ROAD BLOG AHEAD

I had rather assumed that, this year, the family would escape the typical winter holiday chaos that’s so endemic to the Western world. Hah! I say and Hah! again. It’s different in tone than a Christmas in San Francisco or New York or even Paris, but chaos has a way of following wherever you go, even to what seems to be the ends of the earth.

I’ve just spent two days sending out holiday greeting cards. No, not a couple of hours on two consecutive evenings, addressing envelopes and stuffing them with pictures of Rudolph or pseudo wise men or parodies with kinky Santas. I mean I spent the equivalent of two working 8 hour days attempting (with some success) to send out e-cards to all the people on Wangdor Rimpoche’s mailing list. If you are reading this blog, didn’t receive one and you know you should  (or wish you had) please email me so I can make sure I’ve got your email address right. We had a remarkable number of the emails bounce with messages saying that the addresses were no longer valid. This, of course, is *after* Nyondo and I spent most of yesterday trying to get our mailing list system on our regular ISP (Speakeasy in case anyone wants to avoid them) to function as it is supposed to and send out to everyone on Rimpoche’s mailing list. I won’t bore you with the technical details, just say that there is a glitch in the works, that Speakeasy has apparently been trying, unsuccessfully, to fix it for about a month now and NOBODY BOTHERED TO INFORM US that the it was no longer working properly!!! This (for the geeky) is a simply major domo driven e-mail list program. It is not rocket science - hell it’s barely computer science!

Once we knew this important (and hugely irritating) piece of news, we started looking for a possible plan B. And C. And, ultimately, plan D. Yeah, plan D which involved me creating an e-card over and over and over and… literally designing from scratch repeatedly and sending the cards out that way, a few at a time on our glacially slow internet connection. Exactly the kind of hellacious thing that we set up the major domo list to avoid in the first place. I love my guru. I must because you couldn’t have paid me enough money to do it!  My family will get cards from me next summer once I’ve recovered!

So anyway, one of the main reasons I’m writing this entry is that I was told to include this blog’s address in Rimpoche’s card so people can see more pictures of Tso Pema and what’s going on here and keep abreast of it all. And I realized that the last few posts I’ve done have all been about knitting and weaving and, while there’s plenty of pictures and I find them interesting, people looking for a glimpse of this town will have to scroll back a few entries to find those pics. I figured I’d stick a few in today, just for fun - things I haven’t gotten around to posting yet which give a bit of a glimpse into the world we live in up here:

Here’s a glimpse of the main street in town. It’s a block long. There’s another street with businesses and vendors on it just behind which is the main bazaar but doesn’t have hotels or fancy buildings.

A typical dhaba or Indian food seller. Generally you order “food” - that is, a plate of whatever they’ve cooked that day, generally some kind of vegetable, some rice, lentils or beans (or both) and a few chapattis.

Here’s a view of the back side of the village, behind the shops and stalls where people live and grow things and keep cows.

And a quick glimpse of the interior of the house we’re renting as it was when we first saw it, completely unfinished, just the walls and open spaces for windows. It’s been plastered now and the electric wiring and plumbing are in. Eventually it will be ready for us to move our handful of belongings into:

If you’re not interested in knitting, this blog entry will bore you. If you understand the creative and mental health inducing aspects of the fiber arts, read on. I haven’t yet gotten around to creating a separate blog for my fiber projects and may never do so, or maybe I’ll find myself some time and web space. In the meantime, some of my blogs are about my travels, some about Tso Pema and Buddhism, some about things I like to do. And I like to knit. And spin. And dye. I’ve been knitting for more than 30 years off and on, spinning my own yarns for about 6 years now and playing with colour as long as I can remember. So here is an entry about knitting.

One way of staying warm around here is sitting on the roof of Rimpoche’s Lotus Lake Hotel on a sunny day. Here in Tso Pema, everyone spends as much time as possible in the sun on nice winter afternoons. The air doesn’t hold much heat once you’re out of direct sunlight, but it can be quite pleasant in the sun and roofs are the best place (other than tea stalls) to catch the rays. A lot of people knit or do other handwork while sitting in the warmth. Nyondo and I have a lot to do these days, but we try to take an hour or two every day to play lizard and work on our knitting project. Not only do we get warm sitting there, but we create warm things for ourselves and others.

The first of these pictures shows several items that I’ve knitted since I arrived in Tso Pema - a pair of gloves in Lorna’s Laces Shepherd’s sock yarn and two hats - one a standad stocking cap type of hat in a local mohair and the other a variation on the Countrywool Rollbrim hat in a chunky alpaca that was sent to me by the wonderful Jeri Riggs. I received her care package of yarn in the post and immediately knew that I *had* to knit something from the alpaca - I couldn’t stop fondling it - it’s so soft! So I cast on and, after one false start and ripping out, finished the hat in an afternoon. Once the sun has gone down around here, a good, warm hat makes a huge difference, so it rarely leaves my head.

I’m also working on a sweater for myself in some pale grey Crystal Palace silk tweed yarn that I’ve been hauling around forever. I started this a few years ago, didn’t like the way it was going and ripped it out. I’m starting over, redoing what was going to be a pullover with a henley type neckline as a really simple rollcollar tunic in seed stitch. I think that will suit my needs better and the seed stitch is creating a firmer fabric for this yarn which has no inherent elasticity and tends to sag if knitted too loosely. I’m doing it in the round, improvising as I go, so we’ll see how it works. I’ve just gotten to the garter stitch row for the folded hem, so it’s way too soon to tell. Then there’s a pair of socks, also in LL’s also in grey shades on size 1 needles. Like an idiot, I left most of my handknit wool socks back in the West (well, it was summer when we came…) and I’m regretting it now, so I’m knitting as fast as I can. These particular socks are under a curse, I’m pretty sure. I’ve been trying to get them knit since Mexico. I’ve had to start them over twice - once due to an undiscovered in time mistake, the second due to getting unraveled in my luggage. I finished the first sock despite the worst case of tangled yarn I’ve seen in years. Today I discovered that somehow I’d done the heel flap inside out and backwards < ?!!> so had to rip that back to the cuff and start over. I WILL get these finished! Then I’ve got gloves started for my daughter and for Silva, though it may be next winter that they really benefit from them as I don’t think they’ll be done in time to post them to North America before I go there myself in early spring.

So, here are the gloves and hats:

The next pic shows a table full of knitted goods for sale. These were all made by the same woman who wove the shawl in the last blog entry. I need to get to know her better - she has a wealth of fiber knowledge and is happy to share it if we can make the time work out. Many of her patterns are traditional to the region. I’ll try to get closer pictures of the patterned socks and the bed socks that have a division between toes so that they can be worn with the ubiquitous rubber thongs when one gets up to pee in the night! Clever.

Finally, a picture taken from OUR roof of the neighbor next door knitting on HER roof. I’ve got lots of pictures of knitters taken from the roof, but often you can’t really see what they’re doing. Some afternoons however, it looks like a skyful of knitters.

I am testing the photo insert function on my blog by posting pictures for all my fiber arts friends who keep asking for pictures. This is a stroll around town with a camera, taking pictures of different traditional shawls and ways of wearing them.

Okay, this one isn’t on anyone - the picture was taken in Mandi at a fiber artist’s studio. More about him in another post

This shawl was woven by the woman holding it. She says it takes her 2 months to produce one like this - from carding the wool, to spinning and weaving it:

In the market:

“What?” she said, “You want to take a picture of THIS old thing?!”

a wedding party:

A Kinoori shawl:

On other levels this has been a bitch of a week. I haven’t had to have root canal surgery or been attacked by rabid dogs which I guess is something to be grateful for…

I was somewhere in my late teens - 17, 18, 19 maybe - when I fell in love with the Himalayas. I can visualize the occasion perfectly: Standing in a Kroch’s & Brentano’s bookstore at Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, Illinois, waiting to pick up a book on Egyptian mythology that I had ordered. In addition to the book, I picked up a deck of Tarot cards and a china mug from Japan with a blue and white pattern of cranes. That’s how clear the memory is - I can still see that mug, more than 30 years later.

Browsing, my eyes fell on one of those enormous hardbound books that are impossible to shelve and thus become “coffee table” books. Art books, picture books, gift books that (at least to slim budget back then) only the rich could afford to give or receive. I opened it and fell headlong into the most astonishing, most heartstoppingly gorgeous photos of mountains - the Himalayan range of Nepal, Tibet and North India. Taken at every time of day, at every season, from all sorts of angles, it was nothing but photographic images of the greatest mountains on the planet. Sun glinting off blinding snow and vast crevasses between sharp peaks. Summer green and studded with wildflowers or sunless and dark with hard, black shadows. Always the sky, the startling colour of lapis lazuli at those altitudes in the full daytime or pink, gold and crimson at dusk and dawn. Nothing in my entire life had given me to expect those images, the breathtaking beauty of the Himalayas.

The book, of course, was way beyond my means. I remember that it cost $84.00, which was an enormous sum in the early 1970’s. No way did I have that much to spend on a book. It occurred to me that I might be able to save enough to buy it if I was frugal for a few months and careful with my money. Then it occurred to me that these were pictures. Gorgeous, stunning pictures, but only pictures. Of a place on the other side of the world from Schaumburg, Illinois. And, at that moment I decided that, rather than saving to buy the book, I was going to see those mountains, those Himalayas, for myself. Someday I’d be able to take pictures of them too!

We bought dishes today for the house we’re renting, where we’ll be spending at least half the months of the year for the next several years. They’ll be working on the kitchen tomorrow. After that’s done, they’ll finish the bedroom, the plastering and flooring and lighting. We’ll move in probably in the next month or so. And I’ll sleep in that bedrooma which has large windows facing to the east. I’ll wake up in the morning and see, out my bedroom window, the lake below and farther, the snow peaks of the Himalayas.

Oh, we’re not at that crazy altitude where the sky is so dark it’s nearly midnight blue at midday. The air is thinner here, but no moreso than say Taos. There’s a north wind though, coming off those mountains. It smells of snow and vastness now that winter is coming on. In the distance tonight I can hear the howling of the jackal like wild canines that come down from the higher ranges at this season.

There’s an old song by Judy Collins called “My Father” in which the singer talks about her father who worked in the mines of Ohio and dreamed that, someday, he and his children would live in France…

“We’d go boating on the Seine
And I would learn to dance…”

It talks about dreams, the seemingly impossible and then the singer goes on to say that now she lives in Paris
“and my children dance and dream.
Hearing the story of a miner’s life
in words they’ve never seen.
I sailed my memories of old
Like boats across the Seine
And watched the Paris sun
Set in my father’s eyes again.”

That song has always haunted me, the idea that dreams, however unlikely, can come to pass. I found myself humming it under my breath this past spring as Lena and I took a boat ride - on the Seine - seeing the sights of Paris. More than just a literal reminder of a song about France, however, it’s a song about not forgetting, about sailing one’s dreams to fulfillment. I look out my window and see the mountains and know that I’ve sailed my own dreams, more than 30 years in the making, to a place I’ve always wanted to be. And it really IS beautiful!

Wandering street musicians. Bagpipes are pretty common here - with a distinctly Indian tone to them:

Nyondo took this picture of a sign on the main road. She found it quite hilarious:

On the road to Dharamsala at dawn - a dhaba or food stall in the early early light:

A mongoose on a rock wall. These little guys can be hard to spot because they blend into their surroundings and they move incredibly fast. This particular one seemed to be hanging out enjoying the sun:

Prayer flags flutter among the cave dwellings atop the mountain:

The intrepid travelers make toast on an electric space heater in our hotel room:

Sometimes it’s the little things you know you’ll remember for a long time. Random vignettes and the thoughts that go with them.

Stopping at the good momo (Tibetan meat dumpling) stall because it’s warm inside and they really do the best momos for 25 rupees a plate. Cupping our hands over bowls of koa (broth) sprinkled with chopped herbs, inhaling the warmth and fragrance of something so simple. The proprietor - who knows us well by now - coming over to the table with a single golden apple, a knife, a plate. “My friend brought this from Spitti” he says in Tibetan as he quarters and cores it. Spitti is waaay up in the highest mountains on the border of Tibet. “He eats my momos and brings me a few of these.” Ceremoniously he places the apple slices on the faded plastic plate and gestures to us to eat. “Very tasty,” he says - in English. The apple IS tasty, all the moreso because it has a history, a story of it’s own, a provenance. The gift of an apple from far away, shared with people from even farther away. I’ve eaten lots of apples in my life. This one I won’t forget.

Outside our window, just inside the town gates there is a large boulder upon which is carved the syllables of the mantra OM MANI PADME HUM. People make pilgrimage to see and touch this stone. As I sit at my desk here in this room while dusk falls, I hear the sounds of a drum and bell. Looking out I see that a young lama and a female disciple have sat themselves down in front of the mani stone and are beginning the ceremony of Chod, intended to dispel one’s personal demons and free one from fear. I’ve done this ceremony myself; it’s really powerful. They are doing it well, with great sincereity and fervor. The sound reaches up to me, carries me as I do my work; there’s something soothing about the familiar rhythms. Later I meet this lama and the woman with him. They are passing through town, barely subsisting, but on pilgrimage. They are poor but content. We give them medicine and a little money for food. I hope they’ll be okay in the cold winter as they travel.

There’s an old woman named Nana who we know. We found her and her husband a sponsor when we were in the U.S. last month. The $20 per month someone will send them is going to make a huge difference in their lives. Nana is practically in tears when we tell her, but she holds it back well. Lena goes to her house to see her husband who has pneumonia. She takes him some antibiotics and tells him he must stay in bed for a few more days. Nana says, “maybe he’ll listen to you. I’ve been telling him that for three days!” The following morning she turns up at our door with a loaf of freshly baked bread. Nana is famous in the village for baking the best bread and, tasting this, I can tell she deserves her reputation. It’s a cold morning. The bread, wrapped in newspaper, is still warm. I thank her for the bread and then stick it inside my shirt and thank her again for the warmth and we all laugh because that is a very Tibetan thing to do!

There’s a little Indian boy who brings us a bottle of fresh milk every morning on his way to school. He delivers it to our room in a plastic soda bottle while it’s still warm from the cow. We have it boiled and use it in our morning coffee, the best milk I have ever tasted. We pay his mother 150 rupees a month for this daily delivery (a little over $3 US) but we always give him something - a hard candy, a banana, an orange, whatever is around that a small boy might like. He has the sweetest smile, totally open and guileless. The first time he came to collect the money for his mother, we gave him five rupees for himself. It took him more than a moment to get it, that this was just for him, in addition to what he was to give his mom. The look of astonished delight on his face was something else. I wish I could make everyone happy so easily!

I am surrounded by so much goodness and open heartedness and genuine kindness. Oh sure, there are not so nice folks too - the head of the local taxi drivers union is a notorious scumbag extortionist and there is one monastery in town that runs a so-called orphanage that would have made Charles Dickens turn in his grave at the conditions. Human nature produces all sorts. But, in general, I am reminded daily that it’s really the little things, the small gestures and the intentions in people’s hearts, that really matters.

One picture I managed to upload: The “temple” in the caves at the top of the mountain. The back half actually is a cave with the rest of the building built onto the front so more people can fit inside:

Well, I’ve been attempting to write a blog entry for about a week now and the fates have not been cooperating. We’ll see how this attempt goes…

Much of the problem has been simply that we’re living in rural India and things like electricity and internet connects aren’t something to be taken for granted at any given moment. Particularly with winter coming in. One day the GPRS function of our cell phone, by which we connect to the ‘net, will be down while they’re working on the towers. That comes up then in the night when the internet is jammed and it takes forever just to send a ten word email much less post pictures. Then it’s up the next day but the electrical power is off. I can work by battery, but my priorities right now have got to be handling my teacher’s correspondence, maintaining the sponsorship files, troubleshooting communications, the things I do that are my WORK here. And, by the time those are done every day, I’m pretty much out of juice and have to wait for the next coincidence of power and signal.

Yesterday the hotel’s power was off all day. Not the whole town, they were working on rewiring things around here. Not only did I run out of battery on both laptop and cell phone, but it got fiercely cold without any heater all day and into the night! We ended up going to bed early and huddling under layers of blankets to stay warm. Pleasant, but not very productive.

I’ve been knitting like crazy since we got back, trying to make some warm things to keep me from turning into a Joysickle. I did a pair of gloves first since the other ones I made last year appear to have vanished. Next was a hat out of some local mohair which I finished yesterday. A good hat really DOES help to keep one warm. And I cast on a pair of wool socks. I feel stupid for not bringing more socks with me. I left a whole bunch of my handknitted socks back in the States and, oh how I wish I had them now! So more on the needles. Up here everyone knits and you pull it out and work on it whenever you sit down and chat with someone, it’s the custom. So I fit right in. When the weather is clear and sunny (today it’s overcast) everyone either sits on a stoop in the sunshine or on thir roof and does whatever making they’re into. The other day I sat on the roof with Nyondo, knitting away while, nearby, one of the hotel boys sat and made a broom out of rushes.

Much of our other time has been taken up by this house we’re going to be renting. Because it’s unfinished, we get to have a huge amount of say in what goes where. Of course anything that’s not standard for the region (extra electrical outlets for instance and stair railings) is something we pay for out of our pockets. We’re having them put a fireplace in the kitchen and in the central courtyard. The kitchen one will let me cook on it, the other will be for warmth and burning paper garbage as there is no garbage collection in this area. Everything is either fed to something (cows, crows, monkeys or dogs) composted, recycled or burned. One tries never to use plastic as it doesn’t burn without harm and, if you must, the bags and bottles of plastic are used and reused until they disintegrate. Nothing is wasted.

Since the house is such a work in progress, we have to check on it every day or so to see that things are being placed where we want them. Also we will have to have furniture made to order. It’s actually cheaper in this region to have furniture custom made than it is to buy premade schlock. Everyone wants premade at the moment, just like everyone things polyester is better cuz it doesn’t wrinkle, making it tough to find pure cotton or pure wool fabrics. We can get gorgeous woven shawls and blankets of pure wool from the local weaver and will have him make the spread for our bed, but everyday things are trickier to get without laminate or plastic bits. So we’re picking up what we can when we can. Yesterday, walking around the bazaar, we grabbed a couple of fired clay thingies that are actually meant to be the tops of hookah pipes but will make lovely candleholders. Stuff like that… Old stuff isn’t valued, new junk is. Theother day someone gave Lena a kerosene lantern made out of an antique bottle that was “junk” to them. The bottle itself would fetch a high price in the west as an “antique” Go figure…

Anyway, a few pictures if the internet cooperates:

Okay, before the cell phone dies - the view from our balcony of the new house:

A view from the lake up to the house we’ll be renting. To the left, the huge edifice under construction is the statue and temple our teacher, Wangdor Rimpoche, is building here at this major power point. The idea is to serve as a focal point for preserving the Buddhist knowledge and also for promoting peace on the planet at this struggling time. At the upper right, on the ridge, are the caves where Lena lived years ago and which are still inhabited by a community of Tibetan Yogis. In between is the house - I’ve put a red X just above it. The view is amazing.\

Next, some of the workers on the house, in the road out front:

Another view from the mountain:

Finally, our current neighborhood. The Ganesh is a pretty awesome neighbor and don’t you love the tree growing up through the middle of the building? Hey, the tree was there first - you build *around* it!