"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 21^st 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

What is Well-Traveled?

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.

Other trips

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.

The trip

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.

The team

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Longitude: 77.25 E
Latitude: 32.45 N
Altitude: 16,140 feet
Today's audio update

Last night, we uplinked our text and photos by candlelight—sitting in a tent on a barren plain as the cold wind howled all around us. We stole electricity from the car battery with alligator clips. We aimed our satellite dish up into the vast, open sky, praying for a signal from some lonely corner.

Of course, our field producer Jonathan had a quadruple-redundancy plan, so success was never in doubt, but still, the whole operation had a rather fragile feel. It reminded us that we have bumped up on the edge of nowhere. In fact, you really can't get much more nowhere than this if you're not in a boat or spacecraft. Even Stan's old trekking pals were quite impressed when he called them on the sat-phone and explained just how out there we'd managed to get.

The "Gata Loops" include 21 switchbacksWhen we wake up in nowhere, we see that a heavy duvet has been draped on the mountains. It rained on us, it snowed up there. We strike camp early and hit the dirt roads again. But after just 20 minutes, we reach pavement. We've met up with the legendary Leh to Manali road—a frequently trekked ribbon of way-high highway. (Mind you, the pavement here isn't all that much smoother than the dirt—you still feel like you're in Snoop Dogg's hydraulic Caddy.)

Ho hum, another 170 switchbacks. Ho hum, more simply astounding countryside. I'm running out of words to convey the majesty of these mountains, so I hope you'll look at Jonathan's many photos. For context: We have been sleeping well above 15,000 feet the last two nights. Today we drive over two 16,000-foot passes. And all the while, the mountains are looming much higher up above us. Don't quote me on this (I have no research facilities here), but I believe the very highest peaks in the lower 48 top out at a little more than 14,000 feet. [Editor's note: Seth's memory is pretty accurate; California's Mount Whitney, the mainland's highest peak, is 14,494 feet.]

Every mile of this trans-Himalayan highway is a geology lessonAfter several hours, we exit Ladakh for the first time on this trip. We are now entering the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. But as we bid it farewell, let me say just a word on the plight of Ladakh:

Ladakh is technically in the state of Jammu and Kashmir. However, little of the violence in Kashmir has reached Ladakh. So far. And Ladakh's culture is totally independent—with a different language (Ladakhi, not Urdu) and a different prevailing religion (Buddhism, not Islam). Ladakhis want to separate themselves from the chaos of Kashmir and become an independent territory run from Delhi. Whatever happens, we wish them well. They are wonderful people. Joolay! ("Joolay" is the Ladakhi word for "hello," "goodbye," "please," and "thank you." If only every language had a word like this. It's astonishingly useful.)

In the afternoon, we reach the Baralacha pass. At a little more than 16,000 feet, it is our pathway through the Himalayan range. We are headed south, bound for less insane elevations—10,000 feet or so.

Some more parting thoughts on Ladakh:

• There are pigeons living in the Himalayas. Wouldn't have guessed that. I find it disappointing, yet reassuring.
  
  
• The overwhelming presence here is military. There are checkpoints everywhere. In smaller villages tents are made from discarded parachutes. And in the town of Upshi, we heard mortar shells exploding from a practice range a few hundred yards away (we could only hope it wasn't trainee day). It's a reminder that Ladakh's principal importance has always been location. First it was a stop on the trading route from Central Asia, now it's a military outpost, guarding borders with China and Pakistan.
  
  
• Here's the thing about high-altitude deserts: It's not the heat, it's the lack of humidity. You get chronic, mild nosebleeds, and the nose-blood crusts in your nostrils. All of which makes your shnozz a gory habitat.
  
• Our Ladakhi guide, Phunsook, is awesome. He wears Reeboks and Levis and a Casio calculator watch. He has an advanced degree in geography and a tattoo of his initials on his forearm. He ably answers our many moronic questions. If you need a good guide in Ladakh, look him up.
  
• Careful research has determined the absolute best song to blast on your MP3 player while driving too fast on narrow, winding roads through the Himalayas. That song is "Misty Mountain Hop," by Led Zeppelin. "Kashmir," also by Led Zeppelin, may well be even better (for obvious reasons), but you stupidly forgot to load it before you left. Damn you! Other good Himalayan driving music: anything by Outkast, oddly enough.
  
• You think I'm exaggerating the roads thing, right? Let me just say this: We have passed many buses full of locals along these roads. On the sides of each one of these buses—streaming in a clear blast pattern from each open window—are 3-D chunks of vomit adhering to the aluminum.

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Seth Stevenson, often found shopping for Slate, recently filed a "Diary" from Bangkok.

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