Prettiest Places

Cheesy Pesto Mushroom Pasta

2011-10-24T20:25:00.000-07:00

Philadelphia - VillaNova - the northwestern Phili area home to the Roman Catholic prestigious college of Villagenova. The campus was all males until 1918 when nuns were allowed to attend night classes. Rose who is now a Senior at Villanova studying engineering said the residential halls are very separated still and there are major consequences for promiscuous activity on the campus. Interesttttting! The campus is quaint with beautiful stone buildings and the spires of St. Thomas of Villanova Church visible pretty much from anywhere on the campus.

This evening I found that the following recipe turns out to be a great dish for lots of people.

1. Pinot Noir (Yellowtail only $15!)

2. Salad with lots of balsamic and olive oil

3. Pesto, Asparagus and Mushroom Cheesy pasta

How to make it?

Heat the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add mushrooms and saute for 5-7 minutes until golden brown. Add asparagus then salt and pepper to taste and continue to saute until asparagus is tender. While mushrooms and asparagus are cooking, cook noodles per instructions. Once the penne is cooked, drain and return to pan. Add pesto sauce, mushrooms and asparagus then mix thoroughly. Add lots of different cheese. Taste and season with salt and pepper and more olive oil. Top with Parmesan cheese and serve. Enjoy.

Education

2011-09-19T09:44:00.000-07:00

Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance. ~Will Durant

Couchsurfing

2011-08-29T04:56:00.001-07:00

http://blog.couchsurfing.org/casey/

Singing

2011-08-07T06:25:00.001-07:00

We began singing in the streets on the island of Mykenos and have been playing music wherever we go ever since - In Kashmir, Thalassa and I picked out songs to learn on the guitar and mandolin. So far we have played in Greece, Switzerland and now Germany. Follow the link to hear some of the songs we have been playing in the streets!

http://mablague.tumblr.com/

Braunshweig, Germany

2011-07-29T08:47:00.000-07:00

Prost! The word you say when you do your cheers with a beer. Our well deserved German beer deserved a prost after our money making venture yesterday. Thalassa and I earned 25 euros on one of the main cobblestone streets in the older part of the Braunshweig’s city center. We sat down on a bench took out our voices and instruments and began playing all the songs in our repertoire. When it came to singing the traditional German children song about fish, two young children approached us and joined in. One of the lovely things about playing in the streets wherever you go is the people that we have met whilst doing this. I remember checking into our flight in Sofia, Bulgaria ready to put up some kind of argument in attempting to get my guitar case on as a carryon. At the counter the big Bulgarian man with his arms crossed and straight face looked at my guitar case up and down and then at me. I was about to act in shock when he would tell me he wouldn’t allow it as a carry-on for exceeding the size limit. Rather, I was told I could carry it on if we played a song for the pilot and his flight attendants. With an agreement on the table, I happily carried my guitar with my onto our flights to Geneva via Warsaw ☺ Its funny, leaving Bulgaria flying over the great mountainous Balkan Range and the grand Danube River out my window, I had little idea we would end hitchhiking along Germany’s black forest where this major international river originates. We were going to attempt to play on the streets of Munich - city very well renowned for music – only to learn buskers in Munich must go through an audition process before given a spot on the street. Braunsweig on the other hand has a lack of competition and its understandable why with more inhabitants going about their daily routines rather than tourists visiting sites in Munich.

Here in Braunsweig, we have been given a little apartment to stay in by an old friend, Susanne whom last I saw before hiking out of Costa Rica’s jungles three and a half years ago. During the six days of non-stop constant downpour in the jungle during Christmas, her guitar playing and voice is what brought myself and the other interns some light during a rather dark depressing time. Her boyfriend is a fantastic classical pianist and gave us a concert before they left a few days ago. Braunshweig is actually home to Steinway which doesn’t at all leave me surprised with how good of a player he is. He gave me a song to practice whilst they are away to practice as a duet when he returns. As a food science expert Susanne travels around the country of Germany and offered to take us with her but the thought of a few days of relaxing in one place was too tempting of an idea of myself and Thalassa.

Our busking ended with Edelweiss, the song sung in The Sound of Music. Nate found one during out trek up to Ladakh last September in Zanskar Valley. The flowers are white and smell delicious. I tried looking for them when we were in Switzerland where they are the country’s national flower but they are only found in the high elevations of the alps. The song was sung to me by my mother a lot growing up because of her love for that film.

Sitting in the streets of Braunshweig, Germany, the city that granted Hitler residency before he rose to power and created the Nazi party, we sang a song that was written originally as farewell that Captain von Trapp, Maria and his family would bid to Austria when escaping from World War II. And so I played and Thalassa sang and the passing people continues to pass.

Wedding in Switzerland

2011-07-26T07:36:00.000-07:00

Alphorns - traditional Swiss instruments made from beautiful spruce or pine wood and traditionally used by mountain dwellers

Thalassa, Sarah, Anna and I finally arriving to the castle after a one hour hike down from the mountain where most of the guests stayed.

As Thalassa's invited plus-one date, I had the lovely opportunity to witness a beautiful wedding in Switzerland. Ellen and her husband, Seth met a week before she decided to take a year off from Yale to sail around the world with him on a sailboat. During that time they fell in love and he continued to spend four more years on the boat as she visited him wherever he was after returning back to Yale. He proposed to her on the mountains above Aigle on a winters day skiing in the Alps during an avalanche safety course he bought for her for Christmas. Aigle is the village they skied down to after the proposal and this castle surrounded by vineyards in the photograph stands above Aigle where they now live.

The following is a dropbox of more photographs - a compilation of photographs take by guests of the wedding.

http://www.dropbox.com/gallery/16819208/1/Wedding.of.Ellen.Massey.and.Seth.Leonard-Aigle-Switzerland-Summer.2011?h=b1a613

Ellen is coming out with a book about their adventures sailing around the world which I will add to the blog upon its publication!

Swiss Treats

2011-07-26T07:07:00.000-07:00

Our couch surfing host and dear friend Vallery brought us a few minutes from her house nestled in the foothills of the Swiss Alps to the border with France where we went on a hike along a river. Thalassa and I.

Vallery, Thalassa and I on the North East shower of Lake Geneva in Montreaux for sunset. The lake is shared with France and has a retreating glacier to thank for its deep blue waters.

Vallery's delicious fresh cherry pie treats.

Bern - Switzerland's capital. A city built on a peninsula surrounded by the flowing Aar river which provides almost all of the city's freshwater. 20 km north of the Bernese Alps with lots of Bernese mountain dogs walking around the city!

Germany

2011-07-26T06:29:00.001-07:00

It is said if your first stork sighting is of a standing stork, you shall be lazy for the rest of the year. If the stork is resting, you will exude energy. It looks like we have been granted a lazier year this year!

The storks have just migrated back from Africa to the same nest they spend every summer at in a village outside of Braunshweig, Germany. Sighting spotted during 60 km tandem bicycle ride with Thalassa and Michael on July 25th.

Thalassa, Michael and I at Walzburg's bridge along the River Main, a tributary of the Rhine which flows up into the North Sea.

Warzburg - 90% of the beautiful city was obliterated during the British bomb blasting in a mere 17 seventeen minutes.

Exhibition Projects

2011-04-28T20:22:00.000-07:00

A major feature of The VIS Academic Program for high school juniors and seniors is Exhibition, an independent study capstone class. Long-established VIS connections with people and organizations around Ladakh benefit internships that allow students to delve deeper into local communities, and contribute to the work of organizations and local society. Research is often undertaken jointly with SECMOL students. Final exhibition projects include written as well as audio/visual components, and are presented to students, teachers and mentors at SECMOL, and to various communities back at home. Students currently in Ladakh have chosen their exhibition topics, and April is devoted to research and internships to culminate in presentations at the SECMOL campus at the end of the month. For more information on exhibitions, and the VIS Academic Program, see www.vermontis.org.

Katrina Alden (The Sharon Academy, VT) is studying women’s health, specifically sex education and the myths behind menstruation and Katrina is staying with one of the founders of Women’s for Women’s health in Leh and is conducting interviews with women and health facilities in Leh.

Caroline Atwood (The Sharon Academy, VT) is researching the introduction of Western toys in Ladakh, and their effect on childhood development. She is studying children from two families, one in the city of Leh and the other in a rural village. In addition to comparing and contrasting the behaviors of these children, Caroline is spending time interviewing youth and business owners in and around Leh to further understand changing perspectives in children related to toys and play.

Moya Cavanaugh (Mt. Mansfield Union HS, VT) is exploring the effects of oral tradition on Ladakhi culture as seen through folktales, especially Ladakh’s epic poem, “Gesar of Ling.” Moya is listening to this folktale, which takes approximately 24 hours to tell, to understand the customs and cultural implications surrounding folklore telling. She is staying with a famous Ladakhi folktale orator and his family to learn phases of this folktale, and then with a former SECMOL teacher who works for a cultural preservation NGO in Leh.

Kylie Cook (Thetford Academy, VT) is researching agriculture in Ladakh, and the effect modernization has on youth perspectives of farming. She is taking part in the three-day annual process of building canals for the intricate irrigation system all households must create for their farms. Kylie will be staying with a family in the village of Alchi, and is conducting surveys and interviews with surrounding neighbors.

Cedar Farwell (The Sharon Academy, VT) is studying how science and technology can be balanced with the philosophies applied by Buddhist monks in Ladakh. He is spending time experiencing monastic life in Ladakh’s famous Thikse monastery to research how daily practices have changed in the past fifty years. He will then spend two days conducting interviews with NGOs and Buddhist scholars in Leh.

Jake Huston (Leland and Gray HS, VT) is researching responses to the 2010 disastrous floods in Ladakh. He is living with a family in the Solar Housing Colony affected by the floods. Specifically, Jake is studying pre-fabricated housing models given to displaced families and their ineffectiveness due to a lack of consideration of variables such as Ladakh’s unique climate and culture.

Taylor Knoop (East Greenwich HS, RI) is studying the effect educational methods can have on cultural preservation and pride. She is comparing the differences between education in government schools within Leh and the village of Shey, and at SECMOL (where she has lived for almost three months). She is interviewing teachers and administrative staff, and observe classes, including personal interactions in classrooms such as discipline, curriculum models and daily activities.

Simone Labbance (U32 HS, VT) is looking into cross-cultural dialogue techniques to be used at SECMOL. She is interviewing Ladakhi youth to create and implement activities that foster multiculturalism, and that may be used in future VIS programs. She is using a Danish group as a study sample to understand the effects her dialogue activities have on groups visiting SECMOL.

Alana Ziegler (homeschooled, Nova Scotia) is researching the availability of mental healthcare in Ladakh, and how physiological illnesses are treated. She is staying with the Assistant Director of PAGIR (People’s Action Group for Inclusive Rights), an NGO that works with people with disabilities. Alana is interviewing practitioners of local hospitals to further understand the situation for mental health patients in Ladakh.

Apricot Elation

2011-04-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

How can I explain to you the joy of living in this world now that I have discovered apricots? The world was always a wonderful place to begin with but as I sprawl across my bed with some of the most agonizing and crippling cramps I have ever experienced all I can do is lay there and laugh at my predictable situation. The pain hurts so good: like 90 apricots in two and a half days. Paying for my foolish gluttony cracks me up... literally. Apricots are my new passion in this world and the pain that comes along with it is worth it, deffinatly worth it. I beam from ear to ear in sheer bliss every time I pop a dusty, folded ol’ wrinkle of a friend into my impatiently salivating mouth and I want to dance and sing across the barren landscape of Ladakh in honor of the orangey tasties and the golden sun which dries them to perfection. Nothing I have eaten in this world has tasted like such a decadent slice of heaven. These apricot cramps are just apart of my newly adopted routine and if that is the price I have to pay for these sweet morsels than I will take it ten times over and I will laugh along every step of the way. -Kylie

Winter in Ladakh

2011-03-12T02:19:00.000-08:00

The weather is warming up - much warmer overall than the winter I experienced here two years ago. That winter ladakh hit an all time low record average of -30 C. The clear blue skies has let some incredible wildlife show their elusive selves to our eyes. The other day when hiking up SECMOL mountain to tie flags for Ryan, the rare golden eagle soared only a few meters above my head. In a few days we shall be heading to Nubra valley to a village only recently opened up to tourists due to its proximity to the Line of Control. All of the SECMOL Himalayan students shall be joining us as we take the journey over Kardung-la, the highest motorable road in the world, to celebrate the spring equinox in a village of mixed Bon/Muslim faith.

Tunisia to California Pushing for Voices

2011-01-29T07:20:00.000-08:00

Sitting in a quaint yet very modern Tibetan cafe across the way from my guesthouse, I read for the first time about the protests that have been happening across the Arab world. My friend back in California wrote to me a few weeks ago briefly describing the situation Tunisia was facing but I had not had any chance to learn anything more while in Nepal. The Times of India might even compare to BBC News with the vast global news it covers. A small article with an image of people waving baguettes and holding up French placards follows all the different stories regarding Egypt's internet shut down, Jordan’s King Abdullah II facing new demands and Tunisia’s massive movement to bring about transparency to their country. The Thai protest in Bangkok denouncing their leaders at a red shirt protest shows their support with the new popular revolt in Tunisia.

Yesterday, we crossed the border into India’s state of Bihar two days late. India’s National Holiday for Independence called for major celebrations in addition to major protests throughout the streets of India, especially in regions dominated by Islamic Indians. The state of Bihar adjacent to Nepal’s southern border is also in close proximity to Islamic Bangladesh. The bus ride was filled with over one hundred men with Kunzes and I sitting on the front seats. There was one other woman besides us who joined us for a few hours on the journey. Covered in black, the only part of her I was able to see were her darkened hands. I could tell when she was looking at me at times due to the impression her nose made in her burqa. I was told by a french journalist a few weeks back that foreign women visiting Irhan are given burqas to wear upon arrival at Tehran’s international airport. I wonder what it would be like to spend my life covered entirely, without giving my eyes chances to feel fresh air. Then again, who are we to judge and think we know what other people want.

With protests feeding off other protests, people around the world at this moment are pushing for political freedoms in the way they believe to be free.

The United States has so much say in the way things work around this world. It is nice to know I have a friend from high school back at home who has mastered the French language and in the process mastering fluency in Arabic. Studying at Stanford University she just made a trip down to San Fransisco joining the Arab American communities in demonstrations taking full advantange of the freedoms which we are blessed with in the United States to help support in pushing accountability in these countries where voices go unheard.

A World Fighting for Freedom

2011-01-29T06:35:00.000-08:00

Sitting in a quaint yet very modern Tibetan cafe across the way from my guesthouse, I read for the first time about the protests that have been happening across the Arab world. The Times of India might even compare to BBC News with the vast news of global politicals it covers. A small article with an image of people waving baguettes and holding up French placards follows all the different stories regarding Egypt's internet shut down, Jordan’s King Abdullah II facing new demands and Tunisia’s massive movement to bring about transparancy to their country. The Thai protest in Bangkok denouncing their leaders at a red shirt protest shows their support with the new popular revolt in Tunisia.
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Yesterday, we crossed the border into India’s state of Bihar two days late. India’s National Holiday for Independence called for major celebrations in addition to major protests throughout the streets of India, especially in regions dominated by Islamic Indians. The state of Bihar adjacent to Nepal’s southern border is also in close proximity to Islamic Bangladesh. The bus ride was filled with over one hundred men with Kunzes and I sitting on the front seats. There was one other woman besides us who joined us for a few hours on the journey. Covered in black, the only part of her I was able to see were her darkened hands. I could tell when she was looking at me at times due to the impression her nose made in her burqa. I was told by a french journalist a few weeks back that foreign women visiting Irhan are given burqas to wear upon arrival at Tehran’s international airport. I wonder what it would be like to spend my life covered entirely, without giving my eyes chances to feel fresh air. Then again, who are we to judge and think we know what other people want. With protests feeding off other protests, people around the world at this moment are pushing for political freedoms in the way they believe to be free.
The United States has so much say in the way things work around this world. It is nice to know I have a friend from high school back at home who has mastered the French language and in the process mastering fluency in Arabic. Studying at Stanford University she just made a trip down to San Fransisco joining the Arab American communities in demonstrations pushing for accountability.

I am about to meet and greet the new students arriving in Delhi's airport in a mere two hours. I have just created a blog that will be kept and updated by the students with photographs, stories and personal reflections of their four month academic semester experience. I invite anyone to read the blog to learn about India. It can be found here at visspring11.blogspot.com

Metro and Population

2011-01-28T06:52:00.000-08:00

Two Indian girls point me in the direction of the North moving train of the Delhi Metro’s yellow line. I call to Kunzes to follow me and we run onto the metro. Women, mostly young women the same age as us fill the seats and stand around in small groups either talking on the phones or with each other. To be sure we are on the correct train, I ask one of the girls if this is the metro towards Vidan Saba and they shake their heads pointing to the South facing train across from us. I hop off but Kunzes is too late. We face each other through the glass and I don’t know what to tell her or how we’ll get in touch without phones on us. She shrugs her shoulders and we just stare through the glass. The train begins to take off and suddenly out of nowhere the door opens for just enough time for Kunzes to hop out. With no words we rush across to the opposite facing train about to leave. We don’t have time to make our way to the front sections.

Our rush onto the metro consequently put us the men’s designated end of the train. I stand crushed up against the metro’s wall on the yellow line towards our stop of Vidan Saba. The metro underneath the city of chaotic Delhi’s streets is a different world of modernity. It far out beats Boston and New York's subways in terms how advanced and contemporary everything looks. At the next stop more men pile in. Kunzes and I are split up by a man breathing heavily from the bodies crushing into his chest. He says something a bit harsh in Hindi to the man closest to him and they begin to break out into an argument. There’s not enough room and hands are everywhere. The amount of people on this metro would be considered a health hazard back home but by now, especially after taking micros and buses in Nepal, it doesn’t phase me except when personal space is violated a little too far. I decide to kneel down on the floor below their legs and look all the way down to the end of this first section in between shiny shoes and pressed pants. I imagine what the city of Delhi looked like before the metro came into being a mere eight years ago. With the existing bus system hardly able to bear the loads of people, more are taking to private motorcycles and cars. The streets of Delhi would be a nightmare. I think back to the accident we saw yesterday on our way to Delhi. Three giant buses obliterated one another. Our bus, along with other traffic stopped just to see it. A man bleeding profusely yelling out to the crowds but no one could do anything. Accident after accident fills the streets of Nepal and I think of the wonders such a metro could do for that city.

Men are staring down at me so I take out the latest National Geographic Article I just awarded myself with to revert my eyes to something. The second page, the Editor’s Note, is a photograph of crowds surfing the annual Rath Yatra Hindu festival in Puri, India. Underneath the crowds it reads,

“The world’s population will reach seven billion this year. But you don’t need to visit Delhi, India (population 22), or China (home to a fifth of the world’s people) to grasp the consequences.”

Men above continue to argue with one another above. A fight couldn't even begin here because there is no room to move a finger.

The metro stops and I slip out between the legs of men. Kunzes looks at me laughs and says, “How did that happen Holly? How did that door open like that for me?”

“Perhaps, making friends with Karma in Nepal really did bring us good karma.” :)

Bridging Korea and Nepal Through Dance

2011-01-25T22:14:00.000-08:00

Voices in the Streets

2011-01-22T13:40:00.000-08:00

Holy men, beggars, school children, business men and street food sellers fill Kathmandu’s streets every day. Unlike the rest of Nepal, Kathmandu’s street life is speedy with microbuses zipping around and people walking fast paced everywhere. Walking up to an overpass, we hear traditional Nepali songs coming from a group of eight woman sitting in a circle on the sidewalk. Together they play instruments and hold each others hands. One of them reminds me of Thuk Je with the feeling she puts into her singing. I sit down in their circle and in no time at all passerbyers stop and listen to their music. Sitting in the middle of a city, one that illustrates the epitome of political corruption, peace is brought by the ones that cannot see the chaos in the way we see it. More and more Nepalis crowd around. Smiles are everywhere bringing more Nepalis into the presence of singing against the backdrop of heavy traffic turbulence . There is one foreigner standing behind me, an older man. He’s the only foreigner I had seen that day. With leaving I see he drops 500 Nepali rupees into the jar placed in the center of the circle. I think to myself, how happy they will be when they feel their way into the hat and feel that one bill. I wonder what they will think. I wonder if they know what their voices are creating.

Urban Migration

2011-01-20T03:50:00.002-08:00

Photographs of bustling life in Kathmandu's corners....

Young calf sleeping

City getting bigger

Son helping his mother sell street snacks

Billboard rising high beyond Kathmandu's building tops.

The swastika is seen throughout Hinduism and Buddhism as a sacred symbol. It takes on a wide range of meanings in these religions, most denoting good fortune.

Nepali men walking together amidst the streets outside of Pashupati wearing traditional dhaka topi (caps) with jackets covering their dowra sulwar (suit).

The Stupa

2011-01-03T20:37:00.000-08:00

New Year’s Eve as Kunzes and I made our way around the giant stupa of Boudanath. Monks sit cross-legged reciting ‘Om Mani Padme Om’ while spinning prayer wheels in their hands. Little children chase each other spinning the wheels along the way. Kunzes,” I ask, “What do these people pray for?” I wasn’t expecting her to have an answer. The Tibetans lay out into full prostrations before the Stupa. Buddhists on pilgrimage all the way from Ladakh purchase corn to feed to the pigeons that congregate along the Stupa’s outer rim. Foreign monks spin the wheels as hundreds of people gather to circumambulate the Stupa. Kasmiris huddle together sipping tea waiting for the next photographer to glance at the scarves they sell. Everyday from 4am until sunset, people from all over (mostly Tibetans) walk clockwise around the magnificent Stupa.
“The whole world" Kunzes tells me, "They are praying for all beings from insects to trees to people.”

“And what about themselves? Their family? Their health?”

“No, no, no. They are thinking about everything that exists. It is only sometimes when we pray for one thing. Like yesterday when I did prostrations for your father.”

Above us, the colored prayer flags stream the skyline, wavering in the wind. The overpowering scent of incense catches your ever inhalation. The deep noted mantra prayers drowns out the crazy traffic of Kathmandu’s city streets.

“You should see my mom on days where she must water our fields in the village. In the morning she wakes up before the sunrises and prays for the insects that will be killed that day. She can’t help it because the fields must be watered.”

Alongside, stand blind beggars with their hands cupped. Tibetans who have saved up forever to come here, place coins in their hands as they pass in front of us. For the first time I saw the Stupa as a spiritual, holy site. Not what it did for me but the beauty in what it did for these people and the world.

Monk feeding the pigeons

World Without Warning

2010-12-28T08:33:00.000-08:00

Tsering Kunzes and I climb onto the bus heading back to the village from Chautara. It had been four days of sleeping at during the day and staying awake at night to finish the website as internet connection only works at night. I’m a little dazed and sit down next to a young boy. He has beautiful big light brown eyes, I use the little Nepali I know to ask him his name. “Saroj Bogarti.” If the children here don’t go to private schools, they are usually very shy to speak with me especially the girls. This boy smiles but doesn’t say anything more. School children begin filing onto the bus, some climb up the windows from the outside to get onto the roof. And before we know it, it’s crowded as usual. The little girls have pigtails with green or red bows and wear plaid skirts and pressed shirts – definitely coming from the local private school. I drop my book and before I can even turn to see where it went, the boy quickly reaches down to pick up the book using both hands when passing it to me.

A few minutes later, he slips his small hand into his pocket and takes out a cigarette. Lights it up and draws a big inhalation like he’s been doing it forever. I look around at the adults and children with no one takes notice.I ask him in Nepali how old he is and his reply,"Bara Barsako." Twelve Years Old. Across from us, Kunzes takes uses her camera to take a snapshop and then he continues to pose for her.

Here in Kathmandu I take a closer look at the cigarette ads. There are more advertisements for cigarettes than there are for any other single product in this country. Coke might be comparable. Advertisements for adventure travel with paragliders smoking in the air. Walk into any tea stall or general shop, these ads plaster the wall. For the first time in a month I am with someone who is totally literate in both Nepali and English. I finally ask the question that has been on my mind since first taking notice a while ago of the large amount of cigarette advertisements. “Deepish, do you see and do you understand this health warning in English at the bottom of this poster?” He nods and then I ask him, “Can you tell me what this entire Nepali script saying is?”

He moves his finger over the script throughout the poster. “It is saying how tasty and good these cigarettes are.” And then I ask him, “Does it say anything that relates to the health warning in English, how it is injurious to health.”
“No, it says nothing about that.”

I look around at the people smoking in the tea shop, at the owner looking at Kunzes taking a photograph of one of the advertisements. None of these people know. That is why in the villages, mothers and fathers will puff smoke into their babies faces. That is why the children have smokers cough. That is why our grandmother coughs up black tar in her spit throughout the nights. It’s a country where the majority of the population is being fed these cigarettes with no notion of what will happen to them. The warning is in English, a language they can’t understand.

I think to myself, our country went through this mistake forty years ago and these people are beginning to follow. We live in a time where people have already been through this mistake. Why haven't we warned the rest of the world?

Geography - Lesson One

2010-12-23T04:31:00.000-08:00

I open the atlas book I purchased in Chautara this afternoon. It is evening time and as usual the children of the village have made their way to our room. They come here to simply sit around and listen to Tsering Kunzes and I speak or learn Ladakhi songs from Kunzes. Last night we taught each other the names of body parts. In Chautara, we were able to get posters and markers in the hopes of having the children draw a map of Nepal and India. Opening the fold-up atlas I ask them, “Nepal, kaha?” (Where is Nepal?) Sabina along with Manuj and two other village children look at the world map and begin to search. Their eyes going back and forth in a state of both curiosity and confusion. Sabina is sixteen years old and would look at the ground or cover her mouth when we first met each other. Now, after spending every evening in our room she looks at me with confidence and points to North America, then to Africa, then to the blue Pacific Ocean. I then try again. “Asia Sabina, kaha?” They all use a click of their tongue to let me know they do not know. I say very slowly the Nepali meanings of English words for ocean and land to them while pointing to the blue ocean and then to the green continents. “Land– Mahadesh” “Ocean-Mahasagar.” I repeat the words again and again while moving my finger from land to ocean all over the map. I then ask Sabina “ocean, kaha?” And she slowly moves her finger across the atlas tracing the outline of the world’s blue ocean and looks up to find me smiling in approval. She knows she got it and continues to move across the Atlantic ocean onto the Indian ocean. Mahasager – Nepali word for ocean. A word she may have been forced to memorize in school. How to understand what an ocean is living in the landlocked country of Nepal in a village with no television, internet, magazines or tourists and in a school that provides no pictures in the books. “Land Sabina?” I bring her hand up to the continent above the Indian ocean and slowly say, “Asia.” And she begins to trace Asia wither finger.

Spreading goodness through Sweets

2010-12-20T07:52:00.000-08:00

Down the mountain from our village through a beautiful alpine forest we came upon a factory that makes lapsi and ginger candy. The factory had about twenty women total working together in peeling, boiling and deseeding the fruits and ginger. The factory was set up with the help of the UNDP to empower women by giving an opportunity to earn income. Their children were climbing trees to harvest the lapsi fruits and helping their mothers make candy. The lapsi paste is baked in solar cookers and the whole process from growing to harvesting to bottling is done as environmentally sound as possible. They also pickle the lapsi seed turning it into a deliciously sweet addition to rice!

Tiger

2010-12-17T22:02:00.000-08:00

In the middle of every night I awake from my sleep for one of two reasons: mixures of different languages coming from Kunzes' dreams or from the amount of water I must drink to complement the very spicy Nepali dinners we have here. When the latter occurs, I hike out to the field of mustard flowers that villagers use as their bathroom. Last night, I was stopped by the dad who has now given up his room for us and sleeps with the animals. “Tiger” he says. With my minute understand of Nepali I was able to understand there was a tiger roaming in our village earlier. Keep in mind our village is made up of five homes including ours. Our mother gestured for me not go to the field and to go closer to the “ghar” (home). I guess after the snake skin incident I shouldn’t be too shocked that there are tigers here. The mother could see I was having a bit of trouble getting myself out of the door at that point. She got out of bed, took my hand and brought me to the animal hut below. Under the bright moon and stars and I tried not to think about the tiger but of the mother right beside me keeping watch of the animals in her shimmering red sari.

Buffalo Dung

2010-12-14T23:35:00.000-08:00

Manuj and his younger brother

Its 4 in the afternoon returning back to the village from the day in Chautara. “Aunice Holly!” Says Mohan’s older brother, Manuj. I follow him to find about five of the village’s children in addition to Manuj’s mother filling up their beautiful handmade baskets with buffalo dung from the grandparent’s animal hut. One by one they kneel down with their heads back to fix the rope around their heads in order to balance the basket on their upper backs. “Basnus!” He says to me so I sit down as they fix it onto my head. Everything I do here turns people around me into laughter. The way I simply eat, drink, sit – everything. And I have come to just accept it and embrace the fact I am the laughing stalk of this region. What to do… So I use Manuj’s hands to pull me up and take a minute to get used to the strange feeling of having to use my neck muscles for the first time in my life. Thinking we would be walking to the adjacent field, I tell myself I can do it. Oh, how little did I know at the time. The walk was twenty minutes down the mountain. Almost falling with every terraced field we would have to walk down, the children couldn’t stop laughing. These kids and mother were doing this barefeet and I was having trouble with sneakers! I always knew that mountain people were physically shorter. I’m 5”2 and considered tall in the region of Ladakh where I tower over most Ladakhi women. These people are also quite short, not as short as Sherpas or Ladakhis but still comparable. Having to hike down this mountain with a huge basket of buffalo dung balancing on my head, I realized how much safe it would be to be lower to the ground!

The night before Kunzes and I had taught Manuj and the other village kids that come to our room every night to learn English, how to say “This is.” While walking behind me he decided to practice. With extremely little English he would say “This is my tree!” “This is my soil!” “This is my water!” as he walked behind me cautioning me with “Bistari, bistari” meaning “slowly, slowly.” Focusing very hard on where my feet were placed and balancing the dung, I couldn’t turn around to correct his pronunciation. “This is my monkey tree!” “This is my snake” My mind was in a zone, letting the kids laugh at me as I struggled to follow their careless steps that seemed to fall in place naturally down the step fields carrying more dung than I myself was carrying. Finally, we came to the step field that felt like 3 kilometers away from where we started. They all threw the baskets down, letting the dung form into a perfect pile. I tried to imitate their throw, but had no luck throwing it all over my head. The kids fell to the ground in laughter and then Manuj jumped up. “My snake.” I thought he was joking when I heard him say it before. I started to feel queasy. In his hand was the skin of a snake bigger than me. Bigger than my body. Then he pointed “my monkey tree” and in the tree was a white monkey with a jet back face – like no monkey I’ve seen before. I pointed to the village, gesturing for the skin to be taken to the village so I could show Kunzes. “Grandfather angry, here it sits. Ghosts don’t come” I gathered that this meant the skin must be kept on the ledge of the field to keep bad spirits from entering the fields, destroying the crops.

“fast walking!” One girl shouted “Going fast!” Manuj yelled to me. As I walked amid the children up the fields preparing for four more trips as I gathered from them, I realized something. These people don’t know anything besides this. There are no TV’s, no computers, no phones and the education system has failed here in bringing knowledge to students. On the way up I admired the pink skies getting ready to for the sun to set. I tried to imagine explaining to these people the fact that the earth spins, hence the reason for night and day. But what is the point of explaining something when it is beyond their ability to understand .

For some time I thought I would leave this village because of the unbelievable lack of understanding. The grandmother would become upset when she heard I was going to Chautara for the day because she thought I didn’t like the village. Even in translation I knew she would never be able to comprehend, to understand the idea of the internet. It literally would be a different world or planet – as this experience has been for me. But I have grown to love these villagers and have created friendships with Nakul and Parkesh – the chief’s sons. Nakul is only 16 years old and is the most polite boy along with his brother I have ever met. They smile so innocently and make sure I am always taken care of. “please let me show you Holly.” None of the villagers can believe it when they see me in the fields. “You must not get dirty.” The children sometime say to me. “This is too heavy for you.” So attempting to show them I’m just a regular person, I join and it ends in laughter and confusion.

It is difficult to be almost revered as some guest god in this Hindu/Animistic village and I feel continuously helpless as I tried to do things that are second nature to them such as tie hay into a bundle, make a fire from blowing into sticks or making bowls out of bamboo leaves. But then I guess I begin to realize all humans have different things we can do depending on our environment. When I type on my laptop Nakul just watches and sometimes asks for me to teach him how to move the curser. I once left my laptop with him for an hour to come back and find all the folders on my desktop deleted. Thank goodness I backed them up the day before. Perhaps that’s why I’m trying to learn how to build a website on my own – to feel like I can help in some small way with the skills and information I know I have access to in my life. To take advantage of my own upbringing, environment and people in my life back home to show the rest of the world that the people where I come from do care about them.

When I arrive to our home Kunzes is playing music with Nakul. She washed all my clothes for me. “Now, Holly. You must stop sitting wherever you please. That is why your pants are always dirty and mine are always clean – you just plop yourself wherever.” Oh, my sweet Ladakhi ache-le.

I turn to Parkesh wanting to know more about the snake skin in the field. I am able to get him to understand “snake.”

“Skin, parkesh. Snake skin.” Pinching my own skin, I try so hard to explain to him but his reply “I don’t understand.”
Five minutes later he comes back. “You mean cover. Snake cover.” He then pinches his clothes, “Like clothes.” I smile and say, “Yes, snake clothes.

“We must leave it there.” Wanting to understand why, his response to me was, “Because it must stay there. That is all.” And with that he passed me a warm cup of buffalo milk.

It is beyond me to understand why they wake up every morning at 4:30 to go to the rocks near the water pump and demand things from the gods. One would have to spend their lives from a child to truly understand as well as learn the skills these people have. To see a mountain and learn that with human power alone, they have created and maintained magnificent fields that have totally sustain them, from the bamboo baskets and mats to the fire they burn using mustard seed oil and sticks to homes they build from clay and mud. To look at a field of pulled up hay and with hands alone press them into perfect tight bundles ready to be brought up to the animals. To see soil and have twenty different names for a concept we only have one word for. He gave his answer through his eyes and it sufficed my need to know. Why? It is beyond my ability to understand and Parkesh knows this.

Lack of Aid....

2010-12-10T22:36:00.000-08:00

The students are in exams now for nine days which has given me the time to come here. As I sit here building my website in the city/town of Chautara where I must hike up a mountain and then take a bus or pickup truck to this place, a foreigner pops into the room. Very surprising to my eyes as I haven’t seen one foreigner now in two weeks in the region of the village I am staying nor here in this city. I can’t even find this city online – its like it doesn’t exist. The owner of this café isn’t here to set him up on a computer so we begin speaking. He, like me has not seen a foreigner in this region until me. However, this is his fourth month here. So I ask the question I’ve been wondering. “Why is it that you are the first foreigner I have seen here?” He explains to me the situation that happened in Nepal with the Maoist Insurgency and how this area in particular is full of Maoists. The guerilla war by Maoists rebels was particularly bad in this region. It is still full of Maoists who want to abolish the monarchy and establish a communist system in this poor country. “I’m safe wherever in the world I go because I’m from Holland. It’s the Americans and English they don’t like. But even being from Holland, the staff of the orphanage I am volunteering don’t let me go out alone.” It made so much more sense to me now why the villagers are so protective of me whenever I leave. I have both a British and US passport and I think he could sense the little bit of worry I had as he was telling me this. “Oh, its totally fine now. There has been peace in the region for two years.” I guess what the Maoists used to do with Americans and English was hold them up by forcing them to pay money wherever they were. I learned the reason the orphanage this man works for was set up was because of the amount of parents that were killed in the fighting of the Maoists. After doing a bit of research online I have learned that the reason there are hardly any NGO’s in this region is because they withdrew many years ago when the fighting began which has caused a huge halt in development, aid, infrastructure – everything. Projects and plans for helping these people are still not happening even though its considered a peaceful time. The kind man has invited me to see the orphanage and perhaps do an environment/health workshop with the students once I get this site up and running....

Fair Trade Photography

2010-12-08T00:37:00.000-08:00

Please consider purchasing photographs for friends and family this coming Christmas through my Fair Trade Photography website that will be coming shortly.....

School in Nepal

2010-12-08T00:24:00.000-08:00

I watch as this child gets beaten with a hard stick. The teacher has a look of distain on his dark face as he uses all of his might to slam the stick onto the little boy’s back. The children run to the back of the room and huddle together in fear they will be next. My heart sinks as I watch this happen. The little boy who was the most enthusiastic of all the students in my last class begins to tear up as he tried not to let out yelps from the beating. My hand is covering my mouth in shock. I run to the headmasters office where the two female teachers who I had just finished eating lunch with are sitting with the headmaster. With little understanding of English, Ambika tries to understand my questions. Do teachers beat students often? Is this legal in Nepal? Do you do this? Why is this happening? They begin to laugh and so does the headmaster as soon as Ambika translates one of my questions.

The English teacher walks into the office and asks me, “Did I upset you?” I tell him I have never in my life witnessed a teacher beat a student. He explains to me that is what all Nepalis teachers do here to provide punishment and consequence to the students when they misbehave. “Why was he beaten?” I demand and in response to my question he says, “Well, he was peeping into the window of the class I was teaching and it was bothersome.” I was infused with anger trying to tell myself to stay cool. I could have easily have thrown a tandrum at that point but I wanted to get at the deeper reasoning behind this. “And why was this student not sitting down in another classroom while classes were going on?”

“His teacher is absent for the day.”

This child was peeping into this teacher’s classroom because he wanted to learn having no teacher for the day and receives a beating in front of all of his classmates. As the conversation was going on without the headmaster having any understanding of our english, many students hovered around the headmaster’s door watching us speak.

“What alternatives do you suggest? You are from a literate country. Our students live here in Nepal. They are backwards, rural and poor. I will listen to you.”
I became even more frustrated that he was using words like backwards and poor after I politely suggested a few days earlier he not use these words around the students. It was obvious now why the students in class are so shy and afraid to speak. During the first few days of teaching them, they either looked directly down to the floor or cover their mouths with their hands when they whisper an answer I ask them.
“It’s called encouragement.” I said to him. These mixed feelings of hate and understanding captured my mind when talking with him. He was most likely beaten himself and was actually taught and trained how to safely beat a student when getting his teacher’s certificate. I suggested he have the student write about the situation and why the student did what he did while staying late after school. “I shall do this next time.” The greater problem is the lack of understanding between me and the people here. Without a shared language it has been extremely difficult to explain things here.

Yesterday I spent three hours after school with the beautiful silent girl whose finger was obviously very infected. I learned from her older sister she cut it while working with a shear in the fields. Two pigtails of luscious dark hair, sandals too big for her feet and a pleated uniform skirt that was held up from falling down with her hands at all times. I followed her to the market after school and brought her to the “doctor.” The doctor of this place is an old man who smokes cigarettes and hands out cough medicine to people who most likely have lung cancer (I learned this the other day after taking our grandmother who has been suffering from extremely severe coughing). With 20 people watching through the doors at this little girl, he took a needle which he didn’t even clean and brought it to her thumb. I held my breath but it was too late to take her away to treat her myself. He directed the needle into her thumb and she cried in anguish. It was gushing pus and he was holdin her down. I put my hand in front of her face and tried to get her to look at the photos on my camera. I felt sick. Crying and crying the little girl probably hated me at this point she slowly stopped at the “doctor” wrapped her thumb up in gauze. With no English I still wanted to tell her parents they must wash it every night and keep it from getting dirty so we spend an hour walking to her village. The grandparents come in from the nearby field and the grandfather almost falls to the ground from an asthma attack. It literally takes him until the time I leave their home for his breath to be normal. The mother and father bring me hot lemon tea and in translation I tell them the importance of how to care for their daughter’s infected thumb. Upon leaving he puts a precious seed in my hand with a hold for a necklace. In translation through one of the girl’s sisters, I learn it is given to a person in the hopes they will return and will have safe protection.

Today while sitting in that headmasters house, I saw her peeping through the window and her finger, black.

The Village

2010-12-01T23:23:00.000-08:00

November 31st

Most of these entries were written sitting at night after dinner upon the roof of the grandparent’s ‘home” which is a raised straw thatched hut used as their a place to store their food, cook, sleep and everything in between. You can climb from the open window to this roof. My computer is left to charge in the chief’s house during the day so I can use it in the evening to write entries. I just learned that I am Northeast of Kathmandu. To upload this I took a bus with the chief's eldest son to the nearest city called about 30 minutes away from our village in the same District.

I awoke this morning to a goat walking across my sleeping bag and his friend, The Pig, ruffling about my pillow. Awakening from my sleep scared them off and beside me with the village chief’s wife blowing through a metal pipe into the clay pit fire. I was so sleepy from staying up last night exchanging Nepali an English with the chief’s sons, Nakul and Paresh. Although I knew I would be unable to all back asleep I rested for a big longer until the rooster crowed. It wasn’t even five am.

Searching around for water, Nakul says, “I shall take you.” Nakul is Nirja’s cousin, the chief’s son. Nakul led me down the side of the mountain and with every turn he used his whole arm to signal for me where to go without using one finger to point he would use his whole hand. “Shall you like to see our temple?” Before we got to the water pump next to the river we took a turn and stopped. “Where is the temple?” I asked him. He used his whole arm once again to point to the rocks by our feet which were covered with flowers. More like a shrine than a temple the rocks had some kind of pink and red paint on them. “You can demand something from the gods here.”

“Oh, wow. That is wonderful. Do all the villages come here?”

“Yes, this is our temple.”

“Please, demand something then,” Nakul said.

So I agreed to demand something from the gods. After walking down the past and seeing a grandmother carrying a baby smoking into his face and black plastic bags beginning to make their way into this village I said the first thing that came to my mind,”

“I demand from the gods to bring health to these villagers by lessoning the amount of trash and cigaretts that enter it.”

And with that, Nakul pushed his thumb into the paint on the rock and then placed his thumb on my forehead. “Tiki,”Nakul remarked.

I few minutes later we were at the water pump. The water pump was difficult at first to get used to but then the general flow came easy. Nakul was behind the pump looking at something and then turned to open his hands and show me some kind of seed. “asdsadsfd”, he said. “You eat.” To me it looked like a chestnut and once popped into my mouth tasted like a chestnut. “Now I know where to find protein when I might need it” I said to him knowing he wouldn’t understand.

Nakul asked if I would like to see more of the mountain so we took a detour from the path leading back to the village. He stopped every few feet to show me something. “Bas” “We use this to build our homes.” After a while he took a stone and threw it to the branches of the tree just beyond us. Hopping over a few shrubs he picked up the fruit he was aiming for. “Only found in Nepal. Tasty. You shall try this.” So, without any change to refuse I tried this strange looking fruit that actually tasted just like a guava I once tried in Costa Rica. Picking up again another plant he said, “Tree of oil.” And opened up the pods of the mustard flower to show me the oil that seeps out. In the other hand he held a corn stalk. “And tree of corn.” He then took what I thought was plain straw and slammed it onto the earth letting the small dried pods fall to the ground. Opening up the tiny pod he place one rice into my hands. “Our food we eat every day,” He said. I then realized why the rice tasted extra delicious the night before.

“How come you are not in school today?”
“I shall not go to school today because you are here. In Nepal a guest is a god.” Once again I really didn’t know what to say to this. It didn’t feel very good at all to know this boy wasn’t going to school because of me. “My father said I should learn from you.”

As we made our way up the mountain Nakul stopped and looked up. “This is the tree of the god. It is sacred tree called “Swambi”” We continued up and he then asked me to sit down. So I sat. “Why did you come here?” he asked. What a question. A question that has had me confused all day. I came here to check out Nepali culture, plan my curriculum for the Spring VIS semester, see the beauty and volunteer for a bit in the schools. This boy was waiting for some big answer. “I am here to learn from you and to tell you about what I know. What I have learned from my own culture and if you want I can try my best to help you with your English.

“We are backwards and poor so the village will listen to you.”

While he was saying this I cringed. Looking around at the beauty of this place and at the families who were together working in their fields that sustained their lives. How can they see this as poor. With that I told him that in America, to own a mountain with endless fields and a view of the great mountains would only happen through wealth

“You are not backwards but rich. Rich in things most people back from my country lack. You are rich in fields of flowers. You are rich in family and the love you have for all of your family. You are rich in fruitful food.”
With that we left and while passing bas, Nakul remarked “We are rich in bamboo! And it is green like the money.”

“Yes”, I said “you are rich in this.”
Back in the village Nirja was ready to bring me to the stream to wash myself. We were to go to a stream that was far away from the village to wash our whole bodies, not the stream just adjacent to the village.
“Shall you wear a petticoat to wash or no clothes?”

I told her I would like to wash my whole body because it had been quite a few days now. We gave to a waterfall fed stream with a rock dividing the water into two water channels. I was about to wash my hair in the stream to my left but no sooner to Nirja warn me not to touch that stream with my body or hands but to use the pot sitting next to the rock to catch the water from the left stream to pour it over my hands and head into the right stream. “The gods will not be in your favor if you pollute this side of the stream.” And so I just went with it hoping she might leave so I could bathe easier using the stream that was closest to me.
When we arrived back to the village I offered Nakul a hand with fetching water for the animals. While we were filling up the water I noticed all the women of the village were on their hands and knees picking up not only the plastic bags but the natural dirt and straw.

“They have cancelled their plans to go into the field and pick up everything on the floor.”

“Why?” I asked. “Because they saw you picking up used bags from the ground and I told them it makes you sad as you demanded this from the gods.”

Oh, I was about to run away from the village at hearing this. I began feeling my presence was just disrupting their daily lives. I had the women stop by asking Nakul to relay my request them. I then spent the latter part of the day contemplating my presence in their lives.

Nepalese Children Guide the Way

2010-11-27T23:12:00.000-08:00

children at the India/Nepal border

A few days ago, Tsering Kunzes and I reached Nepal. After a long 40 hour bus ride from Delhi through vast physiographic regions from the flat fertile lowlands of the terrain plans filled with fields of yellow mustard flowers through the subtropical mountainous forests called the Middle Hills of Nepal upto Pahar valley that holds Nepals capital, Kathmandu. Through this bus ride filled with Indians, Tibetans and Nepalese of Hindu, Buddhist perhaps even Bon faith. You could see the cultural divides with every new district that we entered with the people who surrounded us through the bus ride. I was the only foreigner on both buses which gave me the opportunity to try my hand at Hindi and Nepalese. Behind me, was a girl with a face of an Indian princess, no more than 15 years old and covered with henna up her arms half hidden by the bangles that reached her elbows. Gold jewelry touched every part of her golden tanned body with a diamond stud in the center of her face that let you know it was her first year. She was beautiful and sat behind me the whole way without speaking a word, just a shy smile when I would turn to see her. I didn’t hear a word from her lips for 40 hours. The man sitting next to her had to be at least 30, with a briefcase and suit that let you know of his prominent character. Together they got off the bus a few kilometers after we reached the border of Nepl. As I sat there watching her through the foggy glass window stand by the bags the drivers threw down from the bus, I motioned to my camera. She looked at her husband who wasn’t looking then to me and nodded. I took quick photo to never forget her face – the face of little child who was leaving her home forever mostly likely without choice…

You can see that the situation for women here in Nepal is very different than Ladakh where women and men have virtually all the same rights. Here, boys are strongly favored over girls and woman only truly gan status in traditional society when they bear their husband a son. This is perpetuated by the laws put in place making it legal to take a second wife if the first has not borne a child after ten years. Knowing that over 7000 Nepali women are sold or trafficked every year, most of them children, made it visible when coming here especially when crossing the border. Little girls holding small babies in their arms filled the streets begging for food. I remember Kunzes throwing them a piece of the bread she brought from Ladakh and they all shared it sitting down next to the bus.

With having no plans for the next two months and both Tsering Kunzes and I are taking in everything for the first time here together. Upon first arriving in Kathmandu in the morning we were both a bit shocked at the city- dusty streets filled with traffic like you wouldn’t believe. Polio beggers everywhere and enough pollution in every direction to building a trash pile taller than everest. The mother and children that next to us on the bus took us under their wing and brought us to their home at the Indian Embassy. Upon arriving to the embassy I had to tell the guards I was this mother’s sister-in-law so they would let me in. Because Tsering Kunzes is an India citizen she has had absolutely no trouble with these kinds of things. At the border the vicious military men pulled me from the bus to question everything and I could tell they were angry with the fact I purchased my visa in Delhi rather than at the border as that is how they milk money from the foreigners that passed. One army man began asking me about my personal life and marriage which was completely irrelevant. The mother of the family we sat next to on the bus kept a watchful eye for me and yelled at them. When we arrived at this family’s home, the mother found half of the new saris she bought in Delhi were taken from her suitcase by the army men. She gave us both hot water to wash ourselves and then brought us tea. Her husband is in the foreign service and was also kind to us.

Now, we are in Bodha which is a Tibetan colony that holds one of the largest stupas throughout all of Asia called Bodanath. It has been nice for T Kunzes as she can communicate to most of the Tibetans. Last night we spent the evening walking around the stupa and watching a puja ceremony with lit fires surrounding the stupa take place by a group of monks that played music and presented offerings at the base of the stupa. We also visited the holy site of Swayambunath which was very special to Kunzes. It took us literally two hours to walk up to the stupa with Kunzes spinning every prayer wheel and bowing her head to all of the shrines along the way with the hundreds of monkeys that ran about the temples.

Swayambunath

Something that has me constantly questioning everything I was brought up around back home is genuine kindness that you find here being a woman traveling without a big group behind you. I remember the first time I met Arun outside the Tibetan colony I stay at in Delhi. At first I passed by and just looked down to avoid all confrontation as it can become taxiing to the mind when you have taxi and rickshaw drivers constantly in your face. I was with Tashi trying to figure out a ride to Khan market – the most wealthy area in all of India that is surrounded by all of the embassies. We were bringing the VIS group to an NGO focused on education for Indian youth. Tashi then motioned for Arun to give him a number. “Kit-na hey?” which in Hindi translates into “how much?!” With the reasonable price Arun offered us we happily made a quick relationship. Since then he has shown me all around Delhi and on the last day before leaving I was unable to find this tall man with the gentle face of a Buddhist/Hindu/Muslim (which by the way he is a mixture of all three). On the way up the border, the bus driver handed me his phone and it was Arun. A little strange and creepy I thought at first. How did he know which bus I was on? He was in Nepal and told me he would meet Tsering Kunzes and I in Kathmandu to take us to his sister’s house. In India most people refer to their friend as a sister or brother. I didn’t call at first but when we were sitting around the embassy family’s table with no more words to communicate in I called Arun. He picked us up with his happy welcoming face and brought us to this guesthouse in Boda. Yesterday he brought us back to where the bus initially first dropped us off. I remember feeling so disgusted and unsure about my decision to come to Nepal when I first saw how dirty and busy everything as. After he introduced us to his sister’s family that literally live in the same spot I fell in love with the place. All of this doing, doing, doing for us without accepting anything I offered.

His sister’s children had never spoken with a foreigner before and took me by the hand to bring me a beauty parlor where I got a haircut for 25 Nepali rupees (50 cents-not shocking when about half of the population live below the international poverty line of 1.25 a day)in a salon where the women had fun speaking with Kunzes and laughed in amusement at my attempts to speak Hindi with them. The 14 year old girl, Nisha couldn’t stop asking me questions about what I thought her country, Nepal. Her younger sister, Nikita who was so not well apt to English repeated the question, “ can you please come to my school tomorrow?” Arun relayed the message of our desire to go to a village and teach English in a school to Narayan and Nirma-la, the mother and father. Once we returned to their home I asked the mother if I could take their to girls to their village where their grandparents still live. With no hesitation as to time off from school she gladly agreed and was happy to know her children would have the chance to work on English with Kunzes and I. Today, Narayan and Nirma-la are letting their school know the will be leaving for a while. And tonight Tsering Kunzes and I will go back to their home to stay with them and wake up at 4 am to take a six hour bus ride and potentially a hike to their father’s village. And that being said, Tsering Kunzes and I will hop into a small 8-passenger taxi this afternoon filled with 20 Nepalese to make our way to their home.

-Namaste

A short story...

2010-11-01T20:21:00.003-07:00

Something that happened here at SECMOL campus to our cow and the beautiful endless effort the buddhist ladakhi students put forth together with the VISpas.....

Here on the campus we have two cows for milk and a calf that roam freely everywhere. The calf's mom Diskit recently passed. It was the most horrific and at the same time beautiful death I have ever witnessed in life and probabally will be for the rest of my life. The carpenter found her stuck in the mud by the Indus river a little ways from the road. We spent 7.5 hours until 11 at night in the cold mud pulling her up - sliding boards underneath her head to hold her head above the mud as she would sink further and further. There would be almost 14 people using all their might be pull the sacks we would dig underneath her stomach. The mud was freezing - so cold that when i would take breaks and lose a croc, i wouldnt even realize my shoes were missing bc of the numbess. It was unimaginable to think about how she felt but after a while the shaking stopped. When there was no hope left for us to get her out, the ladakhis called a machine with a crane to come dig out a channel from her body to the river so the water would seep out. In doing so the crane cut her body and made the mud go red. Every time the crane would attempt to pull the rope that cradled her body we could hear cracks. So much suffering for any being on this earth. I think there was a lot of internal damage that happened as a result of every trying to pull her body out. It was def. the hardest and most difficult time ever in being cool and collective leader. Finally at 11pm at night she was pulled out, a fire was made for her. And she died, her head in nate's hands. Some of the students found it very difficult to watch and I left earlier because I couldn't deal with it. The beautiful part of it was that she was finally in peace when she died and 35 people spent almost eight hours working together in freezing conditions refusing to give up for one second. So now the calf is motherless but prances around so happily. Sometimes ill be brushing my teeth and she'll be ruffling through the garbage right next to me.

A short story...

2010-11-01T20:21:00.001-07:00

VIS Exhibition Projects Fall 2010

2010-11-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

The VIS Program I am leading in Northern India is starting to wrap up as the VISpas are off doing their Exhibition projects.

A major aspect of the VIS Program for gap students is Exhibition, an independent project. Long-established VIS connections with people and organizations around Ladakh benefit internships that allow students to delve deeper into local communities, and contribute to the work of organizations and local society. Research is often undertaken jointly with SECMOL students. Final exhibition projects include written as well as audio/visual components, and are presented to students, teachers and mentors at SECMOL, and to various communities back at home. Students currently in Ladakh have chosen their exhibition topics, and this month will be devoted to research and internships to culminate in presentations at the SECMOL campus mid-November. This fall’s group of VISpas have taken some outstanding initiatives in their projects!

Exhibition Projects Fall 2010

Hannah Kay: Flood Relief Efforts. Hannah aims to seek how the flood disaster that occurred in Ladakh in early August has affected the victims of the flood. For her project, she will stay with a family in a flood relief camp and work with children of these camps using art as a way to gain a better understanding of their coping methods.

Hayden Chichester: Changes in Buddhist Practice. Hayden will study Buddhism and aims to uncover the effect Buddhism has on the perspective. He wishes to understand the true meaning of being a Buddhist seen by monastic leaders and village people of Ladakh. For his project, Hayden will stay in a Monastery to follow monks in their everyday lives and rituals and speak with them in order to discover the perspective of change in regards to modernization in Ladakh.

Keegan Glennon: Tibetan Refugees. Keegan aims to explore perspectives on cultural identity from second and third generation refugees. She will collect stories by living with a Tibetan family within the major Tibetan Refugee Colony and speak to members of the Tibetan Children’s Village.

Ruth McGovern: Geology, Natural History, and mapping of Himalayan Mountains. Ruth plans to study the geology and topology of SECMOL mountain and its surrounding areas and aims to seek how the natural landscape can be a source of inspiration for art and poetry. By leading a hike, she plans to teach current SECMOL students about the mountain and its various flora and fawna, specifically their medicinal or culinary uses. She will also build a scale model of the SECMOL Mountain that includes the trails she has mapped out and named herself.

Conor Dinan: Housing and Urban Development. Conor intends to research the effect of urbanization on the individual and communities of Ladakh. He will contact people and organizations such as the Tibet Heritage Fund to gain a greater understanding of why people choose to leave their villages and move to the city. For his project he will stay in Leh’s major Housing Colony and plans to create a blueprint of an optimal design for future development colonies in Ladakh.

Ellie Healy: Amchi Medicine. Ellie plans to focus on Amchi medicine, specifically on the healing techniques practiced and the changes development has had on traditional medicine. She will be observing these practices by living with an Amchi and will contact organizations such as the Ladakh Society for Traditional Medicine to better understand these changes.

Emily Goldthwait: Islam v. Buddhism. Emily plans to investigate the conflicts that arise among Buddhists and Muslims living in Ladakh. She will interview leaders of both religions for a comparison in perspectives and will create a visual documentary of her experience life in both Buddhist and Muslim households.

2010-10-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

Conor Dinan writes………

I woke up, fully recovered from a mild bout of sickness the night before, the second morning in the village of Dha to discover that I was the only one of the VIS students left there. We had been split up four and three the first night, with me, Emily and Hannah in Dha and the others in a village a few miles away, but after a night in the village guest house the other two had been transferred to homestays in the other village. And so I found myself alone, and with a whole village at my fingertips. It was exhilarating.

I spent that day and some of the next exploring the narrow, winding pathways through the town and fields. The town’s arteries were narrow paths, barely wide enough for one person, that twisted between and—in one case—under the solid structures of the houses. Sometimes a path was no more than six inches of cement on one side of a litter-filled water drain, sometimes it was so steep and rocky that ascent seemed impossible, but that didn’t stop children from tearing up them at all speed, or women from marching up them with cows or sheep in tow. They would wind back and forth, with no clear plan, but in various spots on this maze-like network the path would come to an open area—usually not much to speak of, maybe a few square yards of gravel. I think these spots intrigued me most of any in the village. The villagers, naturally, seemed to know them all by heart, and each one appeared to have been put to a specialized use. The pathway that ran along the base of the village was apparently reserved in all its length for the younger children to use as a playground; where two paths crossed in front of the general store, there seemed to be an impromptu meeting ground for the women. A metal electrical pole surrounded by a small circle of dust and grass attracted children on their way home from school, still in their uniforms, delighted to make an ungodly din by smashing rocks against the pole over and over to proclaim their liberation from academic travail. This happened like clockwork, every day, sometime around four thirty. My favourite spot, which I discovered by chance while impulsively following a random path, was a small semi-circle of gravel ringed by large rocks and half-shrouded by poplars, which seemed hidden from the village while somehow commanding the best view in town: the rooftops of the lower-down houses; the terraced fields beyond them, with rows of deep-golden poplars lining the tall stone walls; the river and the cliff rising sharply from its other side. This idyl was for the village’s young men, no more than my age but already having spent years working and accepting hardships and sacrifice, to retreat among themselves for a cigarette and a few minutes to hang out. I spent half an hour here with them, sitting on a rock and learning—through limited English and a few words of Ladakhi—their stories.

The Drokpas are a fascinating society, a people hidden within a hidden land—a tiny piece of the patchwork that makes up Ladakh, but one which I think enriches that quilt far beyond its size. The antiquity of the Drokpa culture, the unique traditions like the flower-hats, carry into modernity a small slice of Ladakh’s pre-Buddhist past. Driving by, it would be hard immediately to spot any differences in the villages themselves, but subtle differences are in some ways more fascinating than obvious ones. The village layout was not totally Ladakhi, seeming more chaotic and less luxuriously spacious than, say, Takmachik, or Rumbak. More obvious are the difference in people’s appearances: Drokpas do look distinctly Middle Eastern, although a few shared the Asian features of the Ladakhis. Their language, Ache Becky says, is Indo-European, close to Persian, and more related to English than the Ladakhi spoken in villages a few miles away. It’s a fascinating mix, I think, and if I had forever I’d love to spend six months or so in this handful of villages, getting to know this hidden culture.

On the first day, Tashi led us to the edge of the cliffs at the far end of the village, where a promontory of stone jutted out over the meeting of two rivers and we could sit on the rocks and look into the distance. Looking out, away from the village, the river extends down a deep ravine flanked by two almighty mountains, rocky and sparse, rising high into the heavens. On the far end of the deep river canyon was Pakistan. Sitting there, in the bosom of these pristine mountains which affected for all the world not to care about the foibles of man, I realized that even though this village might seem eternal, isolated, a Shangri-La of sorts, in truth life here was as fragile as anywhere else in the world. But people everywhere, Dha included, have the same plucky urge to make do, and here—in the shadow of one of the modern world’s most persistent conflicts—the people had vowed to live life to the fullest, come what may.

MassAudubon Reflection

2010-05-14T09:25:00.001-07:00

Written almost a year after the fact, this is a retrospective reflection I wrote for an internship I did with MassAudubon on Martha's Vineyard for my UVM ENVS Advisor, Ibit Getchell.

Holly Borday
ENVS 191 Mass Audubon Reflection
Faculty Supervisor: Elizabeth Getchell
Field Practicum Supervisor: Elizabeth Baldwin

Through working as a Coastal Field Assistant for MassAudubon on Martha’s Vineyard during the summer of 2009 I learned about the collaborative conservation efforts taken by multiple entities on a small island community. My role within MassAudubon was working for their Coastal Waterbird Program (CWP). I found this CWP is not the only effective entity working to protect coastal bird species and their habitat on Martha’s Vinevard. The Trustees of Reservations, Sheriff’s Meadow Foundation, the Land Bank and even Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary all have taken protective measures to conserve species that CWP focuses on.

I lived on the Hoft Farm Property which is a farmhouse on 90 acres of land conserved by The Nature Conservancy. This property has been used as a field station to support ecological research. The old farmhouse itself was converted into housing for interns. Solar panels, composting toilets and gardens has made this farmhouse a learning classroom for visitors of the Hoft farm and interns like myself who have the opportunity to live and help run the propert. Every day I took the role of sweeping the road that runs through a shimmering meadow and then pierced through a grove of Pitchpine. Wine berries grew throughout the property and every week we would pick them and turn them into delectable desserts during out weekly intern potlucks. Along with TNC staff and burn crews, the property houses interns who work for various conservation organizations besides TNC. Throughout my time with working for MassAudubon and living on the Hoft Farm, I learned a great deal about the other environmental issues that pertain to the island. The fifteen other interns I lived with were all on the island to learn and work on a project. Through befriending these people I learned not only about specific projects they were working on, but about the organizations they were involved with. For example, I would volunteer to assist Zoey in her midnight horseshoe crab surveys that she conducted for Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary. Morgan was working to remove invasive plant species for TNC on the Hoft Farm and would take me out during my days off to show me the parcels of land on the property in various stages of use and recovery.

In the earlier part of the internship, I went through periods of frustration when I wasn’t able to see the bigger picture beyond the monitoring and collecting productivity data on certain bird species. This led me to feel the amount of time, gasoline, money and plastic waste involved in attempting to protect these species may not be worth the three to five Piping Plovers I ultimately helped fledge this summer. In retrospect, I now see that all of these factors helped a greater cause which was the greater awareness of coastal conservation. Because the Piping Plovers are considered an almost endangered species, we could take almost any measure to protect them even if that meant closing down a popular beach area. There were a few days in the beginning of the summer that I noticed a Piping Plover family was crossing back and forth over State Road, the busiest road on Martha’s Vineyard. When I delivered this information to my supervisor we had a meeting with someone who worked for the Town of Oakbluffs to discuss what could be done to take precautionary measures. The option of closing State Road was the last option anyone wanted to take as it’s the main road that connects the two most tourist attractive towns; Oakebluffs and Edgartown. Rather than close the road, we were given legal permission to close off almost half of the beach which frustrated tourists who went to this beach every summer. I learned a great deal about educating the public of the importance of closing off beaches and endangered species conservation as people would sometimes make their way into the closed off areas.

I developed many skills necessary in protecting Piping Plovers, American Oyster catchers and Least and Common Terms. From keeping a daily journal and transferring my daily actions and observations to a google document every day, I was able to contribute the protection of these species’ nesting areas throughout the state. From spending everyday taking note of the tracks around enclosed nests, I could see how non-native species such as the skunk would significantly affect their declining population if measures by us weren’t taken.

Overall, I experienced the work it takes to battle environmental issues from various stakeholders working together including federal, state and local governing bodies, private and public landowners, MassAudubon, other non-profits and the public. My internship may have not sparked a passion in wildlife biology per say, but it permeated my desire to continue working for small projects that contribute to great causes. The passion, care and concern for the project displayed by CWP staff including the Director, my supervisor and my crew were a big part in making my experience with working for a non-profit one that I wish to continue to pursue.
Although I do not think this particular project is one that I personally am passionate enough to spend the rest of my life working with, I do believe I will take what I learned from this project and the collaborative conservation effort of multiple non-profits on the island and apply this kind of effort to a future project I either develop or contribute to in the future. I have been asked by a PhD biologist to work as a bander this summer on the island to assist with his American Oyster Catcher Census Project. Although funding for the project has recently been cut, I will continue working on coastal conservation this summer working as a volunteer banding assistant for the main bander that will work on the island every few weeks throughout the summer.

The internship along with other internships and projects I have involved myself with throughout my time with the UVM Environmental Program have taught me change can be made every moment that we are alive on this earth. With every smile, every dollar saved or spent, every tree planted and Piping Plover saved. I will forever be indebted to the Environmental Program for the means it has given me to keep concern coupled with hope and passion for battling environmental and social justice issues alive. Rather than one more step up the ladder, the internship was one more step along the path that is determined by the people, places, experiences and love that come in and out of that path.

I have learned a great amount about bird species and ecology of coastal communities on Martha’s Vineyard. I became very close with the staff at the Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary, the Arboretum, the Land Bank and The Nature Conservancy from this internship. I also fell in love and gained a great respect for the local community of Martha’s Vineyard. The qualities and character of the island reminded me much of Burlington and Ladakh, the two other places I consider homes in my life. Because of the respect I have now for these communities, I will always try my best to contribute to the communities has they have given me more than I could have ever asked for.

Two weeks ago when I returned to my high school for to deliver VIS presentations, every single high school teacher assumed I was there to present about vegetarianism and animal rights. My way of thinking has been changed and that has in large part been due to the many professors, peers and friends that have showed me different avenues that can be taken to create change. I am unsure if I will ever be able to focus specifically on one avenue such as science, policy, economics or education. For now, my heart is in learning about different cultures and creating change in underserved communities using awareness of their beliefs, history and traditions as a way to allow development, infrastructure and environmental preservation to coexist. All of these avenues are interconnected and I see myself collaborating with people of various backgrounds and expertise to come together and bring about change in these areas. My hope for humankind has skyrocketed since I began my first year at UVM. I believe awareness and understanding of the culture of different communities is a way to ultimately create long term change.

Four years at University of Vermont studying environmental issues and international development solidified my commitment for global improvement. I will take everything I have learned and use these skills and values to work towards change through cross-cultural and sustainability education. I believe that experiential education and facilitating awareness can be used as means to tangibly address environmental, economic and social issues. The Environmental Program here at UVM has inspired me to do what it has done for me and that is to push people beyond their pre-conceived limitations in order to broaden their perspectives on themselves and the world around them.

Being a part of the ENVS Program and the experiences the Program has led me towards have been the greatest gifts that I have been given so far in my life. The Environmental Program shaped my values, beliefs and hope for change. I will forever be indebted to what my time throughout learning from my peers, professors and advisor has done to open my mind to ways of finding solutions I never knew existed.

Norman Meyers and Barak Obama - An Inspiration for Hope

2009-10-09T17:51:00.000-07:00

This morning I had the opportunity to sit down over a cup of tea with Norman Myers, a Professor from Oxford, renowned for his work on conservation, biodiversity and international environmental issues. He was such a lovely man and I became inspired with his enthusiasm for being alive at such a magnificent time in the world. After 50 odd years of battling the challenges our world faces, this gentleman was a breath of fresh year for me after studying environmental issues for only three years. In I witnessed the impacts that global warming is having on the livelihoods of Himalayan people. The melting glaciers have caused massive floods destroying homes and diminishing the water supply of the Indus of which the people depend on entirely for the irrigation of their farmland. Upon returning from India, a country of 1.2 billion people where the living conditions for the majority are unimaginable by our standards, I wrestled with where I stand as a college student in terms of ever making any kind of substantial difference. It is easy to become overwhelmed at the extreme marginalization other countries are presently facing.

Myers mentioned Nobel Peace Prize winner, German Chancellor Willy Brandt, having began a movement that ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall. And of the paradigm shift in the 1990’s when an overwhelming amount of people unexpectedly quit smoking. He then related the ability to make the impossible possible to his own life. During his 25 years of residing in Kenya working towards wildlife conservation he was told it was not possible for anyone to climb Mount Kilimanjaro in less than 20 hours. This pushed him to rise up and do it in less than 13 hours, setting the record for the fastest ascent at the time. A very modest and humble man, Norman Meyers gave me hope and inspiration that change is possible in our world if we look at each existing and future problem as an exciting opportunity.

His drive to meet challenges and resolve the issues which are thought of as impossible has made me a supporter of the Nobel Peace Prize award to President Obama. Although there is much criticism around the world in the Nobel Peace Committees’ justification, I think the former Norwegian Prime minister, Jagland, had a point when he asked the question, “who has done more in the past year than Barak Obama to enhance peace around the world?” I personally thought it was surprising to see people deem his award as inappropriate such as Michael Steele, chairman of the Republican National Committee, who was in avid support of the previous administration that basically perpetuated the financial crisis and who also coined the words “Drill Baby drill” when he promoted offshore drilling at the 2008 Republican National Convention. In his statement, he criticized the President for his lack of job creation and fiscal responsibility. Similar to Norman Meyer’s approach to environmental sustainability in terms of looking at the roots of climate change in terms of overpopulation and overconsumption, is Obama not looking at the root of our economic crisis by seeking economic stability through strengthening international diplomacy and cooperation between countries? Was he not attempting to reconcile fiscal responsibilities in his address to the UN on climate change two weeks ago by seeking to wisely manage our earth’s resources, preparing for the future and avoiding the debt that could arise if the suggested climate change consequences hold true?

As my time with Norman came to an end, he handed me his business card and told me to read the writing underneath the mini image of the earth next to his name. His words read “Our Earth is one, our world is not.” Words of his that I recently learned were used as the opening sentence for the UN’s Brundtland Report, the report that provided the most cited definition of sustainable development and alerted the rest of the world of the urgent need to make sustainable economic progress. We parted with a hug as he wished me a wonderful life. I waved with a new found sense of purpose on this earth and hope that the Nobel Peace Prize will motivate Obama to continue pursuing climate stability, mitigate world poverty and seek peaceful resolutions in countries with conflict.

Farewell

2009-09-14T22:08:00.000-07:00

A Final Reflection

For the past month, I have struggled to write a final reflection of my time and experience in India. Time and time again, I have sat down with the intention of conveying what I have learned and how the experience will shape the next steps of my studies, career and life. Ladakh opened my eyes to a landscape, a lifestyle and a land of people I could never before even fathom. Rather than provide a reflection of what I have learned I will write how this experience has changed my views on how I perceive my own culture now since being back in the United States.

Leaving SECMOL was one of the most heartbreaking departures I had ever experienced. The night before leaving I gave a speech and thanked Kunzes and a few of the staff members with prayer scarves. I remember feeling all choked up inside and at the same time trying my best to hold it together in front of all of the students. All semester I did my best to find a healthy balance between the students and the teachers as the intern. I connected well with the teachers and with the students, however there were times where I felt I was on their level in terms of being completely new to the experience. As a result of feeling in between both the staff and the students, I immersed myself into the Ladakhi life and formed the most amazing relationships with the Ladakhis. I learned about their way of thinking and living in harmony with the environment and each other. Their hearts were full of pure compassion and care for everyone around the themselves which is what made me fall in complete love with Ladakh and the VIS program because it allowed high school students to become their own.

Laura, a German volunteer, said in her speech when leaving SECMOL, “Ladakh is closer to heaven, not because of its peaks that rise in close proximity to the above clouds, but because of the people who reside in these hidden valleys.” She spoke these words one month after we arrived and as I listened, I felt chills wondering how I connected I would feel at the end of our semester. During my final speech I quoted Laura’s words. The last few days in Delhi with VIS was important for us all to have a transition before going straight back to Vermont. Amy, the other teacher, left for a NOLS course so James and I were left to make plans for the 5 days we were in Delhi. The 45 minutes plane ride over the receding snow capped landscape of the Himalayas took us into a different world. In retrospect, we were flying over mountains that have literally blocked the rest of the world from Ladakh. The air was scorching with humid sizzling heat and the Tibetan colony we stayed at in Delhi only reconfirmed our love and connectivity we had for SECMOL. James and I spent those last few days lifting their spirits as they too created wonderful relationships with the Ladakhi students. Majnu Ka Tilla was the Tibetan colony we stayed at in Delhi and the differences between these Tibetans and the Tibetans in Ladakh were grand. The Tibetans here wore tight jeans, smoked cigarettes and I caught monks on facebook in the internet café. My stomach churned at the idea of this way of life being introduced to the people of Ladakh.

I have been back in the US for a month, living in Martha’s Vineyard where I work for the Audubon Society. Not a day has passed where I do not think about their kindness and their warmth. It’s difficult to be around people who have no idea about where I have been because Ladakh can’t be described in a single sitting. I also find it difficult to look around and see how comfortable and convenient our lives are knowing that on the other side of the earth, half the world is living in shackles. The poverty in Delhi has made me realize how issue of sustainability will never be solved if the people can’t feed or shelter their own children. I was torn while in Delhi knowing that our earth will not ever be able to give the 1.2 billion people living in poverty the lifestyle we have in the US. Our earth would simply not be able to sustain such lifestyles. Ever since I stepped off the plane I have been thinking of ways I could go back and help preserve their beautiful way of life.

I have seen changes in myself in terms of how I perceive life around me including what I do every day, the impact I have on the rest of the world and the kind of lifestyle I want to lead. It is too easy to stay in this bubble our society has created for us and hide away from the multitude of problems we have created for the rest of the world to solve on their own. My job as a field assistant in Martha’s Vineyard focuses on mainly monitoring one endangered coastal bird species. I find it difficult to accept the fact all the money that has gone into this program and to me has resulted in two fledged chicks. The amount of waste from the fencing, the enclosures and the hundreds of miles worth of oil used to get to the beaches consumes my thoughts every day. I think of how that money could completely save the entire snow leopard population in the Himalaya, how the emissions from my truck has an effect on the receding glaciers in Ladakh and how the Ladakhis would find use in every single bit fencing and wiring that we just throw back into the landfill. This kind of thinking is what has made me unable to completely enjoy the kind of lifestyle we have and has also made me decide I must work towards a lifestyle that will allow me to help change the way Americans think. I try to talk about what I have seen as much as I can and pass on the kindness and compassion I experienced everyday in India.
My appreciation for sanitation, education, the internet and essentials we consider necessary has skyrocketed. And my love for my friends, family and passing strangers has changed in the most positive way. I have gained teaching, mentoring and advising skills that I hope to continue this coming year by acting both as an RA and TA.

I will do everything that I can to continue learning about international issues in that part of the world whether it is the political or religious conflicts and return to fulfill a promise I made not only to the Ladakhis but to myself.

2009-06-06T02:53:00.000-07:00

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. -Persian proverb

Choglamsar - Tibetan Refugee

2009-05-05T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today we went to Choglamsar, a Tibetan refugee just outside of Leh and visited the Tibetan Children’s Village (TCV) that takes care of orphaned and destitute Tibetan children in exile. Before coming to India I honestly didn’t know much about the situation with Tibet except for the hunger strikes I would occasionally hear about and the “Free Tibet” stickers I would see on the back of cars around Burlington. Last week was the 50th anniversary of China’s occupation in Tibet so there was much conversation about the situation. There are refugee camps all over India, the main one being right outside of Dharmsala where the Tibetan government is in exile. The refugee camp we visited, Choglamsar has 8,000-10,000 refugees and the TCV has about 2,000 Tibetan children living and attending school there. When we first entered the village a group young boys wearing blue school uniforms and “Free Tibet” wool hats huddled together and giggled as we walked by towards the Director’s office. In the office, photographs of the Dalai Lama covered his back wall. A woman entered with 15 cups of tea and following her was the Director. He warmly greeted us with “Tashi Delek,” meaning “Greetings” in Tibetan. He introduced himself and then the organization, TCV. The Dalai Lama established TCV in the hopes it would help preserve Tibetan identity for refugee orphans.

The Chinese have killed over one million Tibetans since their occupation in 1959 and over 100,000 followed the Dalai Lama into exile, becoming refugees. Among these refugees were thousands of children whose parents were either killed or not able to escape with them. I learned from the Director that each year there are around 1,500 refugee children that arrive in India after escaping from Tibet.

I asked the director why there weren’t any rallies or protests in Ladakh last week during the anniversary and his response was that “our method for freedom is not fighting.” I found his response very typical of the Buddhist people. The Chinese have done and are still doing everything to destroy the culture and traditions of the peaceful Tibetan people. In Tibet, for every Tibetan household there are two military officers that live with the family in order to oversee any Tibetan traditions that might occur. He said if anyone is caught worshipping the Dalai Lama in Tibet, they are killed on sight. The Chinese are even appointing the next Dalai Lama themselves, however Tibetans know that the Dalai Lama himself has already declared he will be born in a “free country.”

Just last year the Chinese killed 200 Tibetans. I then asked him if he thinks there is hope for the future of Tibet with so many Tibetans being killed each year. He looked at me and stated “The world is changing. You can kill people, but you cannot kill the heart.” His passionate words sent chills down my spine.

After receiving an introduction about Tibet we checked out classrooms filled with tiny Tibetan children learning the English alphabet. The small children all continued to trace their letters as we peaked our heads in. They were all dressed in white shirts, maroon jackets and ties and dark blue pants with the same “Free Tibet” wooly hats I had seen before. Next to the classroom was a library filled with books about the Dalai Lama’s teachings and a librarian who told us his story about returning to Tibet 30 years after escaping as a small child hidden in a big sack. When he returned he was caught and held captive for a few months and then released after staying true to the Dalai Lama’s words through extreme interrogation Every month his family, as do most families who are affiliated with a refugee, have to pay a monthly fee to the Chinese government until their family member returns. His dream to visit his village and just see his family one last time before he dies made me have hold in tears. He told us about the changes he saw in the capital of Tibet, Lhasa, once known as the last pristine Shangri-la when he went back and how much more developed it has become with drunken military men at night and prostitutes roaming its streets. It made me angry to think no country has stepped in to help this innocent and peaceful culture when the Chinese pretty much led a genocide among the most peaceful of people when forcing monks and nuns to fornicate in the stress and children to kill their parents. To think the reason of the US for completely blocking economic relations with Cuba is supposedly because of its communist regime seems so absurd when China is our country’s number one trading partner and the largest communist country in the world. Once again, it is just a reminder of how much the rich are unwilling to sacrifice when it comes to their own wealth and comfortable lifestyle. Even the librarian when praising our newly elected president said, “The world will never support Tibet because of its economic relations with China.”

Since being in Ladakh I have been drawn to the peacefulness and serenity of the Tibetan Buddhist people I have encountered. Their passion for helping other, creating peace and compassion among the world is so different from the materially rich developed world I am from. And it is inherent in their way of life, always having time to stop and talk to a passing friend. Worries about weight, depression, low self-esteem and stress do not exist among these people, perhaps it’s because they have other things to worry about.

A Passing Friend

2009-04-29T23:14:00.000-07:00

As I first approached the fields that lay in front of Rumbok, I could see a man photographing the mountains. He waved as I stood speaking to two of the women who were spinning wool, resting against field’s stonewall. Utterly exhausted, I had just walked seven hours from SECMOL. 4pm and the sun still gleamed high in the sky. I was ready to just sit myself down near a toasty oven and drink warm milk tea while finishing my book. Rumbok has become my haven for peace and serenity when I get a few days off. I had three free days ahead of me and I would use them wisely as this would be my last personal vacation here in Ladakh.

The man with the camera greeted me with a friendly smile, a handshake and “’hello!” He looked like he could be from some part of Asia but definitely not Ladakh as his 6 feet in height gave that away. He spoke with the most beautiful English accent- it could have been Hugh Grant speaking to me. Without delay he asked me if I would like to join him in crossing the Stoke pass (the pass I had been hoping to cross the past two times coming here). I couldn’t believe it was actually possible to pass as I had stopped at a tourist agency in Leh and learned it would not be possible until mid-May. The pass is supposed to be one of the most breathtaking views in all of Ladakh at 4,900 meters. I was thrilled at the invitation and changed my original plan that consisted of cooking, eating and resting in Rumbok. He seemed relieved and joyful to have a companion for the trek. He then asked if I wanted to join him in his homestay. His name was Richard and it was only his second day in Ladakh. I couldn’t believe how he was doing this on his second day- we didn’t even allow our students to hike up the small SECMOL mountain until we had spent three weeks acclimatizing. Our ama-le gave us delicious yak cheese, tagi bread and warm milk tea while we chatted as I mowed down on the snack. He seemed like a real nice guy traveling around Northern India for his one month holiday off from work. I was too tired to offer to help ama-le make dinner so I relaxed and chatted with this English guy until we were served a fine meal of chu-tagi. I could tell ama-le was getting tired waiting for us to go off to bed so we left to continue our conversation in our room.

The next morning we awoke early because neither of us had a legitimate map or really knew where we were going. I figured there had to be signs of some sort for us to follow. At 8am, after ama-le directed us at one of the multiple peaks ahead of us, we headed out for our journey and found no signs at all. The mountains looked so dangerous and exciting. After walking up the step fields, we hiked along a kind of muddy glacier that provided evidence of backpackers from their boot prints. We climbed and the village of Rumbok began to appear far off in the distance below and suddenly the jagged pinnacles seen earlier were directly along side of us. The only wildlife we witnessed was a few birds and a soaring eagle. It was cold. Richard was wearing sneakers, a backpack with no waist belt and two plastic water bottles following me unknowingly up the most dangerous and scary cliff I have climbed in my life. And again, this was only his second day here. We came to a very steep and vertical part where the only way to ascend was to take a risk climbing up incredibly unsteady stair-like rocks of slate. I kept on wondering if we were going the right way because there were so many different peaks that could be climbed. I even thought about turning back since he had to be on a plane early the next morning. I just ended up hoping for the best because all things seem to work our just dandy here in Ladakh. We knew if we made it to the nearest peak- Stok village HAD to be somewhere on the other side. All around different shades of deep reds and browns painted the mountains. Both of us feeling fine talked about books, the mountains and past adventures in life and suddenly I realized it was kind of a blessing in disguise that I had randomly met this pasting stranger, otherwise I wouldn’t be having a few good laughs dangerously climbing up these unforgivable cliffs surrounded by the most beautiful scenery imaginable. Two years ago, he traveled the world with an around the world plane ticket so I had fun with that, hearing about his ascent up Kilimanjaro, swimming with sharks off the coast of Cape town and getting stuck in a monsoon in Lowe. I found it quite difficult to picture this guy working in an office setting.

“Look here!” I cried happily “Tibetan prayer flags-we made it!” When we reached the top the view that met our eyes did so with grace and magnificence. My god, I couldn’t believe this wasn’t the top of the mountain – with many higher peaks along the ridge. There was so much open sky and snow covering the above peaks. The prayer flags welcomed us warmly. The clouds above were dispersed among the mountaintops and when they made room for the sun, they did so flawlessly allowing the sun’s rays to warm our frozen fingers. We quickly snapped some photos of each other and our surroundings. I had to have him zip up my jacket because my frozen fingers wouldn’t work together. I was very impressed with his spontaneity in doing this when he had to be on a plane flying over these mountains the next day. I felt like lying down at the top and just remembering it all but the roaring winds were about to do some serious damage to my bare exposed limbs. The peaks here all look so familiar and create this sense of immorality. On the way down we stopped occasionally to slug some water and then decided to eat ama-le’s bread and cheese she had packed for us. “Let’s sit down for a while and enjoy it,” Richard said. When I sat, I felt like falling asleep and dreaming. Our talk was natural and got more casual and funny as our hike went on. It suddenly became brighter and warmer and found we were walking in the middle of a waterless river bottom. We came across horses grazing far up on the mountainside. Finally after seven and a half hours we came to the village of Stoke, where I would stay for two nights. I walked him to the bus, drank some warm tea and said goodbye to this passing friend.

I had a good time with Richard. It’s funny how you can know someone for a years and never really have a good time or get to know them and then randomly meet someone, spend less than 24 hours together and be truly sad to see that person leave your life. I guess that’s what makes life so interesting. Who knows if they are forever gone – you can always hope that your paths will cross one day. But to actually develop a connection with another being in what can be considered a split second in the grand scheme of things is an amazing experience and I feel lucky to have had that.

I felt dirty, suntanned and wild looking – ready to hit the sack at whatever house would invite me in. I found a homestay for 150 Rps and took my ipod to listen to some music as I watched the sun fall behind the mountains we had just crossed. The sun had begun to sink now behind the mountains, lower and lower, letting its last few minutes of light kiss my face. I felt happy, content - like I’ve really been living here and for the first time, I felt myself growing. The stillness of the air weakened my back so I lay down and drifted off into a dream like nirvana state and listened to Ryan Adam’s cover of Wonderwall. A perfect song to end the most person day.

World's Highest Pass

2009-04-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

Nubra

The wind is blowing but it’s not too cold-I can feel my fingers. This is the most remote and inaccessible place I’ve ever been, but then again what defines remoteness? Is it the distance you are from communication, from people, from a hospital? Nubra is considered one of the more remote places of Ladakh. We had to drive 8 hours yesterday to arrive here, over the highest motorable road in the entire world at over 18,300 feet. Looking around it’s difficult to fathom the idea that Pakistan is just beyond the mountains in the distance. It’s a reality of how interconnected our world really is. Getting here was quite the journey. We had to get a permit to come here because of its close proximity to Pakistan. The road coming here was the sketchiest road I’ve ever driven on in my life! The driver swerved a few times, crashing into the side snow banks that kept us safe from the thousand foot vertical drop beneath us. Our jeep got stuck multiple times causing the driver to dig under the snow for dirt to throw underneath the tires and have us help push from behind to get a running start. All around the mountains were blanketed in the most beautiful snow I’ve ever seen. All I could think about for the 8 hours was shredding down the perfectly untouched powder on my board; a snowboarder/skier’s heaven with bigger bowls than in any video I’ve seen. There was a military camp stationed at the highest point of the pass and the only cars you see around here are giant dark green military trucks. The officers wouldn’t let us stop to get out to take photographs of the sign because of how late it was getting. The close the road off from Nubra every other day, allowing vehicles to enter road from Leh. This morning we saw a few of the neighbor’s camels, which were gigantic by the way! We then walked through the sand dunes, which looked like giant waves one after the other of smooth sand. I even flipped off one of them! The main “city” in Nubra offers one street of a few tailors, a music shop and Tibetan restaurants. I tried to picture the street 30 years ago when there were no cars, jeans, stereos or plastic trash lining the street. What a different life these people must have led. We visited two spectacular monasteries and were stopped a few times by the military to check our permits during the drive.

Less than 100 kilometers away lies Siachen Glacier, a glacier perched in the war-wracked border between here and Pakistan. One of my professors back at UVM has been working with the UN to turn the glacier and the surrounding area into a shared peace park hoping to build trust and connections between the countries and at the same time, preserve an extremely important ecosystem.

Tsering Dolma, a teacher at SECMOL, grew up here in Nubra and I was lucky enough to talk a little to her about the glacier before I came. Her father was offered a job considered to be quite a prominent job in Ladakh working for the government as a cook at the military camp on the glacier. She noted that he was only awarded this job because he saved three officers from drowning in the Siachen River and since then has been working for the military to pay for her and her other siblings to receive an education. Supposedly every single family in Nubra has at least one of their family members working as “porters” for the military camp on the glacier, transporting food and equipment from camp to camp by foot due to of the lack of roads and the fact that the military officers are not as physically adapted to the extreme conditions as native Ladakhis are being from Southern parts of India. I asked her if I could perhaps visit the glacier and with eyebrows raised she said, “Not a single woman has ever visited the glacier, it’s a man’s place.” That’s when I realized this really is an entirely different world to the one back home; a place where women don’t know how to swim because society doesn’t allow them to show their legs, their arms or their necks. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to live in Yemen, Afganistan or even the neighboring state of Kashmir where Muslim women can’t show their faces let alone leave their homes by themselves. I don’t think women in Ladakh are nearly as confined as they are in other parts of the world even other parts of India but compared to the US, their rights are much more limited. This is one of the reasons why I love SECMOL so much. There is an ENORMOUS difference in the Ladakhi girls that live at SECMOL and Ladakhi girls I meet during homestays or in town. The girls at SECMOL will make fun of the boys, lifting the backs of their shirts up if the boys tease them for showing skin while the average Ladakhi girl will look down at the ground while speaking to you. SECMOL stands for Student Educational Cultural Movement of Ladakh and I think it does an extremely good job at building confidence among its students. The rest of my stay in Nubra was an eye opener for how much we take for granted in our developed rich world in terms of food, transportation and even education where here children have to walk up to 3 hours just to go to school and find their teacher only shows up at 3 or 4 our of the five days of school. The ride back to SECMOL over the high pass was again an adventure. We had to wait an extra day to return as the road was closed due to a severe snow storm. This time we were permitted to stop and get out of the cars. I said a small “prayer” at the stupa situated right next to the military camp. Taking in a deep breath of the wind overlooking the snowy surroundings I realized this is most likely the closest I will ever be to the heaven above in my life.

A Guitar Lesson

2009-04-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

Her brown fingertips strum each string, giving no thought as to how many strings she plucks at once or where she places her upper fingers. She smiles and begins to hum aloud. With no melodious or consistent sound to her strumming she continues along happily. I brought the guitar to her today because everyday I see Thuk Je in the kitchen sitting near the phone anticipating the phone to ring so she can make someone’s day by calling out to them to tell them their parents are on the line. Sometimes I see her humming or singing to herself. Thuk Je is a famous traditional singer in Ladakh and yesterday I was able to catch a glimpse as to how well known she really is when I brought her to Leh. We were visiting a festival put on by the Ladakhi Buddhist Association. As I walked the streets with her holding and directing her when we came to steep stairs, numerous people would approach her with “Ah, Julley Thuk Je!” I felt like I was walking with a celebrity-everyone knew her. The festival was put on to honor the 100th anniversary of the gentleman who sparked a huge Buddhist movement among lower cast Hindu people. There were speakers of all religions, including Islam, Christianity and Hindi to honor this celebratory day. Although most of it was in Ladakhi, Thuk Je was able to successfully translate most of it for me. When dancers dressed in beautiful traditional Ladakhi outfits danced on stage, I explained to her how they looked. It was so hot out so we shared a scarf to cover our heads from the blazing sun. On the way back to the bus we stopped at a music vendor and Thuk Je bought me her CD called “My Parents.” I thought how wonderful it would be for her to learn how to play the guitar so she could sing along with it and have something to do during the day at SECMOL. I think past volunteers have tried teaching her but end up giving up which is why she is so eager to just randomly strum whatever hits her fingertips.

I place the guitar on her lap and take her fingers and glide them down the guitar. I sternly tell her if she wants to learn she has to listen to my every word and be patient. I stop at each fret and have her say aloud first, second, third ect. Her face is in complete concentration mode as she slowly becomes familiar with the strings and frets. I gently take her fingers and show her how the top fingers are in charge of pressing while the bottom fingers are in charge of plucking. Her face lights up when she figures it out. After 45 minutes of feeling the different parts of the guitar she was ready to learn the chromatic scale on the first string. I train myself to use the word “feel” instead of “see” and realize that in a way, she has the advantage over me. She can’t cheat and look at the strings rather she has to completely rely on the sound and position of the note. Delighted after moving down the entire chromatic scale she laughs joyously and repeats again and again.

After spending the morning with Thuk Je I decided to spend the afternoon finishing Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums, a book about Western Zen Buddhism. I found my favorite spot on this giant rock jutting out of the vertical cliff overlooking the Indus. I ended up failing to even open the book. I spent 3 hours just thinking. My thoughts were like a movie on TV. They would come and when they began to overload my mind I would make myself sit up with a straight back and meditate, clearing my mind and concentrating solely on the presence of my breath as a reference point. My neck becomes slightly bent and my tongue touches the tip of my upper palate. My right hand lay in the palm of my left, connecting both thumbs. You control your mind and it begins to naturally focus effortless. After a while I would open my eyes and once again begin thoughts of the past, present and future. The running Indus sparkles gold from the shining sun and moves around the bend smoothly. Above I see a tornado form on the ridge of the mountain opposite from me. My eyes tear up from the beauty of what I am witnessing. I feel as though I am experiencing something from the planet earth series as the sand tornado makes it’s way along the ridge and around the peak. It then vanishes into the clouds and I become inspired by them.

After a beautiful and relaxing afternoon I head back up to SECMOL to find Thuk Je sitting outside her room with the guitar in her arms.

Da Hanu

2009-04-11T02:16:00.000-07:00

My body is resting on a rock warmed by the afternoon’s sun. In all direction are expansive mountainous valleys of steep rocky terrain. The sigh of the crisp winds blow at my ears as I look in the direction of the valley across from me at its zigzag dusty path leading up to a rocky road ornamenting the mountain. Huge boulders rest between mounds of sand below the road in a very delicate sort of way. There is a stupa at the foot of the cliff across from me with a man sitting next to it, most likely someone from the military base that sits on the very top of the opposite mountain. It’s so peaceful here – giving me time to contemplate my life and take in my surroundings. To my right I can see an encircling snow-capped mountain that resides in Pakistan: only 3 km away (less than 2 miles). As I sit and stare off into the distance I reminisce about this morning’s work in the fields with Breton, one of the VISpas. When we first approached the women in the fields, they were unsure as to what we were looking for. Even the Ladakhi I have come to learn didn’t help too much. The people of this region, Da Hanu, are considered “Brokpas’ and are said to be of pure Aryan descent. They settled here 200-300 BC when Alexander the Great brought his entourage with him through the Himalayas from Greece and Persia (Iran). They speak their own language which I don’t believe there is yet a written translation for. They look quite different with more pronounced noses and a taller height. If you could mix Ladakhi, Indian, Arabic and Greek people I think you would find they look like these Brokpa people. Finally they handed me a rake and gestured for me to follow their motions.

The cool heat passes through my lungs as I breath in deeply pulling the wooden hand made rake towards my chest and then out as I push it away from me, creating a rich layer of soil on the earth beneath me. The grandmother of the household with her deep orange flowers resting on her head and turquoise beads flowing into her head full of jet black braids slowly moves behind me throwing barley seeds down. Her daughter is sitting nearby under a poplar tree-bringing her breast out to feed her beautiful baby. My feet become sweaty so I put them aside and step out into the cooling turned up soil giving my feet a sensational massage. Breton is using a pickaxe to break up the larger piece of cow dung and soil that the two dzos (cross of a cow and yak) and the grandfather had just turned up with a plough. The grandfather is singing loudly as he directs the black and white dzos in a semi circular pattern around the rest of the field. I can hear the trickle of running water flowing throughout the intricate irrigation channels that allow their fields to produce barley. The sound of the pickaxe slamming into the earth and its rocks is somewhat soothing to my ears. Finally, they invite us to sit down for some chiang – a barley wine. As I drink it, the mother quickly shakes her head and puts some tsampa (barley flour) into my cup creating the wine to fizz and quickly changing its taste to resemble that of beer. As soon as I take a sip, they fill it up again to the top which is when I realized THIS is how these people have the strength to do this all day every day. I can’t help but stare at the grandmother’s beautiful headdress and goatskin cape. We communicate with the very few of Ladakhi that we both know such as “Mah zimpo sura rak!” (This tastes very good!) I watch them open a small channel to allow the ground to saturate with water. Throughout a chang break I notice how the mother keeps an eye on the water’s progress until it has spread evenly through the field. She then gets up to block the channel with a spadeful of earth. The mother lies back and rests her head on a rock in the shade and motions for me to lie down with her. I watch the above clouds pass by and ready myself for another hour of work on the next field. Working with the family confirmed the fact that this Ladakhi way of life is self-sustaining and nonetheless provides them with time to bond with their family and passing friends.

It hard to grasp the fact that an entire village of people live in between these vertical bare mountains. I felt privileged to be welcomed in this Buddhist Aryan village; a place only discovered 9 years ago, a place so new to the outside world, a place that has been living self sustainably over 2,000 years. It makes me wonder what will this place look like in another ten? Already, the mud and stone homes dispersed on the side of the mountain are now unable to blend in with their surroundings as they once most likely did, with bright colored shirts on their washing lines and bright blue tarps covering their animal huts. Who is to say this place will not conform to the outside world and invite cheap plastic and machinery to replace their community? This is the way of our globalized world-it has happened everywhere. Perhaps though, I will return and these people will have learned from the rest of the world and bypass the mistakes we’ve made.

Running

2009-03-21T21:36:00.000-07:00

After a long day of bringing various students to LEDEG (Ladakh Ecological Development Energy Group), the Snow Leopard Conservancy and Ladakh’s Woman Alliance Group so they could conduct interviews on their topics, I decided to go on a run. I spent the morning reading a book my dad gave me for Christmas called “The way to Practice a Meaningful Life” on the stone steps in the sun outside the LEDEG building while I was waiting for one of the students. I had tried reading it before I left for India but all of the words about compassion, mindfulness, attachment, ect seemed like a load of philosophical bologni at the time. From learning about Buddhism on my own through teaching my unit on Buddhism and Ecology as well as living among Buddhist people and their culture every day, I’ve come to realize that these concepts are what really bind us together in the world. Anyways, I’ve been reading a lot about mindfulness and concentration in which Buddhists turn to meditation for. I’ve tried meditating on my own and it simply just doesn’t work for me. My thoughts become a chain reaction for one another and I end up thinking about either what my stomach is craving for or about what tomorrow’s day will hold. This is why I decided to go on a run. To see if running, a hobby I have never in my life enjoyed, would do the trick. I honestly cannot even remember the last time I went on a run. I remember running up Avenger Drive with my friend Laura during soccer practices in high school. We intentionally would run behind everyone so we could pretend to stop and tie our shoes when really we hid behind a tree until the whole team ran up and came back down!

It was 4:30 in the afternoon. I put on my trail running shoes, a wind breaker and set my ipod to my “chill” playlist. As I started out on the dusty road that was just finished last week, I noticed a beautiful bird that resembled that of an American blue jay. He was perched on the giantic crumbling stupa near SECMOL. His wings deep blue with a jet black head and white lined tail took flight as I began to run towards him. He followed me overhead for about a minute before he disappeared behind me. When running in the, past I’ve always just concentrated on how much time I had been running but today I found myself completely fixed on what was around me. Besides my aching tooth and the thumping on my chest from the giant turquoise stone hanging from my neck I was enjoying this.

As I ran, I could see the Indus deep beyond the cliff to my right and mounds of rolling sand dunes to my left. I noticed the receding snowline of the mountains to above – a clear indication of how long I’ve really been here in Ladakh. I came upon a monastery for young monks and could see them playing cricket in a field. A group of them looked up and gleefully jumped and waved as I ran by. I found myself running in between stone walls topped with seabuck thorn so as to keep the cattle in their fields on either side of me. Two donkeys stood ahead of me and I wondered whether or not they would move aside. As soon as I ran closer they slowly moved aside at their leisure letting me pass.

As I approached a home I could see an old woman pumping water next to the road in front of me. She was carrying a baby in a sheet tied around her shoulders. When she saw me she smiled, stopped pumping water, placed her right hand up to her forhead in a praying position, bowed slightly and greeted me with “Jullay.” I responded by doing the same for her. I’ve noticed people here always are so kind and welcoming. When I was reading outside on the steps of LEDEG this morning, a woman brought me warm tea and a pillow to sit on. And old people, such as this woman, don’t just grow old and end up sitting alone staring out of some elderly home’s window. They participate in an active loving life until the day they die. They are important and valued by the younger generations for their wisdom. And because there is no hurry in life here in Ladakh, their slower way of doing things isn’t a problem. During one homestay I witnessed a woman in her eighties climbing a steep ladder onto her roof-my heart jumped!

Passing by the lady and her grandchild, I then began to approach a giant yak, his body shining black with a bright white stripe running from his nose down to his tail. His dominating body stayed grounded and didn’t budge as I ran closer. It was as if my presence didn’t phase him in the slightest. His soft deep brown eyes followed me as I jogged around him.

I could see the Tibetan prayer flag covered Phey bridge in the distance – I couldn’t believe how long I had been running! Stonewall workers were sitting outside their white tents on the side of the road drinking tea when I arrived at the Phey bridge. I stretched while taking note of my deep breathing when my ipod stopped working and wondered how much more difficult I would find running back without Bob Marley’s lyrics pushing me forward. I could see little school children with their royal blue uniforms holding hands walking towards their home. I had no idea as to the extent of time I had been running but I know it was longer than I thought I was capable of. I think last week’s 10 hour hike might have had something to do with it! On my way back the wind began to blow against my direction. It reminded me of a time I went on a long afternoon bike ride with my friend, Pier, out into the middle of the causeway of Lake Champlain. When we arrived towards the end of the old causeway, we realized the way back was going to be ten times more difficult because of the aggressive winds.

Three woman with their hands resting on their head, dressed in bright colored Indian dresses moved towards me and I wondered if they were doing some kind of exercise. As I ran passed them I decided I would wait ten seconds before turning around to see their beautiful dresses once again. As I turned around I could see that they were carrying huge jugs of water tied to a rope that rested on their heads. In that moment I thought of something I had read in Bill Eddy’s book last night-that being in a different environment allows for you to see your own environment in a completely different respect. In this case, I’ve been able to see my own life in a totally different light. I was actually enjoying the present moment even though I was exerting my body to a point I usually wouldn’t feel comfortable with. The way these people go about their daily lives seems so normal to them because it’s all they know. But for us, we have been trained to see their way of living as impoverished, inconvenient and “backwards”. Rather I see them as living without dependence on material things, creating strong bonds between people and the nature of which they rely on. This in turn has created an inner happiness, which has allowed these people to live in peaceful happiness under circumstances that are harsh. This life is all they know and I think it’s given them greater peace of mind than people back home. My run ended when I could see SECMOL in the distance. I began walking and finally came to the white sputa. The beautiful bird was still there, perched in my direction. As I moved closer to the stupa he flew away, dancing in the sky and then vanishing into the mountains behind SECMOL.

Rumbok Trek

2009-03-15T03:42:00.000-07:00

Every month I get two days off so I decided rather than go to Leh and spend my time trying to get an internet connection and shopping for beautiful crafts, I would go on a three day trek to Rumbak, the snow leopard capital of the world and then to Stok. James has been there before and he recommended I start out early in the morning, as it took him 6 hours to get there. I asked Laura, the volunteer from Germany, to come along so we packed our bags and left early from SECMOL on a beautiful clear skied Thursday morning. The morning consisted of walking along the Indus to the bridge in Phey where we crossed and hiked in the desert back along the Indus. Two hours later we found ourselves directly across from SECMOL on the other side of the Indus. The view of SECMOL along the river was beautiful and then out of the corner of our eyes we caught sight of 8 bharal (blue sheep) only about a soccer field’s distance away. As soon as they saw us they ran away. I’ve noticed all the animals here blend in to the surroundings so well than even at a short distance their coloring appears to merge with the rocks. We sat down and ate a delicious lunch of apricot jam, fresh bread from this morning’s breakfast and cashews. We estimated we would make it to Rumbok by 3:30 so we started out again at a fast pace steering onto an offshoot of the Indus called Jingchan Gorge.

Leaving the Indus behind we headed into a valley between steep mountains whose peaks reached into the sky in both directions. The stream’s water slowly faded turning into a wide path covered in stones with willow trees lining the path. Weaving back and forth across stone bridges we made our way upstream in the direction of Rumbok chatting about differences between Germany, India and the US. Sometimes we had to scramble up the valley side rather than walk across the slippery glacial stream. Our bags became heavier and our feet began to ache. It was 3:30 and we had yet to come across the entry point of Hemis National Park. On and on we went, taking short breaks here and there to adjust our bags and shoes. Completely exhausted we finally came across tents of Ladakhis belonging to a snow leopard tourist agency. They invited us to sit for tea and we learned that they work for a company that brings foreigners to places where they might have a chance in seeing a leopard. There were four British foreigners here to try and catch a sighting. One was a journalist who has been living in Kabul, Afghanistan for the past two years and the others were his family. The Ladakhis were telling us about whom they have brought to this place, Doug Allen from Planet Earth, National Geographic and crews from BBC. They said the clip of the snow leopard in planet earth was actually filmed right around the bend in the riverbed from where we were. We wanted to stay and chat for longer but it was 5 pm and the air was beginning to numb my fingers. Completely beat, we finally came to a valley fork in the glacial stream. There was a small sign that read “Welcome to Rumbok” and a map just underneath that gave no specific direction as to which way to turn. My fingers were completely numb and I no longer could feel my ears. I took off my bag to unsnap my pack for a hat and my fingers literally wouldn’t work together to open my bag. At first Laura thought I was joking and after a minute she had to lean down and do it for me. Sun having almost completely set, our legs feeling like jelly, looking in both directions clueless of where to go we began to laugh so hard that we couldn’t catch our breaths. I don’t think I would want to be in that situation with anyone other than this girl.

Finally, I made the decision to keep straight ahead. If we didn’t come to a village within 20 minutes we would set up our sleeping bags in a nearby cave. Fortunately, out of the corner of her eyes, Laura spotted a white house far up on the hill! My heart rejoiced as we made our way over the rolling hill to a village of 8 houses-Rumbok. A kind lady let us into her home and brought us to a warm stove where we sat and warmed our hands. 10 hours of hiking and I felt like I could just collapse. Laura looked at me and said “I am so so so happy to be sitting here.” We laughed and fell asleep after a warm cup of milk tea. The next morning we awoke and learned that the pass to Stok was not possible to cross because of the snow. I think deep down inside, we were both relieved.

We spent the day roaming the fields and sitting with a few of the village people in the warm sun learning how to spin wool. After a traditional lunch of rice and chapattis we climbed up onto the roof and I wrote an entry in my journal that I will share in this blog.:

Upon the straw thatched roof, I sit against Laura’s back
with a drying sheepskin to my side and snowcapped mountains encircling the above sky. Tibetan prayers flags surrounding us blow from the westward winds.
The mountains, so dramatic, so tantalizing are bare to my right and blanketed with shimmering snow to my left. Little birds chirp amongst one another in the distance and the baby lambs below cry for their mothers. My hands blackened by the sun now write about the present:

The wind I breathe in brings peace throughout my body.
The drying hay and cow dung surrounding me seems more comfy than anything imaginable.
The roaming horse approaching the stupa above does so with independent solitude.
And the sun’s rays reflected off the snow, the sand and the eroding rocks below.
All around me mountains are watching,
Waiting for the sun to rest,
Just so their winds can echo to the reclusive leopard,
To let him know it’s now safe.
Back and forth through the valley’s skies all day, an eagle soars above.
All I want is to never forget the solace I feel learning against my friend’s warm back.
I will return one day and these blackened hands will take to pen and write once again.

The day couldn’t have been more perfect. We played with baby lamps and walked through the fields where donkeys roamed freely and yaks fooled around by butting their horns against each other. We walked up a hill to the village’s stupa and found rocks filled with crystals covering the ground. In the late afternoon we helped the villagers bring in the yaks from the fields and herd the sheep to underneath their houses where they are safe from wolves and snow leopards. Our night ended helping our ama-le (mother) and achi-le (sister) making paranthas and listening to ama-le repeat “o-ma-ne-pad-me-ohm” while turning her prayer wheel. After dinner they brought us into the kitchen to dance to Thukjey’s singing voice on their crackling radio! The next day we said our goodbyes to the villagers. On our way back we one again came across the snow leopard crew and learned that they had seen one yesterday where we had tea! Walking back along the glacial stream we found snow leopard tracks. Buddhists believe that karma determines your next life so we each placed our hands over their prints in the hopes of receiving good karma.

Matho Festival

2009-03-10T10:28:00.000-07:00

Today we started out to the Matho Festival early in the morning. It was especially cold today and snowed up until the early afternoon. The drive was beautiful, passing a bridge covered in Tibetan prayer flags and mountains whose shimmering snow I have noticed has began to melt. When we arrived at the monastery perched upon a hill, (I’ve noticed that most monasteries are set high above most village houses) we hiked up steep stairs outside where I had to stop every 10 stairs to catch my breath while these elderly ladies mumbling prayers steadily moved passed me. We arrived at 9 in the morning and the frigid air numbed my fingers and toes.
After I explored the holy rooms among the monastary I went to seek warmth. I found a kitchen and with praying hands I bowed to the monks sitting around the stove and gestured towards the empty carpet space, as if to ask if it was alright for me to be in there. With smiling faces, they bowed back and said “yes, yes Jullay.” With Laura, the German volunteer and Tova, the new volunteer from Denmark I sat down next to burning wood stove on a metal chest. The monks immediately shook their heads. I then realized that sitting higher than them is a big “no, no” in Buddhist culture. I remember watching the monks during their early morning chanting in the temple in Dehradun and watching the two head lamas sit on seats while all the monks sat on the floor. Sitting higher up is a sign of status. The room filled with smoky air burned my eyes but the warmth of the toasty fire began to thaw my frozen toes. They offered us namkin tea (tea with butter and salt). I kindly accepted but was not looking forward to drinking this kind of tea. We sat there and admired the beautiful copper pots and pans that made up the smoky room. Every so often one one of the men would lean over to retrieve tea cups out of the closet behind me with no regard for my personal space. I’ve noticed that in Ladakh- they don’t think twice about your own space or even your own personal time. I get such a kick out of it! We could hear the deep ceremonial horns outside so we decided to roam around for a little while. The sun's rays began peaking through the clouds giving me sense of warmth. The center was filling up with lots of people standing or sitting shoulder to shoulder with no space in between. There were more tourists at this festival and they all sat on one balcony where you had to pay 300 Rps ($6) for entry. I really didn’t like seeing some of the foreigners getting up so close in the faces of the monks who were playing the drums and the horns to take their photographs. It completely detracted from the atmosphere of such a holy festival. People were pushing in every direction. I stood on a balcony looking down at the crowds on the ground floor and could see mini mosh pits forming. Military men were threatening to hit people with their sticks and believe it or no – monks began using whips with leather tips to hit people in order to make way for the dragon masked dancers who danced around the center. I could see James from up above getting shoved by a military man and threatened with a stick. It was around 2pm as I waited for the oracle to arrive. This is a three day festival dedicated to the oracles. Each day these monks become closer to being an oracle by performing certain rituals. The two monks soon-to-be-oracles were standing in their maroon robes completely covering every part of their bodies. As their performance came closer, Ladakhis forcefully pushed themselves in front of me making me loose sight of any view I may have had. I pushed my way up onto the roof where I met up with a few SECMOL students crowding around the edge of the roof. I could see nothing so I decided to go and sit next to one of the stupas overlooking the center. At the time I didn’t understand why no one else was taking advantage of this fantastic view and then when a monk from below began gesturing me to get off did I realize this wasn’t allowed. There are so many little tiny gestures here that are not culturally acceptable here but would be perfectly fine back home. I remember right after letting myself down from the roof’s edge I blew my nose with a tissue I had brought and was given surprising glares. Ladakhis will sit their and pick their nose while talking to you but for you to blow your nose in public is considered extremely rude. Crazy I know! Finally one of the oracles made his appearance and came up onto the roof where we stood. Everyone rushed to catch sight of this monk dressed in a white costume, Little Ladakhi boys crawled through my legs to try to catch sight. The oracle took out a sword and sliced his tongue, making himself bleed. Taking photos of the oracle is forbidden and I was told by the SECMOL students that if you are caught taking a photograph, it’s not uncommon for a Ladakhi to take your camera and step on it. I’m not exactly sure why it’s considered so illicit but I’m sure it has to do with certain values of the Buddhist rituals. The oracle swiftly left to return to the center ground and everyone flocked to the edge of the balcony once again. I decided to make an exit before the ceremony ended and found a secret passage way that led to the back of the monastary grounds. When I finally met up with the rest of the group I learned that Lydia, one of the VISpas, was knocked over in the crowd hurting her arm. On the way home as then sun began to set, a full moon appeared and by the time we got back to SECMOL the moon was so bright it hurt my eyes to look directly at it. The moon rested in the sky lighting up all of the snow capped mountain surrounding SECMOL and the planet, Venus lay across facing the full moon. A beautiful end to an amazing day.

I found the following quote by the Dalai Lama hand painted on a scroll in the temple today:

True Meaning of Peace

The most important factor in maintaining peace within oneself,
In the face of any difficulty,
Is one’s mental attitude.
If it is distorted by such feelings
as anger attachment or jealously, then even
the most comfortable environment
will bring one no peace.
On the other hand, if one’s attitude is
Generally calm and gentle, then even a hostile environment will have little effect on one’s own inner peace.
Since the basic source of peace and happiness is one’s own mental attitude,
It is worthwhile adopting means
To develop it in a positive way.
-the 14th Dalai Lama

Ladakhi Life

2009-02-25T20:48:00.003-08:00

When I go to type an entry for this blog I usually end up erasing it because of the difficulty I have conveying how different it is here. Being here has enabled me to see my society through a completely different lens. Each day I’m realizing that Ladakh is an unmined gem, one that is coming closer to the surface every day with each new television, car and passing tourist. I feel so distant from the rest of the world. It’s like a hidden place tucked safely away from the world, concealed by walls of snow capped mountains. A place so rich with history and religion. A place where time stands still. I think what sets Ladakh apart from the rest of the world in terms of being exploited by tourism is that the country is apart of Jammu and Kashmir, a region that has been undergoing extremely high political instability for years which has scared many tourists from visiting the region. I think most tourists that come to Ladakh are the kind that respect the culture, land and the temples and aren’t the kind of tourists to passively have their camera become their face. I’m lying in my bed with frozen fingers waiting to teach the English conversational class. Every day at 6pm I facilitate the conversation course for the Ladakhis and VISpas. This week I decided it would be best to have a music theme so the VISpas could learn the Ladakhi song that is sang during dinner and for the Ladakhis to learn something besides the Beatles. So I have decided that Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry” would be best. The VISpas will teach the Ladakhis the meanings of the words and analyze the meaning of the song with them. No one I’ve met so far in Ladakh has heard of Bob Marley! Tonight’s dinner is going to be absolutely amazing. There has been a camp of 40 Ladakhi students from all over Ladakh staying at SECMOL for the past two weeks and tonight is their last night. A huge feast of delicious paneer (cheese), thin crispy chick pea flour wraps and warm sweet porridge is being prepared in the kitchen. The food here has been pretty bland so far. I’ve never eaten so many carbs in my entire life. Every meal either some form of bread and some form of rice or noodles is served. For breakfast we usually eat Dal (lentils) and steamed buns. It’s been getting a little hard for me so I’ve been compensating meals with Cadburys chocolate I buy in Leh during our day off on Sundays.

This past weekend the SECMOL students, campers and VISpas went to Buddhist festival at a monastery in Likir. The two hour drive was filled with remarkable views of mud houses built onto the sides of cliffs. I sat with a camper who helped me begin knitting socks. All of the girls wear vivid colorful socks they knit. When we arrived at the monastery perched upon a cliff we could see a giant Buddha that rose above the building of the monastery. Dolma, the girl who sat next to me, and three other Ladakhi girls held my hands and brought me along to explore the monastery. I’ve found that many people will share the same names in Ladakh such as Dolma, Tsetan, Stanzin, Dorjey, Tashi. The people are identified by the name of their house which is chosen when they are brought as babies to the Rinpoche of their village. A Rinpoche is considered the highest lama and is the reincarnation of a previous Rinpoche. All names have some sort of meaning that connects with Buddhism. For example Tsering Kunzes (my closest Ladakhi friend here) means long life for everyone. And Dolma is named after some deity. Upon entering the square of the monastery we all walked around a colorful prayer wheel, spinning it as we walked. People come from all over Ladakh to see these masked people dancing. They believe it purifies the bad deeds they have committed during heir lifetime. The only two other westerners I saw at the festival was the Swedish couple I met in Leh two weeks ago who are here for photography.

It’s so interesting seeing the difference in clothing between the older and younger generations. The younger generations wear jeans and knock off North Face jackets. The older generation dress in long homespun robes, turquoise and coral jewelry, a woolen hat with two long braids that are tied together at their ends. And the older generation always is holding prayer beads or spinning a prayer wheel in their hands. They believe this act brings them and their families good karma. Women’s hair here is usually long thick and of a beautiful shiny black color. For the older woman who can’t grow their hair as long younger women, they tie yak hair into their braids. Little children chased each other while their families chatted with each other listening to the heavy sound of the ceremonial drums and horns.

The girls laughed and giggled every time I took a photograph of them. They showed me the different rooms you could worship in. In each was a young boy monk there to watch over the offerings that were given by the people to the deities and to burn incense. Everything is done in a clockwise manner in the monastery. Stupas are to be walked around in a clockwise circle and I noticed that as we moved around the monastery we did so in a clockwise way. Even when we visited the Buddha statue, after we kneeled down three times and bowed towards this magnificent statue, we could not exit in the manner we entered-we HAD to walk to the left of the Buddha. It was freezing and I asked Tsetan if there was anywhere we could go to warm up. It so happened that Dolma’s uncle lived directly next to the monastery so she led us to his home. There was a huge black dzo standing next to the door with horns like you see on a bull. A dzo is a hybrid between a yak and a cow whose strength is used for ploughing the fields and heavy labor. Her uncle’s home had a gorgeous view overlooking the Buddha and monastery, set just beyond their field.

Spending time in Dolma’s uncle’s home I saw something about the way people live. Everyone sits on the floor surrounding the stove where a plate of biscuits were being warmed up along with cups of tea. As I spoke to her Uncle, Dolma translated for me. I learned that landholdings like his are kept intact regardless of what happens in their children’s marriage. Dolma’s house in her village holds 18 members because she has three older brothers. Although land is formally given to the eldest son, many Ladakhis will live in big families building additions to their homes. Homes and land are never divided When a man and woman marry, the woman gives up her family and moves into her husband’s home. I asked her uncle what would happen to this beautiful piece of land since he only has three daughters and he said one of them would inherit it. He smiled and passed around more tea and more biscuits. I had to take off my shoes because I could no longer feel my toes! As we sat in a circle and warmed ourselves by the fire I looked outside in utter amazement at the yak staring in through the window. It was almost 1pm and lunch was being eaten down by the bus. The girls ran in front of me and I was able to capture beautiful photograph of the view of the monastery from the house. The SECMOL students made paranthas (flat bread) and apricot jam for us to make sweet tasting sandwiches. After we were finished we headed back to SECMOL and on our way stopped to visit the Maitraya temple which from distance blends into the cliffs. As we walked towards this temple, it’s features became more apparent. Before walking around I read the sign nailed to a rock. It’s considered one of the top 100 world’s most endangered heritage sites. The temple was considered one of the most prominent sites in Ladakh in 1445. It was originally built in the shape of a mosque to worship Islam but later the King embraced Buddhism and it was then converted into a temple. I was very surprised at how we could just walk around wherever we pleased. There was no one watching over the site. And with each step I imagined the damage we must be doing. It was built out of some kind of mud material and is literally on the verge of collapsing from the amount of corrosion. There was one point where you could overlook an entire mini village where you could see the straw thatched roofs and small pens alongside each house for their cows and sheep. We made our way down and walked through tiny village. When we came to the road where our bus awaited for us, women with prayer wheels smiled as they walked by and said “Jullay!”

As I write music blasts downstairs. Every Tuesday night is dance night where Ladakhis dance. And when I say dance I mean singing full heartedly and dancing in laughter. It is so fun to watch and even more fun to join! The first night I witnessed I literally fell onto my knees laughing at how INTO it they can get! They shout back and forth and the boys dance just as much as the girls. There is no sense of self consciousness here when it comes to dancing and singing. I love it. And they dance mostly with their hands and upper body where as we dance mostly with our hips. There’s not flirtatious gestures or movements between the girls and boys here. They are very comfortable with each other and I still can’t tell if there is even such a thing as having a crush. They have continual physical contact with each other which I think is stems from learning this during their development at home. Boys seem so much more self-secure than back home in that they will hold hands with each other all the time. The people here don’t talk about being homosexual. The concept just doesn’t exist in conversation. It leads me to wonder how difficult people who are gay must find it living here if it’s never talked about. I think this could be the reason boys are so comfortable being happily touchy with each other; there is no need to prove their masculinity like there is in the US. It’s funny, whenever anyone talks to me they either hold my hand or hug me. It’s a very touchy feely culture and I like it because there is no sense of taking it to the next level – it’s simply genuine affection. During dance nights they play mostly Hindi and Ladakhi songs with one or two American songs including Barbie Girl are mixed in. It’s hilarious watching these 19 20 year old boys going nuts to Barbie Girl. It’s an innocent society not yet invaded by the concepts of self esteem issues and the pressure to accumulate things to show off. It’s really wonderful.

SECMOL Feb 24th-26th

2009-02-25T20:48:00.002-08:00

When I go to type an entry for this blog I usually end up erasing it because of the difficulty I have conveying how different it is here. Being here has enabled me to see my society through a completely different lens. Each day I’m realizing that Ladakh is an unmined gem, one that is coming closer to the surface every day with each new television, car and passing tourist. I feel so distant from the rest of the world. It’s like a hidden place tucked safely away from the world, concealed by walls of snow capped mountains. A place so rich with history and religion. A place where time stands still. I think what sets Ladakh apart from the rest of the world in terms of being exploited by tourism is that the country is apart of Jammu and Kashmir, a region that has been undergoing extremely high political instability for years which has scared many tourists from visiting the region. I think most tourists that come to Ladakh are the kind that respect the culture, land and the temples and aren’t the kind of tourists to passively have their camera become their face. I’m lying in my bed with frozen fingers waiting to teach the English conversational class. Every day at 6pm I facilitate the conversation course for the Ladakhis and VISpas. This week I decided it would be best to have a music theme so the VISpas could learn the Ladakhi song that is sang during dinner and for the Ladakhis to learn something besides the Beatles. So I have decided that Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry” would be best. The VISpas will teach the Ladakhis the meanings of the words and analyze the meaning of the song with them. No one I’ve met so far in Ladakh has heard of Bob Marley! Tonight’s dinner is going to be absolutely amazing. There has been a camp of 40 Ladakhi students from all over Ladakh staying at SECMOL for the past two weeks and tonight is their last night. A huge feast of delicious paneer (cheese), thin crispy chick pea flour wraps and warm sweet porridge is being prepared in the kitchen. The food here has been pretty bland so far. I’ve never eaten so many carbs in my entire life. Every meal either some form of bread and some form of rice or noodles is served. For breakfast we usually eat Dal (lentils) and steamed buns. It’s been getting a little hard for me so I’ve been compensating meals with Cadburys chocolate I buy in Leh during our day off on Sundays.

This past weekend the SECMOL students, campers and VISpas went to Buddhist festival at a monastery in Likir. The two hour drive was filled with remarkable views of mud houses built onto the sides of cliffs. I sat with a camper who helped me begin knitting socks. All of the girls wear vivid colorful socks they knit. When we arrived at the monastery perched upon a cliff we could see a giant Buddha that rose above the building of the monastery. Dolma, the girl who sat next to me, and three other Ladakhi girls held my hands and brought me along to explore the monastery. I’ve found that many people will share the same names in Ladakh such as Dolma, Tsetan, Stanzin, Dorjey, Tashi. The people are identified by the name of their house which is chosen when they are brought as babies to the Rinpoche of their village. A Rinpoche is considered the highest lama and is the reincarnation of a previous Rinpoche. All names have some sort of meaning that connects with Buddhism. For example Tsering Kunzes (my closest Ladakhi friend here) means long life for everyone. And Dolma is named after some deity. Upon entering the square of the monastery we all walked around a colorful prayer wheel, spinning it as we walked. People come from all over Ladakh to see these masked people dancing. They believe it purifies the bad deeds they have committed during heir lifetime. The only two other westerners I saw at the festival was the Swedish couple I met in Leh two weeks ago who are here for photography.

It’s so interesting seeing the difference in clothing between the older and younger generations. The younger generations wear jeans and knock off North Face jackets. The older generation dress in long homespun robes, turquoise and coral jewelry, a woolen hat with two long braids that are tied together at their ends. And the older generation always is holding prayer beads or spinning a prayer wheel in their hands. They believe this act brings them and their families good karma. Women’s hair here is usually long thick and of a beautiful shiny black color. For the older woman who can’t grow their hair as long younger women, they tie yak hair into their braids. Little children chased each other while their families chatted with each other listening to the heavy sound of the ceremonial drums and horns.

The girls laughed and giggled every time I took a photograph of them. They showed me the different rooms you could worship in. In each was a young boy monk there to watch over the offerings that were given by the people to the deities and to burn incense. Everything is done in a clockwise manner in the monastery. Stupas are to be walked around in a clockwise circle and I noticed that as we moved around the monastery we did so in a clockwise way. Even when we visited the Buddha statue, after we kneeled down three times and bowed towards this magnificent statue, we could not exit in the manner we entered-we HAD to walk to the left of the Buddha. It was freezing and I asked Tsetan if there was anywhere we could go to warm up. It so happened that Dolma’s uncle lived directly next to the monastery so she led us to his home. There was a huge black dzo standing next to the door with horns like you see on a bull. A dzo is a hybrid between a yak and a cow whose strength is used for ploughing the fields and heavy labor. Her uncle’s home had a gorgeous view overlooking the Buddha and monastery, set just beyond their field.

Spending time in Dolma’s uncle’s home I saw something about the way people live. Everyone sits on the floor surrounding the stove where a plate of biscuits were being warmed up along with cups of tea. As I spoke to her Uncle, Dolma translated for me. I learned that landholdings like his are kept intact regardless of what happens in their children’s marriage. Dolma’s house in her village holds 18 members because she has three older brothers. Although land is formally given to the eldest son, many Ladakhis will live in big families building additions to their homes. Homes and land are never divided When a man and woman marry, the woman gives up her family and moves into her husband’s home. I asked her uncle what would happen to this beautiful piece of land since he only has three daughters and he said one of them would inherit it. He smiled and passed around more tea and more biscuits. I had to take off my shoes because I could no longer feel my toes! As we sat in a circle and warmed ourselves by the fire I looked outside in utter amazement at the yak staring in through the window. It was almost 1pm and lunch was being eaten down by the bus. The girls ran in front of me and I was able to capture beautiful photograph of the view of the monastery from the house. The SECMOL students made paranthas (flat bread) and apricot jam for us to make sweet tasting sandwiches. After we were finished we headed back to SECMOL and on our way stopped to visit the Maitraya temple which from distance blends into the cliffs. As we walked towards this temple, it’s features became more apparent. Before walking around I read the sign nailed to a rock. It’s considered one of the top 100 world’s most endangered heritage sites. The temple was considered one of the most prominent sites in Ladakh in 1445. It was originally built in the shape of a mosque to worship Islam but later the King embraced Buddhism and it was then converted into a temple. I was very surprised at how we could just walk around wherever we pleased. There was no one watching over the site. And with each step I imagined the damage we must be doing. It was built out of some kind of mud material and is literally on the verge of collapsing from the amount of corrosion. There was one point where you could overlook an entire mini village where you could see the straw thatched roofs and small pens alongside each house for their cows and sheep. We made our way down and walked through tiny village. When we came to the road where our bus awaited for us, women with prayer wheels smiled as they walked by and said “Jullay!”

As I write music blasts downstairs. Every Tuesday night is dance night where Ladakhis dance. And when I say dance I mean singing full heartedly and dancing in laughter. It is so fun to watch and even more fun to join! The first night I witnessed I literally fell onto my knees laughing at how INTO it they can get! They shout back and forth and the boys dance just as much as the girls. There is no sense of self consciousness here when it comes to dancing and singing. I love it. And they dance mostly with their hands and upper body where as we dance mostly with our hips. There are no flirtatious gestures or movements that imply anything sexual between the girls and boys here. They are very comfortable with each other and I still can’t tell if there is even such a thing as having a crush. They have continual physical contact with each other which I think stems from learning this during their development growing up. Boys seem so much more self-secure than back home in that they will hold hands with each other all the time. The people here don’t talk about being homosexual. The concept just doesn’t exist in conversation. It leads me to wonder how difficult people who are gay must find it living here if it’s never talked about. I think this could be the reason boys are so comfortable being happily touchy with each other; there is no need to prove their masculinity like there is in the US. It’s funny, whenever anyone talks to me they either hold my hand or hug me. It’s a very touchy feely culture and I like it because there is no sense of taking it to the next level – it’s simply genuine affection. During dance nights they play mostly Hindi and Ladakhi songs with one or two American songs including Barbie Girl are mixed in. It’s hilarious watching these 19 20 year old boys going nuts to Barbie Girl. It’s an innocent society not yet invaded by the concepts of self esteem issues and the pressure to accumulate things to show off. It’s really wonderful.

Namaste

2009-02-14T21:51:00.000-08:00

I am finally at SECMOL and am able to sit down and write at my leisure for the first time since being here in India. I just wrote an entry to add to this blog and after 5 pages realized that there was too much for anyone to read! It’s hard when each day for the past 11 days every person, place and scent has been one I hope to never forget. I am crossing my fingers in hopes I will be able to add this blog tomorrow while in Leh (the capital) because supposedly all of Ladakh has not been able to get any connection for the past few days. The beauty is remarkable here. I hope that photographs I add will speak for themselves. We stayed at a monastery not opened to any tourists for a week in Dehradun (North of Delhi) and had class in Tibetan script (which is the same as Ladakhi script) and a class on Buddhism each day. Each day at the monastery was filled with conservations over tea in the village with monks and a local Hindi family who I bought bananas from each day. On my free time I visited the nearby village where Sunney, a young Hindi boy gave me my first introduction to the village. He showed me around a Tibetan colony where refugees lived together. No Indian government or policies are allowed in this colony; it’s strictly Tibetan. Beautiful old Tibetan women with long braided hair and smiling wrinkly faces walked around praying with prayer beads in their hands. The next day Sunney offered to show James and I a Hindu temple 15 minutes away. 15 minutes turned into 45 minutes and finally the temple came into vision at a distance situated across an entire valley. I laughed. Indians do not have a concept of time and distance like we do in the US. We weren’t able to continue because lunch was at 1. This is something I have noticed about being in India. I will be walking to Buddhism class and a monk will strike up a conservation, sit me down at a nearby food place and order tea without asking if I have to be somewhere. They take life slowly and are the most selfless people I have ever met.
Before we departed for Ladakh we stayed in Delhi for two days and visited the Taj Mahal. The 45 flight to Ladakh was unreal. The plane soared above the snowy peaks of the Himalaya mountain range. In the distance K2 was visible. When we landed at the tiny airport outside of Leh a sense of relief and peace came over me. All around us the earth is bare and in every direction snowy peaks reach toward a bright blue bird sky. We passed a few military bases. Because of the extremely high political tension between Pakistan, India and China – Ladakh has to be monitored very closely as it is situated directly between China and Kashmir. The land here is barren with dark brown sand and dust everywhere as we drove alongside the clear waters of the Indus glacial river to the school, SECMOL.
Smiling ladakhis greeted us with “Jullay!” and introduced themselves. The school is in the middle of a high altitude desert and is completely self-sustainable. It’s serene here and I’ve never been in the presence of so much laughter and singing all of the time. Ladakhis are very child-like. They don’t seem to know nastiness or cruelty. I was asked to milk one of the cows last night in order for the cooks to make curd (yogurt) for the following morning. When I told Zunzen that in the US, the horns of cows are removed from them when they are calves, her face became distressed and was distraught at the thought of such a thing. Four other Ladakhis, Morgan (a VISpa) and I brought the leftover food to the cows and as they ate, we milked them. After 10 minutes of massaging the utters with warm water trying to milk the cow, Baskeet, I finally got the hang of it. I looked at Morgan and we both just started laughing to bits. The people here are just so happy all of the time. It’s polar opposite of Delhi.
I think our first in Delhi and during our way to the bus station was definitely the biggest culture shock I have ever experienced in my entire life. I thought after watching films about poverty such as Slum Dog Millionaire and seeing poverty in Costa Rica I would be ready for what I saw. I wasn’t. It was so terrible and even now I cannot think about the things I’ve seen without tearing up. I remember leaving the station that morning. We witnessed four young boys around the age of 4-6 with two puppies just waking up in the dirt next to a broken fountain outside the station. It broke my heart. One of the students, Lydia, gave them a bag of tootsie rolls with a few rupees (India’s currency) hidden inside. The boys all shyly smiled with excitement as they investigated the bag. The bus station was busy with people sleeping outside and peeing on the sides of the road. I could tell this bus station was not a place that the average tourist would know about or feel comfortable taking alone. We were only here because of our one of a kind guide, Tashi. When we got on the bus a young woman crawled onto the bus and begged for money. She crawled up and down the bus aisle tugging people’s pants. A man with no arms then came onto the bus walking up and down begging in Hindi. I couldn’t take it for very long so I had to put my sunglasses on and turn away. As we began our journey during that first day we were all continuously shocked by everything. Within the first 5 minutes we were stuck in traffic and a group of little children approached my window and motioned for money or food. One child held a baby and one boy was walking with a monkey on a chain. I gave them 100 Rps (2 dollars) from my window and learned my lesson. They ran away and came back with at least 8 more little kids. They all motioned for food. The worst was when one of the little boys made eye contact with me. He motioned his small hand towards his beautiful dirty face and I just lost it. I had to turn my head away and just close my eyes. My stomach literally felt sickened with anger and frustration seeing how humans and animals were allowed to live like this. Your heart will tell you to give money to them. 100 Rps is like 20 dollars for a little Indian child and is barely anything to an American. In US cities like Burlington it is so easy to walk by a beggar because I have seen them walk straight into the liquor store with the money they receive. But here the children are hungry and have literally no where besides the slums on the sides of the roads to go. Giving money will never solve this poverty crisis because it just promotes children to continue living a life of begging. I learned from Tashi that many Indians come to Delhi in the hopes they will find a job and because there are just too many people and too little job opportunities, they end up sleeping on the sides of the streets and teach their children how to beg.
I really didn’t like Delhi. It’s funny how you can experience something and know in your heart that you would never want to spend more than 2 days in that place and then hours later arrive somewhere else and be able to see spending the rest of you life in that place. Last night when we were given an introduction to SECMOL by a woman named Becky I stayed in the room for a while after speaking with her and noticed a Ladakhi woman sitting in the corner near the phone. She was the same woman who went around and served us tea a little earlier. I approached her and learned that she was very good at English. Her name is Tuk Je. At first I couldn’t tell if her eyes were just especially squinted because everyone here is of Tibetan origin or if she simply couldn’t see. When she held my hand for the first time she began to stroke it and I immediately realized that she was blind. Her job here is to answer the phone and to teach the students traditional Ladakhi folk songs. I felt a sorrow and I don’t know why. Why do people feel bad for the disabled? She was one of the happiest people I’ve ever met and every time I would say something a tiny bit humorous she would just laugh and laugh. Her memory is impeccable. While Ladakhis have a difficult time learning how to pronounce our names let alone remember them, this woman was able to recognize all of the VISpas by their hands and recite our names. I learned later that there is no education for the blind in Ladakh. There is a school in Delhi but it’s far too expensive for her. I realized how fortunate the blind are in the US. There is no brail in Ladakhi! I don’t know how this kind of problem could actually ever be solved.
Ladakhi girls are very shy and generous. For example, a ladakhi would never open up a chocolate bar sitting with a group of people and not pass it around to the whole group. And the girls are very conservative about how they dress so we had to tell the VISpas to make sure their stomach or lower back never showed because it really embarrasses the Ladakhis. Norjay, the director, showed us around the campus today and we learned how this beautiful school is able to be self-sustained in terms of their food and energy. I couldn’t help but compare this place to Punta Mona in Costa Rica. In Costa Rica fruits and vegetables grew in abundance but this place is completely inhospitable for agriculture. From their traditions that have been passed down for centuries, they manage to live a very comfortable lifestyle. It’s a bit chilly and I do have to wear my mammut coat everywhere- even now in this room as I’m typing. My fingers are constantly numb! Right now the major internet connection company is down because an avalanche took out the line that runs from here to Pakistan so my internet time will be extremely limited for the next few months-I will most likely add photographs when I return back to the US.

The Beginning

2009-01-10T06:52:00.000-08:00

In 18 days I will be traveling to the other side of the world to a very remote place known as Ladakh situated on the border of Northern India and Tibet. It is said to be the second coldest inhabited place in the world with snow exceeding 20 feet! It also is one of the last places to have been introduced to the rest of the world so they have a very distinctive identity, preserving their original Buddhist religion. To give you a little introduction about Ladakh I will give you a breif overview about what I have read so far. Its one of the last cultures to have come into contact with our Western culture mainly because of political reasons concerning China. In the 60’s, a road was build from Leh, it’s capitol to Srinagar. This road, the "skyway", is the highest road on earth. Before this was built, I'm pretty sure most Ladahkis had never seen cars and traveled by yaks and camels. Pretty amazing!

I want to begin my blog with how I ended up deciding two weeks ago that I would soon be traveling to this isolated region in the Himalayas because I think it began with quite an ironic series of events. It began with conversation I had with William Eddy, an emeritus professor of UVM. I have spent the past two years trying to find a concentration and in my vast search I have began to focus on the impact we have as Americans on international developing countries. I have been able to gain a greater understanding through my course work at UVM of the connection between the infrastructure of developing countries which is determined by their culture and the impact these countries have on the environment. William Eddy is a man with worldly experience who has been able to introduce thousands of people to the way other cultures perceive nature by working internationally in Africa, India and here at UVM. This experience of his is what led me to contact him and set up a meeting. I sent Bill an email and soon after contacted him by phone. After months of not visiting Burlington he was planning to make his way to the airport a few weeks down the road. Although I knew he had been a professor for years at UVM from the Environmental Program's website, I had not heard about him prior to this. At first I was a little intimidated knowing his background and life time of international experience. Sitting at a table in the front of Muddy Waters, I eagerly watched as every person came through the door. I immediately recognized him from his photo as he walked in. After a quick introduction about my background he candidly asked me why I requested to meet me. In my mind, I thought there must be someone out there who can help me narrow my dreams down and point me on a path so I searched to tell him this in a more “mature” way by presenting the many study abroad programs I was considering. His response was that he couldn't even tell me the number of students who had come to him for this in the past. In my mind, I knew he was expecting someone working towards a PhD or someone who had read all of his works. I just sat there like a little lost soul trying to put on some kind of act. He spent the next 45 minutes talking to me about his experience in Africa and gave me his own thoughts about programs such as the Peace Corps and SIT with which he has worked closely with in the past. Our conversation led to VIS and the incredible work this non-profit organization does for VT high school students in Ladakh, India. He seemed to be very keen about the program and the director who was running the program. This man verbally described people and places with such detail I can't even tell you. And he described people he has encountered with the upmost respect. His next stop after meeting with me was with an older gentleman, Charles Houston, who was the first American to have ever climbed K2 and our world's expert on high altitude sickness. As I am writing this blog months after the conversation with William Eddy happened, I am planning on meeting this 94 year old next week to hear about his amazing experience as well. For me, listening to the accomplishments of others inspires me to live with the qualities it took for these amazing people to accomplish what they did. William Eddy is surely a man of passion for opening up the minds of others to different perceptions and Charles, I imagine will be a man of courage and strength. When I think of other amazing people I have recently met I have learned that taking risks and living your life without regret are qualities we all need to embody in order to turn our dreams into reality. I contacted Curtis directly after our meeting to learn more about her program, VIS, because I wanted to how I could in any way be apart of such a highly respected program in the future.

Before I was to meet up with Curtis in Montpelier, I had a meeting with my advisor at UVM, Thomas Hudspeth. I felt as though I needed to explain what I might be getting into with a professor who may be familiar with William Eddy or the program. There was no one that could have been better to meet with than Thom. Straight away he gave me an insightful look into who Bill was and the travels he had done himself with Bill Eddy in India. He rambled through the file cabinets filled with thousands of senior thesis' and handed me a senior thesis to take a look at that was done by a student named Ashley Morton 4 years earlier. Thom spoke highly of this student and gave it to me to read because this student had done her thesis based on cross cultural education with Vermont and Tibetan students which is similar to what VIS does. With a boost of confidence given to me by Thom and a smile on my face I walked out of his office and headed to Montpelier. It was my first time in the capitol of Vermont and was greeted by the state house, a huge building capped with a golden oval shaped statue. I had only seen buildings like that in pictures of foreign countries. We were meeting at capitol grounds, a small coffee shop, very similar to uncommon grounds in Burlington. I ordered my green tea and waited for Curtis. I was getting a little nervous because again, I was meeting with someone who was most likely expecting much more than I had to offer. Reading over all of the information I had printed out I noticed across from me was a younger woman reading a book. I always try to look at what others are reading - it tells you a lot about a person. Anyways, finally a woman walked in and sat next to the woman across from me. I realized it was Curtis and walked over to introduce myself. It turned out this younger woman was Ashley Morton whose thesis I randomly just read only two hours earlier. Things were getting more ironic by the minute! The conversation amongst us was great and I fell in love with everything Curtis said about the students and Ladakh. I walked out of the coffee shop wanted to help her continue the program in anyway I could.

After a long thoughtful conversation with my other advisor, Ibit, I realized I had to take the offer Curtis had given me the night earlier at a presentation she gave in Shelbourne. While I was meeting with Ibit, Curtis had sent an internship description to Ibit so she could send it out among the entire UVM environmental listserve. I am sure Curtis would be sent more e-mails than she could open from alumni and students so I asked Ibit to please hold off on sending the position so I could make my final decision that night.

As of a few days ago I took a leave of absence from UVM and on January 28th I will be heading to India as an intern with VIS (Vermont Intercultural Semester). Now that I have been speaking to professors about my plans, I have learned that Bill Eddy was known as being one of the most respected professors at UVM-"the cream of the crop" as one professor put it. I am reading his book, "Mind and Nature" which I highly recommend to everyone.