Where the Indus is Young – Walking to Baltistan (Dervla Murphy, 1995)

ISBN 0-0065-4801-6

What an unbelievable woman. Most of us would consider a walking trip through Baltistan in the 1970s adventure enough. Yet Murphy makes the trip in winter, with her six year old daughter. In fact, the daughter, Rachel, becomes the hero of the book. What a kid! The following is typical:

"We tackled the snowy stairway separately, Rachel following in my footsteps, and about half-way up I heard an unhappy sound and realised my gallant companion had had enough. She looked at me with brimming eyes and said. 'I'm panted out. I can't go up any more.' So we sat on dry cushions of thyme, all the rocks being snow covered.

"I considered the summit of stark, grey-brown cliffs and felt irresolute. To force a wilting six-year-old up that last demanding stretch would be sheer cruelty, yet the idea of retreating when almost there went totally against the Murphy grain.

"Then Rachel said, 'I wonder what we could see from the top?'" — p. 83

Well, I hope my little girl grows up with something of Rachel's spirit, though I doubt I'll be testing her forbearance to the same degree. Together, these two formidable women journey from one tiny mountain community to the next, and meeting some interesting characters along the way, such as the Raja of Khapalu, who shares the author's dislike for the trappings of the modern world, except (presumably) adequate food, hygiene and western medicine, first-world education for the redoubtable Rachel, and so on:

"But he does not disguise his personal antipathy to the trappings of Progress and it delighted me to hear him referring to jeeps and aeroplanes in a tone that put them on a level with disease-carrying insects. I laughingly remarked on this and he promptly pointed out that such machines are disease-carriers. Thirty years ago, when it took three weeks to walk in from down-country, smallpox, typhoid, T.B. and measles were virtually unknown here: now they are common." — pp. 185-186

Hmm. Possible, but I think not, Ms Murphy. The last naturally-occurring case of smallpox in the world was contracted in October 1977, so I rather doubt it was "common" anywhere in 1974 – not even in Baltistan.

I have to confess I get a bit fed up with western authors who go dip their toes in the third world, then run back home to a cosy bungalow somewhere in the west, scoff back a few decent meals and enjoy a hot shower, then settle down to write a nice book which devotes itself to slagging off the very life-style which permits them to afford these adventures in the first place. Although Murphy demonstrates some restraint (Tiziano Terzani is insufferable in this regard; see A Fortune Teller Told Me) she still skirts dangerously close to hypocrisy much of the time.

For all that, it is quite evident she loves Baltistan and it's people, as here:

"When our path turned towards the Khardung La we stopped for a sad farewell look at Khapalu. (But not really farewell, I feel. It is impossible that one should come to love a country as much as I love Baltistan and not return. And Rachel - entirely without prompting - announced the other day that this is her favourite place, where she plans to spend her honeymoon.)" — p. 215

The writing is good – evocative – and the dangers presented by the trip very real. This section particularly appealed to me:

"Rachel remounted for the next stage, a gentle descent to the flank of a rocky mountain too sheer to be snowy. On reaching that flank, we found ourselves looking into a ravine so profound that one's first reaction was incredulity. The shadowy chasm was very narrow and perhaps half a mile long. It lay between the brown mountain we now stood on and the white mountain ahead and at a conservative estimate it was 1,500 feet deep, with absolutely sheer sides. This scene was the very quintessence of Himalayan drama – vast, beautiful, cruel – belonging to a landscape that has no time for the paltry endeavours of men.

"Our narrow path was in a state of considerable disrepair where it rounded the ravine. Having ordered Rachel to dismount I remembered her propensity for achieving the impossible and added firmly, 'We'll go first.' I then roped the load high and hoped for the best." — p. 217

And another, final, insight into this engaging and unusual character:

"I find I react quite differently to fleas and lice. There is something so irresistibly comical about fleas that one can feel no real animosity towards them; a flea-hunt is a form of sport, demanding considerable skill, and one has to admire the creatures' cheeky agility. But those slow grey crawlers this evening really revolted me." — p. 258

With that, there remains only to say ...

Recommendation: Highly recommended.

Look and Feel: My edition is the usual matt-finish paperback.

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