SUALLY it's quite easy to spot an Indian politician. He's the one (yes, it's almost always "he") with a starched white kurta, a trailing retinue of worried officials and party sycophants, and a constantly jangling mobile phone. Rarely can you mistake him for anyone else, especially when his security men knock you over and plant a foot in your chest. A notable exception, I'm pleased to report, is the young Union minister of state for tourism, Omak Apang, at least while he's in Ladakh. Our first meeting put me in the embarrassing position of offering to shake hands with the wrong person. His companion, the genial Arunachal Pradesh tourism minister, is older and looks more like a politician, although I'm not sure I've seen one wearing an Australian bush hat before. But everyone had a good laugh at my predicament before pointing me at Apang, the fit-looking 27-year-old in T-shirt, shorts and mountain boots. "It's okay," he said, "A backpacker just came up to me in the bazaar and spoke in Japanese. No one believes I'm who I am." Not, that is, until you talk to him. Apang is a thoughtful fellow, who takes his brief extremely seriously. There's a big debate in Ladakh just now; how to attract more tourists without further damage to the fragile environment and ancient culture. Coming from Arunachal, Apang knows the arguments by heart and can hold his own with both sides. I think he sits, quite comfortably, in the middle when it comes to Ladakh. He saw and appreciated a project to restore ancient Buddhist monasteries to their former glory, but also expressed a desire to go whitewater rafting on the River Indus. Incidentally, the rafting expedition never materialised. Apang had a look at the Indus and said the rapids weren't fierce or fast enough for him.
