhi - I got nauseous and started retching. Altitude sickness had crept up on me although I had acclimatised in Leh (3,500m) for a week before the trek.

But the consolation was when Raju spotted a group of eight mountain goats with their kids in tow, grazing on a high pass about 100m from us. From afar, they looked like Himalayan Tahrs, heavily built goats with stubby legs and short, curving horns.

They graze the high pastures in the summer. Bharals (Blue Sheep) are also commonly spotted on the high pastures of Ladakh and Zanskar. They have thick, horizontal horns and the males have dark-blue wool on the rumps and are a favourite staple of the elusive snow leopard, found mostly in the remote regions of West Himalaya.

From the top of Prinkiti, we had a sweeping vista of the snow-dusted peaks of the Zanskar Range and the deep, narrow gorge that awaited us below. Following a steep descent, the trail snakes through a canyon hemmed in by five-storey high rock walls. Four hours later, we arrived at Wanlah village where we set up our tents for the night. The 11th century-old Wanlah gompa, still under restoration, sits on a sheer hill watching over the postcard-pretty village with its mud-brick houses and lush green fields.

Golden-yellow mustard fields give colour to otherwise stark and barren mountains

Over the days, it became a routine to plod up and down sheer terrains, cross icy-cold streams and stroll past remote villages with lovely, bright-yellow mustard fields and a thick growth of willows and poplars. We stumbled upon friendly villagers who cried out, "Julay, julay . . ." (Ladakhi for "hello", "good-bye" and "thank you") and slipper-clad shepherds who bounded up the trails with their flock of sheep. Chortens (Tibetan stupas) and mane walls (stone plates inscribed with Buddhist chants) dotting the passes and pilgrimage routes blessed us on the journey.

Sweet juniper-laced crisp air accompanied our walks and the pretty-pink rose bushes (Rosa webbiana, a deciduous shrub) cheered up an otherwise drab landscape. After hours of gasping in the thin air and plodding up almost-vertical slopes, we were always rewarded with awe-inspiring vistas - maroon and turquoise-streaked mountains and snow-dusted jagged peaks framed by clouds floating in a crystal-blue sky.

In the evenings, the aroma of Raju's cooking whetted our appetites as we chowed down on stir-fried masala vegetables and warm, fluffy chapatis.

Gorgeous alpine views, climbable 6,000-m peaks, and rich, vibrant cultures - a sure recipe for another trip back to Ladakh next year. Marking my calendar now . .

Photos: LEONG SIOK HUI and MARC TEUNISSEN
This article was first published in The Star on Oct 13, 2007