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School in Nepal

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

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

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...

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...

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.

VIS Exhibition Projects Fall 2010

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

Choglamsar - Tibetan Refugee

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

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

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

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

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

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.