Hemmed in by hemp, growing wild in nooks and crannies, the road from Manali to the sacred waters of Vashisht - at the foot of the Indian Himalayas - is special.

The air is fresh, the light has a strange quality and the sky is porcelain blue. In front of the main religious complex, people mill about in the dusty street.

Under an exquisitely carved wooden pavilion a mystic man of striking features sits in contemplation. He wears the salmon-pink robes of a religious man and the traditional sleeveless vest of this area, for warmth. A long piece of pink cloth casually coiled around his head forms a loose turban out of which protrudes a neat pile of dreadlocks - in a bun. A deep-orange Kullu shawl completes the attire.

The visitors are mostly holy saddhus, dreadlocked and beaded, thin and wiry with loincloths wrapped around their tiny waists. Inside the shrine's courtyard, under the eaves surrounding it, groups of them sit with glazed ganja eyes preparing meatless meals over portable stoves.

Coming out of the complex I spot a young guy wearing a traditional woollen vest over casual pants. He has his long hair in a topknot, making him look taller than he is. He stops by his motorbike and then I register what's odd about him: he is very blond.

"Hi, nice bike, where are you from?" I say in basic backpacker banter.

"I'm Chris," he says, "from Brisbane."

A small crowd gathers around us and a smiling, turbaned Sikh wants a picture with his arm around Chris's shoulder.

"Brothers," he says, "we are brothers."

I can see why he says that. Despite the blond locks and a thin reddish goatee growing from under the chin (tied with a rubber band) Chris looks as if he belongs here. I ask him about the bike. He says it's an Enfield Bullet, built in India originally for the Army and a classic for touring the area. He kick-starts it and smiles widely.

Over the low rumble of the engine beat I ask him if he knows about the Hemis Monastery Festival starting tomorrow in Ladakh, a hard day's drive over several high-altitude passes and a necessary overnight stop at purpose-built tent camps. This is the ultimate bikers' route. He acknowledges the information as he waves goodbye. He's heading that way and aiming for Leh, the capital of Ladakh, he says.

My own way to Leh is marred by altitude sickness brought about by a bout of spontaneous dancing at the highest pass where we stop to admire the view. While we are doing so, the driver puts on a cassette of Punjabi music at top volume. I cannot resist the beat and try a few Bollywood moves. I spin and feel sick. I'd forgotten that high altitude and a sudden surge of activity don't mix. I nurse a blinding headache for hours until we get to the overnight camp.

The tents are exquisite; they have interior hangings and comfortable cots. It is bone-rattlingly cold outside but the camp's "Major" - he's an ex-army man - gives me a hot water bottle. I hug it and try to sleep but my head is about to explode and I spend the most miserable night ever. I even miss out on the delicious Indian dinner.

At dawn, I discover we are in an amphitheatre of rock, blue sky and pretty clouds. Soon we'll start our descent. When we do (and it is only from 4500m to 3200m) the pressure lifts as if by magic and in the afternoon we get to Leh. On the way we spot some ibex (whose horns are considered lucky charms and adorn many a rooftop), blue sheep and the smallest of blue poppies concealed under loose rock.

The next two days are a feast of fortresses, castles and dusty ramparts. Flat-roofed, whitewashed houses spill down the mountain where the nine storey- high Leh Palace sits. We walk down through centuries-old lanes. At the bottom, the only mosque that for centuries served Kashmiri wool merchants stands back from the busy road. The high kerbs, which in the past eased the unloading of caravans, are lined with fresh produce laid neatly along the main street. Ladakhi women, in their traditional dress, sit by their goods and chat amicably.

Once a year, the Hemis monks put on three days of sacred masked dances inside their gompa's main quadrangle. They are spectacular. Tall characters from the Buddhist cosmology re-enact passages well known to the local audience who are transfixed by the demons, Bodhisattvas, leaping skeletons and revered saints.

On the drive back to Leh, I spot a familiar bike on the lonely mountain road coming towards us. "Chris!" I shout through the van's window, but he doesn't hear. He's heading for the monastery and I am stoked he's registered the information.

The writer joined World Expeditions' The Road to Leh, a 14 day trip that costs $A3190. There is also a trek: Hidden Valleys of Ladakh, a 20 day trip ($A4450).

 More: www.worldexpeditions.com.au 

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