The Groundwork for Low-Carbon Tourism
In the third week of February 2023, our long-awaited journey to Ladakh began with a flight from Kathmandu to Delhi, where our group of six landed late at night.
Then the morning flight to Leh; the morning air was crisp as we boarded our plane. From my window seat, I watched the snow-capped Himalayas roll out beneath us like a vast white canvas. The peaks seemed to whisper promises of serenity and challenges. As we neared Leh, the sight of the jagged, pristine mountains filled me with anticipation.
Our plane descended into the Leh airport; a military airbase surrounded by snow-laden peaks. The airport’s stern atmosphere, with soldiers and armoured vehicles in sight, made it clear that Ladakh was not just a picturesque destination – it was a region of strategic importance. Photography was strictly prohibited and the unyielding signs reinforced the rules.
Leh city, as we discovered from the taxi ride, bore the same military undertone. Soldiers patrolled the streets and convoys of armoured vehicles rumbled past. It was a stark reminder of Ladakh’s precarious position on India’s northern border.
From the airport, our taxi sped toward Phyang village, where our accommodation awaited.
Nestled beside a sprawling apple orchard, two beautiful houses stood surrounded by snow-dusted fields. We were greeted warmly by the hosts, an elderly couple who led a simple yet abundant life. Four of us stayed in one house, while the other two were assigned a cosy room in another house a short walk uphill.
Dinner that night was simple but delicious – steaming rice and vegetables served with care by our host, whom we affectionately began calling ‘Amale’ (mother). Over the following days, we savoured local Ladakhi dishes. On our last morning, I couldn’t resist asking for rice again; it reminded me of home.
The couple’s sustainable lifestyle intrigued me. They cultivated apples and apricots, producing jam and even apricot kernel oil. Their self-reliance and harmony with nature felt like a lesson in itself.
Ice Stupas and the Art of Saving Water
Our visit centred around learning about ice stupas, an ingenious solution to Ladakh’s water scarcity. These artificial glaciers store water in the form of towering ice cones, which melt gradually in summer, providing a vital source of water for irrigation.
To understand more, we visited the SECMOL (Students’ Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh) school, founded by the visionary Sonam Wangchuk. The school’s philosophy of sustainable education and focus on Ladakhi culture resonated deeply with us. Wangchuk’s efforts have transformed the educational landscape, emphasising community-driven solutions and social entrepreneurship.
At SECMOL, we met Angchuk Nurbu, who shared his journey. Hailing from Chusul, near the Chinese border, he had learned the art of constructing ice stupas at SECMOL and had been teaching others since 2015. His passion was infectious as he guided us to the village of Kulam.
Kulam: A Village on the Brink
Kulam, a village once brimming with life, now stood on the verge of abandonment. Years of dwindling snowfall and drying springs had turned it into a ghost of its former self. Once home to 11 families, only four now remained. The others had moved to nearby villages, leaving behind barren fields and shuttered homes.
Kunjang Namgyal, one of the remaining villagers, explained their struggles. “We depend on the spring for drinking water and irrigation. But with the streams drying up, we’ve faced severe shortages since 2010. Farming is no longer viable, and many of us have had to leave.”
Despite the odds, Namgyal and a few others had taken on the challenge of constructing ice stupas to preserve water. With determination, they worked to capture every drop of winter snow, storing it in towering cones of ice that would sustain them through the dry months.
Our journey culminated in a meeting with Sonam Wangchuk, the man behind so many of Ladakh’s transformative ideas. In our conversation, Wangchuk spoke fondly of Nepal, sharing stories of his time there and his admiration for its landscapes and people. He expressed his hope that ice stupas could be implemented in Nepal’s Himalayan regions, mentioning that pilot projects were already underway in Dolpo and Lomanthang.
Inspired, we left Ladakh with a vision – to bring the concept of ice stupas and eco-friendly tourism to Langtang.
As the plane rose above the majestic Himalayan peaks, the chatter in our small group turned from nostalgia to planning. “What next?” someone asked. The question hung in the air. Ladakh had inspired us to do more – build something meaningful, something sustainable. But where would we begin?
We needed a location, a place that spoke to us as much as Ladakh had. A region where nature thrived, where culture held deep roots, and where the community was open to collaboration. Ideas bounced back and forth as the plane descended over Kathmandu’s familiar hills.
With backpacks slung over our shoulders and notebooks filled with questions, we set off early the next day. The road from Kathmandu to Rasuwa was a blend of chaos and tranquility – bumpy in parts but opening up to breathtaking views of terraced fields and roaring rivers. The cold air carried the scent of pine and adventure.
Goljung welcomed us with an air of quiet simplicity. Just 52 kilometres from Kathmandu, Goljung’s heart lay in its people. We spent hours with the farmers, their hands calloused from years of tending to the land. They invited us to join them and we eagerly pitched in, digging soil for planting potatoes and beans. The work was grounding, their smiles contagious. Every gesture spoke of their pride in their connection to the land and the rhythms of nature.
Beyond its fields, Goljung served as a gateway to hidden gems like the Nagathali hot springs, renowned for their soothing waters, and Parvati Kund, a serene lake shrouded in reverence. These places added a layer of tranquility to our experience, contrasting beautifully with the rugged trails we had traversed to reach the village.
In contrast to Goljung’s quiet charm, Gatlang pulsed with vibrant energy. Known as the ‘Black Village’ for its traditional wooden homes, the village stood at an altitude of 2,300 metres, offering sweeping views of lush valleys and majestic hills. The architecture, though altered by post-earthquake reconstruction, retained a sense of the past, with the villagers steadfastly preserving their cultural identity.
The Tamang people of Gatlang welcomed us with open arms, sharing stories of their heritage and resilience. We tasted the village’s famed potatoes, lentils and beans, each bite a testament to the richness of their soil and traditions. Their hospitality extended beyond food; they invited us to ceremonies and shared the tales behind their dances and rituals, making us feel like part of their extended family.
Above Gatlang, we embarked on a bold experiment – the construction of Nepal’s first Ice Stupa. Inspired by Ladakh’s success, this towering structure was designed to store winter water as ice, releasing it gradually during the dry months.
The site, at 3,260 metres, was perfect – cold, shaded and close to a flowing winter stream. Together with the community, we erected bamboo scaffolding and laid pipes to channel water. Over weeks of freezing temperatures, fine mist sprayed from the pipes formed layers of glistening ice.
Challenges like frozen pipes and gusty winds tested our resolve, but the villagers’ unwavering enthusiasm kept us going. Elders offered advice, farmers pitched in tirelessly, and children cheered as the Ice Stupa grew taller. When it stood complete, gleaming under the Himalayan sun, it symbolised resilience, hope and the power of collaboration.
Experimentation and Reflection
Over the past few years, Goljung and Gatlang have served as our living laboratories for innovation and learning. In Goljung, we witnessed the beauty of simplicity – the deep, unbreakable connection between the people and their land. This inspired us to explore regenerative farming practices, herb cultivation and community-driven tourism initiatives.
In contrast, Gatlang’s blend of tradition and modernity sparked ideas about preserving cultural heritage while embracing resilience. It taught us how to honour the past while building a sustainable future, a balance that holds invaluable lessons for similar communities.
Local involvement became the cornerstone of our efforts. From designing eco-tourism packages to documenting trails and cultural landmarks, the voices and stories of the residents enriched every step. Their perspectives shaped the foundation of our initiatives, ensuring that our work truly reflected their aspirations and needs.
Gatlang showed us how a community could adapt to change without losing its essence, while Goljung taught us the profound value of harmony – with nature, time and each other.
These villages became more than destinations – they became our inspiration. The work we started here, rooted in sustainability and tradition, is now rippling outward across Amachodingmo Rural Municipality and beyond. These efforts are laying the groundwork for Low-Carbon Tourism, offering models for balancing cultural preservation with ecological stewardship.
The people of Goljung and Gatlang reminded us that resilience is not merely about surviving – it is about thriving with grace, staying anchored in the past while embracing the future.
This journey was not an end – it was the beginning.
(Dhakal is co-founder of story cycle. He can be reached at saurav@storycycle.com)
