One Girl's Path for Peace

I really like my home stay family. We had a really good day. Today was Sunday so everyone was home, well except for abba-lay, he was out campaigning to save the Bodhi language (way cool). We had Alu Parathas for breakfast (my favorite.) then the Achays and nomo and I made jewelry for a solid three hours. Afterwards I went upstairs and started painting on the roof. Only, then there was what I can only describe as a small tornado, so I came inside and started painting in the hallway next to the plate glass window. Soon enough nono showed up, so I pulled out a set of watercolors for him and he joined. Then cousin nono Namgyal came looking for him. I gave him paper and crayons and he joined. Then up the stairs came nomo and I handed her paper and a brush and offered her some gauche. She sat beside me and started to paint. Achay had sent nomo to find the boys, and when she didn’t come back, Achay came looking. She found us and ended up with a brush too. Soon came Achay Chorol, and after laughing at all of us sitting in the hallway, she joined too. Finally, wondering where all her children and grandchildren had gone, came Ama-lay. She just laughed and left us there until lunch. It was a good two hours we spent their painting as the window shook the glass and rattled the gate. For a while, I thought the prayer flags on the hill opposite would come free, post and all and hurtle down into the streets of Choglemsar. They stayed anchored, and as I painted, I wondered how many wind horses were running off of that high rocky hill to spread prayers across the world. No one will ever know… Besides, I’m not arguing, the world could use years of days like this. It would do us all a vast amount of good to receive some anonymous good karma. The Achays dressed me up in traditional Ladakhi dress. Dark brown wool over hot pink silk, green and gold trim with earrings to match… They braided my hair, and gave me a huge pearl turquoise gold and coral necklace to wear. They tied a sheep skin shawl over my back, and placed a tall, winged silk hat on my head. Then they took my picture. Nono had all his friends from the neighborhood over, all over the age of six, and as I stood there with them, I realized that it had been a very long time since I had felt like a part of a family. Just three weeks before I can hug everyone I love, but for a few more days, I’ve got a family. A family who sings me songs, tells me stories, feeds me food, does art with me, sends me to bed with warm water, shows me their Bodhi homework, and teaches me the hand clapping games they learned at recess from their friends. No matter where you are, families are all the same. A few minutes ago, I walked into the kitchen whistling, settling down with my laptop to write this, the Ama-lay asked her daughters why I was so happy. And they laughed. “What?” said, knowing they were talking about me. “She says you are very happy today. Ladakhis whistle when they are happy and all day you have been whistling. And again, now, you are whistling.” “I am happy.” I smile, “And I have a song stuck in my head, a very good song. Tomorrow, I will play it for you.” The song is Imagine by John Lennon. I have it playing now. Are you playing it? You should be. Go, find it, play it. Pause. Breath. Close your eyes. Find a little bit of peace. Here, thousands of miles away from you, I am listening to it with one earphone and with my other I am listening to my host sisters praying. This, right now, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. There are no words for it so you must imagine it... Ama-lay is cooking, praying as she works, her oldest daughter sits, eye closed, hands on knees reciting in a clear voice. Her younger sister and daughter chant from prayer books next to her, incense propped in a bowl in front of them on the low table. I am sitting, trying to keep from crying in the warmth from the gas stove, the cat sleeping in my lap. I hope they don’t notice that there are tears starting in my eyes. I’ll tell them that I have cat allergies if they do. It’s not a lie. Achay-lay, If you are reading this, (which you very well might be because I gave you all my information this morning,) thank you so much for everything! It has been so nice staying with you. I am sorry that I woke you up when the beila was coming through the chimney pipe, I really did think it was the bad beila… Your friend was right today when he told me that I had found the nicest family in all of Ladakh.

Right now I am sitting typing this in “Tibetan Friends”, the best restaurant in Leh to buy momos. We VISpas are having our last meal together before heading out into the field for our week of exhibitions.

This week I will be out in the field working on my exhibition project. Tomorrow I begin work with the famous Ladakhi storyteller and actor Murup Namgyal to learn the tradition of Ladakhi storytelling, and several folktales including the epic poem “The Gesar”. The oral tradition surrounding the Gesar is similar to that surrounding the Iliad, or the Odyssey. The Gesar has roots in Tibet, with a large influence from Tibetan Buddhism. It is tradition that is dying in Ladakh due to modernization. I am hoping tobe able to record the stories and translate them. Part of what I plan to hand in is a compilation of the folktales and phases of the Gesar that I hear. (Then all of you can read them when I get home!!!)

                Yeserday marked one month left until we touchdown in Burlington. I cannot believe that this trip is going so fast. I love it here, and I have made so many friends! At the same time, I am excited to be headed home soon. I know these last four weekswill go by extremely quickly, so I am trying hard think only about here and not there.

                I will try and keep a journal of my homestay so you all can keep up with me!

This Blog post is just a brain dump I am throwing together on a bus ride. I apologize for bad grammar, spelling and randomness. Please bare with me as I try not to get car sick….

It has been a crazy week, even though we have been mostly on the SECMOL campus. Curtis was visiting and we had a ton of fun with her, she brought us chese! And chocolat and bark chocolate peanut butter. Last night she surprised us with MACARONI AND CHEESE!!! She had brought us 18 boxes of it and we ate it all. YUM you really have no idea how comforting comfort food is until you are far from home craving just a single bite of annies. We played two rounds of mafia and then I went to hang out with Chuskit, Phuntsuk, and Tashi Angmo. We played Uno and watched the end of the cricket match which india won. Now they will be up against Pakistan (!!!!) in the semi-final for the cricket world cup. Things are heating up around here…

NORDIC GIRLS: Tuesday was the spring equinox, and we stood eggs up on the counter of the kitchen for the SEECMOLpas. Nobody believed me when I showed them the pictures of our team sleep over last year when we did it at Hannah’s house, so I have taken pictures of all the SECMOLpas, especially Kunzes and Gyatso, in all of their amazement.

The moon has been absolutely stunning this week, as I’m sure it has been elsewhere in the world as well.Every morning I have woken up to see it glowing in the light blue of the morning sky, just over the Stok. It is moment of profound peace that has started my day off just right every morning.

I am writing this on a bus coming back from a field trip to one of Ladakh’s artificial glaciers with the man who invented the idea. Most villages here rely on glacial run off for irrigating their crops. Since glaciers are receeding, villages have started to build retaining walls and piping water to them from mountain streams during the winter, the result is a glacier generated above the village that builds up much like the ice pillar on the way up to Smugg’s, which begins to melt just in time to irrigate for spring planting. The water is not used during the winter but needed in excess uring the spring, so this piece of appropriate technology helps to trap it and brings it down into the village just at the right time to use. The glacier melts away by the first week of june, well into the growing season when it is no longer crucial. This was a truelly amazing thing to see, especially getting to see it with the inventor asnd all of the SECMOLpas, many of whome have artificial glaciers supporting their own families’ crops.

I have decided to do my exhibition on the Gesar, the epic creation story of Ladakh, traditional art that surrounds it. My hope is to spend a week in the home of a traditional storyteller and learn the story (at least a few parts, it’s about two days long) and then research the history of the story, the importance of story telling to the culture, and do a few traditional artistic representations. I am sure a few poems will come out of it as well. I love learning this way, it is so fun, and really makes me feel like I am learning for me.

We are now heading into Leh, where I will post this for you all, get some lunch, then go to the tailor with Kunzes! I love Kunzes, she is always there for a hug or a shopping trip. Sometimes she and Deachen hang out in my room. She is like an awesome older sister. Tonight we are supposed to watch “Finding Nemo” tonight. I am excited. Outside we are winding through a forest of stupas, the mountains are beautiful and the rock faces are painted with prayer flags. Tomorrow we are going to Ursi to build a community center that was destroyed by the flood and Taylor and I will be making a movie profile of a family effected. It will be a really fun week, and the two of us are extremely excited to get started.

So it turns out that traversing the highest motor-able pass in the world is really dependent on weather, and ironically enough the first time we have seen any precipitation in this high desert has been on the morning we were all set to leave to drive over Kardung-la. So, with two buses loaded and ready to go we did what we so often do in this program. We changed the plan. Instead of going to Nubra, we headed to a masked dance festival in the village of Mushu. We went to the same festival on Monday at Stok, however today monastery was far more new, and far bigger. While the other VISpas opted to leave at 2 on one of the buses and come home earlier, I stayed. Initially it was because I was feeling too lazy to walk all the way down the mountain to the bus just yet, but I was really happy I stayed. I am a happy camper in the cold, and when witnessing beautiful cultural events. 2 o’clock seemed too early to go home even if I would get to go to Leh first.

The festival opens with a series of dances performed by monks dressed in costume and masks. These dances are supposed to give you a glimpse of what happens after you die, and scare you into being a good person. (This is what I understand but it slightly confuses me because this is Buddhism so you get re-incarnated.  Maybe it has to do with the hungry ghosts and demons… I am a little unclear on that part.) During this part I get invited to go find lunch with some of the SECMOLpa boys, and I decide to go with them because I saw this on Monday, and they are good at finding good food.

After a lunch of magi with Sappell, Norbu, and Tundoop, we went back towards the monastery where we happened upon Nema, Chuskit, Angmo, Palmo, Saida, Jigmet, and Phuntsog. The girls grabbed me from the boys, and we walked around the monastery. They were so excited to introduce me to all of their friends who don’t go to SECMOL. They knew every other person. This is not uncommon for Ladakhis, but the fact that all the government schools had holiday for the festival greatly increased the number of friends,or “yatos”, I was introduced to. We arrived back in the monastery courtyard asthe masked dances ended. Everyone else headed out for lunch.

                We girls settled ourselves on the stairs, and it seemed to me as I was continually introduced to people, that the girls were extremely happy to be in my company.The feeling was mutual. It is one thing to watch a festival with it feels far better to know that I have friends who are excited to share their culture withme, rather than viewing a festival as a visitor. Watching the proceedings with the girls felt so much less invasive than it had earlier in the week at Stok, when we went without the SECMOLpas.

                As we waited for the Oracles to appear, we chit chatted on the stairs of the nearly vacant monastery. The girls played with my hair and tried to teach me the words to atraditional Ladakhi song about friendship which begins “Ali yato lay…” The rest of it I couldn’t tell you to save my life. (Obviously that was a success.) Feeling a little nauseous, I asked Saida if she minded if I took a nap. I fell asleep on the quiet stairs of the monastery, my head on Saida’s knees.

                I awoke standing with Jigmet and Saida holding me by the armpits yelling, “THE ORACLEIS COMING! WAKE UP, MOYA!!!!!” my eyes snapped open. I became aware that the courtyard was no longer empty. In fact, as I tried to sit back down, I could not. The stairs were so crowded, I thought the iron would break. In front of me what could only be described as a sea of people roared in Ladakhi for the presentation of the two oracles. Young men in gonchas stood with members of the army, sheparding people with long thin sticks. They yelled at the people on the ground to sit, whipping the switches over their heads to reinforce their point.This seemed very un-Buddhist to me, as I came to my senses clutching the metal rail for support. My only thought was that I had just entered into a scene from a movie.

                This idea was further enforced when the oracles appeared. Though they had blessed me earlier in a dim room high in the gumpa, I had seen them only as figures shrouded in the saffron and scarlet of monk robes, faces covered with hoods wrapped around their features. All that had been visible were emotionless eyes,and an outstretched arm pressing a blessing bell to the crown of my head, and handing me an orange blessing string.

                Now they stood howling on the roof of the gumpa, greased in black from head to toe with the face of the Buddha painted on their stomachs and backs. They had mains of hair which hung in dread locks over their faces as they shuffled blindly with acadence created by the drums they held in their hands. The crowd roared againas three stories above the ground they balanced on the edge of the parapet, blindfolded.

                It is the Buddhist belief that oracles are possessed. Becoming an oracle involves an extensive amount of meditation and rituals to channel demons. The Buddha faces painted on their bodies are supposed to be the eyes for the spirit to see through to guide the blindfolded oracle away from potentially fatal accidents while performing during ceremonies. Instances like walking off the edge of the gumpa’s roof. Judging from their ability to walk in a straight line, I would say these oracles were, by Ladakhi standards, pretty well possessed.

                It is also believed that people should not take pictures of the oracle. Madnes spanned out before me as they appeared. I watched lay-people rise to bow and touch their foreheads to the oracles as they walked by, as they would to areligious artifact for respect as well as a little good karma. There were probably a thousand people, and many of them rose and surged forward. The menin the gunchas screamed and brandished their switches. Again the crowd settled and the oracles disappeared again. Whenever a camera was spotted in the presents of the oracles, the photographer was ratted on. Every now and then,the cry rose up “PHOTO! PHOTO!” the crowd would part and the guncha clad men would sprint for the violator switches held high. Many times the photographer would attempt to flee, always they were caught and “THWACK!” the switches would meet with their bodies and the camera would be released for review. The gauncha cladmen confiscate the cameras and stand in groups of two or three deleting sacrareligious photos while the owner of the camera nurses stinging limbs. Upon realizing what is happening, I understand why the SECMOLpas have been reminding me not to take pictures of the oracle all day long, and I am thankful.

                The oracles appear again, and the crowd goes nuts. The motion of people craning to see causes the mass to sway violently and the people standing begin to stumble and struggle to stay upright, at one point falling on the people seated. They walk slowly to the center of the courtyard, and yell before walking to the steps of the monastery and elevating themselves above the crowd. A baby is lifted from the center of the crowd, and passed, screaming, hand over hand. I am watching an infant crowd surf toward these chilling shadowy figures and I don’t like it. Some mothering instinct goes on red alert as the little girl moves above the restless seemingly oblivious crowd. As the oracles yell and scream, throwing barley into the crowd, the baby girl reaches the front of the crowd and is uplifted by a stranger so her forehead touches one of the oracles.The gauncha men grab her away and thrust her back into the crowd. I take my eyes off her only when she is reunited with her mother.

                The nit is over, as quickly as it began. Monastery doors slam on the bodies of possessed men, and as if a dam is opened, people flood from the courtyard. I am able to make out that the oracles gave no predictions for the upcoming year, only demanded that we pray. Everyone seems shaken up. Saida holds tight to my shoulder and before long we have formed a chain of SECMOLpas plus me. I feel six again,walking through the crowded streets, the Ladakhis holding my hand, supporting because they are worried I will fall, or yanking me out of the way of a car.

                On the way home Saida takes her turn sleeping on my knees as I try very hard to figure out exactly what happened today.

I have always been a mountain girl. So as I switch the lenses of my sunglasses from rose to polarized black down in the valley, I am already measuring the mountain in my head. The sun is shining, and after three days of trekking I am ready for this. Starting up the nearly vertical access to the pass, I don’t mind that I am last. I don’t like being in the middle of the pack. If I can’t be first, I’d rather be last. It is a meditative walk, and I settle into the same silent self reflection I have always used while hiking at home.

About halfway up, clouds roll in. Weather really does come quickly in these mountains. I don’t mind the sudden fog, or the feeling of granulated snowflakes pricking at the layer of Dermatone on my face. I just keep going, even though it gets more difficult.

I am fairly sure that I can tell you what it feels like to reach your VO2 max. There comes a certain point at altitude, when you can feel every muscle in your body, and all you want to do is to stop. But every time you do stop, you have to start again. And when you start again it is sooo much worse. You know what it feels like to be alive. Really alive. In the midst of the pain I realize I am grinning like an idiot.

The entire hike, I had my dad’s scarf. It was tied onto my backpack, and I held either end over my shoulders in both hands, anchoring myself, and reminding myself to keep track of my breath. How to describe that hike to you… it’s so difficult. Those of you who ski at Smuggs, it was like walking across Catwalk, looking down to the right at the moguls below and looking   up to the left at the slope that looks so very vertical. The only difference is that you’ve got no skis on. Gravity is not your friend, and there is about a three to six inch layer of granulated powder on top of desert sand for your feet to make purchase of as you switchback up the mountain.

When I reach the peak, I am psyched. In the JFK airport, I bought a Power C Vitamin Water. It was the last purchase I made in America. Somehow I held out on drinking it for a whole month. I had the brains to bring it on trek with me. It turns out to be the best tasting Vitamin Water I have ever had.

After half a Cadbury Fruit and Nut bar, a few Good Day cookies, and a Jhapati with peanut butter for lunch, I turned to my pack for what I had purchased for this very moment.

The prayer flags I had purchased while on a walk through Hemis the day before were an excellent idea. With a little help from the pony guides and our guide Tashi, my prayer flags were soon strung up across the pass. Just leaving them there like ordinary prayer flags is not my style. Instead I pulled out a few pens and asked the rest of the VISpas to write “their prayers” on the flags. This is a Ladakhi tradition, writing one’s prayers with a pen on the prayer flags so the wind will carry and spread them. We generate a whole lot of good Karma standing in a row on this mountain, on top of the world. I chose a yellow flag, for friendship, and proceeded to decorate it as a thank you to everyone who helped me to get here so I could climb that mountain. On the flag, I write the names of friends and loved ones who have been on my mind lately and all my wishes for them. Hopefully those winds will make their way down off that mountain, and around the world and find each of you whether or not I wrote your name.

Standing, writing on the flag, I think about every time I have climbed Mt. Mansfield. There is a small plaque in the top recognizing human triumph. Here, a mountain is conquered with a fountain of color and prayers for the world. Across the valleys, flames of color rise and dance in the wind like signal fires in an ancient time, if only to signal peace.  As always the only thing to do is to stand still and breath it in. After a moment I collect the pens and my backpack and continue down the other side of the pass to Ang. I am last again, but I don’t mind. This is how I like it. After all, I’ve always been the last kid at the craft table and how many people can say that they have decorated prayer flags on a peak of the Himalayas?

Today is my third Saturday at the SECMOL school. I am amazed at how fast the time has gone, as well as how much I have already learned. The kids are absolutely amazing, and the experiences I have already had are extraordinary.

Yesterday, I hiked my first Himalayan peak. I have never been so at peace as I was at the top. Below me, the Indus wound around the foot of the mountain following the trail of a glacier to the Bay of Bengal. Above me, far more ambitious peaks rise to the sun. Just a few kilometers over the mountains as the crow flies is the sutra zone; the point where the Indian plate hit the Asian plate 50 million years ago. I can’t help but imagine the impact that still forces up these tall granite peaks. The Sanskrit word for power is ‘Shakti’ and I can’t help but feel it here. On those peaks, snow leopards hide from sight, here is where the Planet Earth footage of them was shot. I sit on a rock, and look down. If the earth was flat as people once thought, this is both what it feels like to be at its edge and very top at the exact same time. Nothing compares to this. There is a Stupa far off passed the SECMOL poplars which line the river to my left and to my right, the patterns of clouds splatter the desert. A golden eagle settles in a wind current, and traverses the vast expanse with minimal effort. The same gust of window pulls the prayer flags behind me towards the abyss, carrying their prayers on its back to bless every village and high peak in this land, as tradition says. I imagine the eagle hearing all those prayers and sending them in the right direction.

Below me I can see the school and the solar panels turned up toward the sunshine. Tiny figures run here and there around campus. I smile, because many of them are my friends now. Those brilliant kids, who come timidly into my room and ask me to use art supplies for this or that. Every time, they seem shocked when I open the suitcase and hand them whatever they ask for and more. They cannot believe I have brought it all for them. I cannot believe the talent they have without ever having had the chance to take an art class.

Kunzes, my Ladakhi language teacher, stands on a high ledge in her salwaar kameeze and the soccer cleats she uses to hike. She whistles to the people below. They freeze. U.K. and Chozgien join in, and the high piercing noise bounces down the peaks to the poplar lined river bank. It lasts for what seems like minutes. Whether it is the echo or the fact that they barely seem to take breaths, I am unsure. After letting the echo reverberate, Kunzes fills the air with her voice. It is high and crisp, filling the air like birdsong. I can think of no better way to experience this mountain. Both her song and her whistle are strangely reminiscent of a distant time when Ladakhi herds people communicated with their villages below while grazing livestock. Kunzes tells me that to get to school from her village (which is located 70 km from the Tibetan border and very close to Pangong lake) she had to walk 8 km over similar terrain, then the same 8 km home, memorizing her lessons so that she wouldn’t be beaten the next day for not understanding. No wonder she loves filling this mountain vista with her voice so much. It is clear she feels at peace and at home perched precariously on a boulder high above the Indus. Ladakhis are the strongest people I have ever met, and I love them for it. I have yet to see one who was not quick to smile, laugh, sing, or dance.

I have come to learn a great deal about sustainable energy since my arrival. Each of us are given responsibilities that we do every day at 4:30. While mine is cleaning the bathroom sinks, other students manage energy around campus. Cedar, Chozgien, and Yusuf are in charge of changing the angle of the solar panels at different times throughout the day. It is an impressive operation. Right now my laptop and the light above my head are being powered by the energy harnessed from the high altitude sun. On days when it is cloudy we run on lower power, and Yusuf (who is like a little elf, and is one of the sweetest people I have ever met) timidly knocks on the door of our rooms and requests that we do not use our computers. We all tell him we won’t, and he smiles before running off. That’s the best thing about Yusuf, he is always running and smiling.

Our rooms have big windows which open into a green house. In the morning we open the windows and allow the heat to fill the room. If we plan to bath, it is advisable to walk to the pump and get water early in the morning so it warms up by 2, when we have free time to shower. I usually leave a clean tee shirt in my water when I do this, otherwise the Ladakhis steal the warm water and the bucket. On days when it is sunny the green house can reach temperatures around 80 degrees while the outside air is a little below 50, if not closer to 40. On Monday, Taylor, Caroline, Katrina and I actually had to go outside because we were too warm sitting in the kitchen green house. This heating method is very dependent on sun, and as such the temperature from day to day greatly depends on cloud density. On cloudy days, our rooms can be as cold as outside.

One of the coolest pieces of technology on the campus are the solar cookers. These massive concave oval mirrors focus the rays of the sun on a single point, acting like a magnifying glass burning an ant on a greater scale. Last week, it was my job to polish them. I came away with a sunburn, as well as the unnerving experience of seeing one of the Ladakhi girl’s jackets start to smoke when she stood in the way of the focused light. I still don’t speak Ladakhi very well, so all I could do was grab her and pull her out of the way, patting out the smoking point on her shoulder. I was shocked. When I mentioned this to Deskit and Chu-skeet, two Ladakhi girls who are my friends, they giggled and said, “Where do you think the burn on the kitchen door came from?” This makes a great deal of sense. Now, I always wear lots of sunscreen and steer clear of the mirrors on sunny days.

Next week, we will be trekking “Sham Side”. Monday, I depart on a five day journey that will take us along one of the Snow Leopard Conservancy routes. The villages we will be doing home stays in are all villages taking part in snow leopard conservation efforts. These villagers have experienced extreme monetary losses at a rate of 30,000 rupees a year due to snow leopards killing their livestock. The Snow Leopard Conservancy helps them to build communal livestock enclosures which both lock and are roofed so that livestock is safe, while owners are able to sleep soundly in their homes. The SLC also offers insurance for livestock, and has created these treks to bring in tourists with the stipulation that 15% of the income generated by home stay hosts is donated to the village snow leopard conservancy fund. All this is in an effort to prevent villagers from killing these massive and elusive cats in order to protect what precious little resources they have in this land of high deserts and harsh mountains. The project has been extremely successful. Tourists chose the trek to support the snow leopard, villagers receive money from tourism, they are able to protect their livestock and sustain a beautiful animal, as well as sharing their everyday life with travelers.

It’s strange to think of leaving SECMOL for 5 days. My narrow wood plank bed and wool blanket alongside the rickety crate I salvaged for a bedside table and the postcards I used to decorate the plaster walls have become home. This area, less than a queen sized bed in total is the only space which is absolutely mine, and it feels safe. This is my home now. I will be looking out for ibex, snow leopards, big horned sheep and Tibetan antelope. Hopefully I will have some good pictures and funny home stay stories to tell, as the home stay families hardly ever speak English and I am slow to learn Ladakhi (as mentioned prior). Hopefully the prayers I sent from the top of that mountain will find their way on the wind and wait for me on the tops of other mountains so I can send them even farther…

Two weeks in, and I am finally in my new home at the school. For the past two weeks the problem has been that I have too warm. Today it snowed, an “auspicious” sign in Ladakh, though all the Ladakhis cursed it, grumbling about the “Kha” and how there was too much. Detchen, my work partner, laughed at me while I did a snow dance as we cleaned the campus. Now the problem is that I have everything I need for a perfect powder day in the Himalayas right outside my bedroom window… but I have no skis. Ah, well. I still have the most beautiful view outside my window that takes my breath away every time I see it.

It is a little chilly right now, and I am typing with gloves on, because it is cloudy today, so the green houses, and by extension my room haven’t warmed up. I just asked my friend Alana for input on how cold she thinks it is at this moment,(we agree)that it is around 50 degrees Fahrenheit.

Anyway, this is my fourth day here and I am finally starting to feel at home. Preceding our arrival in Ladakh, I traveled through four Indian cities, pictures of which I will include. It has been amazing. I am in love with the people, and frustrated that I cannot speak Hindi, or Ladakhi just yet.

Yesterday I spoke to an Indian volunteer here at the school whose name is Sachon. Sachon works for Adobe designing software. He is from Punjab, and I told him my family was as well.things got busy in the kitchen so we had to end our conversation. Later on at dinner, a few boys were teasing a girl about her long braid telling her she looked Punjabi. She pointed to Sachon and said “He is from Punjab! Not me!”

Sachon then pointed to me, and said “Moya is Punjabi as well.” They all stared in disbelief giggled, then asked my family name.

“Oberoi,” I said after explaining my Indian Heritage, “My grandfather is Avtar Singh Oberoi.” Sachon’s jaw dropped and he began laughing. Then he extended his hand across the table,

“Nice to meet you, Cousin!” He said, “I am Oberoi, too. Sachon Oberoi.”

Although we probably aren’t related we still say “Jullay Cousin!” when we meet each other walking around campus, and this morning we had a great conversation about Nehru over mid-morning tea. As for the Ladakhi kids, they thought that was hilarious. All the students think we are related, and I have stared being called ‘Moy Oberoi’ because they think the rhyme is funny, and because they like the Indian name. I think it also helps them to remember my name, with which they are struggling. I don’t mind. I like the Indian name too, it makes me smile.

There is a group of sixty masons here, all learning to build passive solar houses like SECMOL, while still keeping the old Ladakhi ways of architecture. Tonight, after dinner all of us, VISpas, SECMOLpas, and masons alike crowded into the main hall for traditional song and dance, as volunteered by those present. We watched the SECMOLpas dance beautifully, and the masons ranging in age from early twenties to late sixties dance and sing songs from their villages. We thought we were safe, as one VISpa commented, “Too soon, too soon. They might try, but no one will make us.” Wrong.

A few minutes later all nine of us were up in front of upwards of a hundred people performing a very impromptu “Build Me Up Buttercup.” We consoled ourselves with the fact that most of the masons probably did not speak English, therefore we would not understand their teasing. Us VISpas have decided that it was an excellent bonding experience.

Today, in Leh we found Skippy peanut butter, nature valley bars and leechi juice. SCORE!!!

lots of love!

-Moya

1563 miles until Delhi.

The map of the world with our little plane represented on it shows where in the world it is day, and where in the world it is night.We are traveling all this way in a cone of night. Last night I stood in my driveway and looked up at the stars. So many stars… Some how they always seem brighter when it is cold. Last summer, a friend sat with me by a bonfire a few weeks before she returned home from her year abroad in the states , the two of us thinking about seperation and our friendship. She told me as we looked at the stars that the most beautiful thing about the stars is that they are the same everywhere. I left America when the stars were out, and I will arrive in India while the stars are out. Even though they are the most different of places, there will be the same stars.

I can’t believe that I am actually doing this. I have wanted to be going to India since I was probably five, and I am just two hours away from that dream.

At Burlington, I said I was most happy to have packed my art supplies. I said goodbye to my little sister and my parents. My dad wrapped his wool scarf around my neck, and they sent me through security. I didn’t realize until later that that was an Indian tradition to give someone a safe trip. I pt everything through the x-ray and they had to check my back pack three times. Turns out the problem was my brass Gesh statue. Ganesh is the Hindu elephant god who removes obsticles. Ironic, no?

At Newark, we ate our last American meal together. I had pepperoni and mushroom pizza with a small garden salad, and a pomegranite smoothie. Yum! We also went “speed dating” and got to know eachother a little better, which was extremely nice.

Right now, my family is just waking up. My mom is probably taking the dog for a walk. Oonagh is still asleep, or watching TV. Maybe she and my dad are going skiing this morning, in which case they have been out for an hour already. Twenty-four hours ago I was hugging them, and eating breakfast with them. Eric is still sleeping because he had a game. Essex… I hope they did well. My iPod shuffled up “Smile” just a few minutes ago.

We are sitting in row 22 which is over the wing of the plane, it is relatively quiet. Usually I get head aches and feel sick on planes, but this flight has actually been really good so far. Here in seat 22J I m a little cramped because my back pack won’t fit fully under the seat in front of me since there is some kind of vent there. My camera case takes takes up the rest of the floor space. I am in the middle seat with Kylie on my left, and Jake on my right. My legs are fitting in there where ever they can. It’s not that bad. I slept for a solid probably eight hours between the hours that I usually sleep at home.

Out the window of the plane, there is one star shining out over the wing. This is truelly an entire day of night. The last time I saw the sun it was starting to set over mount mansfield, the most familiar land mark in my life and home. The next time I see it will be in India. I couldn’t be more excited.

1128 miles until Delhi. Only two more hours.

In Delhi,

The ride here was absolutely insane. I know why Obi drives the way he does now. We got here at about 10:30 pm, then waited for cabs outside the airport with all 20 of our bags. We met Holly, Kunzes, and Tashi for the first time. Holly, Kylie Simone and I rode in a cab togetherrr after waiting for about an hour. It was one of those cars that looks like a mini bus. On the way here we saw a giant hanuman statue. It was strange to see the city for the first time all lit in floresecnce and full of shadows. I wonder what we will see in the morning…

Now we are here at our guest house and packing to leave at 5:30 for the train station. It is 3:30 am right now. We will go to duradun and go rafting before heading to Rishakesh to spend the rest of the week at the Songston library. They just told us now that we are leaving Delhi tomorrow. Simone and I are trying to paack for a week, but neither of us really have back packs big enough. There is a pigeon outside my window, cooing. It is a soothing sond to hear in a city so different from home. At home, I can hear our pigeons down in the loft cooing across the yard. I think I will try to get as much sleep as I can now.

We dance in the arms of mountains.

February 10, 2011. We arrived at Leh airport around 11:30. From there we drove on to our new home. Home. After two weeks of running just to stay standing in a country so different from the ones we left, we can unpack our bags into rooms that are all ours for three months. The Himalaya is truly awe inspiring. By plane, they look like planes of ice forced up by the movement of the ocean at its waves. They are faceted by pressure, time and erosion; they are chiseled by water, wind and rock tumbles. They are painted in blue shadow and highlighted by white snow. Slopes drop to deep narrow valleys. We flew over K2 and our guide, Tashi, hopped up and down and ran all around the plane pointing it out. I have seen the second tallest mountain in the world!

Today we arrived at SECMOL , the school which we will call home for the next 3 months.

My blog hates me. seriously hates me. so i have 6 posts written and i will post them next friday night american time. until then my parents know what i have been up to and how to view my groups blog! lots of love, and Jullay!