These are some of the monk's cloisters at Ganden.
Painted
on both sides of the entrances to all Tibetan Buddhist assembly halls
and chapels are protector deities. Above are two of them. The style of
art is called Thangka art. Like the roof beams and trim, they are
painted in such minute detail you find yourself drawn closer, one step
at a time as some strange little detail arises from the chaos. (If you
want to see something neat, highlight this photo; it's like an underwater rendering.)
And after acclimatizing, one foggy morning we started our hike. The yaks didn't seem to mind the weather...
The
second day of our hike involved a tremendous uphill climb, so we opted
to hire a guide to handle our heavy packs. Desiring a genuine Tibetan
experience, we hoped a yak could carry our packs, but according to our
guide: "One yak: no good. Two yak: no good. Three yak good."
Unfortunately we didn't have enough baggage to warrant three yaks, so we
used his horse instead. (Tibetan rule of thumb: less than three yaks
together and things can get unruly. Ha!)
Along
the way we encountered homes of nomadic yak herders, the traditional
Tibetan way of life. As our guide knew the people living in this
particular yak-hair tent, we stopped in for a cup of yak butter tea. (If
you can't tell,
the yak is life to them. Along with transportation and baggage
handling services, its hair provides shelter and clothes. It's milk
provides food and beverage, and when old, it provides meat. And as
there are no trees in most of Tibet, when dried its dung provides fuel
for fire.)
A
kind and friendly man, this was our guide, Undoo. Solely by meeting
the other travelers passing by his door he could speak a few words of
English, and what we couldn't communicate using this language, we used a
combination of body language, Chinese, and Tibetan to express
ourselves. It goes without saying Nietzsche's effect on existentialism
was not discussed.
This was our campsite at the end of the second day's hike. It's difficult for life to be more idyllic.
After
hiking two mountain passes, our trail went steadily downward the
remainder of the way. Combining our decreasing altitude with the
confines of a moist valley, trees began to spring up, as did several
homemade bridges. Here is the FF navigating one.
And
by the fourth day hiking out the valley, we began to encounter
civilization, again. This was a little village of maybe one hundred
people.
In
the middle of the afternoon on the fourth (and last) day, we stared
down the the final leg of our hike. Here I'm cursing the prospect of
the next hour: dead ahead – pun intended. Boo! (You should know that
once we reached the end of the length of road pictured above and turned
the corner, another length loomed ahead. It was a loooong afternoon.)
At
the end of our four day hike was the village of Samye, pictured above.
Sadly, this is the last photo of the FF alive. We were so tired from
our hike, he was unable to get out of the way and the sheep trampled him
in a violent death of hooves, matted wool, and bleating. (If Frau Fighter should read this: don't worry; your son is still alive.)
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