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At the village of Lamayuru, I got off the bus full of twenty-somethings from Bombay feeling both relief and excitement. It was a long, jarring ride in a seat that simply doesn't square with the length of my legs, so I was pleased to give it up to another passenger when my stop finally came. The Bombay crowd had chartered the entire bus, and had been kind enough to stop when I flagged it down on the side of the road that morning. They were mostly young professionals and graduate students who were vacationing up north to escape the stifling heat and drenching monsoon back home. They were clearly from the Indian upper class. They were convinced that I was a "professional" mountaineer, which tells you something about the amount of time they've spent outside of the city. It was fascinating to watch them experience such a vastly contrasting region of their own country, which Ladakh certainly is. In some ways, I think I was actually more at home in this mountain landscape than this group of Indians. They were clearly into the Bollywood scene, but their Hindu culture was still readily apparent. Juxtaposed to the gregarious Kashmiri bus driver and the reserved Ladakhi fare steward, the youthful city dwellers from the South rounded out a pretty good sample of the diversity of people in this country.

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Lamayuru is seriously cool. All of the buildings (homes, hotels, monasteries, schools, etc.) are made principally of mud brick. The architecture blends so seamlessly with the surrounding natural landscape that at times it becomes challenging to decipher where man-made structure begins and nature ends. It's truly beautiful and inspiring. The aging chortens (Tibetan Buddhist statue of sorts) look like sandcastles that have endured one or two rising tides; dilapidated and smoothed over, yet retaining their integrity, as if to return to the earth with grace and poise. It stikes me that the entire built infrastructure around the globe is deteriorating all the time, but the edifices in Lamayuru really display just how temporary our human endeavors are. The Buddhist teaching of Impermanence comes to mind as you observe men building an identical chorten next to another that has endured many years of harsh weather in service to this community.

I ventured above the Lamayuru monastery to the higher chortens and prayer wheels. This is also where the local monks come for silent meditation retreats. Looking down at the magnificent gompa on the cliffside, the perspective is very nearly dizzying. On the horizon above the gompa emerges steep and jagged snow-capped peaks leading into the Zanskar region. All of the Tibetan artwork with figures seemingly floating between the earthly realm and the heavenly realm began to resonate much more with me from this vantage point. Perched in an elevated cave staring out at the junction of earth and sky, the Tibetan Lamas sit in meditation for hours, days, weeks, months, and even years at a time. Not many of us could survive for long under these harsh conditions, let alone reach a heightened state of mind and clearer view of reality. When you exchange a glance with one of these Lamas, their eyes, smile, and overall presence suggest a life well-lived. These are the masters of the Art of Living.

The main gompa and monastery at the highest point in the village was built right around a cave where Naropa, a major figure in Tibetan Buddhism, meditated for awhile in the 11th century. I was imagining the scenario if you happened upon this sage sitting here a thousand years ago. He spent his life walking great distances between natural dwelling places that he found suitable for meditation. Among the historical individuals whom I admire, one common theme that emerges is a large portion of time spent walking. It is very conducive to simplicity, self-reflection, touching nature, and meeting strangers. This is why I go trekking, with the hope and intention of following in the footsteps of the wise ones.

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After a great and tiring first day of hiking from Lamayuru to Phanjila, my guide, Konchok, and I have taken shelter with a family in a "homestay" arrangement. This valley holds about fifteen families, and this house seems to be a central gathering place. As I write in my journal, there is a Buddhist nun with her prayer beads sitting directly across the room from my guide and another fellow who are drinking a strong barley alchohol and telling what appear to be outrageous stories. This is a truely eclectic gathering, complete with a gangly, white, bearded guy. The host just took time to explain to me that, "we don't work too hard, this is more of a mindful life here". I dig it.

This particular house had a "western" toilet. While I'll admit it felt great to sit on the white porcelin throne, the composting squat toilets are certainly preferable from an environmental standpoint. They not only contribute to making very valuable soil for farming in this arid and rocky earth, but they also require no water, no pipe, and no waste when the throne eventually breaks and must be discarded in the nearest landfill (i.e. river). When I was travelling in New Zealand working on various organic farms, several of them had composting toilets of very similar design to these in Ladakh. Those Kiwis were seriously keen on getting back to a subsistent way of living, which the Ladakhis have mastered, and in an inhospitable environment at that.

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Climbing the wooden ladder to the rooftop, I heard chanting and drums coming and going in the swirling winds above. Nothing beats live tunes from the local monastery on the hill at sunset!

Arriving in Ursi at another homestay, I discover that my bed for the night is about fifteen feet from where the family keeps the farm animals. They were mostly agreeable housemates, although either the yak or the cow had a bit of a snoring issue. But, the fresh milk in my chai tea made up for it.

This morning I walked up the hill to the local gompa which is currently under repair. I was able to meet the artist who is painting the new walls, which was very neat. There were also several elderly monks and about a dozen townspeople who were volunteering their time to help with the construction work. The costs of the work on the gompas are taken care of by donations from the villagers. I decided I wanted to subtley contribute, but they insisted on first sitting down for some tea, then signing some paperwork for both parties, and finally being given a lovely prayer shawl as thanks for my donation. I exchanged some invaluable smiles with the monks and laypeople as I continued on my way.

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Walking about an hour past the village of Ursi on the trail leading to Tar La pass, which we will attempt tomorrow morning, I came upon a herd of twelve mammals. According to my sweet guidebook, they were either blue sheep or siberian ibex. I was solo, so I wasn't making much noise and was able to get quite close before spooking them. Nature is nature, as Konchok likes to say.

While at the new gompa in Ursi, I began speaking a little English with the local schoolteacher who stopped in. He thought it was a very dangerous idea to attempt the Tar La pass as we intended to do the next day. The other six or eight people working in the area were given a translation of our conversation by my guide, and the discussion began. One of the monks who looked particularly weather-worn insisted there was an alternative route that wouldn't have too much snow and was definitely passable at this time of year. It was at this point that I realized Konchok and I might be the very first trekking party to do the pass in 2009. This added to the thrill and mystique of the trek, and also augmented the number of butterflies in my stomach. We're going to give it an early start in the morning and just see how it goes. If we are strong enough in the lungs to reach the summit, (16,000 ft) the greater amount of snow will be on the downside. I don't know if we should expect a cornice and huge slippery slope of ice and snow, or a possible path on dirt and rocks between the snow patches. If it seems too dangerous, we have no reservations about turning around after taking in the supreme views at the top.

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Uh, we're now halfway down the east (down) side of the Tar La, feeling really strong. There is evidence that we're the first trekking party this year: zero footprints anywhere, a horse carcass that had died before or during the winter, (we later saw the broken leg about 100 meters further down the slope) and the villagers in Ursi said that two other parties had attempted and turned back earlier this year. I think the significant snowmelt must have been just in the last week or so. A stroke of good fortune.

Confirmation...At the first house we came upon in the village of Tar (there are 12 households with 70 people total) the three guys working outside the house looked at Konchok and me with surprise and enthusiasm. They informed us that we were in fact the first hikers they had seen since last year. I was thinking that was pretty cool, so I got excited and we all shared a good smiling session. They also said it would not be possible to get any pack animals over the pass at this time, so we were lucky to be traveling light without a tent, stove, food, etc. I guess we were traveling fast as well, as everyone was skeptical that we had finished the pass in less than six hours with decent sized packs.

The landscape here in Tar draws comparison with some parts of southern Utah in that the rock is different shades of red, orange, and cream and it tends to rise quite abruptly. I think it is sedimentary, smooth in parts and crumbling away in others. There are many poplar and willow trees, and this is the first time I've seen a cottonwood along the streamside. This settlement is uniquely encircled by immediately steep rising mountains on all sides. There is a cool spring at the top of the village which is distributed to every home and barley field via narrow canals dug into the earth with little more than a gardening spade. One gets the feeling this little slice of land was meant to be inhabited by animals, and the Ladakhis in Tar are doing a simply beautiful job of living here.

The idea of living off the land with a community of friends and family in a habitable and scenic environment is very attractive to me. These people have carved out a lovely existence in this place. Although some of the traditional culture is visibly fading with the younger generation, there still seems to be a strong identity and also contentment in this way of life. Things will inevitably continue to change, and perhaps at an increasing rate, but the smiles and pleasant energy of the Ladakhi people here suggest that they intend to keep on keepin' on. In some small way, I intend to carry forth a few of the cultural aspects that I'm particularly fond of. All distinct world cultures seem to be streaming into more of a global village (dare I say monoculture?), which may only accelerate in time. If in fact this trend is inevitable and irreversible, then why not attempt to harness the highest achievements as well as the beautiful subtle nuances of the smaller, more traditional and more ancient ways of life? Alternatively, perhaps this ancient wisdom and traditional way of life will make a resurgence if/when any substantial "sustainability" movement ever gets off the ground in the developed countries. Skills of survival and subsistence have been almost completely lost in the "developed" world. Fascination will lie in the unfolding of the mysteries and complexities of our time. I primarily wish to be one of many voices for peace, simplicity, and sustainable innovation. We only have to believe that we can create the world we want to live in. Before we can solve the climate crisis and other pending global issues of importance, individuals must cultivate peace within themselves. Only when we reach a critical mass/tipping point of human beings who are balanced within can we ever hope to solve the imminent issues facing our earth.
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"Ju-le" is Ladakhi for "hello", "goodbye", "thank you", "your welcome", among other things, I assume. The craft of speech these people have is in the myriad intonations that can be used for expression with this single word. One woman gave me a tired, yet sincere "Ju-le" as I was descending from the gompa and she returning home from a long day of working the fields in the blazing sun. I got her meaning.

Traditional Ladakhi women wear their hair in two long braids that are joined at the tips to create a circle on their back. The tips look almost dreaded, and some of the braids look like they haven't been touched for months, if not longer. I'm guessing one reason for this hairstyle is to avoid getting the head wet in the winter months that regularly see negative thirty degree temperatures, but that's just a guess.

This place is spectacular! The high arid mountain landscape is very special in and of itself. Add to that the fascinating and easy-going Ladakhi people, the beautiful Tibetan Buddhist gompas, chortens, mani walls, and prayer flags. Throw in some serious exercise for the lungs and legs, and you have one hell of a trekking experience. Hiking in the Annapurna region of Nepal was very special. Somehow, Ladakh seems to be the next level still, with more demanding terrain, far less tourists, and more isolated and unique culture. Come to think of it, I believe I've seen less than twenty or thirty foreign tourists since I left Dharmsala almost three weeks ago. I've been the only foreigner at my place of rest each of the last six nights and most of the nights before that. I really can't believe there aren't any other travelers around here right now, but I'm not complaining. The main trekking season isn't until July, but the weather has been great thus far. It feels good to take the road less travelled.

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The homestay is a really great way to trek in Ladakh. In addition to the cultural exchange while cooking in the kitchen, the bed is relatively comfortable and it may just be the lightest way to travel as well.

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Ladakh is a spectaular venue for cloud-viewing; a very nice way to pass the time in contemplation.

There are no guns in these villages, as far as I can tell. There are lots of guns in Kashmir.

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Firewood is fairly scarce here. They mostly use twigs from the poplars and willows (after feeding the leaves to the animals) to stoke the kitchen stove. It requires almost constant attention to heat water to a boil, so one of the daughters is always sitting in front of the stove, which is a great location when the sun disappears behind the mountains.

They plant six to eight feet long trimmed branches into the ground to start a new willow (or poplar) tree. Tar is particularly pleasant because it is shaded by the surrounding mountains for a couple of extra hours a day. (Shade is generally hard to come by in Ladakh. Sometimes we'll be on the trail, ready for a rest break, and we won't find a single shady spot for fifteen minutes or longer.) Perhaps the extra shade in Tar is the reason the trees are so happy here, creating more shade and giving rise to grasses and small plants along the canals and turning this little patch of arid mountain land into a green oasis. I don't know if the water source here is a spring or an underground river. I'm also not sure what the difference between the two is...

The canyon below Tar is where all the water runs after the irrigation system usage in the village. I'm still using chlorine tablets to make sure I'm safe, (this is not a good place to come down with any nasty water-borne illness) but the water here must be about as clean and pure as it comes, especially in the context of India. It is easy to forget that you are in India here. I go some days on the trail and in the villages and I see only a handful or two of other human beings. In the rest of India, it is challenging to find respite outdoors for thirty seconds before being interupted by a horn or one of the 1.2 billion people living in this beautifully cramped country.

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Wandering between the sparse shady spots, I breathe, I reflect, I am. This streamside tree with a dry grassy patch will do just fine. Happiness lies here, in contemplation.

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Every Ladakhi kitchen I've been in has very nearly the same layout. There are way more copper bowls, pots, and tea kettles than seem necessary, but perhaps they are all in use during the long, cold winter months. This particular kitchen has a sick and dying mother in the corner bed. She has a terribly deep cough, and the look on her face is one of pain and agony. This culture doesn't hide death away, but rather puts the process right in the middle of family life. I seem to be the one most affected by her anguish, which tells you how naturally and gracefully the Ladakhis deal with death. Tibetan Buddhism teaches that the process of dying illustrates the true character and wisdom of the individual. For this reason they have immense respect for the figure of Jesus, who handled a torturous and excruciating death will complete peace and compassion. Because of the belief in reincarnation, there is significant right and ritual to assure the loss of this life transitions as well as possible into the creation of the next. We're accustomed to the idea of a dying person "passing away" to another place. In this region, there is no concept of "away". Only change.

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We've been trailblazing, navigating, and contemplating along the trail. I do some of my very best thinking while walking in nature. One foot in front of the other, you stay present.

"Above all do not lose your desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked into my best thoughts and know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it." - The Buddha

This has become more than just trekking for me. It has evolved into what could perhaps be called a pilgrimage or sorts. I'm living a bit like a pilgrim at present.

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The rockslides to the West of the trail between Hibti La pass and Mangyu La pass today were a wonderful exhibit of nature's art. The maroon, cream, brown, and orange colored rocks were blending together as on a canvas as they gradually slip and slide down the steep slope. Toward their inevitable sedimentation in the valley below, the mountainside is a very patient yet persistent piece of canvas that is always being painted. The artist is mother nature, and the medium is father time.

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There is a process whereby nature is governed. That is to say, there is a law of nature. That law is the supreme truth. Gain experiential wisdom of that law, and know the truth. This is liberation. Rocks, plants, and animals experience nothing but this law, but perhaps have no concious method of discerning its properties. Man is equipped with the method (aptitude) of logic and reason to discover properties and patterns of nature in order to gain knowledge of the law which governs all things. Total knowledge means total harmony with the law, resulting in peace and happiness. I believe this is what the Buddha, Jesus, Aristotle, and many other saints and sages achieved in their lifetime. I've got a lot more observing to do!

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The composting toilet at the homestay in Mangyu is three stories high! Konchok and I slept on the rooftop under an incredibly starry sky. During my morning ritual, I kept making sure nobody was using the lavatory on the story below. The hole in the ground on my level perfectly aligned with the hole in the ground on the level below, which led to the ground level where the compost was collected. I can say with great confidence that I will never again see my duece travel such a distance!

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Sometimes when you're traveling you can get a pretty good sense for what kind of foreigners have preceded your visit to a place. Walking in between Lamayuru and Alchi for the past five days, I've been suspecting that the trekkers who traveled before me were the generally "good" kind. There was little if any evidence of their stay, and my interactions with the locals were so genuine that they had obviously not been burned by any unpleasant interactions with big white guys before. So, that was encouraging to discover that many mindful travelers do exist, and some of them have picked this route along the way. I'd guess that less than a dozen foreigners have stayed with some of the families that hosted my guide and I. Most of the hard-core trekkers who come through this remote and challenging terrain travel with horses to carry the tents and stoves and food. Unfortunately, they miss the interaction with the families if they remain at the campsite. I'm not particularly fond of sleeping in tents, so the homestay is ideal for me!

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Perhaps I shouldn't be, but I'm surprised to find columbine flowers here in Ladakh.

At a slightly lower elevation, (11,000 ft.) the mustard seed crop provides sharply contrasting yellow patches to the already striking blue sky, green trees, maroon and orange rock, and bright white clouds and snowy peaks. This spot is gorgeous.

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It seems inevitable that more development and population inflow will arrive in Ladakh, but who knows because I thought that would have happened already to a much greater extent than it has. We walk down a mountain into a valley without a single motor or commercial sign whatsoever. I'm curious as to what my reaction will be upon arriving back into "mainland" India where there is an entirely different notion of personal space. Part of me is looking forward to jumping back into the full-on noise, smells, color, and chaos of urban India. But, for a couple more weeks I'll certainly savor the serenity of Ladakh.

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My natural tendency is usually to be reticent toward development. Whether that means building a road in a pristine river valley, or attempting to improve the "quality of life" for individuals by other means, I immediately hesitate and qualify because so many times development projects have been executed or conceived very poorly without sufficient knowledge of the economic, cultural, and environmental consequences. But, I've heard first hand accounts of what a huge blessing it was to a certain village when the construction of the road finally reached their valley. The answers must lie somewhere in the middle, but I still am not convinced a road should be built for proven econonmic benefit if that action carries significant cultural and environmental burden for the community.

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Part of me wishes I hadn't decided not to take any photographs during my solo traveling. There have been so many instances where I've thought, "that would be an excellent picture". But, I'm sticking to my philosophy that you immediately take yourself out of that special moment when you reach for the camera to capture it. Mostly, I'm just not a very skilled photographer! Hopefully this blog has sparked your imagination, because there's magic in these mountains. The flapping prayer flags are a constant reminder.

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Wow, arriving into Leh, I'm amazed at how jaded I've become toward other travelers after being largely alone the past three weeks. All I can think about is how to get away from all these tourists and dive back into the oasis of complete immersion of authentic culture. In other words, these car horns are too much!

Atop the Leh Palace, the sunrise is spectacular as the far reaching view is illuminated with gentle rays. This palace is a smaller version of the Potala Palace in Lhasa, Tibet, the former residence of the Dalai Lama. Both are now museums.

I met this afternoon with my new guide and his son who will be accompanying us for a twelve day trek through the classic Markha Valley and then across the remote and elevated Karnak. The father and son are Tibetan, and their family has been living in exhile in a refugee settlement just outside of Leh since 1959, the same year the Dalai Lama was forced to flee the nation he ruled.

Picture, if you will, Chairman Mao and the Dalai Lama sitting at the negotiation table in Beijing. Mao is widely regarded as one of the most forceful political figures in recent history, and the Dalai Lama is a self-proclaimed "simple Buddhist monk" who was about my age at the time of the first Chinese invasion. Needless to say, Tibet had no chance when China decided to invade and implement rule in their country. The Chinese government has always maintained that they "liberated" the "serfs" of Tibet from their brutal and antiquated "feudal" system of government. This propaganda seems to have some parallel with the notion of the "white man's burden" which attempted to placate the naysayers of European colonization. You must portray the conquered masses as having lived in deplorable conditions, thus being fortunate to have such benevolent nations to "liberate" them. The Chinese are quick to point out that Tibet held its "first election" in 1961 as proof of their rightful action to forcefully take control of this region.

The Tibetans have played the historical role of the "conquered" people, losing many lives and their land and their way of life. But, the Tibetans are a resilient people, and they have many, many allies across the globe. One of the ironic twists of this story is that as a result of their exile, and the international attention that followed, Tibetan culture, and particularly its unique form of Buddhism, has spread around the world. This is in no small part due to the precense of the Dalai Lama, but also many other Rinpoches like Chogyam Trungpa, who settled in Boulder and started Shambala and Naropa University.

I find it very difficult to agree with Chinese propaganda like the recent headline in a paid advertisement in the Hindustan Times: "Emancipated Serfs Become Masters of Their Homeland". That seems to imply that their leader, the Dalai Lama, intentionally and systematically opressed his people. I just can't get my head around that one. This guy is the reincarnation of Avalokiteshvara, the boddhisatva of COMPASSION. But, let us not forget Howard Zinn's message in, "A People's History of the United States": The "winners" always write the history books. Perhaps this time around, educated citizens from around the world can help to give the "losers" a voice.

Here is a quote from the Tibetan Parliamentary and Policy Research Center in New Delhi:

"Tibet of the past has often been described in the Western media as "feudal", but it is absolutely inapt and also misleading since this perception is based exclusively on the Marxist interpretation of the society in Europe of the Middle Ages. Tibetan society was neither as rigid as the medieval European society nor was it based upon the system of holding land by giving one's services to the owner which alone explains feudalism. Mobility was not restricted to permanent upper strata of the society. There were no official or social or land-holding classes, or even hereditary "castes" in Tibet. There was, however, an aristocracy. But this too was service-oriented and consisted of both lay and monastic officials. There was the underpinning of the Buddhist ideal of renunciation and service in the life of those who usually consituted the aristocracy, particularly from the clergy side. Tibet was self-governing, economically self-sufficient, and culturally thriving sans any significant social contradictions. The government of Tibet maintained postal services, an army, a currency, and an organized legal system. It also collected taxes in a regulated and systemic manner."

Having given the subject some thought, I must say that the Tibetan nation is extremely complicated and unique. I can almost understand if the Chinese did not fully grasp the entire political, commercial, cultural, and spiritual institutions of the Tibetan culture. Or perhaps they just didn't care, determined to expand their land holdings into the Tibetan plateau.

Some say that Ladakh is more like Tibet before the invasion than the current manifestation of what now lies under Chinese control. The Chinese-made posters of present day Lhasa (the former capitol of Tibet) paints a picture of another modern metropolis, with the only thing distinguishing this city being the Potala Palace on the hill.

Sometimes I find myself growing very frustrated with the Chinese government for doing their darndest to wipe the Tibetan people off the planet. At other times, I realize that the world is in a constant state of flux, and to try to preserve it as is would be the work of a madman. There is now a proud and far-reaching Tibetan diaspora which, hopefully, will continue to spread new seeds of their culture and spiritual traditions over fertile soil in countries across the globe. One thing is almost certain: Far fewer people would have ever heard of the Dalai Lama or his Tibetan Buddhist tradition if Mao had not given orders to his army to invade Tibet. Considering Mao's tragic and horrific legacy, perhaps that "simple Buddhist monk" was the victor of that first meeting in Beijing after all.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 6, 2009 from Leh, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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Life is good at the Himalaya House Hotel in Pahalgam. After a great night's rest in a bed that is actually pretty soft and using the attached bath with a Western toilet, you're already feeling like a Prince. You walk outside and the first employee you see kindly takes your customized breakfast order. You sit on the bank of the river in the flower garden and soak up the morning rays, which begin pouring over the mountain range to the East, creating a majestic morning alpenglow on the peaks to the West. After eating, you either relax in the hammock or retire to your room for a couple hours of birding or reading. Just about the time you're getting thirsty, Nagendra brings you a Chai, with the customized dose of sugar he has memorized, and a smile as well. At lunchtime you reconnect with the river and garden, drinking in the view with your Kashmiri tea. Hiking is in store for the afternoon, for further-reaching exploration of this exotic land and its people. The daily ritual is way too comfortable here, but definitely a safe way to experience this slightly unstable region of India.

The scenery makes you feel like you could be in Switzerland or the Sierras, but then you suddenly recall your location in India as your eye follows the flow of the river to a woman doing laundry on the opposite bank. With the right soap, it could be the single most sustainable washing system on the planet. I don't know the percentage, of course, but a large portion of Indians bath regularly, if not exclusively, in the nearest body of water. How easily we forget what a luxury it is to have indoor plumbing. But, we definitely miss an opportunity of communing with nature by cleansing the body in the wild river.

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When interacting with the Kashmiri men at the hotel, it feels like you are at the negotiating table at all times. Even when performing a seemingly innocent and straightforward task such as asking for someone to kindly pass the salt, they make you feel like this effort will somehow need to be repaid in the future. Indeed, Kashmiri salesmen have an international reputation of being, shall I say, persistent?

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Today I subtley discovered that the gardeners eat whatever is leftover from my lunch. Tomorrow I won't indulge quite as much. We should always know not to overconsume, for it always will leave too little for someone else along the line. The same world that is satisfying to me is utterly devastating to those least fortunate. But by the grace of God, there would be I. I must remain simple in my requirements for a "good" lifestyle. What if the rich didn't consume so much? My guess is there would be more resources to go around to the billions of humans just scratching by. With a hugely increasing global population and constrained natural resources, the wealthy should be morally compelled to do with less, which is so very easy. I hope things don't just go back to the way they were before the sub-prime crisis. We must learn not to let our lifestyles inflate the "bubble" to unreasonable volumes.

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I've been spending some time observing the entire staff here at the Himalaya House. There is certainly more than heirarchy at work here, as the caste system, despite great progress in the last 50 or 60 years, is still very much relevant in India. To the average "Western" mind, this appears and is categorized as discrimination. I'm currently reading a very good book, A Fine Balance, which is written by an Indian author and describes, with fiction, the lives of four individuals from separate castes whose stories converge. They become mutually dependent upon one another, and the borders of caste begin to come crumbling down. I'm halfway through the novel, savoring the brilliant language on each page. It is set in 1970's India at the time of Indira Ghandi's election scandal (she cheated to win and then changed the law after the fact) and ensuing "Internal Emergency" during which many gross human rights violations occurred across the country.

Very quick primer on India politics: Ghandi and Nehru started the Congress Party on the principle foundation that India needed to move beyond the caste system and grant rights and freedoms to all citizens. Nehru was the first PM of independent India in 1947. He is the guy always wearing the white cap in the film, "Ghandi". His daughter was Indira Ghandi, who took power shortly after her father passed on. She was assassinated by her Sikh body guards (Katy and I visited the site in Delhi) after her goverment ordered a brutal massacre at the Golden Temple in Amritsar (which Katy and I also visited). Her son, Rajiv Ghandi, assumed power, and was also killed. His daughter, Sonia Ghandi, was born in Italy, and is currently the President of the Congress Party. Everyone says that although Monmohan Singh is the PM and appears to be the leader of the country, Sonia Ghandi is pulling the strings. So, this country has essentially been run by one family for the entirity of its existence. For the most part, the people of India seem to be just fine with this arrangement.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 5, 2009 from Srinagar, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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My new travelling companion and I had the incredible opportunity of attending a Muslim wedding in Srinigar. I met Lyle in Dharamsala through our mutual friend who we were both visiting there. He's a super bright guy who went to Stanford and then was a Fulbright Fellow and then worked for the World Bank and is now going back for his MBA at NYU (Stern). He keeps me on my toes.

Matrimony is a week-long process in this culture, and we enjoyed dancing to the very unique Kashmiri traditional music until 4am, perplexedly observing the complete separation of sexes during the entire affair. It was a very traditional celebration, and from my view, the bride looked less than thrilled with some of the more cumbersome aspects of upholding the proper right and ritual (i.e. she had to eat a bite of cake served by each member of her extended family, numbering well over one hundred). On the last day, there were over eight hundred people at the ceremony, and I've never seen so much mutton (lamb) in my entire life as was served to the guests that night.

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I was halfway through my morning sunscreen ritual, ready for another day of sightseeing and people watching in Srinigar, when Riaz (a great guy who Lyle met and we ended up staying with his family for several days) came upstairs to inform us that the whole city was on lockdown due to the morningtime protests which resulted in tear gas and shellings from the military and police units. Such is life in Kashmir. The protest was in response to the death of a 17 year old boy who was killed when a tear gas canister was lodged in his temple. That incident took place during the recent elections, and it has caused the most uproar of the 36 polling-related deaths during the month-long parliamentary vote last month. Although progress has been made over the last twenty years in this region, Kashmir is still very much in conflict.

Without exception, every Kashmiri I've spoken with says they'd prefer for Kashmir to become an autonomous state, moving toward complete independence. However, most of them are quick to clarify that they would much rather be under the rule of India than the alternative of Pakistan. You may have noticed in the world news that things are heating up a bit in Pakistan right now, so it has been an interesting time to be just one hundred miles from the border with that (mostly) failed state.

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Srinigar is very cool because the main form of transport is by manually-powered boat. The city sits on top of Dal Lake, which has some absolutely picturesque coves and canals containing lotus flowers, floating vegetable markets, and docks leading to homes and shops. Lyle and I toured several markets, including one at sunrise which is the "wholesale" vegetable trading that involves a bunch of guys paddling their simple wooden boats in a very confined cove, slinging cabbages and carrots in exchange for green beans and rupees. We also toured the Old City of Srinigar. The equisite wood carving on the doors and window frames of the red brick buildings is very distinctive of this place. Shikaras (covered paddle boats which function as taxis) slide silently past each other in the canals, the drivers exhibiting not only masterful control of their craft, but also the impressive fading conversation with the other driver as they effortlessly conclude their remarks just as they float beyond earshot.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 5, 2009 from Srinagar, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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I departed early yesterday morning with my new friend, Gulam, to his home in Kashmir. His family has a nice guest house on a gorgeous plot of land in the river valley outside of Pahalgam. It is fascinating to visit this furthermost Northwest state of India because it is so distinct from the rest of the country. The proportion of the population that is of the Muslim faith is dramatically higher here, and the place generally feels much more like Central Asia (Pakistan, Afghanistan, etc.) than South Asia (the rest of the Indian subcontinent). The Kashmir region is not only world-renowned for its rugs, teas, and silk, but also for the multi-decade long armed conflict over the disputed border between India and Pakistan here. The violence is relatively mellow at the moment, and non-existent here where I am. But, this is the region which, perhaps outside of the Bay of Pigs incident, brought the world the closest to the use of nuclear arms in 1998. The military presence is certainly felt still today, but the people generally do not live in fear at this time.

That has not always been the case. I went for an afternoon trek today with a wonderful guy named Valle, during which we talked quite a bit about his life in Kashmir. He spoke at length about how hard life was here during the height of the conflict between 1989 and 1991. At this time everyone lived in complete terror, as the violence was imminent and widespread. It was the first time I have received an eye-witness civilian account of living in a war zone. Hearing about the personal consequences that were suffered and the everyday struggle to survive, I was struck with how fragile peace and prosperity can be, and how fortunate most of us are to live in a land of freedom and peace.

Within five minutes of leaving the guest house, we were trekking through a landscape that appeared totally timeless. Unaltered nature, with the occasional shepard tending to his flock of sheep. We later came across a gypsy camp, where Valle communicated in Urdu with these nomadic people. Their lifestyle is truly frozen in time, with their daily tasks and material possessions being very nearly the same as their ancestors from centuries past. In many ways it is a beautiful, simple existence. At other times, their lives are struck with preventative illnesses which they have no money to cure, or some other event knocks them from their fragile subsistence balance. No bank account, no insurance policy, no mortgage; these people have only what they can pack up and put on their backs.

The scenery is quite simply the best of what I've seen of India thus far. Untouched mountain streams teeming with rainbow trout rush down wildflower-covered valleys, weaving between huge pine and deciduous trees, complete with high snow-covered peaks towering in every direction. The weather is nearly perfect in this season, the bugs are nonexistent, the people are friendly, and I've seen two other tourists since I arrived into Kashmir four days ago. It feels safe to me, and the reward for the adventuresome traveler who ignores certain U.S. government warnings is simply exceptional.

There was some violence in the capital city of Srinigar over the past month, coinciding with the drawn-out process of the world's largest democracy going to the polls for their Parliamentary vote. The Congress party had a decisive victory in the election, and Manmohan Singh will retain the PM job for another term. He is India's first non-Hindu leader, and took the post when Sonia Ghandi, the next heir in a long line of politicians from that family, declined the post. Singh is a member of the Sikh faith, which is a relatively young religion (17th century), blending some of the tenants from Hinduism and Islam. Sikhs represent roughly 10% of the population of India. He's an accomplished Economist who was trained at Cambridge, and these credentials are serving him well in this tumultuous global marketplace.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on May 16, 2009 from Pahalgam, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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This afternoon, Katy and I enroll in our 10-day silent vipassana meditation retreat in a forested monastery above the town of Dharamsala. We'll be waking up at 4am, eating two meals of rice and vegetables before noon, and spending 10 hours each day on the meditation cushion. We'll be watching our breath, our thoughts, and the interplay between mind and body. So, we'll check you on the other side of reality!

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on May 1, 2009 from Dharmsala, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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We then proceeded straight from the Delhi airport to the Old Delhi train station (complete madness) to catch our overnight train to Amritsar. This was our first train ride in India, and will certainly not be my last. We splurged for the air conditioned sleeper coach, which was a very wise idea and resulted in a fair night's rest. Amritsar is home of the Golden Temple, the holy site of the Sikh religion. We spent some time soaking in the sight of the many pilgrims circumambulating the mote-surrounded temple. Hopefully we can upload those pictures shortly.

Arriving into Dharamsala a couple of days ago, we're really enjoying ourselves here. For those of you who are unaware, this is the home of the Dalai Lama and a large portion of the Tibetan community living in exile. I won't get into the entire history, but here is a brief synopsis:

Shortly after Chairman Mao took power in 1949, China began its "cultural revolution" which sought to implement a Marxist-style state of socialism across the fragmented country. The Tibetans were among the many minority ethnic groups that were persecuted and killed and forced to give up their rich culture and unique spiritual tradition. In 1959, at the age of 26, the Dalai Lama was forced to leave his palace in the Tibetan capital of Lhasa. He took up "temporary" residence here, and this year marks the 50th anniversary of Tibetan exile in India. If you missed his recent speech commemorating the event, check it out on You Tube. 1.2 million Tibetans have lost their lives in the struggle for freedom, and the Chinese have committed a host of human rights violations throughout the conflict. Before arriving here, I didn't realize that the Panchen Lama (#2 holy lineage in Tibetan Buddhism) is the world's youngest political prisoner, disappearing at the age of six when the Chinese disagreed with the Dalai Lama's appointment (recognition) of the 11th reincarnation of this spiritual figure. The Dalai Lama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989, but the nonviolent struggle to reclaim Tibetan independence (or at least autonomy) from China continues today.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on April 30, 2009 from Dharmsala, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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4/16 - We killed a day in Manang in order to acclimatize and rest our legs before beginning the serious ascent to Thorung La pass (18,000 ft). We attempted to hike to Ice Lake, but we (Mark) lost the path and ended up in a fairly scary situation on a steep mountainside. Katy held her cool beautifully, and a couple of hours later we somehow rejoined another path which led us to a cliffside gompa (temple) where we were surpised and delighted to see a Buddhist nun tending her small vegetable garden. She escorted us up a ladder into a small cave-like room where we were greeted by Lama Teshi. Lama Teshi, we would learn, is 93 years old and has been living in this cliffside dwelling for over fifty years! The nun is his daughter, and they proceeded to offer us tea, conversation, and blessings for crossing the Thorung Lass pass and beyond. We spent perhaps half an hour in silence watching the Lama with his ritualistic prayer beads and meditation wheel. When we finally returned to Manang that evening, Katy and I looked at each other in astonishment and relief at where our day had taken us. Losing the path to Ice Lake, only to stumble upon a blessing from a Lama dwelling high in a cliffside cave gompa was quite the memorable experience.

4/19 - We slept last night at 14,500 feet and successfully traversed Thorung La pass this morning. It was a physically exhausting but tremendously rewarding day. After a long descent into the town of Muktinath, it was bizarre to catch the sight of the first motorized vehicles we had seen in five or six days. There are many Indian pilgrims that visit Muktinath because of the temple complex situated here. As we approached the complex, we were greeted by a very warm monk who's appearance indicated a blend of Buddhist monk and Hindu Sadhu. He had the traditional saffron robe of a monk, but was also donning the characteristic dreadlocks of the Hindu holymen. People in this region don't really identify themselves as Hindu or Buddhist, as their tradition is a mix of the two along with some shamanism/animism passed down from their ancestors.

4/20 - We're staying in Marpha this evening, a lovely little town nestled between a rising cliffband and beautiful apple orchards in the river valley below. We're dropping in elevation now, leaving the arid high country and entering a more lush lowland landscape. Dalgheri (world's seventh highest peak) towers in the East, rising above 26,700 feet toward the heavens. I'm sitting at the top of a beautiful monastery, drinking in the view and watching my thoughts. If I can observe myself, am I the observer or the observed? Perhaps the answer is that there is no "I", or there is no distinction between the two and really no separation between "me" and all beings. Good trip.

4/21 - Our first rain storm today. Just after lunch, the drizzle turned into a pretty good downpour which lasted until we reached the next teahouse around 4pm. We've joined forces with two other Americans and an Argentinian who we've been seeing along the trail for several days now. They have taught us a couple of fun dice games, and it is nice to have some additional company on the trek.

4/22 - Katy elected to catch a jeep to the next tea house today because she is growing concerned about her swollen ankle. Her hip was bothering her, and I think the correction she made in her gate has now effected her achilles. She has been nothing short of impressive the entire time, and we're both dealing with some pain management. I put my pack on the jeep with her, and we said we'd meet at a specified guest house in the town of Tatopani, where there is a nice hot spring to sooth the sore muscles. A long story made short, I had a momentary panic when I couldn't find my little sister for a little while and became convinced that something terrible had happened. I walked for several hours in the heat, and came back to the teahouse entirely dehydrated, hungry, and emotionally stressed. It turns out that Katy was just fine all along, and that I wasn't the horrible older brother who lost his sister in rural Nepal. A huge relief indeed. The hot springs were just what the doctor (mother nature) ordered, and helped relax my body and mind.

4/24 - Yesterday we had a monstrous climb from Tatopani to Ghorepani, involving just over a 5,000 foot elevation gain. This morning, we woke before the dawn and trekked up an additional hill to soak in the sunrise over the Annapurna and Dhalgeri ranges. The views were worth every step. After breakfast, we departed for Ghandruk. The trail weaved through gorgeous jungle of rhodedendron, birch, and magnolia trees. Moss and ferns were also plentiful in this lush landscape. Occasionally, we'd get a magnificent vista of one of the high snow-capped peaks through a window in the moss-laden tree branches. Tomorrow, we finish the trek and catch the bus from Naya Pul to Pokhara. I can say with great confidence that I'll return to Nepal someday...

4/25 - Looking out over the planted terraces of potatoes, beans, rice, corn, ganja, and wheat, I'm drawn to the idea of a subsistent farming lifestyle. Watching the genuine and meaningful interactions of the family who works this land makes me yearn for greater simplicity in life. The Himalayas tower in the distance, catching all sorts of varied light. The Tibetan prayer flags flap gently and rhthmically in the gentle evening breeze. The air is filled with with a subtle rhodedendren aroma. This moment is all that exists. It's the way back, and the way forward.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on April 29, 2009 from Muktinath, Nepal
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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An alternative version we read about claimed that the ruler died after an intense night of opiates and aphrodisiacs at the ripe old age of 74. Either way, this guy definitely had a soft spot for the female. It is also theorized that the structure was intended to transport the ruler and his wife directly to heaven, after they were both buried directly under the main dome of the building. There is some speculation that this ruler believed he was God himself. In any case, the narcissism (perhaps even solipsism) that this ruler engaged in continues to bring tremendous benefit to the people of Agra, India, 450 years after the completion of the building. I'm currently reading the book, Atlas Shrugged (the capitalists' Bible), by Ayn Rand, which apologetically states that the highest form of morality and virtue is to act in your own self-interest and produce more than you consume. I can't help but think that Rand would emphatically approve of the Taj Mahal construction as an ego-maniacal tribute to the love of wife and self which has had unmeasurable positive economic impact for this region of India.

The trip from Delhi to Agra was filled with stereotypical visions of India: A snake charmer, camels, elephants, monkeys doing tricks on sticks, an eyeball-less beggar, endless roadside trinkets for sale, etc.

Simply stated, I don't disagree with the claim that the Taj Mahal might just be the most beautiful building in the world.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on April 26, 2009 from Agra, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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