Health/Running to Phey

Phey [pronounced pay] is the nearest village to our little campus here in Ladakh. It is three kilometers away along a winding, occasionally rocky road one hundred meters above the Indus River. When I run I stare at the mountains ahead of me—there is less snow on them each day as the sun starts to poke through the winter.

People have written about the spiritual aspect of running and exercising, and I must put in my part here because running has given me an immense boost on this level, as well as on a physical and mental plain. I’d never been a runner until the last couple months before my flight. The four-mile goal I had set in Baltimore was big for me, but I didn’t manage to reach it because a cold caught me in the last few weeks. Nevertheless, running there gave me serious momentum in many ways, and after a couple days in Delhi I was ready to take to the dusty road.

Daniela knocked on my door at the crack of dawn and we found a path from the guest house down to the river and the dirt road which crossed it via a small bridge. Mantras emerged from a thick of trees near the river as I angled my path past the occasional cow or bike. I felt stares from the faces, from people squatted next to shacks along the road, and the smell of sage grew stronger with each dusty breath. Sometimes I find myself smiling when I’m alone, when everything just adds up, when the winds are blowing my way. In those moments on the dirt road as my pace slowed to a walk I couldn’t help myself, even though the cart pullers, even though the bridge crossers, even though the gods of the Indian morning were watching me. They smiled back I think, as I panted back up to the guest house to prepare for our last day in crowded Delhi.

Adjusting to Ladakh was different. There was the horrible altitude sickness as I mentioned, and the emergence of a new cold. But this was a cold I could ignore with the help of some vitamin-C and pure circumstance. Three weeks into this trip the altitude adjustment is as good as done and the other day I’m running on this bending road, the two miles to Phey, then turning around and running back, and a bus is passing me along the way and I know who it is because the only traffic on this road is from campus. In the passenger seat smiling beamingly is the monk from Lamayuru who came to speak for us earlier in the afternoon. The van is driven by our guide Tashi’s friend Morop. Tashi yells “Ohh Ju-le!!” out the window. That and the monk’s smile cause me to laugh and almost lose my breath. But when the laughter is done the feeling that remains lifts me up and my legs are moving without me, my mind emptying.

My body is working through some things up here. I’m pushing through the thin air, shedding the anxiety from my skin, focusing on the run, the road, the river below, the mountain and the mission ahead. This week I ran four or five miles each day at 11,500 ft. and there is talk of getting dropped off in Leh and running the eleven back to campus before this is over. Daniela told me I should enter the lottery for the New York marathon. I don’t know about that, but it excites me that it would even be a possibility. I guess this is becoming a note of personal celebration, but it a big part of my day here—my thinking time, my head clearing. One part of me wants to say that I have not been this healthy since eighth grade. This may be partially true, but there are a few challenges.

Immediately, there was the altitude and water to consider. The altitude simply took a few days, and the water is easy enough to boil or filter. Then there is the food in eastern Ladakh—while it’s nutritious, it does leave us with certain cravings. Many of these I am happy to ignore (or attempt to), because I know they are the result of poor eating habits of the past. But I can’t help but to wonder if my diet is complete. Except for on certain occasions I never ate very large amounts of meat recently, but still I wonder about the protein. There is soy incorporated into certain stews, and there are lentils. Ohhh there are lentils. But I have only consumed meat once since arriving in Ladakh. It was at the Leh View Restaurant. I ate spicy mutton. I devoured it. I ate with zest, and then piled on another plate full. It was a mistake that came back to haunt me at 3am, and then it’s a bitterly cold walk to the compost toilet.

On campus there is no meat to speak of, but plenty of dairy. The sweet tea is always milky. That reminds me: the other day the two campus cows came trotting by, chased by our student Ashleen and her Ladakhi work partner. Somehow they had slipped out of the cow shed and I guess they took off down the road toward Phey. Good clean fun at SECMOL. Anyway the milk is from these cows, and is boiled, but yesterday I decided to lay off the sweet milky tea, delicious as it is. Sometimes the soup is oily and this can be dangerous for those with weak stomachs. All in all I’ve been fine with the food, but there are one or two meals per week that are difficult to eat with good humor, and on those days I’ve taken to raiding the VIS stash box for a peanut butter and honey sandwich. We need to stock up in Leh. I’m a skinny man, yet I just may be losing a little bit of weight. From conversations with previous VIS people, this seems like a given out here. It’s quite possible that my beard and bulky coat are concealing that trend, but I don’t often see a mirror, so its hard to tell. I think it was Daniela who said I look healthier out here, with more color in the cheeks. I’ll go along with that.

Aside from the food, there is the question of close quarters—when one of us gets sick, it seems, at least a couple will follow. There has been an interesting assortment of minor illnesses. Nothing serious. Quickly passing digestive things, and colds. Mine is waning. Almost gone.

So the food is quite plain, its easy to get sick initially, oh and it’s not quite as easy to bathe (but easy enough if you don’t mind fetching your water from a spring when the pipes are frozen, which only happens when it’s the coldest winter in Ladakh in 45 years). But…the food is nutritious, and there’s every opportunity to exercise. Some mornings I opt for yoga before breakfast, led by Sam. If not there’s always the high-altitude running, trekking and general labor around campus. And of course, we’re in Buddha land.

…and Other Goings-On

Daniela and Sam mostly, as well as the students themselves and this very place, have all been teaching me how to…teach. The English assignments are working out well, but I think I can do better during the actual classroom time. But it’s getting there. I’m also an advisor for three of our eleven students. Each week we sit down for a chat or take a hike or something, just to talk about anything at all. I’m feeling good about the academic things, and have been able to do some music sessions with the Ladakhi students in addition to the language stuff. Norbu, the director here, and I have been passing music back and forth on a flash drive, which I’m very excited about. Today I went scrounging for scrap materials to assemble a half basketball court with our student Otto. That project looks promising—plenty of scrap wood and metal, and already a post set up. Will keep you posted.

The days are full. Some of this week’s more interesting events included spinning Sonam and Dadul 360 degrees while they tried not to spill water from a cup, shoveling manure from a composting toilet, and getting blessed by an oracle (a possessed lama) at the Matho Nagrang festival. “They all relate somehow,” Sam says. And I’m sure they do…

Saturday we have an all-day meditation, and I’ll try for another blog post on Sunday. Monday though, we head off for our first trek—five days in five villages. Then back here to SECMOL, and hopefully a day or two off! Ju-le! Obama ’08.

Feelings Here

Feelings Here

Walking from our office to the lower dining hall for lunch this afternoon I was struck with a feeling I hadn’t realized previously—the feeling that all was as it should be. Walking around campus this past week I’ve been constantly aware of my surroundings, which I don’t think is a bad thing, but which created the sense that I might not be able to fully relax or simply be in these new surroundings. But today on the way to the kitchen I caught myself simply walking, simply moving and being here, enjoying a sense of unawareness which of course ceased to be the second I noticed it, but which I can reflect on nevertheless, and take as a sign that I will be able to feel somewhat at home here during these few months. It occurred to me then to use this as a concept for the next essay assignment for class. I want to create contexts within which our students can write informative pieces about SECMOL and Ladakh. Their last assignment was to reflect and write on where they are from, through the use of a particular object, place or concept from any point in their past—touching on the idea that leaving a place puts that place into a much clearer perspective. The results were beautifully executed reflections on family life, childhood, friends—using simple symbols like cars or trees or tomatoes. Now, I think our students have been here long enough to think about some of the things that make them feel “at home” here in Ladakh, and the things that make them feel far from home. I hope this would produce some more pieces full of emotion and color, and some information about life here that couldn’t be obtained through simple brochures or the like.

What makes me feel at home? The smiles from the Ladakhi students and staff here—rarely can I spot so much as a trace of hesitation in a smile when my ju-le or hello is returned in the greenhouse, by the cow shed or on the way to the dining area. The willingness of the local students to include all of us in their music and dancing on Thursday nights, their singing of traditional Ladakhi songs during dinner, and their excitement about our idea to throw a Valentine’s Day party in the big hall just for fun—these things make me feel at home. That I could give a piano lesson today—one of my points of satisfaction back home—let me feel appreciated for what I can share. (It is simple enough to share what you already know, but not always easy to recognize the value in this to someone else.) The very nature of living here, virtually free from the risk of waste and every opportunity to lead a healthy lifestyle—this way of living makes me feel comfortable, and though this lifestyle is different from mine at home, it captures some of the things I had been striving for with much greater difficulty. The mountains around us, the Indus winding through them, the transplanted poplars by its banks, the snow blanketing the poplars’ roots—this is the landscape in which I will experience the feelings of being and doing what I should.

But inevitably, this is the backdrop of my fears, my pain, that which I could not leave behind no matter where I traveled. The sense that I am here as one person with a vague goal and no straight path, the knowledge that I am surrounded by unfamiliar faces, no matter the depth of the creases that seem to ripple outward from all of their smiles. The idea that I am accepting my food on a plate that passes through the hands of so many others each week—this is an idea which I accept well enough, but reminds me that I am living on a campus—yes, in a community full of positive spirit and growth—but not in the community I have become a part of during the last eight years in Baltimore, and not a short drive from my family.

Last week there was a feeling—I’m not even sure I realized that it was there until after it was gone. After I had responded to a few e-mails, composed a blog, and posted a few photos, I had a great sense of relief at having managed contact with “the outside world,” and realized that I had been experiencing a feeling of helplessness in my position. I’ve since come up with a better plan for composing blogs and such, I don’t feel so disconnected, and can more fully enjoy my position.

And there’s the nagging feeling of time tugging at my sleeve, sometimes when I turn the page of a book and simultaneously experience the satisfaction at having absorbed another page of knowledge, and the unsettling sense of wonder at what else I could have achieved in those minutes. Again, a balance is achieved in the acceptance of our own limitations along side the realization of our potential.

Ju-le!

Ju-le from Ladakh. I’ve had less internet access here than I thought I would (none, in fact) so I’m doing my best now to type something to post the next time I make it to town, which should be this coming Friday, 2/17.

I think I’ve been in India for twelve days now, but as one of my students recorded, “time passes strangely here.” The days blend together, and so far there has been little reason to keep track of days of the week. We arrived in Delhi in the early hours of February 2^nd, boarded a bus, and fumbled our way through a dark alley of the Tibetan Refugee Colony in Old Delhi, making our way to the guest houses we’d be split between over the next three nights. Our introduction to India in Delhi was absolutely something I need to blog about, but I’ll backtrack later since my true purpose here is in Ladakh…

Ladakh, “land of high passes” is one of three regions in India’s northernmost state, Jammu and Kashmir, and sits snugly between the vast Tibetan Plateau and the Kashmir valley. A former Tibetan Buddhist kingdom, it has only been open to tourism since the 1970s. Some scholars here believe that tourism has renewed a sense of self-appreciation in Ladakhis, after they were made to feel “backward” and “inferior” by Indian army and administration stationed in the area as a result of conflicts with China and Pakistan. I am here as one of three teachers during a semester abroad program for American high school students, and will be based at an alternative institute, a solar campus twelve miles outside of Leh, eastern Ladakh’s main city.

Since we flew into Leh airport instead of driving, the altitude change was sudden. Everyone suffered minor headaches, fatigue, and confusion. Looking back, the experience in the airport seems surreal because of the general confusion, especially when recalling the two Ladakhis draping our shoulders with traditional white scarves of honor (Kataks). We took a few days to acclimatize in Leh, during which neither students nor teachers were required to do much of anything. Many of us experienced worse symtoms of altitude sickness—nausea, vomiting, and downright confusion of time and place. But these effects were lightened by the hospitality provided at our guest house—we were given tea and meals virtually any time we pleased and warm Ladakhi smiles, an unmistakeable part of the landscape here.

Just bumming around the guest house grounds was an experience—at all times a light brown calf skipped around the walkway leading between buildings, occasionally kicking its back legs out playfully. An old man seemed to be forever spinning a prayer wheel on the same walkway, while little Ladakhi girls rode tiny three wheeled bikes behind him. These scenes will be cemented in my mind forever. Feeling ambitious on day three, some of us went for a very short (and short-winded) run up the hills around the guest house, overlooking the town of Leh, its five-colored prayer flags everywhere, and commanding peaks across the valley. Afterwards we made our way to SECMOL, our home for the next three and a half months.

The Students Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh (SECMOL) was formed by former Ladakhi students as part of a movement to reform the education system here. In short, students weren’t being taught the things that they could directly benefit from in this very unique part of the world, and were further handicapped by language requirements ill-suited to the region. Ladakh is unique for many reasons, one of them being that its villages are some of the highest and most remote in the world. Living conditions are therefore similarly specialized and it is impressive that humans have survived here for so many centuries. The food is basic—lots of tsampa (barley) butter tea, root vegetables, rice, lentils—nothing to write home about, but nourishing. Ladakhis young and old have a great appreciation for their traditional music, although younger generations have added poppy beats behind traditional melodies. Over many centuries, until the border was closed, Ladakhi culture was inspired directly by Tibet, although by now the languages of the two places are mostly unintelligible. Interestingly, there is now a controversy over whether or not the written form of Ladakhi, known locally as Bodyik, should be taught and used in the media, since formerly only high lamas were literate and they use only the traditional Tibetan script. Here at SECMOL, Bodyik is taught and used in the campus’ own publication, Ladags Melong and the trend across Ladakh is generally in favor of the colloquial tongue.

A bit more about SECMOL. This is a solar campus—all energy is supplied by the sun, and water is heated by solar heat. The Ladakhi toilet, the composting kind, is the norm here. Also, very little of anything is wasted. Near our kitchen there are eleven bins for dumping, labelled according to material, as well as a larger general re-use bin. The campus is situated at about 11,500 feet. Fortunately all of us have become fairly used to the height, and have been able to exercise and even take long jogs along a scarcely travelled road above the Indus River. The students here are almost entirely responsible for running the campus, and each one has a specific responsibility, for which they will team up with one of our students. Since we arrived, the top priority has been unfreezing the pipes. I’m told this has been Leh’s coldest winter in 45 years, and it has been unusually cloudy, thus preventing the solar equipment from functioning maximally. We are in a high altitude desert so solar technology is normally ideal, but now, in mid-February when the sun should be shining all day, snow still sits on all of the mountains around us. The past two days have been promising though, and things seem to be normalizing. I’ve never been so thankful to be able to pour a glass of water so much as this morning.

Living here is beautifully simple, and I think we are all gaining a greater appreciation for simple things like cooking and bathing. I should walk you through a typical day for me here at the campus. The schedule for the Americans is not the same as for the Ladakhis, but it overlaps in several places, giving everyone ample time to interact and learn from one another. This schedule refers to our time at SECMOL only; we’ll be off trekking or at other events about 40 percent of the time.

6:00—Ladakhi morning exercises (optional for our students). This takes place in the “big hall” but will move outside when it warms up. The temperature has been around Zero Fahrenheit, but the sun is coming.

7:00—optional VIS exercises (oh yeah, our program is called Vermont Intercultural Semesters. It’s based out of Vermont and most students are from there. One is from Massachussetts, and the program is open to all other states but the word isn’t out everywhere).

8:00—breakfast. Usually some kind of bread or roll, leftovers and tea

8:45—VIS morning meeting

9:00—first class

10:10—second class

11:10—tea

12:30—third class

2:00—work hour (anything that needs to be done around campus)

3:00—open schedule until 5:30

5:30—responsibilities (milking cow, solar maintenance, water heater, etc.) divided between students

6:00—English conversation with Ladakhis (whose English is pretty good as is)

7:00—Ladakhi language (Khamzang ina-le?)

7:30—dinner

8:30—evening activities (T/Th only for VIS students)

This schedule seems to be altered at least slightly every day for many guest speakers, treks, festivals, and other events. This Friday, for instance, we’re going to the Stok Festival. The following week we depart on our first trek and homestays in Ladakhi villages.

There’s a handful of college students here, but most Ladakhis on campus are those who failed their tenth year exams and are taking time to study before returning to local schools. It is hoped that SECMOL, not just comprised of this campus, can have a large impact on the education system in all of Ladakh, a goal that has been achieved in many ways already.

It is refreshing to be in a place where one needn’t worry about violence. It pleased me to read that when conflicts do arise in Ladakh, the parties in disagreement often look to the nearest other person—even if it’s a young child—to resolve the issue objectively. I look forward to diving deeper into this fascinating culture. Sadly, Ladakhi traditions have been whittled down a bit by exposure to the outside, although one can’t ignore the benefits the trend has brought at the same time, concerning health and energy practices for example. It is hoped that a good balance between tradition and modernization can be achieved as development inevitably works its way through Ladakh.