Sangla, Kamru and the end of the line...Chitkul

Within a few hours of reaching Sangla Village the penny dropped that our detour had also detoured the petrol station. Now in the Sangla Valley it became obvious, at snickers and chuckles from the locals, that there was no petrol in the Sangla Valley. Well not for sale anyway. We figured we probably had enough to drive to the road end at Chitkul and back out to the nearest petrol station 40kms away.

In the mean time though we chose to wind down after the traumatic ride and take in lungfuls of fresh, albeit slightly thin, mountain air and stunning mountain scenery. A chance encounter on a walk up to the tiny village of Kamru left me with three new (local) friends and an invitation to join them the next day for a drinking session. Turning up a little late the next day with an Italian friend found one of my guys half-cut and pretty p*ssed off that I was late! No such thing as unconditional hospitality there then. A couple of hours, and several bottles of apple wine, later though all was forgotten and we were having a grand old time - apple wine however being the loosest description possible for the translucent fire water we were forced to drink in half pint glasses.

It was somewhere during this session that I acquired my Kinnauri topi, the green felt hat sported by many in the Kinnaur region.

With little sympathy from Holly the next day, we both saddled up again and braced ourselves to climb higher up the valley. Already at around 2800m we pushed on the 35kms or so to Chitkul to our highest stay yet, 3450m. Fording a couple of streams on the way we arrived to one of the most scenically beautiful spots in the mountains yet. Fortunately just ahead of mass-tourism too as Chitkul only boasts 3 or 4 small guesthouses leaving the village relatively untouched. We found a nice little place which we shared with a local family and for the next 2 days wandered in awe around the valley, rugged up and slightly out of breath! Chitkul was a little like taking a step back in time with folk generally farming or milling flour in the archaeic miniature flour mills propped over the stream that ran through the village. There wasn't anything to do here as such, just walk, watch and take it all in.

A bus load of Israeli's arrived on our second day there, shattering the peace slightly so we set off early the next day, fingers firmly crossed that our remaining fuel would carry us back down to Sangla and beyond to Rekong Peo, the Kinnnauri capital.