Being in the Ladakh region felt like a very different country from the rest of India. Indeed, it is mostly Buddhist, largely Tibetan and had been cut off from the rest of India until the mid 1970s. Roads, cars, electricity and even cities are all recent additions to the region and it is still struggling on the cusp of modernity and millenia of traditional lifestyles. In spite of the technological advances, there is a mysterious and serene feeling to the city of Leh and its environs.

Arriving by plane, we headed up to our cruising altitude and then barely came down... As we landed, the plane weaved between 16,000 foot peaks, before landing easily among the clouds at 12,000 feet. In every direction were clouds and mountains, snow capped young peaks stretching starkly toward the sky. The main town of Leh sits just below the tree llne, at a height far greater than any American city. We spent the first 2 days fighting off the fatigue and neausea of altitude sickness. We drove long distances on narrow roads to visit one monastary after another. Each monastary is secluded among the mountains, up a windy road and overlooking a nearby village. The monastaries and their symbols and statues became familiar to us, but each one had a unique character and feel. The monks wore only red, mostly a deep red robe although some sported red Tommy HIlfiger or polo shirts, acquired throught trades with tourists. One of 9 people in the region are monks and boys as young as 6 will begin to train in monastaries.

Within the monastaries, there was a musty smell. Aged stone mixed with incense, spices and hundreds of years of chanting. The monastaries boasted rooms of statues, similar to what each Buddhist has in their home.Some of them, however, also had enormous Buddha statues that extended 3 or 4 stories tall. We were greeted by one lama, the head of a monastary, with the auspicious offering of a white scarf. At another monstary, we were offered rice while we sat in on lunchtime prayers. The monastaries were characterized by brightly colored flags in yellow, red, blue and green. Poles reached toward the clouds and Tibetan prayer flags could be seen in all directions, each string of flag showing varied levels of wear and tear.

The main city, a small town of winding streets, green fields, wandering cows and stray dogs, was a tourist mecca. Filled with dreadlocked travelers and countless Israelis, there were more guest houses than restaurants and the street vendors and small shops spilled out onto the sidewalk. Here at last was the focal point of every hippie trend, the epicenter of singing bowls, prayer flags, drums, Buddhist phrases, copious hashish dealers, flowing skirts, patchwork bags and yoga classes that dot college campuses and music festivals around the world. Free Tibet signs had a whole new meaning here, and Tibetan refugee centers were located in every small town. I especially enjoyed a trip to a womenºs center that supports local artisan and encourages ecologically responsible tourism. We spent a few hours shopping in the old city and stopped for our first cup of masala chai tea.

After three days, we headed to the small village of Stok, about half an hour away. There, prepared for back country living, we were met by a staff of 5 and entered our tents, which can be better described as canvas hotel rooms. For the next 10 days as we volunteered at the Stok Governemnt High SChool, we were treated like royalty by our cooking and cleaning crew. In the afternoons we were greeted with fresh juice, hot tea and snacks. The campsite even had plumbing and electricity, amenities that, ironically, the school lacked.