The Mibby Post

Date: April 7th 2005

Hello from India:

Hey Sweeties!

I'm sitting in the Tibetan enclave (sort of a crowded block of buildings with a Bizarre - market - running down the middle of a tight, crowded, insect-infested alley) on the outskirts of Delhi. We have tickets to ride the "Potalla Express" to Dharamsala this evening at 6:30. It's an all night, 12 hour bus ride. We just flew in this morning from Leh, and then took a carnival ride taxi through the nearly unblievable streets of Delhi for an hour in the hot, stinking swarm of motorcycles, motor-rickshaws, busses, trucks and cows.

Jamie, as you may know, talked to Nanny the other evening here - morning there - and we know that Uncle Billy will be happy to have us, and will even pick us up at the airport. This is good news. We will call him when we get to McCloud Ganje (about 2 km from Dharamsala, and reportedly where the Dalai Lama lives, and the place to be, instead of the more gritty and less attractive actual town of Dharamsala).

Ladakh was beyond description. Meg, you would love it so much. The Ladakhis are warm and friendly, and the landscape is like a fallen piece of the moon with the mountains of your dreams lining every horizen. We spent a total of nine days trekking and staying in "home-stays" with traditional Ladakhi families high in the mountains. I need to recite the list of places we visited just to remember the amazing vistas:

Rumbak: miles from a road that winds it's way along cliffs, through canyons, 1000 feet above the turquous-green Indus river. The road was bone-jarring. We crossed in a jeep with 7 people and their luggage a suspention bridge you would think twice about walking on - it rolled and swayed as we crossed, with inches to spare on either side from the rear-view mirrors to the bridge rails. an hour later The driver let us off and we hiked down a steep bank to a little enchanted forest and hired two donkeys from the man who came down from the house above. Jamie and I were not acclaimated to the altitude yet, so we gave the donkeys (half the size of Jenny) our packs and we all climbed up the valley, each turn more breath-taking, until the vally widened out to partially snow-covered fields with stone walls everywhere. They fed us for two days, mostly on Chappatis and Mango Jam (we were hungry after the second day). We hiked up a mountain to 14,500 feet and watched as John and Ashley, Matt's assistant teachers, attempted to ski the breakable crust on antiquated skis they found somewhere in Ladakh. We saw Snow Leopard tracks. It was a crystaline blue sky with puffs of white clouds that actually look like the idealized ones on Tibetan paintings (Tsonkas).

Lakir: We stayed with Norbu, a ninth generation Tsonka painter at the Norbu Guest house - quite sophisticated by Ladakhi standards, but still without any running water, and with traditional Ladakhi toilets (a hole in the floor of a mud-walled room with soil spread on the floor to dump down the hole when you're done). We played with Norbu's kids and once again the digital cameras were a great hit, along with the head-lamps. The next day we hiked about ten miles to Yang Tang and then on up to Ulley, which is at about 15,000 feet. There were columns of gravel supporting huge rocks, it was snowing, and very dramatic. The trail was steep and we were exhausted when we arrived at Norbu the pony man's house in the village of three houses (a different Norbu). We took our packs off, got out of our wet clothes, settled in the little guest room under blankets, when Norbu came in and told us that it was not his houses turn to have trekkers (the village houses all take turns taking in hikers so as not to create competition), and we had to hoist our packs again with aching legs and straining lungs. Norbu, who speaks a rudimentary form of English, said "just next house up." We walked outside: "where?" we asked. He pointed up the mountain still 500 feet higher, accross a deep gorge and 3/4 of a mile away, to a little tiny house clinging to the side of the cliff. We groaned. "Follow donkey" he said, pointing to a little beast winding its way up the opposite side of the gorge, "just next house up." That night Norbu and his family came up, I played the guitar, and then we had a dance party to Ladakhi popular music (a strange combo of chinese-sounding, pitch modulated singing, and synthesized drum beats and horns). We all laughed when we called it the "Ulley Disco."

Dah Hanu: The next day we climbed back down the valley, with Norbu asking us please to come back soon, back to Lakir and the Norbu (other Norbu) Guest house, where we spent another night because the bus with the American students and the Ladakhi guide was delayed because of a nation-wide bus strike. The bus finally did pick us up, and we went on down the narrowing Indus river, through about five police check points to the restricted area of the Cargil region on the Pakistani border, where there has been bombing and shelling in the past. We drove for about six hours. Ladakhi busses all have bald tires and worn-out leaf springs, and the drivers heave the busses toward the cliff side, then back out toward the 1,000 foot (not kidding) drop at an alarming rate of speed, out toward the precipice, jamb it back toward the cliff, again and again for hours. The air thick with dust, the smell of deisal, people dancing in the isles, Ladakhi music blaring, brakes squealing, tires pounding. Trucks, busses, cars and scooters come the other way from time to time, sometimes causing one vehicle to back up to pass by on the single lane road. It frays my nerves incredibly, but Jamie loves it.

We finally stopped, just when I thought I would keel over with anxiety, at a tiny little mud hut at the base of the cliff. "This is it" says Tashi, our guide. "This?" the teenagers muttered "I'm not hiking." We did hike up a little trail to a village of "Dard" people, who were the first human inhabitants of the Indus river valley, and who are "Aryan" and have facial feature similar to Europeans, but with dark skin, and sometimes red hair. The village was nestled into the cliffs almost like a stoney version of the Hopi cliff dwellings. There were pear trees, and it was a lot warmer at the lower elevation of about 8,000 feet. Lilly and Marley climbed like monkeys and Lilly knocked down a little stone wall that was probably about 200 years old. They were repairing it by the time we left the next morning, and Matt gave them some Rupees for their trouble.

Chictang: Tashi took us to his own house in his native village the next day. His is the only Buddist family in a town full of Muslims. They had never seen a group of white trekkers, and they stared like we were from Mars. Tashi's family's men are traditional medical practitioners and their house is about twenty feet from the steps of a Mosk. They were amazingly warm toward us, and took very good care of us. Every time I went into the streets of the village, the little kids, old ladies and curious teens made me take pictures with the digital camera and show them the results. They were mad with excitement. I juggled rocks for them and immitated a monkey which sent the little boys into hysterics, and they followed me pulling on my sleeve for about two miles as I tryed to catch up to Jamie and Matt who were fast ditching me to avoid this crowd of nutty kids. They spoke almost no English but were making penis jokes, and telling me they were Muslims, and asking "you Buddist or Muslim?" Whole families sat out in front of their houses and watched with amusement as we passed. They made me juggle rocks and make monkey noises as each house we passed. All of this occurred amid rich fields, cows and donkeys wandering down the road, surrounded by striking, snow-covered peaks.

On the way home (Jamie and I left a bit early to catch our flight), and caught the public bus - jamb packed full, jolting over a 14,500 foot pass - we were about two hours outside of Leh when we came upon a huge bulldozer widening the road (on the edge of a cliff, as usual). Just then the front tire of the bus went flat with a huge rush of air. Everyone, climbed off the bus, but for a few people who kept their seats. About five to ten men (myself included) started jacking up the bus and taking the tire off, pulling the spare from under the bus' belly. We put the spare tire on and let the bus down off the jack and found the spare tire was also flat. By this time the bulldozer was done, and cars and trucks, unable to pass, were gathering up behind us. We took one of the dual tires off of the rear of the bus (jacking up both front and back with people still in the bus there on the edge of the cliff) and put it on the front, and then put the flat tire next to the remaining good tire on the back set of duals. And off we went, not slowing down a bit.

We spend the next day in Leh, hiked another mountain to see an ancient Gompa and castle, and went to sleep a midnight after I played guitar with a southern Indian guy who played very well. We drifted off to the call and response of dogs, and awoke at 4:00 am to the wailing sound of Allah calling the faithfull to prayer in Leh's only Mosk. What a strange fallen piece of the moon this is.

Love to all. I miss you Zoe, Meg, Connor, Mom, and all. I can't type anymore. I hope it's not too much to even read.

J.C. (Papa)






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