Kinnaur: A Road Trip 3 (Chitkul)

The road to Chitkul is one of the most treacherous in the world. It's also one of the most beautiful and adventurous

To go to Chitkul from Kalpa, one needs to drive back some 20km towards Sarahan and take the Sangla-Chitkul road at Karcham. Chitkul, the last Indian village before the border with Tibet, is some 40km south of Karcham and around 111km from Sarahan. It’s at Karcham that the Baspa — the prime attraction of Sangla and Chitkul — meets his elder brother Sutlej.

The landscape gets even more rugged in these parts and when we went, in the month of June, the slopes looked a mix of green and mud-grey, unlike the lush green of Reckong Peo. The road itself is said to be among the most treacherous of Himalayan terrains (though I’ve seen worse) and is certainly not for the faint-hearted.

Baspa valley

But for the ultimate-adventure-lovers and mountain-lovers, the road’s a treat.

The robust Sutlej kept us company till Karcham, where younger brother Baspa took over. The Baspa, a more modest river compared to big bro, is swift nonetheless and their combined strength is milked further downstream at the 1000MW Karcham Wangtoo HEPS, which we had passed on the way to Kalpa from Sarahan.

As we entered the Sangla-Chitkul road, the landscape got greener, and kept getting better and better as we went upstream of the Baspa. Around 19km from Karcham is Sangla, the largest town in the Baspa valley, where most tourists prefer to stay. But we had other plans.

A Kinnauri herdsman

Vinkal Hada, the driver who I had contacted for the road trip and who had appointed Vicky for us, had suggested that we stay at Rakcham, apparently a quieter and more beautiful place than Sangla. But we had decided to keep our plan open.

As we passed through Sangla, however, I did not feel impressed at all. It looked like any other hill town, crowded and packed with hotels and lodges. As we went further upstream, however, the pines and deodars grew thicker and human presence thinner. Just as I was wondering if we could somehow stay in a place like this, we entered a small hamlet with a few scattered wooden dwellings and on the left I caught the signboard — ‘Hotel Apple Pie’ — as our car sped past.

Baspa valley

Vinkal had suggested that we stay at Apple Pie. “It’s never too crowded and the staff are good. You will like it there,” he had said. We decided at once that on the way back from Chitkul, we’d stay the night at Apple Pie instead of staying in Sangla.

But it appeared that Vicky had made his own plans too.

Until then, Vicky had given us no reason to complain. But somewhere after crossing Rakcham, he seemed to have no idea of the way ahead. There was a village down in the valley and he seemed to be wondering if it was Chitkul. He called up someone, asked for directions and then drove on. As it appeared, Chitkul was still some 45 minutes away.
The landscape does not change dramatically after that, but the isolation is palpable. Though we met some tourists on the way — frolicking in the waters of a stream by the side of the road — signs of human presence were negligible. Fifteen minutes after we crossed a forest department signboard saying ‘The beginning of the border, Chitkul beat’, the road practically ended at a huge white hotel by the side of the road. Vicky said we had arrived.

Baspa valley

It looked nothing like what I had thought Chitkul would be. The river was out of sight and there was no ‘village’ to be seen. Vicky went inside and came out with a man — apparently a hotel staffer — and together started taking our luggage out of the car. We were totally taken aback. It then appeared that Vicky had made all arrangements for us to spend the night at this hotel.

Baspa valley

I was furious. “Did we tell you we wanted to stay in Chitkul?” I demanded. “We wanted to stay in Sangla originally but now we want to stay in Rakcham. Who told you to arrange our stay here?” I challenged him.

He started arguing that since we had no bookings, he had done what he had thought was the best. It appeared then that this hotel belonged to the same group as the hotel in Kalpa and he had obviously been tipped by them to put us up here.

“No, we’re not staying here,” I told him flatly. He tried to scare me, asking what we’d do if Apple Pie was full. Inwardly I had a feeling Apple Pie wasn’t anywhere close to being full — we hadn’t seen a soul while passing it by. So, trying to look as unruffled as possible I shot back, “If Apple Pie is full, we’ll stay on the road. But still, we won’t stay here.”

Baspa in Chitkul

That did it. He grinned stupidly and mumbled, “No, of course, you won’t have to stay on the road…” The hotel guy, who had been quiet all this while, interjected now. “Ma’am, it’s okay. You don’t have to stay here. But please have lunch.” He was evidently smarter than our driver. We agreed.

Belonging to the same group, this was also another Bengali hotel and the food, obviously, was Bengali fare. Eti again got the chance to have her favourite Bengali dish aloo-posto (potato cooked in a poppy-seed paste). But the whole experience had left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Chitkul Government High School

True, our hotel in Kalpa had given us no chance to complain. But then, thankfully, it had been largely empty. This hotel was teeming with Bengali tourists. And though they are perhaps the most well-travelled community in India, I have no qualms in admitting, despite being a Bengali, that the average Bengali tourist can also be the most annoying. He fusses about the weirdest of things, is dressed in the weirdest of clothes and can be tiresomely loud. The last place I wanted to be in on a holiday was anywhere with a bunch of garrulous Bengali families fussing over their kids at the top of their voices. 

After lunch, we went towards the river. It was a short walk from the hotel and the afternoon sun was beating down on us. But the mountains were green and topped with snow and a cold breeze was blowing from the river. The Baspa — though not as much as the Sutlej — looked quite muddy as well. The bank on our side was rocky and looked very barren, but the opposite bank looked dramatically forested in contrast.

From Chitkul to Rakcham

There was no settlement nearby apart from the Government High School of Chitkul, where the students were busy in a game of throwball. We went and sat by the river for a while, walked up the road a bit and then decided to return. Apparently there is an ITBP signboard further up the road that marks the border. The manager told us that are several trails nearby where we could go walking (he had obviously got the news that we were trekkers) but we were in no further mood for Chitkul. We left for Rakcham soon afterwards.

For those who wish to do the Kinnaur trip, I’ll suggest that you definitely visit Chitkul, if only for the road. Though I personally thought Chitkul is overhyped as a ‘destination’, tastes can differ. Besides, the landscape can also vary according to the time of the year. Chitkul would perhaps have looked prettier to us had there been slightly fewer tourists and the heat been a little less.

Baspa valley

And, did we get a room in Apple Pie? Read the next and final post in my Kinnaur series to know that.

How to reach Chitkul: By road 111km from Sarahan
Where to stay: There are a few hotels and lodges. We did not stay in Chitkul
Famous for: River Baspa. Last Indian village on the border with Tibet
Food: Vegetarian though eggs are available
Driver's contact number for Kinnaur trip: Vinkal Hada (9459262520/9805473522)