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Published: April 28th 2009
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Mintu!
Speaker of 6 languages and artist of the asphalt The main idea haiku
Up in the mountains
The air's cool as am I but
Hurting after hike
For those with a little more time:
I hope this finds you well. Today marks two full weeks on the other side of the world. My guidebook has been temporarily shelved and my belongings have slowly strewn themselves across the floor of my temporary residence, the Chan Bari Guest House, in the small city of Gangtok, in the state of Sikkim, a forgotten part of the world wedged between India and China.
Sikkim, an independent nation until 1975, still requires its own visa to enter, and has retained some of its autonomy, both politically and spiritually, from the time before pressure from the west and north required the land to seek protection from India. So isolated is it from the western culture we are familiar with, Swastika symbols remain common, used here in the sanskrit form it originated from.
Here, in the foothills of the Himalayas, the air is crisp and the temperatures comfortable. Colorful Buddhist prayer flags wave in the wind, replacing Hindu statues of the south. Four-wheel drive jeep taxis roam the streets in far less number
The view from the road
On the way to Gangtok from Siliguri, each bend in the road provided another breathtaking view. The sky is so big here, it's hard to fathom the size of the mountains and the drops of the valleys we're surrounded by. than their rickshaw counterparts in the plains. And the plains themselves, they don’t exist here either. In Gangtok, built into a cliff, there lies not one natural square inch of flat space. To get anywhere requires a strong lung capacity and stronger quadriceps. To put it bluntly, Gangtok makes San Francisco look like Kansas. A cartoon image of this region would surely illustrate people, houses and cars dangling off the edge of land, barely holding on.
Some highlights so far:
-The 16 hour train ride gave me plenty of time to get to know the fellow passengers in my sleeper car compartment. Unable to communicate beyond fractioned clips- my Hindi is limited to hello, goodbye, thank you, water, and rice- I sat with the two men for some time, snacking together on a bag of rice. They were traveling, I learned through a game of charades, for a railroad conductor training. Later in the night, I shared an extra sheet with one, who used his suitcase as a pillow. I woke up the next morning with both men sitting on the edge of my bottom bunk bed- they had both taken top bunks, and were sharing breakfast not
Buddhist prayer flags
These colorful flags hold prayers on them, presented to the wind as the breeze blows by. They are strung everywhere in Sikkim, over roads, buildings, even fields, all dancing in the wind and spreading their own messages into the air eighteen inches from my pillow. Quickly, I learned, everything is a little closer in India, personal space is reduced to little or none, and it's only through accepting this state, and even welcoming it, can one begin to appreciate the people here.
-Getting to Gangtok was no small feat. A 16 hour train took me from Varanasi to Siliguri. There I was picked up by Mintu, who drove me north into the protected state of Sikkim. The four hours that followed were a combination of Disney’s Tea Cups, and Six Flags Superman roller coaster. Mintu, adept at escaping death narrowly with a smile on his face, drove the jeep along thousand foot cliffs and around hurdling oncoming traffic as fastidiously as the Red Sox dispatched the Yankees, and as gingerly as Sarah Palin handles an interview. Unspoken rules guide the drivers as they snake up and down the mountains; swerving around slower traffic on one side, and oncoming traffic on the other, not to mention pedestrians, street dogs, and a mountain on one side and thousand foot drop on the other, requires the precision of a gifted artist. Cue Mintu, speaker of six languages and artist of the asphalt.
Not something you see everyday
The swastika is still a popular symbol in cultures here -This past weekend I left Gangtok with a friend that works at the school where I’m volunteering. Karma, a 22 year old studying IT at night school, took me with him to his village a few mountains away. Along the way, I found plenty of opportunities to feel completely out of place.
We stopped at the famous Rumtek Monastary, center of the Karmakagyu branch of Tibetan Buddhism, one of four main branches of the religion. During my brief visit, I managed to step in the wrong temple, interrupt a group of chanting Tibetan monks, and catch the scowl of some of the world’s most peaceful men.
-From there it was an eight mile walk to Karma's village of Sahng, composed entirely of his relatives, where we spent the night. Upon a visit to an aunt’s house, I was presented with a cup of tea (as happens everywhere here) and a snack, cha dzu, consisting of crushed maize that had the look and taste of aged cardboard. Unfortunately, the specialty was prepared by the aunt herself, and I’ve quickly learned that here, a guest must eat or drink what’s presented in order to be polite. Karma, providing no support
Prayer wheels
Karma spinning his wheels at the holy Rumtek Monastary in response to my pleading eyes, only piled more onto my plate and even in my tea cup, to soften the food and aid the mastication process. It did little, and it was a long fifteen minutes of an entire family watching me chew the delicacy with glowing eyes and an appreciative smile. Later that night, I was offered a glass of millet wine, locally called chang. Again, home made, this time prepared by Karma’s mother, a kind woman with a weathered face and infectious smile. I accepted the offer, assuming Karma and the family would share in the consumption. Only after I was served a small barrel of fermented millet with a bamboo straw did I learn no one in the household drank alcohol, I guess it’s only the crazy foreigners who accept these offers!
-The following day, Karma, Jigme- our 16 year old machete-wielding guide- and I, summitted a local mountain, off the beaten tourist track. Aside from scaling the steep, 9000’ peak, highlights included eating blooming rhododendrons for energy, swinging on vines, Tarzan-style, respiring embarrassingly at a laborious rate in the thin air, and finding an injured bird Karma and Jigme attempted to nurse back to
Karma's mom
MachiLa, I called her, behind her their clay oven, above her a bamboo ceiling health with Motrin from my first aid kit, crushed with Jigme’s 14 inch blade, made into a paste with a local herb and applied directly to the bird’s wounds. We descended down the backside of the mountain, and trekked through hillside villages, inaccessible by road, the only way in or out a mile-long staircase cut into the mountain. By the time I arrived home Sunday night, I was so sore and dirt caked, I walked straight into the shower fully clothed to begin the cleansing process and investigate the multiple locations where leeches left their mark. As I write this, I am still laughingly sore, the past two nights I’ve had to pick up my own left leg with my own hands to roll over, the ol’ hip flexor just aint ready to function quite yet.
Aside from aching muscles, though, things are great as I begin my second of four weeks at the school. The mountainous views in every direction inspire and awe, and the Taktse International School is flooded with enthusiastic students and a dedicated staff. At the risk of outlasting your attention span, if I haven’t already, I’ll save that description for another day.
Hope
Chang!
Trying homemade millet wine- fermented millet packed in a small barrel, filled with steaming water, and sipped through a bamboo straw all is well on the other side of the world, keep those Red Sox on track!
Kris
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Grandma
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Breathless!
Kris, Your description is so vivid, my breath was held while reading. Amazing photos as well. Unfathomable for a person never there, to understand and appreciate the immediacy of both your long mountain views and day to day connection(s) with people. Excellent writing, by the way. Good speed, enjoy, gulp!