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The Cost-Benefit Analysis of Trekking
Posted Tuesday, Aug. 20, 2002, at 2:58 PM ET

"Does the boat go to Europe, France?"
—Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
When in 1871 James Gordon Bennett, owner of the New York Herald, sent Henry Morton Stanley to Africa to find the missing David Livingstone, who was suffering from that incurable disease wanderlust, a new type of serial travel journalism was born: the journey as journal. Stanley sent dispatches from the field that were received with great enthusiasm by readers, who got a rare glimpse into an unfolding adventure in a land far away and unfamiliar.
"Well-Traveled" brings the seed of Bennett's conceit to the 21st century, dispatching some of the world's finest writers to distill the spirits of places little known and pouring the concoction onto our digital pages. Today, thanks to satellite technologies and the Internet, we can stretch the bar of the imagination, break the tyranny of distance, and publish our correspondents' spontaneous musings, insights, images, and audio within hours. There is an honesty and rawness to this format not found in the well-tuned pages of travel magazines, and our hope is that we will inspire and illuminate travel in a uniquely satisfying way.
So, join us as we lace the boots, box the compass, and set sail for Europe, France, and ports betwixt and beyond, on the routes less-traveled by our well-traveled band.
And be sure to check out our trips to Kashmir, Zambia, and the Outlaw Trail.
—Richard Bangs, Producer

Scandinavia: Design and architecture.
Costa Rica: Exploring Eco-tourism with Natalie Angier.
"Mission to Galápagos": Ruffling feathers in paradise.
"The Blues Highway": Exploring the routes of the blues.
"The Outlaw Trail": tracking the robberies and roosts of Butch and Sundance from Wyoming to Mexico.
"Into the Heart of Africa": the source of the Congo, a journey through Zambia.
"The Road to Kashmir": a trundle through India's Ladakh region on the Tibetan plateau.

For our first "Well-Traveled" journey, we trundle through the Ladakh region of Kashmir on the Tibetan plateau. The 12-day trip takes us from Leh, a city of butter lamps and prayer wheels, to the hill station of Manali, to the plains city of Chandigarh. We negotiate an ancient caravan route billed today as the world's highest motorable road—18,380 feet at the pass—and traverse the sharp blade of territory adjacent to borders disputed by India and Pakistan. Bunkered between the world's great ranges, the Himalaya and the Karakoram, it is a land of monasteries and mosques, of lamas and mountain gods, of palaces and tea houses, and of giant glaciers and vast deserts. Often called "Little Tibet" or "Land of the Pure," this quarter of the high world has always been a hidden paradise for the well-traveled, but today even the cognoscenti are away. Join our team as it surveys this Shangri-La and shares the sights, sensations, observations, and interpretations of a frontier intersection of cultures, religions, and politics on the front lines of adventure travel.

Seth Stevenson, often found shopping for Slate, recently filed a "Diary" from Bangkok.
Jonathan Chester, our field producer, is an expedition photographer and author who has traveled extensively to report on extreme travel. His latest book is The Young Adventurers Guide to Everest, From Avalanche to Zopkio.
Stan Armington, our guide, is one of the pioneers of Himalayan trekking and the author of several definitive guides to the region. He is a director of the American Himalayan Foundation, a member of American Alpine Club, and a fellow of the Explorers Club and Royal Geographical Society.
Longitude: 78.15 E
Latitude: 32.57 N
Altitude: 15,005 feet
Today's audio update
This morning we visit the Thiksey monastery. This is the grandest, most elaborate monastery we've seen. Its dozens of buildings are set into the side of a rock face, and we're told that the smaller huts are studio apartments for the monks. As we climb the stairs, two little 8-year-old monklings scamper by.
From a landing at the top of the steps, there is a view across a vast valley. On the left side, it is all rock and soot-gray dirt—features that have earned Ladakh the nickname "Moonland." But at the center of our view, this arid nothingscape bumps up against a village, which has been irrigated. Suddenly, rocks give way to lush green lawns and tall, skinny poplars. It's as though someone scalped up a patch of Tuscany and grafted it into India. The transition is sudden and wholesale, and it makes for a bizarre vista.
On the monastery walls, we again we see a mural of the jewel-barfing mongoose. We have still not fully grasped its significance, but we are fast becoming fans of the little guy. Also here are paintings of the "hungry ghosts," who have toothpick-thin necks and big fat bellies—they can't fit enough food down their gullets to satisfy their wants. It's a key Buddhist symbol of the futility of desire.
But clearly, the killer app at Thiksey is the massive Future Buddha. Phunsook tells us that the Future Buddha will come down to Earth in 500 years—when there will be no religion—to teach Buddhism to the world. The statue of the Future Buddha here is about 40 feet tall, and he's breathtaking. He has a conch shell embedded in his forehead, and heavy earrings stretch his earlobes so far down that they are longer than my torso. We view him from a platform that sidles right up to his waist. Looking down below we can see his bright red feet.
When we leave Thiksey, we hit the roads for a somewhat epic journey. We are following the yellow-brown waters of the sacred Indus River for most of this trip. First, we drive through craggy, deep canyons carved into the mountains—as dramatic or more so than most you'll find in the American Southwest. But then we emerge into greener, flatter valleys. This also, unfortunately, signals the end of pavement.
I've told you about the highways here. But I'm not done. Today, we drive over roads that could only charitably be termed "dirt." Strike that—it would be charitable to term them "roads." Sometimes they are wet mud, sometimes they are loose gravel, and sometimes we are not sure if we're even on a road at all, or if we've begun to blaze a brand-new highway.
Along our drive, we see dozens of workers who've been bussed in from Bihar, one of the poorest states in India. Their job is to chip small rocks into smaller rocks. Then they must gather these smaller rocks into piles. Then they must spread the piles out over the road to create a gravel surface that will eventually be paved. We all agree that Bihar must be a not altogether happy place since they've chosen to travel hundreds of miles to break rocks at 15,000 feet.
Lifting the somber mood of the roads are many fat little marmots who clamber fatly around in the bowl of the valley. They are quite comical. Possibly the cutest animal ever, though there is some debate over this.
Also entertaining are the many yellow signs posted by the Border Roads Organization—the military group that builds and maintains all these wacky byways. The slogans have clearly been cooked up by some wag with much time on his hands. Favorites include: "Mind Your Brakes or Brake Your Mind," "Go Slower on Earth, or Quicker to Eternity," "Be Mr. Late, Not a Late Mr.," "After Whiskey, Driving Risky," and "Leprosy Is Curable."
Our eventual destination is Tso Moriri, very near the Tibetan border. It's a turquoise lake walled in by glacier-capped mountains. It is absolutely gorgeous. The sun is hitting the ice just right, lighting it up like a 100-watt bulb, and the lake is glassy-smooth and iridescent.
That said, we did drive seven hours to get here—much of it crawling over bumpy, neck-ache-making trails. When we do arrive, we have two hours of sunlight left to take in the view. We are leaving tomorrow morning. In all, we will have driven a total of nine hours out of our way. Nine hours on gravel to enjoy this momentary pleasure—and say we did it.
In the end, of course, every trekker must run his own cost-benefit analysis. For some in our group, getting here has been more than worth it. And I must admit, it is a remarkable place. But for me, nine hours of driving balanced against two hours of looking is not a wholly desirable kind of trade-off—unless the looking is at something just mind-blowingly spectacular, which this is not. Perhaps I will feel differently in the morning when my neck stops hurting. And perhaps even more so in the future, when I recall how truly beautiful this lake was—and can say I saw it.
The Cost-Benefit Analysis of Trekking
Posted Tuesday, Aug. 20, 2002, at 2:58 PM ETfeedback | about us | help | advertise | newsletters | mobile
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