Two verdant valleys, one in Likir, the other on the road to Kargil. Both are overlooked by Buddhist monasteries, and the valley floors are cultivated by the local people who irrigate their fields with the glacial waters that come down off the mountains and bring life to the desert; female herders in Dras bring the young calves down from the pastures to shelter in the village pens at night.  

In my summer holiday, I travelled for nearly six weeks to north west India. I had a brilliant time in the states of Himachal Pradesh, and Jammu and Kashmir, but I wanted to focus on Ladakh as it was such a unique place and the food, the warmth of the people, and the awe-inspiring natural geography really captivated me. 

I travelled there in the heat of summer, though I learnt that for over half the year, a long and severe winter strikes this vast system of arid desert mountains and valleys, keeping people living in tight farming communities bunkered down as huge snow piles cut off the arterial roads for months at a time. This is also a place that is home to the last remnants of nomadic communities who herd yaks and goats across the great plains that border Tibet. 

The HT Lens/Ancient Futures: Learning from Ladakh. Click to play documentary trailer.

But the modern world is arriving. And fast. And this is causing huge disruptions for the social fabric of these families, as well as alarming disruptions to the fragile ecosystems that have been impacted by the very recent flurry of carbon-based human activity brought to the region upon the military grade roads that connect their ancient world, for better or worse, to the modern, industrial world.

The Ladakhis are a complex mixture of religions: Buddhist, Hindu and Islamic are the main ones, though these faith systems often sit in companionship with the more ancient animist B’on religion. It’s a sign of how intimately tied these nomadic and farming people are with the changing seasons of nature. 

I wanted to write about my experiences through the lens of HT to help new and older students and their families at ICHK know more about the subject, and, crucially how we can keep an active eye out when we are exploring the world around us to see how some of these insights can be applied to improving our own day-to-day lives.

Human Tech. invites us to look at the world through the HT lens: we can technologise not just material tools such as the wool and looms the Ladakhis use to make their tents, blankets and clothes, but we can utilise Social, Spiritual, and Cognitive technologies, too, within our lives. (We can also overuse, misuse and abuse technologies, so HT offers us a chance to reflect thoughtfully on making good choices in our pursuit of “The Good Life”. 

Yet, to paraphrase J.R.R Tolkien, whose work I was reminded of as I hiked amongst these fantastical peaks, Psychosomatic technologies is “the one ring to rule them all, and in our lifetimes bind them”, as when we consider, investigate, practice and question the four other HT areas in the Venn diagram, it must be through the lens of our psychosomatic selves. We can’t escape the bodies and minds we have grown up with- though we can technologise them.

With this in mind, then, starting next week, I will serialise my experiences of Ladakh (this seems to be the best way I can think of to translate the wide range of inspiring ideas from the trip) and use the Psychosomatic lens to kick start the travelogue; after all, setting out on a hiking trip in a new place in the world, one that allowed me to connect to nature, to get fitter, and seek experiences that were mentallly energising was the catalyst for the whole trip.

Follow the HT travel series where I next turn my focus to Psychosomatic Technologies in Ladakh.