Our first trek involved five home stays in a different village each night, where we were accepted as family and treated like honored guests. During down time in villages everyone read Herman Hesse's Siddhartha, and we found time to discuss it a few times along the way— once under the prayer flags on a rooftop in Uley, once over chow mein in the village of Nyima… The hospitality shown to us reminds me of Siddhartha’s revelation, that we must revere the Buddha in everyone and everything, saint or sinner, river or rock, because all things are one and everything. We were honored as divine guests in each home along the way.
Each morning we set out at about ten and picked up a trail or dirt road leading between Likir, Yanthang, Uley, Hemis Skukpachan, and Temisgam-Ang. Three horses with bells on their necks followed our group of nineteen through the passes, through snow, dirt, clay, mud, and a strange stretch of broken slate. We saw Tibetan characters, mantras thirty feet high carved into reddish brown rock. Sheep and goats grazed on the mountainsides. Immaculately maintained rock walls lined the fields between villages along the river.
Approaching from the distance, we saw that each village was tucked uniquely into its own valley at some clever angle. Between homes (sometimes there were ten, sometimes fifty or more) rock walls channeled streams deliberately through patches of short trees, terraced fields and pastures. Inside the homes, packed earth formed the floors, which led through dim halls and into rooms heated invitingly by similar wood and dung burning stoves in every village. (Cow or dzo dung takes about a year to dry and becomes a surprisingly effective and fine smelling fuel. [The dzo is a yak-cow hybrid well-suited to tasks such as plowing or thrashing at high altitudes.]) Tradionally families congregate in the kitchen in the evening, around the stove on floor mats, which often double as sleeping spots for some family members. Each night we sat around the stove, ate and talked with our families, and sometimes read our books.
During homestays our group was split between anywhere from two to eight homes. On all but the last night, we were accompanied by at least one Ladakhi student or Tashi our guide, hugely helpful since English was spoken either sparsely or not at all. In Temisgam-Ang, I had two mini Ladakhi teachers, ages six and eight. They worked with me on learning the alphabet.
In Hemis Skukpachan, we stayed at the home of a former Ladakh Scout border patrolman. In broken English he managed to tell us the story of ama skukpa, a juniper tree bearing a striking resemblance to a Ladakhi woman in traditional dress, which traveled from Temisgam to Hemis Skukpachan overnight. This was during the time when leprosy was taking many lives in Ladakh, but after ama skukpa, or mother juniper, made her mysterious move, no more lives were lost. The friendly couple their gave us a spicy Thukpa, a kind of noodle soup. In Ladakh, it is common for a host to wait before eating until guests themselves have eaten. In our case, we ate Thukpa and then were forced to join our host couple when they had their own meal half an hour later. It didn’t matter how often we declined. Declining things at first is considered polite here, so that presents another communication challenge.
We tried many traditional foods, some of which are made only on special occasions, as well as cold chang, sort of a fermented barley beer. I’ve never been much of a Kit Kat fan, but there is something different about the Kit Kats here, something that makes me ravage them. In bulk. At ten rupees apiece they could present my biggest health challenge in Ladakh. After trekking I picked up a box of 24 on the way through Leh. Granted some went to Sam, slung like bricks of contraband, but most of them I consumed ravenously. Maybe it’s me that’s different here.
Each morning we set out at about ten and picked up a trail or dirt road leading between Likir, Yanthang, Uley, Hemis Skukpachan, and Temisgam-Ang. Three horses with bells on their necks followed our group of nineteen through the passes, through snow, dirt, clay, mud, and a strange stretch of broken slate. We saw Tibetan characters, mantras thirty feet high carved into reddish brown rock. Sheep and goats grazed on the mountainsides. Immaculately maintained rock walls lined the fields between villages along the river.
Approaching from the distance, we saw that each village was tucked uniquely into its own valley at some clever angle. Between homes (sometimes there were ten, sometimes fifty or more) rock walls channeled streams deliberately through patches of short trees, terraced fields and pastures. Inside the homes, packed earth formed the floors, which led through dim halls and into rooms heated invitingly by similar wood and dung burning stoves in every village. (Cow or dzo dung takes about a year to dry and becomes a surprisingly effective and fine smelling fuel. [The dzo is a yak-cow hybrid well-suited to tasks such as plowing or thrashing at high altitudes.]) Tradionally families congregate in the kitchen in the evening, around the stove on floor mats, which often double as sleeping spots for some family members. Each night we sat around the stove, ate and talked with our families, and sometimes read our books.
During homestays our group was split between anywhere from two to eight homes. On all but the last night, we were accompanied by at least one Ladakhi student or Tashi our guide, hugely helpful since English was spoken either sparsely or not at all. In Temisgam-Ang, I had two mini Ladakhi teachers, ages six and eight. They worked with me on learning the alphabet.
In Hemis Skukpachan, we stayed at the home of a former Ladakh Scout border patrolman. In broken English he managed to tell us the story of ama skukpa, a juniper tree bearing a striking resemblance to a Ladakhi woman in traditional dress, which traveled from Temisgam to Hemis Skukpachan overnight. This was during the time when leprosy was taking many lives in Ladakh, but after ama skukpa, or mother juniper, made her mysterious move, no more lives were lost. The friendly couple their gave us a spicy Thukpa, a kind of noodle soup. In Ladakh, it is common for a host to wait before eating until guests themselves have eaten. In our case, we ate Thukpa and then were forced to join our host couple when they had their own meal half an hour later. It didn’t matter how often we declined. Declining things at first is considered polite here, so that presents another communication challenge.
We tried many traditional foods, some of which are made only on special occasions, as well as cold chang, sort of a fermented barley beer. I’ve never been much of a Kit Kat fan, but there is something different about the Kit Kats here, something that makes me ravage them. In bulk. At ten rupees apiece they could present my biggest health challenge in Ladakh. After trekking I picked up a box of 24 on the way through Leh. Granted some went to Sam, slung like bricks of contraband, but most of them I consumed ravenously. Maybe it’s me that’s different here.
back at campus...
One of our students reflected that it was strange to refer to SECMOL as “home”, but it is our home out here and when we returned from trekking we had a nice welcome from the Ladakhi students. Things are happening much faster on campus now. Things are more organized. There are all kinds of projects happening. Though many things are simply inefficient or just don’t work, I see a lot of good in that, since it allows future generations of students to learn from hands-on projects. The campus could use another expert or two in some areas though…
The other day Bennet and I went with Dorje toward the spring where most of our water comes from. Along the way part of the pipe was situated under an overhang, and the day before Dorje had recruited some help to built a kind of retaining wall to help prevent erosion and to cover the pipe. While we were there I heard a slight shifting in the rock wall, which was about nine feet tall and composed of many large rocks which had required two people to move. I shushed them, and we put our ears to the wall. Dorje had to restrain hiumself from giggling as we heard the rocks shifting again, and then again. He took off running in one direction, Bennet and I in the other, and a few seconds later the whole thing collapsed and we had a good laugh.
Inefficient as this project was, these are the kinds of comical incidents that seem to make things work around here in the long run. There is an element of fun in every moment. Once I saw Tundup and others walking along the road toward the spring when the pipes were frozen. I asked Tundup what he was doing and his reply was “getting water and having fun.” And having fun. Not just getting water. And it was obvious that they were having fun. (Tundup in particular is always smiling.) That there are always many projects here reminds me of the work that needs to be done in my own town, and in any American city. Sometimes I think of Baltimore in terms of its many problems. It’s unfortunate that many projects there are geared toward profit and not social progress, but it gives one a sense of productivity to see certain things getting done on a daily basis, and reminds me that we can make things work for us with the right decisions and right attitude.
In a week we will set off from Pangong Lake at the Tibetan border, heading north and west for five or six days. This trek will involve some camping, and supposedly a 14-hour day over one pass. Until then we’re here at SECMOL, where the sun has been shining every day and short sleeves are even coming out in the afternoons. One of our many guest speakers came to campus this week: the head of the Leh chapter of the Tibetan Youth Congress. He told of the movement for Tibetan independence and efforts to spread awareness worldwide (there are 84 chapters internationally). This year in Dharamsala (home of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Government in Exile) the Tibetan Olympics will coincide with the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, a way to give Tibetans a chance to compete, while protesting the continued Chinese occupation. There are also protests this Sunday, March 10, the anniversary of the Tibetan uprising and the day the Dalai Lama was forced to flee the country in 1959.
What else…I played a game of cricket today but couldn’t tell what was going on ninety percent of the time. We’ve got a visit to the “artificial glacier man” next week and a day hike this weekend, I’m continuing to give piano lessons to Rinchen on his mini keyboard, and the running is still happening. My body seems to have adjusted fully to the food. My hair is getting long, and the only time I’ve used my beard trimmer was to help in the process of mohawking Toben’s hair.
I am curious about what is happening back home, I am disappointed that Obama didn’t seal the deal, and I’m trying to come up with some plan for the summer. Keep me posted, and thanks for reading.
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