Gyiak

One of the SECMOL students invited me to her home, as it's exam period and many of the students are travelling to farflung corners of Ladakh to see their families and take exams, and I had been meaning to take my days off. I went with Jigmet on a long bus ride along the Indus River gorge to a restricted area that I needed a permit for, then a long hike from the road up to her tiny village, Gyiak, three houses, all of which were her family members. It was cold and windy when we arrived, the bus honked, and a bit later Jigmet's sister appeared on the steep hill, and took the packages we'd hauled all the way from Leh, bags of rice, sugar, an enormous bottle of ketchup.

Large dobermans greeted us with ferocious barks, but her father, silver speckled hair, plaid shirt, lined face, glasses, big smile, led us around them and into the house. Out of the howling wind the quiet was intermittently punctuated by the crackle of the stove which Jigmet's sister fed, snapping sticks to fit in the repurposed oil drum. One of Jigmet's cousins peeks in at me. Dinner appears magically. We're tired and darkness settles in over the narrow valley early, we settle in to sleep but end up talking for hours in the dark once the stove has gone out, voices muffled under a thick pile of blankets.

Waking up the next morning I'm pleasantly surprised to realize I can sleep a bit longer, Jigmet and I get up at 6 at SECMOL, but here in her family's house we sleep in until 8, late by Ladakhi standards but much needed by both of us. Jigmet has been studying for her class 12 state of India technology exam, and I'm taking my first days off all semester. We have mugs of hot milk mixed with instant coffee, a rare treat, for breakfast; I think one of the reasons I'm so comfortable with Jigmet is little things like this, that she prefers coffee for breakfast instead of the usual heaping plate of spinach, lentils and chapatis.

Jigmet's father and cousin are separating their herd of goats, penning the month old baby goats up and preparing to head up the mountain valley with the grown ones. Jigmet's four year old cousin pauses from her work to reverently hand me a tiny sun bleached skeleton, the bones and dried skin of a stillborn goat, an impossibly tiny skull.

We spend the day hiking up the valley, to the ruins of an army camp from 15 years before, concrete walls crumble and we walk through houses trying to imagine the floor plans, picking up bits of old ceramic cups, pretty rocks, slate from the roofs. We trail down the valley, sticking close to the stream which springs forth from the ground, an aging white chorten marking the spot where the spring spirit resides, the source. An enormous poplar tree grows downstream, so big and old it must be sacred to have not been cut down for firewood or building.

We walk down to the waterwheel, a mill housed above the stream and Jigmet moves stones around to divert the water to make the ancient grinding stone turn, though it's too early in the season to get enough water pressure to grind barley flour. Heading back upstream, we stop to visit her mother's sister, with her three baby girls, all under the age of 5. We play games and drink tea until the early evening, when Jigmet goes back to her house to help with the goats.

Jigmet's grandmother has returned from the mountain with the goats, and Jigmet's sister and father and four year old cousin all pitch in, shuffling the baby goats to their mothers to nurse. I watch the chaos as somehow all the kids are fed and shuffled back into the correct pens for the night. Jigmet had once told me a story about herding the goats with her mother when she was four or five and watching a snow leopard devour several of them, too scared to scream for her mother.

As darkness settles and the goats are safely put to bed, we head into the kitchen and begin making dinner, chu tagi, my favorite. I have to beg to help but finally Jigmet relents and she rolls the dough as I use a tin cup to cut out the round boat shaped noodles. Jigmet's father impishly drops bits of paper and a few utensils down her cousins jacket, until the four year old begins to itch her back and then shakes out a cascade of odds and ends, and we finally burst with laughter. I see where Jigmet gets her mischievous sense of humor from. They all tease the cat, an easy going tabby, most often dragged about by the three baby girls as they would a stuffed animal. He sleeps heavily now, next to the stove, as Jigmet puts bits of dough into his mouth. Her beautiful grandmother speaks to me in Hindi, which she learned during the army's occupation of the valley, though Jigmet keeps reminding her I don't speak Hindi. My bits and phrases of Ladakhi make everyone laugh, and we all sit sipping coffee after dinner, sides aching.

SECMOL Campus Life

SECMOL Campus is a busy place, classes take place 6 days a week, and in addition to 4 or 5 classes a day all of campus participates in work hour every morning, student responsibilities in the afternoon (maintaining the solar panels, milking the cows, gardening, forestry, sweeping the main hall, grocery shopping etc.), and evening meeting and dinner. It's a full day, both for students and staff.

Vermont Intercultural Semester's program is a combination of a number of things: treks in the Himalayas, homestays with Ladakhi families, and a full academic high school semester of work, which I often forget to talk about though it is the majority of my time this semester. I teach Environmental Science, James teaches English, Kunzes teaches Ladakhi Language, James and I co-teach a course called Ladakh: Then and Now (History, mainly), and also co-run our 5th class, Exhibition, which is an independent study for each of the students with the goal of creating a presentation at the end of the semester. In the evenings we run English Conversation Class for an hour, a chance for the Ladakhi students to practice their English.

In Environmental Science we've completed a unit on Ecology and Landscape, focusing on Ladakh's ecosystem, agriculture, and our ecological footprints in the U.S. and here in Ladakh. While trekking last week we did a combination unit with Ladakh Then and Now and English, focusing on Appropriate Technology, exploring Ladakhi innovations, from ancient water wheels that grind barley flour to solar panels adorning the straw bale covered roofs of so many Ladakhi homes. Right now we're in the middle of a unit of Climate Change, reading a bit of Hot, Flat and Crowded in class (Thanks Mom), and Bridge at the Edge of the World, to balance out the textbook readings, and hoping to do another Glacier Day Field Trip, since last semester's was so much fun.

In Ladakh: Then and Now James and I pull in as many guest speakers as we can, Buddist monks teaching about Buddism and Tibetan script, politicians speaking on the Union Territory effort, the state of J&K, the Kashmir conflict, Becky speaking on the political system, SECMOL students speaking on the education system, a scientist from the Defense Department speaking on High Altitude research, Thinles speaking on Ladakh's history, marriage, and tourism and development. Fieldtrips to Buddist monastaries, ancient ruins, monastary festivals, the Tibetan Children's Village School, a few other ones in the works. We're in the middle of reading Tibet, Tibet right now, as the 50th anniversary of occupation approaches.

Independent projects are starting to become more developed. Some really good ideas and interesting directions this semester, with students looking to do internships in metalworking, cooking, veterinary medicine, traditional medicine, climate change, music, mental health, education, traditional clothing design, tourism, architecture, photography, and more.

Morning work hour is spent working on a greenhouse to grow some new vegetables in. We've picked a site and ordered materials, this week has been the less interesting work of leveling out the ground, but once we start building the walls things should get a bit more interesting.

English Conversation Class has become mostly our intern, Holly's, class, though James and I still teach it from time to time. Last night it was my turn; the topic was "Accidents, Injuries and Hospital Trips," which made for some pretty funny and gruesome stories, and Devan and Jess acted out a few of the tricker vocabulary words, like "tripped," "concussion" and "fainted."

Busy as the days are, all of campus breaks at 11 and 4 for "teatime," possibly my favorite time of day, enormous thermoses of milk tea or sweet tea making the rounds, as we sit around the kitchen or just outside the kitchen in the late four o'clock sun. Salt tea is still an acquired taste for most of us. A break from 5 to 6 finds most of the students playing cricket or soccer, though James has been lobbying to build a basketball court.

Dinner is served in the dining hall, long cloth tablecloths unfurled in two long rows, constant chatter broken intermittently by student announcements, daily news recap, a song in ladakhi, and one student or staff giving a dinner talk. Post dinner there is evening activity, usually dancing, either Ladakhi drumming and traditional dance, or a mix of American and Ladakhi pop songs, but on quieter nights a good movie, everyone draped in sleeping bags or Tibetan blankets bunching around the one TV, a nice close to a busy day.

Sham Trek

The past week we trekked through the Sham region, travelling by car to Likkir, then hiked to Yangtang, an easy 4 hour trek, where we spent the night. In Yangtang we stayed in the homes of 2 families, a good first introduction to Ladakhi homestays. We had Chu Tagi--it translates literally to "water bread," a thick delicious barley wheat noodle in a milk and onion sauce. I'd had it before, but never this good! VIS students slept in 2 bedrooms, one for boys, one for girls, and I slept in the kitchen with Kunzes, the VIS Ladakhi teacher, and Tashi llamo and Somo, two SECMOL students who came trekking with us. Falling asleep with a full belly by a warm stove, listening to ladakhi words I thought once again how lucky I am to be here in Ladakh. Sometime during the night I woke to one of the kittens crawling into my sleeping bag, searching for warmth.

The second day we hiked uphill for about 3 hours, to the village of Ulley, high up in a mountain valley. VIS students were split into smaller groups here, and after we reached our houses we had some tea, changed out of our sweaty clothes, and sat around the woodstove talking and eventually nodded off in the smoky warm room. I woke when the room got cold, the fire had gone out, and no one was around. The door creaked open and a little boy, about 5 years old peered in at me, and then beckoned. What else to do but follow him through the dark shadowy house, through pitch black corridors, and into the kitchen, where Shona, Matt and Morgan were dancing with him to Hindi music? Quite the dancer, little Stanzin refused to let any of us stop dancing. We must have danced for an hour, this enthusiastic 5 year old delightedly shrieking in Ladakhi at us--he was at the age where he couldn't understand why we didn't speak Ladakhi, why everyone in the world wouldn't speak Ladakhi--so we danced until his mother came back and we started preparing dinner.

Our third day we hiked to the village Hemischupachen, one of the larger villages in the Sham region. To get there we backtracked down the valley the Ulley sits in, then went through another snowy valley and over a small pass. In Hemishupachen, light filters through a piece of green plastic in the roof, bathing the room in green glow. A cat sleeps beneath the stove, paws twitching with animal dreams, ribs rising in falling in deep sleep. An old radio sits on the wooden floor, playing slow sad Tibetan music. At 6pm there are 5 minutes of news in English, staticky, British accented. Flowered contact paper covers the chokste table. The wood floor is blackened around the stove, and we sit on a threadbare but beautiful rug.

The radio crackles and through the static speaks, "Pakistan terrorists killed 8 members of the Sri Lankan cricket team. New Zealand has cancelled their upcoming match with Pakistan." Tashi looks at me. "Nobody wants to play with pakistan anymore," he says softly, smiling sadly at his phrasing. I nod. Nobody wants to play with Pakistan anymore. The cat rolls over and yawns.

Our final day of trekking brought us across one large snowfield, finally reaching a set of prayerflags at the edge. We took some group photos, gazed out from our vantage point, about even with the next pass, but with about a 1000 foot drop to a valley below. Then we tore down the mountain, sliding down the snowy slope before resting over cookies and candy bars in the sun. About an hour's trek through sandy rock, and we reached the south side of our second pass of the day. Trudging up with the ponies and our own packs, we passed another hour or so simply putting one foot in front of the other, shedding gloves and hats for t-shirts as we baked in the sun. Endless switchbacks, finally we found footing in the snow as we neared the top, and took a lunch break on top. From here we could see the prayer flags where we had been only a few hours ago. The rest of the day was a descent into the village of Ang, falling into a methodical rhythmn as we tramped through canyons, shady sides frigid and snow covered, sun side warm and sandy. Finally we reached Ang, and the silence was broken for the first time in hours, as if we'd just woken up, grins all around.

All in all, the Sham Region trek has been one of my favorite treks, both for the beautiful snowfields marked by chortens, high passes, changing climate from desert to mountain, and evenings spent around warm stoves with welcoming families in high mountain villages.

Solar Tour

Today science director Acho Norgay gave the VIS students a tour of the facilities. Starting with the passively heated solar buildings, we covered the importance of always moving the reflective solar cooker with the sun-lest it scorch the kitchen door (again), the recycling system--everything is reused, paper and plastic trash becomes insulation, glass bottles are reused for apricot jam, the only thing that cannot be recycled are batteries, which unfortunately can only be contained as securely as possible and buried as far as possible from water. Rather than mindlessly throwing stuff out as we do in the US, living at SECMOL makes you (painfully) aware of what we waste (candy wrappers, packing peanuts etc.) and where it goes--or doesn't really ever go from, in the case of the batteries.

After covering the basics of how campus runs, including the solar water heaters in the kitchen and washroom, the greenhouses and the solar heated cow shed, we walked down to the edge of campus, overlooking the Indus, to see the solar panels and battery house, which is what powers all electricity at SECMOL, from lights to radios, to the TV, the computer lab, to ipods lighting up like fireflies in bedrooms at night.

Ladakhi Winter

Monday, February 9th we arrived into Leh airport, and felt the change in the air. Not just the cold, bitter and bracing, but the very attitudes of people as we exited the small plane. Patient is a word that well describes Ladakh. Noone is ever in a rush, everyone patiently waiting for little old Ladakhi women to inch down the steep stairs to the runway, or helping drag enormous bags off the belt in the small one room airport. Such a contrast from Delhi, fighting off people trying to "help" with luggage, the constant elbowing in lines, bumper cars with luggage carts, airport officials pressing for money, constant pushing at your back. Even standing on the runway in the cold waiting for a bus there is a pleasant attitude, all of us marveling at the mountains surrounding us.

We traversed a dusty offroad path winding through the treeless hills, our jeeps ably tackling the rough terrain, as the main road to campus is being paved, and arrived, finally, at SECMOL, to students waving and coming out to greet us. After tea and an introductory talk by Becky most of the VIS students staggered to the dorms and fell into bed; we'd gotten up at 4 the last few mornings, and the altitude was beginning to hit.

SECMOL is beautiful in winter. The front field is converted into an ice rink, and students play hockey between classes. All around us the mountains are white streaked with dark outcroppings of rock. Our first night a full moon reflected off the snow, mountains and campus bathed in a dark white glow.

Taj Mahal

The crowds, the vendors, the insane taxi drivers, the boys yanking monkeys on chains, all of these things get old but seeing the Taj never does. Beautiful everytime, despite the arduous journey there.

Working on posting a picture...internet is very very slow right now

Songstsam Library

I'm writing from the Songstsam Library, at the Center for Tibetan & Himalayan Studies. Beautiful stone walls, paintings on the ceiling, a silent hush surrounding the shelves holding ancient Tibetan scrolls wrapped in orange and red. Monks whispering quietly, bent over texts. We are lucky enough to be staying here in the dormitory for this week, along with Tibetan Studies students and meditation course students, taking a weeklong course in Tibetan Script, and another in Buddhism Studies. Yesterday morning a few of us sat in on the morning prayer, listening to the rhythmic chanting of monks, shifting our bones as we sat cross legged on the cold marble floor, before walking out to a quiet sunrise. The students are researching their presentations on concepts in Buddhism at this amazing library. We have two monks teaching our classes, Ven. Sherab and Ven. Tamphel, incredibly patient with our slow progress on the Tibetan alphabet--much trickier than the Roman alphabet, there 30 consonants, 4 vowel signifiers, and then the Superscript characters and the Subjoined letters, making more character combinations than I can count. Not exactly the type of alphabet you could summarize in a children's song! We're learning a lot and enjoying our time here.