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This isolated valley is in danger of being loved to death

By Nina Karnikowski

I’m sipping coffee on the cobbled patio of our villa at Dolkhar Ladakh, watching bumblebees buzz around sunflowers beneath the towering Himalayas, when an apricot drops at my feet. I feel as though I’m in the garden of Eden. Perhaps I am.

Set at 3500 metres on the Tibetan plateau in northern India, in a quiet corner of Ladakh’s main town Leh, seven-villa Dolkhar sits on an apricot and apple orchard. Almost every element of the property is connected to the surrounding land.

Fields of buckwheat in Ladakh’s Nubra Valley.

Fields of buckwheat in Ladakh’s Nubra Valley.Credit: Nina Karnikowski

The sense of tranquillity and connection I feel here reflects the broader appeal of Ladakh, which has long drawn adventurers with its snow-capped peaks, high altitude lakes, ancient Buddhist monasteries and its reputation as a last bastion of Tibetan culture. Since becoming a union territory in 2019, separate to Jammu and Kashmir, the region has experienced a 30 per cent increase in visitor numbers annually. Unfortunately, the very cultural heritage and landscapes that have been attracting visitors are now at risk, threatened both by the influx of tourists and the relentless forces of globalisation.

The silver lining, however, lies in the growing number of sustainably minded businesses such as Dolkhar that are committed to preserving Ladakh’s traditional practices – from earth building to indigenous cuisine. These ventures are providing a meaningful way for visitors to experience the region authentically, while contributing to its long-term sustainability.

Phugtal Monastery, Zanskar Valley, Ladakh.

Phugtal Monastery, Zanskar Valley, Ladakh.

In Leh’s main market, a 20-minute walk away, we discover some of these thoughtful businesses. Among them are Namza Dining, reviving forgotten Ladakhi dishes, and Lehvallee, producing handwoven, naturally dyed pashmina shawls. We also see a smattering of buildings constructed with traditional techniques including rammed earth, thanks to a proliferation of natural building companies such as Earth Building, headed up by local Stanzin Phuntsog.

Back at Dolkhar, our villa is built almost entirely from these natural materials that have been used in Ladakh for centuries, but have recently been replaced by cheaper alternatives.

These traditional materials include compressed earth and slate walls, and ceilings made from native willow and poplar wood, lending the rooms a relaxed, wabi-sabi aesthetic.

Buddhist chortens scattered beneath the Himalayas in Ladakh.

Buddhist chortens scattered beneath the Himalayas in Ladakh.Credit: Nina Karnikowski

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In an effort to support Ladakh’s deeply ingrained textile traditions, Dolkhar also employs more than 40 craftspeople from local villages to create their handwoven rugs, throws and cushions, crafted from local sheep and yak wool.

“There’s unfortunately a real pride in imported goods in Ladakh,” says 33-year-old owner Rigzin Lachic, over a Ladakhi herbal tea in the garden later in the afternoon. “I want to make the point that local can also be luxury.”

This regional focus extends to Dolkhar’s restaurant, Tsas, where the menu is peppered with native ingredients including pigeon peas, traditional ngamphe barley and yak cheese, all sourced from neighbouring villages. “When we lose touch with where our food is from, we lose touch with the land and the people growing the food, and all the diversity that goes with it,” says Lachic.

It would be easy to spend days at Dolkhar without ever feeling the need to leave. And we do spend more time than we probably should there, drinking Ladakhi martinis made with seabuckthorn juice (a native nutrient-rich berry) and reading on sun-splashed lounges beneath the apricot trees.

Leh Town in Ladakh has had a visitor boom.

Leh Town in Ladakh has had a visitor boom.Credit: Nina Karnikowski

But with Ladakh’s true allure lying in its remote valleys, where traditional ways of life are still very much alive, we eventually peel ourselves away for the next leg of our journey.

In Nubra Valley, a six-hour drive and crossing Khardung La Pass, one of the highest motorable roads in the world, we stay at a micro-farm harnessing ancient irrigation techniques, visit Diskit Monastery, the region’s oldest and largest, and catch a sunset over the famous Hunder sand dunes. Turtuk, located right on the Pakistani border, offers us heritage homes and unique Balti culture, a distinct blend of local and Islamic traditions.

And in Zanskar, a 10-hour drive from Leh and one of the most inaccessible valleys on Earth, we take a hair-raising hike to spend the night in a local farmhouse, where we witness life being lived just as it was a century ago.

We observe a yak being milked for tea, dung being stacked atop mud-brick houses to fuel fires over winter when temperatures plummet to minus 40 degrees, and locals wielding scythes to harvest buckwheat, barley and other indigenous crops.

That night, watching the sun tuck itself behind the 12th-century Phugtal Monastery clinging to the opposite cliff, we can’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe Ladakh’s unique blend of ancient culture and natural beauty will endure, even as tourism grows. Or perhaps, if it’s done the right way, even because of it.

THE DETAILS

STAY
Rooms at Dolkhar from $260 (Rs15,000) including breakfast. See dolkharladakh.com

WHEN TO VISIT
Ladakh’s high season is May to September, when major roads are open and weather is moderate. Intrepid travellers visit in winter (October to February) for festivals and spotting snow leopards. See lehladakhindia.com

FLY
Air India flies daily from Sydney and Melbourne to Leh, via Delhi. See airindia.com

The writer travelled with assistance from Dolkhar Ladakh.

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Original URL: https://www.smh.com.au/traveller/inspiration/this-isolated-valley-is-in-danger-of-being-loved-to-death-20250317-p5lk57.html