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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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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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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This is for all you soul searchers,
The universal Truth thirsters.
Take a moment to watch your breath,
The law of Nature will cover the rest.

Chorus: Ride on the wave, sit under a tree, stay with the flow, set yourself free.

The Earth wants us to clearly see,
The revelation of how everything goes.
Control your mind and you're truly free.
The way is right on the tip of your nose.

If you choose to go down this path,
Don't listen to anyone's wrath.
Moment by moment you'll find the way,
Seek peace in what you think, do, and say.

Chorus

Bridge: The flow is in you, check out your heartbeat. The same flow of a stream, or grass beneath your feet. The flow is in you, and you are the Earth.

It all begins and ends in your mind,
Reality is not so easy to find.
Our planet needs us to figure it out,
To discover her secret, beyond any doubt.

Deepest wisdom can't be found in a book,
Each one of us must give our own look.
If we observe the world with awareness,
We'll stop depleting resources that are scarcest.

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A healthy and graceful crane flew just above the flow of the river and swooped down to a perfect landing on the bank opposite me. I took a couple of inquisitive steps for a closer examination of the beauty, and the crane carried it away with a few flaps of it's wings. A passing crow followed the flight path and began to stir a nuissance. Not to be disturbed from it's nibbanic peace, the crane perfectly fended off the crow.

Another moment passes, everything changes. Start again. By the time you begin to start again, all is different already. How to live in this constant state of flux? Just be where you are. Aware and balanced, like the crane, remain inside the flow, even when needing to deal with the unfortunate task of brushing off an irritable crow. The flow is in you, and you are the Earth.

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We must approach the climate issue and resource depletion not with an attitude of fear and martrydom, but with creativity, confidence, and abundance. The Earth wants us to discover her secret: the only constant is change. In business, this is increasingly true. Business will lead the way to more positive/sustainable behavior patterns once an enlightened citizenry creates demand for enlightened goods and services. Our collective planetary crisis will never be solved until we address our individual spriritual crises, and ask ourselves why it is that we consume so much shit. Have you ever contemplated the size of the pile of waste you've created in your life? I have, and it is pretty disgusting.

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Even if it were a possiblity for me in this lifetime, I'm not entirely convinced that full "enlightenment" should be my highest goal. Although eternal bliss, equanimity, harmony, peace, etc. sound nice, then people would come to you for all the answers to their problems. While it would be a priviledge to help those that you can, the masses would invariably misinterpret your message, make an idol out of you, and eventually create another religion with a bunch of eventually irrelevant traditions and holidays and stuff. It all too easily serves to misguide the individual search for Truth.

Perhaps the most good I can do in this life (my goal) is not to become "enlightened", but to continue along a meditative path while putting my best skills to work. It occured to me today what a genuinely fortunate situation I am in to have been recently awarded an entrepreneurial fellowship in the CU MBA program. If I can take advantage of this opportunity, we could bring about some real positive change. Now I just have to come up with a business plan to help restore our natural resources...

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I continue to contemplate the messages in Atlas Shrugged, which I finished reading over a month ago (and have digested a couple of other books since then). One of my favorite lines in the book is delivered by John Galt: "Reason accepts no commandments." You must experience it yourself in order to discover Truth. I think a few rules and pointers along the way can be useful, but too easily we can become dependent on them.

Also, probably the best dissertation on money that I've come across is given by the wonderful and controversial character of Francisco D'Anconia at Jim Taggert's wedding (or engagement?) party. It's just great. Money does not have to be the root of all evil.

One of the central themes which particularly jolted me was that of the industrialists as heroes. They are the few in society who produce more than they consume. In other words, they are responsible for creating more goods and services than they deplete, even with their opulant lifestyles. What Rand perhaps failed to see is that these figures are only heroes if these goods and services that the industrialists produce are beneficial for multiple generations, if not indefinitely. To my mind, this has not been the case with most of the industrialists to date. In the book, the "looters" are the enemy, and are comprised of those who consume more than they produce, thus living off of the industrialists. I realized I've been a looter all my life, and my desire to run a business and be a producer could actually be a noble pursuit.

Too many atrocities have been committed in the name of the "public good" and with a mantra of "sacrifice" (Mao, Pol Pot, etc.). These are the words which Ayn Rand admonishes in the book. As I appear to be joining the capitalist ranks by going for my MBA in a couple of months, I'm becoming more comfortable with putting aside some of my more socialist thought patterns. I think the "public good" is best served by the individual pursuit of happiness and freedom. That sounds like something Thomas Jefferson might agree with.

Another idea from the book that I really agreed with is that the purpose of an individual's life is to increase their happiness. No one else can do that for you, and it is not a bad thing to be looking out for yourself through the use of reason and self-confidence. The protagonists in the book (namely Dagny Taggert and Hank Reardon and Francisco D'Anconia) adhere to this philosophy. Though they may be ego-maniacal and perhaps even narcissistic, they illustrate the point that great men and women are happy and productive because of an unwavering self-confidence and application of sound logic to conduct their lives. I've always been pretty keen on happiness, reason, and myself. Despite constantly being told by my mother as a child that the world doesn't revolve around me, I was never convinced. I've never been a very good humble servant, though I've certainly tried and I have immense admiration and respect for those who fill that role. I guess the book helped me to realize that I don't have to apologize for my confidence, and that it could very well be my best character trait. I believe humility is a virtue, but I don't think that pride/confidence has to be a vice. When asked during my interview at CU to describe a personal weakness, I pointed toward my pride. I think I'd like to rescind that answer, and instead go with my inferior quantitative skills!

Buddhism also holds as a principle tenet that all sentient beings should be happy and pursue their self-interest. There seems to be no need to apologize for confidence/pride in this context. Indeed, it could be perceived as selfish/prideful for a monk to think that he has a real chance at full liberation/enlightenment and to work toward that end. The entire purpose of meditation is to break the pattern of creating your own misery through the arising of fear and desire. I dig it. So I say let's stop apologizing for being self-centered, prideful, and happy!

It occurred to me during the meditation retreat that perhaps the single greatest action you can take for humanity and for our Earth is to realize inner peace. It is only in that state that you can really perceive the universal Truth/law of Nature/God and be of service to it. What good am I to anyone if I am miserable? I vote for freedom and happiness through reason and self-exploration.

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From the healing of a cut on your finger to the restoration of a forest after a fire, Nature has absolutely amazing regenerative capacity. This is what must somehow be harnessed in the marketplace.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 20, 2009 from Manali, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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I've now spent nearly a year of my life in Asia. I'm thinking this will provide sound credentials for an Ambassadorship someday!

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As I set off for my twelve day trek into the remote regions of Karnak, the primary objective on my mind is to explore further empirical evidence of the oneness of self and Earth; alignment with the Great Spirit; connection with the Higher Conciousness.

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My travel companions are a father and son who are just great. The father, Anchok, is a "ponyman" who makes his living by using his three horses as pack animals for tourist trekking. His son, Tenzin, is 22 and currently studying political science at university in Madras (Chennai) in SE India. He's home for a couple of weeks on summer break, and is helping his father on this challenging trek, and also because Anchok is slightly hard of hearing. They are Tibetans living in a political refugee settlement outside of Leh.

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On the trail today, we passed a grave. Tenzin explained that the Ladakhis bury their dead, while Tibetans cremate. On a related note, I've been reading the book, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, and recommmend it highly to anyone interested in this spiritual classic.

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I've found that one becomes a much better steward of the streams when they are your only water source and that of the villages below. My stewardship of natural resources is much more responsible when I can see the entire process unfolding in front of me. The consequences of abusing resources in a place like Ladakh are very severe. Life hangs on a finer balance here. Sooner or later, it seems that the entire planet might hang in this more fragile state if we humans continue to consume as we do.

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We are in snow leopard territory now. Its one of the rarest cats in the world, and we're very unlikely to see one. There are under 100 of them in this entire vast region. We're sleeping tonight at 14,300 ft.

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Donella Meadows: "The keys to environment and development lie not only in technology and production but in lifestyles and equity (among rich and poor)". I agree that the rich can no longer separate themselves from the dire consequences of poverty.

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Until our culture shifts to an attitude of belonging to the Earth, rather than the Earth belonging to us, we'll continue down this (self)destructive path. If in fact the ecological crisis stems from our collective disharmony as individuals, then the fundamental question becomes: Can we change ourselves? At present, the signs don't look too promising to me. It is astonishing to think that the U.N. Earth Summit in Rio was held over 17 years ago. It was at that global conference that the planetary crisis (natural resource depletion, rising levels of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases, rampant population growth, etc.) was laid out by the scientific community, and the political establishment seemed willing to listen and possibly even act. They failed. While it is true that the "doomsday" scenarios that had been laid out have not exactly come to fruition as yet, the scientific proof for the problems identified back then in 1992 has only continued to strengthen. Still, we do not act. I'll state from my personal experience that despite being as connected to Nature as ever in my life, habits of consumption and waste are hard to kick. I really don't think that individuals have the will power to bring about the necessary change when a more comfortable option remains. Yet, I am not hopeless. Politicians leading the way? Never. Sustainable goods and services which are better and cheaper for individuals to consume might be our only hope.

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Just as suffering for the individual is caused by ignorance, (fear or desire for any given sensation) suffering for the Earth is also caused by humanity's ignorance of the total cost of our actions. Societal change must begin with individual change. We allow ourselves to pollute, so of course we're going to allow big businesses to do the same. We won't demand more out of businesses until we demand more from ourselves/each other. Wal Mart isn't the problem. We are.

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As I feel a shift of conciousness happening in me, I am deeply troubled. Even at this heightened state, my thirst to consume is not quenched. There is still too much ignorance within.

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Tenzin is a young man, but already feeling the heavy pressures and stresses of life. He is the only son, so he has immense pressure to provide for his parents, grandparents, and five sisters. He's currently enrolled at a university in Southern India. English is his fifth language. His father is almost completely deaf, so Tenzin is along to help on this long trek. He's taught me a lot about what it is like to live in exile as a refugee, and the discrimination that the Tibetan community endures. They are generally very grateful to India for the ability to live in peace here, but they are not citizens, cannot vote, and are often given last priority for university/degree placement.

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Did I mention that I saw an inverted rainbow the other day? Tenzin saw it too. It appeared as a half ring around the sun. Pretty wild.

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The goal is to experience inner peace as often as possible. I'm using the solitude of this trek to harness and familiarize this inner peace with my everyday thinking and actions. It is good to find peace and solitude, communing with Nature. It is perhaps better still if that peace can transcend into the mundane and daily tasks back in civilization.

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"Sleeping people live each in their own world; only those who are awake have a world in common". - Heraclitus

"If hope is to pass the sobriety test, then it has to walk a pretty straight line to reality. Nothing is possible unless business is willing to integrate itself into the natural world". - Paul Hawken

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How much longer will we remain asleep, destroying our Mother Earth without seeming to notice? I'm starting to notice. We must wake up to the reality of our time. We're slowly killing ourselves, and giving the children a bleaker outlook by the day. Why am I asleep? Why did I litter today? My connection to the Eternal is not strong enough. What is blocking it? There is nothing. I am here. I am.

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When I pollute, I'm putting myself before the interests of Nature. The part cannot take precendent over the whole. I must improve my awareness of the non-separation between "Mark" and "Nature". Polluting is selfish and ignorant. Yet, you cannot tell others not to pollute. They must awaken to the connectedness of all things by their own experience. "My life is my message". - Ghandi

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Tenzin is also an impressive chef; serving up a variety of of tasty cuisine with severely limited ingredients and a single burner kerosene stove. Steamed vegetable dumplings (momos) was perhaps the greatest culinary feat in the teepee kitchen thus far.

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Today we walk 22km to the village of Markha. Glad to put my pack on the horse!

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We cannot rely on technology alone to deliver us from this ecological crisis. There must be a shift in consiousness among a critical mass of people. Destructive consumption patterns will not change until we don't need to consume to be content. What if we only consumed what we NEED? That question sounds so far from our experience, which indicates how far we have to go in the "sustainability movement".

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I picked up a great book at the guest house in Leh written by James George, who is the former Canadian Ambassador to India, Sri Lanka, Iran, and Afghanistan. He comments that we need to develop a culture that, "puts more value than we do on community and collective rights, and less on competition and individual rights". He's been challenging some of the persuations I formed after reading Atlas Shrugged. Now I guess I have to draw my own conclusions, or keep searching...

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We are the only trekking party in the village of Markha. I'm astonished, and thankful. This is one huge, impressive valley, to be sure. I'm pleased to report that the camping is going just fine. My aversion toward tent-sleeping is diminishing, and I'm enjoying my dirtiness. Then again, we're only about a third of the way along the trail!

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I am making an experiential connection with myself, as Nature.

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We just crossed paths with two Israeli travelers. We began chatting about my time in Kashmir, and one guy said: "It is funny with Jews and Muslims. Its like we're brothers who fight a lot. We have a lot in common." Nice. Then I watched them try to negotiate a homestay, with three meals included, for both of them, for a total of $6. My experience of Israeli travelers is that they sure drive a hard bargain. Fairly or not, this reputation precedes them.

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"Om mani padme hum" is beautifully written in the Tibetan language on carved stones which pile high on occasional stretches of wall along the trail. This is also the phrase you incessantly hear eminating from the gompas, and is repeatedly chanted by devout Tibetan Buddhists to remind them of the impermanent nature of all things.

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We just set up camp on the fifth day. This afternoon, Anchok and I will climb to the Kang Yahtze base camp. This is an impressive 21,000 ft. peak which some daring mountaineers attempt to summit each year. We met one American from Seattle who had made an unsuccessful attempt a couple of days earlier. Tomorrow, we will take a much less traveled valley to the West of Kang Yahtze to the remote region of Karnak. From there, we'll have three more substantial passes (16,000+ ft.) to cross, and we will not again drop below 13,300 ft until I'm on a bus toward Manali in six or seven days. This is a great adventure, and certainly the most extreme terrain I've tramped around. I'm liking the challenge it presents. I'm not liking the freezing nights!

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There is a beautiful rythmic style to the way the horses eat grass. Their lips move in a cool sort of dance. This provides my entertainment in this desolate land! These three horses are 18, 17, and 6. The youngster likes to play with me. These animals represent the livlihood for Anchok's family. Needless to say, they're given a lot of love and are well cared for.

Two shepards just rolled up the valley with their flock. They're making their way toward the teepee. I better go get the lowdown...

It turns out that these goats are of the Pashmina variety. This is the most expensive and soft wool in the world, and the shawls made of pure Pashmina are very pleasant to touch.

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We are in a snowstorm, watching the blazing red sun set beyond many rows of mountains in the distant blue sky.

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Last night's sunset snowstorm resulted in a couple of inches of overnight accumulation. Packing up camp in the snow isn't that awesome. I started today's hike with my full-on ski gear setup, only to quickly shed several layers when the sun broke through a gap in the clouds. Then, we turned up a separate valley, and encountered another black cloud which prompted me to throw back on all of my cold-weather gear. I've never had to ford a river in an ice pellet storm before. I'm told the going gets a little easier from here! Tomorrow we tackle another big, snowy pass.

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After a time, all things lose the very properties which define them. Ice melts, mountains crumble, civilizations come and go. You can either look forward to, or have hesitation about, the inevitable changes to come. Both desire and fear of a certain outcome in the future will eventually lead to disappointment. Ideally, you just stay in the moment, always. Nothing lasts forever, and most things don't last very long at all. Better to just stay cool, and watch reality as it unfolds before you. Eliminate anxiety, set yourself free. This is happiness for me.

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For a couple of years now, when describing my thoughts on the fossil fuel/renewable energy dilemma, I've said: "There is no 'us' versus 'them', there's only 'us'. We all ultimately want the same thing: Life, eternally into the future if possible". If we extended this idea so that there is never any "other" or "them", mankind would live in peace and harmony. War is only feasible if there is an "enemy" or "them" that are so different from "us". Buddhism holds that there is no "other" whatsoever. Everything is connected unconditionally. There is no "away" either. All is one. It makes sense to me that if you could truly realize/experience this, you'd be without fault/pain/sin. As a government, if there is no fear of the "other", you are at peace. As individuals, if we can free ourselves from the illusion of "enemies", we'd deserve a government that delivered a land of peace and freedom. Similarly, if we could perceive that there is no "away" because everything in the universe is interdependent, we'd deserve to live on a planet that was healthy and bountiful and free of pollution. "Don't Hate, Don't Pollute". That's my bumpersticker.

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Only technology that enhances/restores life-support systems would be profitable if our economy were "sustainable" and truly accounted for all costs of our economic activities. That tells you how far we have to go. You cannot impose "smart demand". Consumers consume, by definition. We need "smart supply"; enlightened producers who bring restorative goods and services to the marketplace. Reducing consumption is possible, but too cumbersome for most. Replacing consumption is better. This will never happen unless these replacement goods can offer a better quality of life. That is what consumers ultimately demand. We must get to a place where we realize that "more" does not equal "better". We need more people to taste the reward (or an Economist would say "utility") in a simpler life with deeper connections to each other and to the Earth.

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The views from Zalung Karpo La Pass (16,570 ft) were as spectacular as you'd imagine. We are in Karnak now, and it is a little intimidating. We're at least four days from any sort of help if anything were to go wrong. I think we're all feeling strong though, and the weather is a little warmer on this side of the pass. I just did a little laundry in the stream running by our camp, and also washed my face for the first time in seven days.

The predominant sounds I've heard over the last week have included: the wind and whatever it makes contact with, the stream flowing by each campsite, the bells hanging around the horses necks, and the voices of Anchok, Tenzin, and myself. That's about it. It's a conducive environment for my meditative mode. I've been focusing a lot on my relationship with Nature. There's a lot there, and some subtle adjustments have been made. If you were to really and truly live as if there was no "other" or "away", that would be a radical and compassionate way of life. Of course, the real challenge lies in maintaining that existence upon re-entering society and human relationships. Its easy to feel connected to the eternal flow when you're tramping around in the wilderness for a couple of weeks. It is good to realign with the rhythm of the Earth.

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Anchok and Tenzin have the coolest teepee. They are definitely the way to go for extended camping, as they are quick to set up and tear down, you can stand comfortably inside, they sleep at least four, and you can put the cooking stove inside, which provides a great heat source.

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Today we had the unusual experience of having three French trekkers poke their heads into our teepee while we were eating lunch. I was very surprised to see them, and even more surprised when we learned that they were lost, very lost. They had no guide, and had made a couple of wrong turns according to their interpretation of the map they were carrying. We invited them in for chai, and helped them get back on the right track, which was a couple of days away! We gave them some food, and it was nice to chat with some other human beings besides Anchok and Tenzin. The woman in the trio has been living and working in Leh for the past year or so. Her organization is a French NGO that provides consulting for greenhouse construction and passive solar design for the Ladakhi homes. I thought it was pretty hilarious that the French thought they should come tell these people how to survive in this extreme terrain, which they've been doing successfully for many centuries. Another good example of why I'm so reticent to get involved in "third world development" work in the name of "progress". The unintended consequences are never factored in.

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High on a cliff above the abandoned nomadic settlement of Sorra lie the remains of an ancient royal palace from over a thousand years ago. I couldn't believe my eyes. Who in the world would build a palace here? It turns out that this wondrous edifice is what gives this region it's name, as "Kar-nak" means "black-palace".

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Anchok playfully and skillfully hops on the back of the six year old horse for the larger stream crossings. It is pretty impressive for a guy his age. Tenzin and I try to get creative with rock-hopping or sometimes using a tree branch as a pole vault of sorts. Several times we've resigned to just taking off our shoes and wading across.

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If I ever wanted to grow some dreadlocks, I've got a pretty good start after eight dusty days without a drop of water on my head.

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What a trip! We just arrived into Dat, the only semi-permanent populated village in this entire region, and there is another trekking party who had already set up camp. So, I started talking to this one guy...He's an American...He lives in Colorado...He goes to school in Boulder...He's studying business...His name is Mark! I think we both thought the other guy was being clever by repeating the same thing back, but it turns out that we actually have all of those things in common. It was totally bizarre, and we had a good laugh about it. They invited me into their dining tent for tea, and it was quite disorienting to find myself suddenly in conversation about the economy, Obama, travel stories, etc. After many days of isolation in my "dreamtime" state, I was unprepared for this. We then all decided to go visit the local gompa. When we got there, everyone was snapping photos and talking loudly, and I decided I was glad to be having this experience on my own and in my way.

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The sun and I have a tumultuous relationship. Each morning I eagerly await its warming presense. By 9am, it's rays are so strong that I have to cover up every square inch of skin, against the compulsion to go lighter in it's heat. Then again, each late afternoon our love affair is rekindled, and I can hardly stand to see her go as she silently slips behind the mountains to the West, sealing another cold evening. All night I shiver and shutter, hoping she won't be too long before warming me again with all the intensity she can muster. Until, of course, her cancerous strength becomes too much to bear once again.

With most things in life, we tend to perceive that there is either too much or too little. How nice it is to occasionally ditch expectation and realize that everything is as it should be, or just as it is. That is being present. That is being.

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So, we just learned from the two monks who collected our camping fee here in Dat that the entire population of the village departed two days ago for higher pastures. I cannot believe that this is where they retreat to for the winter months. This is a seriously harsh environment, and I would think that sheer survival would be a daily concern. Tenzin translated the monks' description of the five day festival at the gompa before they left town. The houses here are the most primitive I've seen in Ladakh, and the people live almost entirely on barley and dairy products. Fruit and vegetables are very rare. They also eat meat when it becomes available, which is unusual for Buddhists. I guess you can't be a purist if you want to stay alive in Dat. I'm told there is now a helicopter pad for emergency airlift in the winter months.

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We cruised over another 16,000 ft. pass today, and it seemed relatively easy. My fitness level is good to scary good right now. We've been camping above 14,000 ft. the past several nights, so the lungs and heart are working overtime. This is our second to last night, and I'm feeling like I could definitely keep trekking. But, a shower, a bed, and a beer are starting to sound pretty damn good.

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 21, 2009 from Manali, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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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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"Critical rationalism has apparently eliminated, along with so many other mythic conceptions, and idea of life after death...To the intellect, all my mythologizing is futile speculation. To the emotions, however, it is a healing and valid activity; it gives existence a glamour which we would not like to do without. Nor is there any good reason why we should." - C.G. Jung

"What would be the effect of seeking to make love and compassion the measure of our every action, and of understanding, to any degree, the inmost nature of the mind that underlies our entire existence? This would be a true revolution, one that would free men and women to discover their birthright, that inner dimension so long neglected, and unite them with the fullness of the human experience in all its mystery and grandeur." - Sogyal Rinpoche

"A human being is a part of the whole called by us "Universe", a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest - a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." - Albert Einstein

written by  Katy and Mark Lewis on June 23, 2009 from Manali, India
from the travel blog: India and Nepal
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