He just took my journal, and commented that my handwriting is quite small. Tenzin said his father is somewhat literate in Tibetan, but mostly that he is a "simple man". I need more "simple" people in my life. Anchok's smile is as genuine as it gets. After inspecting the straps on my rucksack for a solid ten minutes, then another ten minutes of sitting in silence, he returned to his teepee. No words were exchanged the entire time, yet a wonderful connection was made.

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Ecologically speaking, our "community" includes all life forms. If we view the entire earth as one living organism, (Gaia theory) then this is a scientific perspective mirroring the spiritual idea that everything is connected/all is one. For some, ecology IS their religion. The ultimate Truth/Energy/Love/Intelligence is in all things all the time. Thus, the Earth is sacred. I think a wide array of different spiritual traditions could subscribe to something similar to that thought pattern. I'm growing convinced that every religion/spiritual tradition, in its purity, ultimately points the practicioner in the exact same direction, toward "Him".

From the perspective that there is no "them" or "other", it sure makes the "Golden Rule" of Christianity a lot easier. Instead of, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you", it might become something like, "Do well unto yourself". Create a healthy mind, body, and soul within, and it naturally follows that you will treat others with overflowing love.

This is, perhaps, another way of arriving at Ayn Rand's philosophy that there is no pure form of altruism. It requires expanding the concept of "self", and eliminating our perception of separation from all things. In this case, by treating everything (other humans, animals, plants, etc.) as you would like to be treated, you're really just treating yourself as you would like to be treated! To give love is to receive it. Once again, it is better to produce more than you consume. Perhaps Rand, the Buddha, and James George could all agree in the end. The challenge lies in putting thoughts and feelings and experiences into words that are communicable (is that a word?). From time immemorial, homo sapien sapiens have been trying to describe their individual experiences with the Truth, the Sacred, the Higher Being. From native cave paintings to Shakespeare's, "To be or not to be", we're all just trying to express some universal movement deep within our being. For me, life is all about stringing together those elusive moments where everything is illuminated, and then just staying there, with nothing else in the world to do.

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The Earth is sick because humans are sick. Heal ourselves, heal the world ( a great Michael Jackson tune).

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Americans might consider becoming better at doing nothing. We're always needing to DO something. Just BE.

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The other trekking group just arrived at our camp. Instead of being peeved that they are cramping my experience of solitude in the wilderness, I've decided this is a good opportunity to slowly slide back into civilization and human relationships. Anyway, they have three foreigners, thirteen horses, nine tents (one for toilet shelter), eight employees, and one ferris wheel! Earlier I was feeling guilty about our impact on the land, but now we're looking pretty good. It is all relative. At times I'm feeling like an "eco hero" for living pretty simply out of a backpack for a couple of months, and then I receive a perplexed head shake from Anchok as I pull out my fourth (and final) pair of wool hiking socks. You could read it in his eyes: "How and why do you have so much stuff?" And now I'm asking the same question of the other trekking party. How does that saying go? "Remove the wooden plank in your own eye before pointing out the splinter in someone elses". Better to be slow to judge, quick to compliment.

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We just endured what simply MUST be our final snowstorm of the trip. I'm glad to be using all of the cold-weather gear I've been lugging around India for the last ten weeks. I must add, however, that some warmer weather with a little humidity is beginning to sound very appealing after the chilly, arid time in Ladakh. Luckily, the rest of India is getting soaked by the monsoon, so I'll get all the heat and humidity I can handle.

This is tough terrain that demands a lot out of you. We slept last night at 15,030 ft., and I'm beginning to think that some more oxygen would be a good idea. I'm definitely tired, but it feels good to push the physical limits a bit. That said, I'll be chipper as we arrive back into a slightly more comfortable and lazy lifestyle that awaits.

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Occasionally, I still wonder if the so-called "ecological crisis" isn't blown a bit out of proportion. I'll say that it does seem improbable that our species could actually jeopardize life on our Earth as we know it. While I am awed by our planet's regenerative capacity, it is very difficult not to be troubled by the status of our fresh water resources, soil, forests, GHG levels, rapid human population growth, and continued economic (and consumptive) expansion. Something is going to give.

It strikes me that since the U.S. is arguably the biggest culprit in the destruction that has taken place, Americans must take the initiative to correct the course of human progress to a place that is more harmonious. This is not a host planet which can be easily abandoned for a better offer once we've totally compromised the natural resources with our profligate consumption. I find it to be irresponsible to view the evidence of our destructive path, and to do nothing. And yet that seems to be where we are today. Most people are aware of the problem, but just not sure where to go from here.

I think we need to start demanding and creating economic, political, and social institutions that work within our new paradigm. I'd argue that our current institutions will not get us to where we need to go. If this is the case, we're talking about a renaissance, and a revolution. It is our generation's clarion call. Will we heed it?

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We departed our final camp at 5:30am with just one horse. Once we reached the top of our final mountain pass, (Pogmar La - 16,000ish ft.) we said goodbye to Anchok and continued down the other side of the pass while he returned to camp to pack up and begin the long journey back to Leh. It was an emotional parting for father and son, and Anchok gave Tenzin and I a white prayer shawl for continued safe travels.

As Tenzin and I came off the pass, we reached a nomadic Tibetan settlement. It turned out to be the people who live in the currently abandoned village on the other side of the pass where we camped last night. They had probably 200 yaks, 400 sheep, and 100 goats surrounding their emcampment of tents. This group is actually documented in my guidebook as well, which says there are twelve families that have been occupying this land for several decades. Tenzin told me that within the last couple of years one or two of the families have abandoned the nomadic lifestyle and have taken up permanent residence in Leh.

About thirty minutes after leaving the settlement, a herd of wild asses (mules, for the uninitiated) galloped about one hundred feet in front of our path. They were absolutely spectacular creatures in color and stature. Evidently, they are fairly uncommon to spot, and particularly at such a close distance. The animals were checking us out as well. I stood and watched the movement of their group for a while as they continued across the desert valley floor. There was one established leader who chose a certain course, and a group of seven followed closely behind, almost in the fashion of a school of fish. One ass trailed slightly further behind, occasionally stopping to turn around and inspect any potential danger from the rear. From time to time, the leader would stomp at a severe angle, kicking up dust, then continune in a new direction. The group of seven would stop at the precise point where the leader had stomped, until given further notice that is was okay to continue on. It was a beautiful process to witness, and perhaps I wouldn't have noticed some of the subtleties had I not spent the last weeks observing slower and more subtle natural phenomenon such as cloud and rock formations.

I am now sitting on the side of a dusty road, which will eventually deliver us to Manali. We haven't seen any vehicles yet, but it has only been a half an hour or so.

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We ended up catching a ride on an "Indian Oil" tanker truck with a gregarious Sikh driver who seemed pleased to have found company in such an unlikely spot along this desolate road. About 200km from Manali, we hit a traffic jam. Trucks were lined along the road at a standstill, and people were out of their cars. It turned out that another tanker truck had tipped over. I should mention that this "highway" is notoriously unsafe. The driver told us that we very well might be sleeping here tonight. Perhaps my bed, shower, and beer would have to wait one more day.

The scene was complete anarchy. I'll say that Indians handle chaos as well as anyone. At one point we got hit by another driver trying to slide through an impossible gap, and neither driver even bothered to get out to check the damage.

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After several weeks of pretty full-on trekking, the closest I came to death in Ladakh was definitely on the infamous "Leh-Manali highway". The road is narrow, winding, steep, pot-holed, not paved, and pretty crowded this time of year. At a couple of particularly harrowing hair-pin turns, I remember thinking: "This is it". It took Tenzin and I the better part of two days to travel about 200km to Manali. At one point, near Rohtang Pass, a truck was high-centered smack in the middle of the road, preventing the flow of traffic in either direction for several hours. In India, patience isn't a virtue, it is a necessity.

There are an inordinate amount of laborers working on seemingly random sections of the road. I would describe their activity as incessant, yet distracted. They always appear to be ready to shovel the next load, but are generally preoccupied with watching a passing car, chatting with their neighbor, or taking in the remarkable scenery beyond the road. Indeed, that highway holds some of the most spectacular views of distant and dramatic peaks that my eyes have laid witness to.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention that the final two hours of travel were a particularly steep and sharp descent which caused the poor woman sitting next to me to lean over my lap and puke out the window every fifteen minutes or so.

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In Manali, I've been reintroduced to fine Indian cuisine, the joy of music, and the nuissance of car horns. My senses seem more sensitive. I've been spending time sitting on street corners or in local cafes, simply observing the body language and gestures of Indians interacting with one another. There is a very sweet sort of head waggle that I've recently found myself adopting in my non-verbal vernacular. It kind of looks like you are shaking your head as if to say "no", but the smiling eyes quickly betray this meaning. A single sideways nod is also common, and seems to be a wonderfully humble expression of something like, "no worries".

After many nights in a cold tent with hard and uneven ground, I splurged ($18/night) on a hotel with an attached hot shower, western toilet, and room service call button. I've been taking full advantage of all three luxurious features, and soaking up the greenery outside my windows. I also just picked up four new books. Lots of quality reading time is one advantage of solo travel.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 22, 2009 from Manali, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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mark you are the man! keep up the good work buddy.

-timmy

written by  Timmy Browne on June 25, 2009

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