Ways of Life Versus Lifestyle Choices

Living in Ladakh has increased my aversion to the word “sustainability.” My aversion has nothing to do with the principle behind the concept. The problem for me is that the word wraps so much into such a small package that its driving ideas are simply passed over by many people. When confronted with a single word, a similarly quick response is natural and allows one to pass over the things that matter.

We need words behind this movement toward environmental responsibility and it pleases me to see the media giving attention to the movement, no matter what the motivation. In the same breath, while popular culture confronts us with these principles it legitimizes the denial of these principles for many people. We live in a society where so many ideas are presented as an all-too-simple right or wrong, where a yes or no choice can be made and that’s that. And in the process of turning everything into a two-sided debate, we undermine ideas that have already been proven to work.

Looking at our own society we see lifestyle choices everywhere: clothing, building materials, transportation, diet. All of these represent the many choices we have thanks to the resources at our disposal. Take a place like Ladakh though, a high-altitude desert where choices are diminished due to climate constraints and isolation, and people are presented with a way of life that creates no choice but to live in harmony with the environment. Lack of rain and altitude present two large challenges to agriculture and animal grazing, creating the need for a simple diet. Development and tourism widen the paths of trade and bring about imports which threaten the delicate balance in Ladakh, and turn a way of life into a lifestyle choice. In the process, the need for conscious decisions regarding environmental responsibility is created in a place where formerly an environmentally sound choice was no more than a choice to survive.

Maybe it isn’t just the word “sustainability” that irks me, but rather the newness of it, the fact that it tells us that only now must we make a decision regarding our future—that only now should we make such decisions. Yet it is true: only recently have we become aware of the damage that we must now try to limit, and eventually reverse, thus necessitating such a word and the choices that come with it. Perhaps the more choices we have the more opportunities we give ourselves to argue about them, and the more we forget about the basic necessity to live in harmony with our surroundings.

So Much to Tell

I enjoy writing these blogs. Approaching them by category gives me the chance to process many different aspects of this experience with some kind of organization, even if I drift between ideas a good bit in the process. There are a lot of other things I would like to blog about specifically, some requiring more learning on my part. The Kashmir valley to our west, for instance, is a place that people might associate with the pashmina wool trade (cashmere sweaters), or think of as a sort of paradise, or maybe with the Led Zeppelin song Kashmir. Bill Clinton referred to Kashmir as one of the most volatile places on earth, a region most likely to engage in nuclear warfare, yet there is so much to understand about the Kashmiri people and the nature of the relationship between India and Pakistan in order to have a decent sense of the conflict. Tibet, on the other side, might bring to mind Buddhism, the phrase “the rooftop of the world” and some vague idea of a people oppressed, though there are many who fail to realize the vastness of the place that is Tibet, and the reality of its greater history and the struggle for freedom during the past century. Ladakh is touched by both of these places, geographically and culturally, and has played a part in both conflicts, yet the Ladakhi people maintain their own strong and unique cultural identity, and within Ladkah there are specific political debates unrelated to the Kashmiri or Tibetan issues. I’d to blog on this some more.

I’d also like to blog on the “sustainability” deal. While the term has become popular in the U.S. in recent years, it has been a way of life and a necessity for survival in Ladakh for hundreds. Only in recent decades since Ladakh has experienced tourism, an increasing military presence, and resulting development, has there been a need to specifically evaluate the environmental issues that arise from such changes. For example, to us in the U.S. the composting toilet is a novel technique and even cause for some joking while the composting toilet here in Ladakh is simply the toilet. Interestingly, signs on the doors often explain the use of the “Ladakhi toilet,” obviously an addition made to accommodate tourists.

Tourism itself would be an interesting blog topic. For some reason, I’m told, westerners started coming in greater numbers before tourists from the Indian subcontinent. It should be noted that most western tourists here are the kind that are culturally sensitive, open to the idea of a composting toilet or a bucket bath, adventurers not in need of the comforts of a resort-style vacation. Ladakh was opened to tourism in 1974. Since then many villages have opened a few homes to trekkers for around 200-250 rupees per night, a fee which generally includes three meals and unlimited tea, and warm chats with families around a stove.

I’d like to blog about the landscape some more, scattered with rocks that seem to give entire mountains a purple hue, and strange orange and purple mixture in the evening hours that I find difficult to explain. I’d like to blog about the friendliness of the people here—the shy combined with the smile. I want to write about the family structure—often involving three generations under one roof, and the dwindling polyandry here. The difference between the traditional farming family and nomadic villages, both very much realities. I’d like to write about the top of the food chain, the elusive snow leopard.
There are so many things to tell, and I’ll be happy to get around to a few of them during my remaining two months here. In the meantime I invite you to visit our blog for student work, linked from this page (if you’re reading this on Myspace, go to jamesinladakh.blogger.com to find the link). On the student work blog you will find a mix of creative pieces perhaps inspired but not always directly related to Ladakh itself, and pieces specifically devoted to things Ladakhi. Our students are choosing topics for their big exhibition pieces, many of which I’ve mentioned in the above paragraphs. There will be written components of these exhibitions, which we might post on that blog, but before then there will be other posts of shorter pieces. I am happy to be able to share Ladakh with you, through my own experience, and through the eyes of our inspired and talented students.

Today we visited an artificial glacier (only one in the world?) and the hydro electric plant in Leh. Tomorrow I’m heading off campus to trek solo to Rumbak, a village 4-5 hours walking from here, to take a little time off to think and read and write for a couple days. I’ll return Saturday, and then the whole group is off again Monday for our second big trek, which will last one week.

Last night I spoke during dinner. Everybody must take a turn to speak about anything, and most Ladakhi students talk about their village or school. The VISpas talk about their hometowns, making maple syrup, snowboarding, many things. I chose to talk about my family. I’m thinking of you. Friends, you as well. Lovingly…

Trek #1: Likir to Temisgam-Ang

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.

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.