Everyone who travelled to Ladakh before us told us about the Ladakhi hospitality.
We first-hand experienced the Ladakhi hospitality during our second day of trekking, when, while passing through a barley field, we were invited by the family of that field for a tea. And while the man of that house was making our guide drunk by keeping on serving him chhang (a homemade liquor made of barley), we were shown the house around (particularly the kitchen, where dozens of pots and pans - symbol of status and wealth - were proudly displayed above the stove) and played a bit with the kids - half-frightened and half-seduced by our presence.
We were so pleased by the genuine kindness of this family, that on that evening we decided to spend the night in a small village’s homestay rather than pitching our tent somewhere in the mountains. We had dinner with a lot of people (supposedly the whole family - even though I am not sure I understood all the degrees of kindred), slept on thin mattresses covered by piles of rugs and blankets, and of course played with the children of the house.
One of the reasons why I yearned for Ladakh after nine months of ‘densely populated’ India was to somehow rest from the (no offense) sometime overwhelming presence of people all around you. I had imagined my two weeks in Ladakh without meeting a single soul. But in the end never been so happy to have had the opportunity to spend some time with these two Ladakhi families...