The Valley of Tibetan Hospitality (15 June)

Cold and gray morning at Camp Six

Last night the winds howled and pelting rain played our tent rain fly like a tightly stretched drum head.  We awoke this morning to an angry sky, cold blowing wind and new snow in the mountains framing our pass.  Setting off up the valley, I felt breathless and maybe a little unanchored by Gary's seeming aloofness.  Truly though, at this level of adventure travel (traversing now an unknown ascent to an unknown pass) we all are discovering the route at roughly the same rate.  Gary, never one to spoon feed us the trek, has a funny way of describing any day's route.  He basically tells us to expect to be going up . . . except for when we are going down.  So whereas some trekking guides try to lay out each day's trek in as great a detail as possible, Gary's approach keeps us focused and present -- rather than leaning into the next dicey water-crossing or wicked climb.  It takes some getting used to, but all in all his manner and style sets us up to be open to opportunities along the way.  And today was all about opportunities -- and the beauty of traveling in a very small group. 

We're crossing where?

As we walked upward, Gary and Dharma asked local herders about the best point at which to cross the swollen stream flowing (and at points roaring) through our approach.  Approaching a herders' camp --note the (tethered) barking dog and yak hair double-wide (yak hair tent established over a legacy stone foundation), Tinsley engaged a young herder, who like many Tibetans we see and meet in the mountains, was curious about our group.  After a short conversation, the herder confirms our crossing is at an old blue truck ahead; and then invites us into his tent to observe the traditional (nomadic) way living of in this season when they are grazing their yaks in the valley.  

Tibetan double wide

The tent was one large room where his wife was making fry bread on the stove (fueled by dried yak dung patties) in the center.  Along the tent walls hung large and colorful Tibetan tapestries -- for warmth (and I think for decoration).  The woman's bed was a warm nest of Tibetan carpets stacked along the stone wall closest to the door.  We sat on the ground just below it.  On the other side of the tent and further back, was the man's stone bed.  At the very back of the tent (opposite the tents flaps we passed thorugh to enter the tent), was a Buddhist altar with offerings of food and money, a butter lamp and customary images.    

In the herders' tent

Under the constant eye and doting attention of our hosts we were served butter tea (in cups which were topped off with each sip until we stopped sipping or gently put a hand over the top to decline the refill).  Curious about butter tea, I had declined trying it in Lhasa in hopes I would have an opportunity like this.  So, what does butter tea taste like?  First of all, not like tea at all.  Rather like a slightly salty broth.  By now, I suppose my palate has become somewhat accustomed to yak, which I find much less gamey than say moose, or even less strong than

Gary and the kitten

domestic lamb.  And while I've read some westerners barely can get through a swallow without gagging, I found the butter tea quite tasty -- and a welcoming warmth (along with their stove) on this very chilly day.  As our visit progressed, our hosts also invited us also to try dried yak and yak cheese.  I imagine the hospitality was a combination of their kind hearts and genuine curiosity, because they seemed to study our faces with each morsel we tried.  

At the very end of our visit, Gary (quite smitten with the resident ratter) signaled to Cliff and Karl that it would be fine to ask about taking photos.  Not only were the man and his wife receptive, the man even accepted Tinsley's iPhone and took a picture of all of us in the tent -- iPhone knowledge was there, no instruction required.  

Yak fuel patties drying (making these is women's work)

Leaving the herders' tent, we walked on and finally located the blue truck and our stream crossing (a lovely stone bridge of sorts).  As is normal, the camp staff carrying our lunch passed us (with smiles and beautiful even breaths -- I am so jealous for the Tibetan DNA) mid-morning. They unpacked our lunch above the stream in a field littered with yak patties (I am so used to sitting next to/on yak poo that it hardly registers any more).  

Yak yogurt

In short order we again attracted the attention of local yak herders.  As the camp crew passed us plates of bread, cheese and vegetables (last night's leftovers is the norm), the herders crowded around amused by the process and menu.  Dharma and Gary asked the herders if they had yak yogurt, which they would be willing to sell.  The women in the group wordlessly walked away, and within minutes reappeared carrying a large pot of fresh yogurt.  Gary bought the whole thing.  It was creamy, tart and tangy and what we didn't eat was transferred to our lunch thermos.  For the next three days, the yogurt showed up at every meal (we made cream soup with it, topped pancakes with it, and used it to calm particularly spicy curries). 

Camp Seven (tonight) is at 16,600 feet. From our camp site we can see two valleys leading to passes.  One we'll explore tomorrow, and the second we will follow in two days time to cross (we hope) to Sha-shing pass.  

Arriving at Camp Seven

Our yak men camp with us each night, unsaddling and releasing their yaks to graze each afternoon when we arrive at camp.  I constantly am impressed by the calm confidence all three yak men display in dealing with these giant beasts. And I must say, I find yak to be much more docile (and less scary) than the cattle in the fields across England last summer.

Wooden yak saddles stacked at camp while the yak graze