Initial Foray into Golok

Just days after landing in China, I venture into Golok on my own for the first time. I am intimidated and exhilarated. Intimidated because of the linguistic barriers, with little Chinese beyond "nihao" and a still-strange dialect of Tibetan to contend with. Exhilarated because nonetheless I manage to navigate buses, restaurants, hotels, minivans and more. Now the big challenge: three days at a monastery just outside of Serta, where the community at the heart of my current research reside.

Auspicious Arrival

When I arrive in Nyenlung, NR sits in a tent above the monastery, holding court. He waves to greet me, and I am whisked right away to see him. I give NR a set of CDs from the Tibetan Buddhist Resources Center in New York, made from the texts I received from him last year. It takes a moment for him to realize how many volumes can be contained on a single CD, and others gather to watch me scroll through pages of Tibetan text on my laptop. After presenting these, I ask to stay at the monastery and am welcomed for a 2-3 day visit now and a month in the spring. So far so good.

After the initial warmth and exchange of greetings, then the enormity of the task before me dawns. The Golok dialect is one of the most challenging in Tibet. Last summer, I had the help of a colleague with excellent command of the Lhasa dialect, a local who aided us enormously with rendering our projects and questions intelligible, and a driver who could translate my patchy Lhasa Tibetan into something audible to the Golok ear.

Now, I am on my own. I came equipped with questions written out as I had in the past. NR goes through them one at a time, kindly pausing to make sure I understand each of the answers. For the more intricate questions, I use a digital recorder. However, once the interview lapses into chit chat, I can see them loose confidence in my Tibetan. I am thrown temporarily into despair: how long will it take to master this dialect?

Trek to Dorje Phagmo Cave

Late that afternoon, some Chinese students of NR invite me on a trek. In a group of ten in all, mostly monastics, we set off to a nearby sacred cave dedicated to Dorje Phagmo (Vajrayogini). We ford the stream beneath the monastery, holding hands to keep stable, and climb the steep hill on the other side. Despite my second day at 12,000 feet, no huffing and puffing.

By the time we arrive, it is already dusk. The Chinese have brought a sack full of prayer flags to hang around the outside of the cave. Plus bags of cookies and crackers, bottles of booze and soda, and a row of candles to offer inside the cave. I am unprepared and empty-handed, without even a khata (white ceremonial scarf). I sit, reciting the mantra of Dorje Phagmo, while the Chinese busy themselves.

Finally, it's getting dark with lightening looming on the horizon. I urge them to finish. One woman who spoke a smattering of English (the only one in Serta I think) and I begin to descend. My predilection for walking the land at SMC without a flashlight pays off. I can discern the path despite the darkness. We make it down in a sprinkling of rain and then wait for the others, who moved slowly down the hillside with a few flashlights between them. Needless to say, I got a good night's sleep.

Jocular Breakthrough

It's the morning of my second day at Nyenlung. The family watches me type in follow-up questions to NR, knowing that I can read and write Tibetan. NR's son, the handsome LS, decides to pose a joke. He says it three times, but I can't catch it. One of the monks who speaks Lhasa dialect repeats it. Still I can't figure it out. Should I drop it? No, I realize that this is the make-it or break-it moment. If I don't persist, they will give up on my Tibetan. LS must feel the same way, because he decides to write the joke out. And TM writes it out in a different way. They use a lot of colloquialisms.

But then it dawns on me: the joke. They want me to choose who amongst the five or so (mostly monks) sitting around the kitchen stove is the most handsome in my opinion. I managed to spit out, "If I choose one, the others won't feel bad?" (mi gcig 'dem na, mi gzhan dag sems skyo yod ma red). They assure me that they will not. "Promise" (khas len pa red)? All hands went up. So I pronounced that for the American girl—Ari bumo—LS was the most handsome. Much teasing follows, and suddenly I am visible and viable.

Back in the Namthar

Another breakthrough comes that afternoon during my second interview with NR. Interviews are a public matter here with an entourage always on hand. Coming into his presence, as my colleague SJ and I kidded last summer, feels like entering into his namthar, or sacred biography, which I have been reading and plan to translate. Suddenly, one is no longer reading about events past, but become part of the story with its flow of auspicious signs, visitors from near and far, exchange of gifts, and ritual activity of all kinds.

When I present my follow-up questions, NR seems to realize for the first time that my letters to him were actually written by me. Or maybe my questions reveal that I understood at least some of what he had explained the day before. Needless to day, he reads the letter aloud to all with an exclamation of amazement. He gives robust answers to my questions about tshok (feast) and damtsik (commitment), which are important to my research on the meaning ascribed to tantric ritual within Tibet today.

From here on out, NR and others start to speak to me more slowly, and miraculously I can understand the gist of their words. He asks me about my trek to the Dorje Phagmo cave, gives me a Dorje Phurba (Vajrakilaya) lung or reading authorization, and instructs Gelek to show me the kudung of TL which I failed to see last summer. A kudung is a reliquary that looks like a miniature-sized stupa and fits on a shrine. I remain in the room with TL's kudung for some time. It stands as a monument to her community's continued devotion, glittering gold and ornamented with turquoise, coral and other semiprecious stones.

Circumambulating Stupas

Korwa was never so popular. In the afternoon of my second day at Nyenlung, I join a couple of mo-las (old grandmothers) circumambulating the three stupas at the base of Nyenlung. Korwa literally means "circle" and can refer to samsara, the endless cycle of suffering that Buddhists seek liberation from. And it can refer to the merit-making act of circumambulating a sacred place. As soon as I arrive, a small crowd of local boys and young monks gather, some joining us and others looking on. They had a battery of questions for me.

By now, I am familiar with the standard opening lines of conversation. Each valley seems to have its favorite. Three ways of saying "how are you?" circulate in the Serta area: Demo-a-yin? Ka-a-thi? Er-e-ke? Each are different from the more formal version in the Lhasa dialect: Kuzu-debo-yin-be? I manage a few rounds of Q & A—home country, length of stay, age, etc.—before resorting to me shi, indicating that I could no longer understand the line of inquiry.

Full Moon over Nyenlung

The evening passes by teaching the ABCs to LS, TM, and RC. They have trouble with the letters "L" and "V" and repeat them over and over again between peels of laughter at each other's attempts. Just after climbing into bed, a knock. I am invited to the evening tshok, or feast gathering, with NR's retinue of a dozen or so. Surrounded by the lilting melodies of the liturgy, the male and female voices tumbling over each other, I sit trying to catch the words as they speed by. A magical moment of participating in their ritual community.

Farewell Already

Day three comes quickly, and I visit NR for a final time, just as the noontime monlam, or aspiration prayer, ends. I ask for his blessings for the coming year of research, which NR kindly gives along with a VCD and copy of a volume on damtsik (which I had requested after spotting it in the storeroom where I slept). The VCD contains superb footage of NR on pilgrimage through the sacred places of Golok, conducting rituals along the way, much as his travels with TL are described in the namthar.

Back to Chengdu

A grueling 16-hour bus ride twisting through the narrow pine-lined gorges of Gyarong. I arrived close to midnight due to the usual stuck-in-the mud, ford-a-river type of delays plus waiting for a tractor to clear the latest rockslide. A shower and clean bed awaits!

Serta Travelers:

You can reach Serta by minivan (30 RMB) from Lohou, between Dartsedo (Ch: Kangding) and Kandze. Or take the bus straight from Chengdu via Barkham (Ch: Markam) for approx. 140 RMB. The best place in Serta for budget travelers is the Gesar Binguan at 50 RMB per room (three beds), just two blocks from the bus station. Anything cheaper is filthy and riddled with bed bugs.

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