There and Back Again: the World Travels of a Watson Fellow: Intro to Ladakh: Land of the Mountain Passes

August 25, 2013

Ladakh is the most beautiful and photogenic place I have seen in my entire life, hands down. The sky is opulently blue, the sun is intensely strong, the mountains are rugged and snow capped, the inhabited valleys are the color of emeralds, and the dusty and lifeless mountainsides resemble a lunar landscape. I look around and feel like I should be in the Lord of the Rings, with monasteries that slightly resemble great forts erected deep into the cliff sides. I look around and there are Tibetan prayer flags everywhere. It sounds ridiculous, but I almost cried as our plane circled Leh – it is so beautiful. Our pilot apologized for the delayed landing because of a queue on the runway, but why would he apologize? Getting to bask in the aerial view of this mountain landscape, almost entirely barren except for a few verdant valleys is more than a treat. Ladakh is extremely strategic in terms of location because the Indian state it belongs to, Jammu and Kashmir lays between China and Pakistan with decade-old land disputes a mainstay here. So I wish I could have taken photos, but apparently because the army has such a presence in Leh, aerial photography and also airport photos are strictly prohibited and punishable by law. I was tempted to sneak a snap shot but didn’t feel like going to an Indian prison would be in order this trip. You’ll have to take my word for it that the view from the plane is stunning. And I am not sure if my fatigue and mild light headedness (as well as a racing heart when we landed) is due to pure and unadulterated excitement, the fact that I only slept for a combined 7 hours over the past two nights, or the dizzying altitude. Ginger tea and 24-36 hours of rest is in order. I am currently staying in a guesthouse called Abagun in Sankar, upper Leh, with a Ladakhi family and a few other tourists/volunteers. Once I get my bearings, I will eventually take a bus two hours out of town to live and work on a Ladakhi farm. I could not be more thrilled to be here (and maybe I’ll even spot the Dalai Lama who is here as well). And for better or worse, I was also told I could pass as a Ladakhi because of my Chinese looks. Maybe I won’t get hassled by touts, or better yet, maybe they don’t exist here.

In my resting period, I have started reading Ancient Futures: Learning from Ladakh by Helena Norberg-Hodge. In the Introduction, Peter Matthiessen writes “Modern technologies, based on capital and fossil fuels, lead inevitably to centralization and specialization, to cash crops as opposed to subsistence agriculture and barter, to time-wasting travel and stressful town life among strangers. And they are laborsaving only in the narrowest sense, since gaining one’s livelihood in new ways, which are competitive rather than communal, demands more time. Dependence on international trade for goods and materials leads inevitably to monoculture – the same sources and resources for both material and abstract needs, from dress to music – and increasingly, a common language (a pauperized English, in most cases), and even common education and set of values, with corresponding dismissal and even contempt for the local culture. Modern education tends to belittle local resources, teaching children to find inferior not only their traditional culture, but themselves. Meanwhile, the intense competition that replaces barter and communal effort leads inevitably to increase dissatisfaction, greed, dispute, and even war, all on behalf of an economic model that local people cannot emulate and that, even if they could, would almost certainly be inappropriate for Ladakh (and other Third World lands of narrow resources). Yet the future of such countries lies entirely in the hands of development corporations and financial institutions, including the World Bank, where decisions are based on Western economic systems rather than the welfare of the client states.” He then goes on to discuss how population growth is a serious part of the problem. If we continue to act like the world’s natural resources are limitless instead of finite and we follow a path of external dependence, then this eradicates personal-responsibility and creates false hope that science and technology will be able to stretch our resources forever. What we need is a redistribution of wealth and social equality (as well as a reassessment of population trends). And the author, Helena, writes, “The vital lessons that the so-called ‘developed world’ (again, another ironic term for a mode of society that is unraveling, undeveloping the actual biological world) can learn from traditional Ladakh: self-reliance, frugality, social harmony, environmental sustainability and spiritual sophistication, are real and are being recognized as such.”

I have somehow managed to make it to Likir, a small village about 2-3 hours outside Leh further into the Himalayas. To give you a better idea of what I am doing here, right now I am working with an organization called the International Society for Ecology and Culture (ISEC), founded by Helena, which “seeks to encourage a revisioning of progress toward more ecological and community-based ways of living. We stress the urgent need to counter political and economic centralization, while encouraging a truly international perspective through increased cultural exchange.” They are actually based in Berkley, California, but spearhead this “Learning from Ladakh” Farm Project (previously mentioned) for which they help coordinate volunteers to go live and work on small farms in Ladakh. I’ve decided to come out to Likir and start the farm work sooner rather than later; I figure that I can head back into Leh town when I want to track down NGOs and talk to various individuals. For now, I am living with the Tongol family, which is made up of a mother, father (really grandmother and grandfather), their daughter and son and both of their spouses, and about four or five of their children running around. It’s a beautiful home with numerous sets of stairs, and I’m staying in a spacious room with two walls that are completely windows. It’s gorgeous, though I am on the lookout for bedbugs, which are apparently nasty and notorious in the village. We are in the midst of harvesting season (barley), which is exciting because I think I’m going to have about 7-8 hours of field labor each day. The bus ride to Likir took about 2.5-3 hours and I sat next to/befriended a young Tibetan Buddhist monk. I am surprised I made it to the bus stop in time to actually get a seat. Rewind about 5 hours – I headed into Leh town with the ISEC volunteer coordinator and we stopped first at the District Commissioner’s house/office to do an interview with the Minister for Urban Development. Helena Norberg-Hodge made a film out of the book Ancient Futures but because it is 20 years old, now they are trying to do follow up interviews with the individuals featured in the film. The Minister of Urban Development answered various questions such as: how has Helena influenced Ladakh and what does the future of development here look like? Of course he acknowledged how her work here has been paramount, as she’s founded the Ladakh Ecological Development Group (LEDeG) and the Ladakh Women’s Alliance, both of which she has since passed on to locals. She has helped raise environmental awareness and really change the dialogue surrounding sustainability here. However, he also acknowledged that he hasn’t seen eye-to-eye with her on everything but how this doesn’t discredit the incredible work she’s done here and her legacy. In fact, he noted how he has come to appreciate her message even more as he’s grown older (he first saw the film and read the book many years ago when he was practically a child). He claims that with age, maturity, and wisdom, he can now understand and much better relate to the themes of challenging growth, globalization, and development as we know it. Following this brief interview, we stopped by LEDeG since they were screening the film Ancient Futures. I was able to see about 80% of it but then I had to head down to the bus station to catch a bus to Likir. With my massive luggage (which I purged and left some things behind both in Delhi and at the volunteer quarters in Leh), I dragged my suitcase through Leh’s winding streets. More and more I felt myself falling in love with this place. A large fort and monastery overlook the town, carved into the mountainside, and even though Leh is quite developed and touristy compared to other parts of Ladakh, the shops seemed quaint and restaurants with various cuisines abounded. In a bit of a rush, I settled with aloo tikka (spicy potato pancakes with chutney on the side) and a bite of Indian sweets. I asked around every corner for people to point me in the direction of the bus stand and once I got there, finding the bus among dozens of unmarked vehicles was a bit of a challenge. Eventually I found the one going to Likir, only to find it chuck full (I had arrive almost a half hour before departure; so much for nothing happening on time in other parts of the world, as this was quite the contrary). Fortunately, I found one seat left next to a monk named Lobsang Namgyal. He spoke a bit of English; we exchanged contact information, and just chatted. He is studying in South India but is currently based at Likir’s famous monastery. He is sixteen years old and started studying to be a Buddhist monk about ten years ago (so he would have been five or six, which is apparently quite common here). When the bus stopped in a small village en route, he invited me to take tea and samosas with him. It was so outrageous. Here I am, sitting outside a little restaurant in the Himalayas taking chai masala tea and eating vegetarian samosas with a Tibetan Buddhist monk. And I have a photo to prove it. Fast forward a couple of hours and miles of winding roads and we arrived in Likir. I’ve been a bit breathy, especially climbing up stairs and walking up hills, since the altitude is even higher here than in Leh. I was a little worried about just showing up at this home where I wasn’t sure how much English was spoken. The ISEC volunteer coordinator assured me that they would understand if I just say, “Richard sent me to work.” And they did. They welcomed me, showed me to this glorious room (I am ashamed to say that the grandmother carried my suitcase up the stairs to the second floor, which are actually more like a glorified ladder), and almost immediately offered me chai and roti (which is essentially a thicker chapatti pancake). It was getting dark, but I decided to walk to a nearby house where other volunteers are staying. Not sure exactly where I was going, I went up to a few houses and knocked on doors, asking “Changsa?” and pointing vaguely (I later learned I was pronouncing it totally incorrectly, it’s “shang-SA” not “CHANG-sa” – I’ve decided that I have a lot of Ladakhi language to learn). Although it took a few tries, eventually I found the right house and of course, was offered more tea. It was great to finally meet the other volunteers, since we had been emailing for weeks before this. The farm work starts at 6 AM tomorrow, so I should be off to bed, but I am so excited to be here. I look around and am still overwhelmed with how “demo” it is (beautiful in Ladakhi). I asked Richard, “Do you ever wake up and not think this is the most beautiful place in the world?” He told me, “Just wait until you arrive in Likir. It gets better.”