Pain & A Little Prayer! Kailash-Mansarovar Yatra III

A view of the Mansarovar

B for Briefing: The Never-Ending Types 

We were ready for Mansarovar, but first, a mandatory detour into another briefing. Come again! When will these end? And why are they never brief?

The scene shifted dramatically from 13 people to 50+ pilgrims crammed together. The new Tibet tour leader had plenty to say, much of it drowned out by the din. The gist of the Great Unveiling was:

 * Oxygen is your new god: If saturation dips below 80%, you're out. Take the freely distributed Diamox (which I instantly started doing).

 * Mansarovar waters are for drinking, not swimming: Tibetans consider the waters holy, so no unauthorised dipping. Collect water only from designated points.

 * Accommodation is basic: Prepare for shared living and shared ablution spaces—a polite warning to respect others’ hygiene (i.e., you're largely on your own).

* Remember the team: from here they will go with you everywhere; even to the Parikrama.

* Hiring ponies and porters: make up your minds if you need support; you can’t cry for help after they have bolted!

Over the next two days, I got to know the crew better. I was rooming with Venkateswara Rao, a self-made, self-assured industrialist. The standout was Sanjay Jha, a journalist and veteran Yatra companion to Rambabu. Sanjay's greatest asset was his endless supply of wit, knowledge, and an alarming ability to "start a conversation with even a stone." A skill I hoped to learn but knew well I might never be capable of!

Our hotel at Taklakot/Purang

The Problem With My Head

From day one at altitude, I was locked in a bitter struggle with a severe, ceaseless headache. Despite the pain and sleepless nights, my oximeter readings were frustratingly normal (always above 85\% saturation), suggesting I was perfectly fine. Meanwhile, Rambabu was chilling with his saturation in the mid-70s, yet looked more relaxed than a cat in a sunbeam. Clearly, the mountain wasn't the problem; my own skull was staging a revolt.

Our drive to Mansarovar started three hours late—9 am became noon—throwing the whole day's plan into chaos. The first, hour-long leg took us to Rakshas Tal (Demon’s Lake). It's stunningly beautiful but, according to legend, "poisonous" because Ravan created it. (High salinity is probably the less dramatic explanation.) Our half-hour photo-op was hurried, with guides trying to get us back into the bus like they were shooing "a bunch of monkeys from a coco grove."

Vistas from the Rakshas Tal

Mansarovar: A Late Lunch and a Late Realization

Soon after, we arrived at the immense Mansarovar. After a stop to admire the south face of Kailash and a stop to change the bus, we finally broke for a seriously belated 4 pm lunch. There’s a helipad at the lake; those who cannot afford to do the Parikrama (but can a chopper ride) can take a ride to view the lake and the mount Kailash from above!

Mansarovar with the Kailash in background

This stop also provided prime viewing for rule-breaking. Despite all the instructions, several pilgrims attempted to take an unauthorised dip, leading to a spectacle of shouting and cussing—which, to be fair, lent credence to the cliché that Indian tourists struggle with following rules.

The mad rush at the lake!

My headache, now at a fever pitch, sent me straight to bed early. I feared the worst: was it HAPO? I tried everything: pills, coffee, camphor under the pillow, and frantic checks of my still normal oximeter. In the deep quiet of the night, I was convinced I was dying. So, I meditated instead of alerting my companions. If I survived the night, I resolved to quit the trek and head back to Taklakot. Before dawn though, I did one last thing: I looked up the symptoms. 

What I found was the definition of irony: my terrible headaches, sleeplessness, and palpitations were classic side effects of the Diamox I’d been taking to prevent altitude sickness. I had caused my own misery! The relief was immediate and massive, even if the headache wasn't gone. I felt like the Buddha!

The next morning, we reached Darchen quickly. Though the pain lingered, I knew it was temporary, not terminal. I voiced my decision to skip the Parikrama, but my companions suggested I wait it out. With nothing better to do for the entire day, we headed to Ashtapada, a holy Jain site with majestic views of Kailash. This is the place where the first Tirthankara attained salvation. We had just started our "ooh and aah" routine when a sudden hailstorm descended, forcing us to beat a hasty, undignified retreat back to the hotel. Some sightseeing! 

The South face of Kailash 

Did I Forget the Briefing?

The Mandatory Prep-Rally

The all-important briefing (as promised in Taklakot) was held yet again in the dining hall. The theme was, predictably, the Parikrama, a spiritual journey that needed an elaborate logistical scheme designed to enrich local entrepreneurs. 

 * You can hire ponies and porters at Yamdwar, the starting line. But, and this is the important part, the services must be booked NOW. Why? So the tour operators can, with transparent selflessness, secure their not-at-all-inflated commission by tying up all the contracts like a mob boss securing territory.

 * If you splurge on a pony, a porter is bundled into the cost (a sort of complimentary, human GPS system for the equine). You can, of course, just hire the sherpa/mule-whisperer alone, for the true "I-should-do-more-cardio" experience.

 * The system is strict: one person, one pony. Your friend/spouse/associate may not hop on for a turn when their legs fail. This isn't a merry-go-round, people. It’s a transaction. The same rule applies to the porter—no sharing the burden!

 * And because this is serious business, there are weight limits. Your bag, which you hand to the porter, must not exceed 10 kilos. Meanwhile, you, the intrepid rider, shall not burden the poor pony by exceeding 90 kg. It’s a spiritual journey, not a gastric challenge.

 * Be warned: this three-day ‘stroll’ covers 40+ km. Furthermore, the facilities at the end of each day will be "basic." This is code for: "exactly like the Mansarovar lake experience, but somehow even less appealing."

 * The three checkpoints are Deraphuk, Dolma La, and Zithulphuk. Day two includes scaling a mountain pass—because nothing says 'fun' like ascending a vertical mile on a diet of stale crackers.

 * Finally, the escape clause. If your dignity and/or knees fail you, you can bail out at the end of any day and take a vehicle back to Darchen—for an extra cost, naturally. You can't just flag a cab, either; the tour guides have the market cornered.

 * The final, helpful advice: "Carry only essentials." I mentally translated this to: "Do not forget extra socks (to cry into), snacks (for emotional eating), and a water bottle. A lighter bag ensures an easier trek!" Just as a lighter wallet ensures a richer tour operator!

The man behind the mad blog

The Raucous Competition (aka, My Ears Are Bleeding)

The hotel in Darchen was teeming with pilgrims. They were raucous. They were noisy. They danced and prayed to Lord Shiva as though their volume settings were directly proportional to their spiritual sincerity. If you ask me, Lord Shiva probably has earplugs specially forged from the peaks of Kailash, just for this lot.

The absolute worst offenders were the Gujaratis. Their enthusiasm was weaponized. Their devotion was a sustained sonic boom. If it were left to me, I’d have happily gagged them all and issued marching orders straight to a silent monastery or a vipassana workshop.

Prayer flags at Ashtapada

The D-Day

The day of the great Parikrama arrived. My resolution was simple: I would travel up to Yamdwar—the point of no return—and simply look at the trek. I figured I could always retreat back to Darchen with my pride (mostly) intact, rather than succumbing to the ignominy of quitting halfway. I had to at least pretend I was capable of hiking 40 km, even if my body was already drafting a formal letter of resignation.

(To be Continued….)