1st Quarterly Report to the Watson Foundation

Lauren Howe – 1^st Quarterly Report – September 16, 2013

Dear Watson Foundation Family,

It is hard to believe that three months have come and gone since I left home.  First off, I would like to thank you for giving me this incredible opportunity to spread my wings and explore far corners of the globe with my project as my North Star.  During the last twelve weeks, I resided with a Tanzanian family outside the city of Arusha, lived in a Maasai boma for a permaculture agriculture training (where I also learned how to milk goats and cows!), went on safari through UNESCO World Heritage Sites, attended Tanzania’s largest agricultural trade show as part of Nane Nane (Farmers’ Day), helped facilitate a 1,000 Gardens partnership between the Watoto Foundation for street children and my Slow Food chapter back home, learned how to prepare botanical and biopesticides, picked up several phrases in Swahili and Ladakhi, lived with and worked on a small Ladakhi farm helping to harvest and thresh barley, and hiked and camped in the Himalayas (among many, many adventures). 

When I try to reflect on everything I saw and learned in Tanzania (my first 9 weeks), I become overwhelmed.  I have found it difficult to balance my time, as I want to read relevant literature, meet farmers, talk to agricultural researchers, explore NGO and government efforts, and participate in farming activities myself.  I recently listened to a podcast and something the woman said that resonated strongly with me was about avoiding being the “armchair type” that preaches sustainable food systems but hasn’t ever gotten dirt under their fingernails.  I fear being that person. 

While in Tanzania, I felt like I was able to see the spectrum, though not as equally as I would have liked – with many more visits to small farms and not as many commercial operations.  But perhaps that is reflective of farming here: many more small farmers using hand tools and maybe animal power if they’re lucky.  However, large-scale operations do exist, though they are much more capital intensive.  On the high end of the technological gamut, I saw pivot sprinklers at Hortanzia Ltd. (an export-oriented farming operation that looks like it came straight from the American Plains), the BioAGtive Emissions System (“the most cutting edge in the industry” that uses exhaust from tractors and puts nutrients back into the soil, rendering fertilizer unnecessary) and Quality Food Product’s usage of high tech no till seeders and glyphosate for conservation agriculture.  These are definitely not the Tanzanian norm though, and it was interesting to compare the models of a foreign-owned company coming in and farming large tracts of land (with the help of machines and local labor) versus a foreigner coming in and integrating their technology and business models with local farmers.

All in all, I was able to make 25 productive visits while in Tanzania: 9 NGOs, 3 farmer groups/community gardening projects; 3 cooperatives, 4 research institutions, 4 large-scale/commercial operations; 1 individual doing post harvest processing and consulting; and the agricultural trade show (Nane Nane).  Each person I spoke with naturally had different opinions and approaches to farming, and I felt like I came away from Tanzania better understanding the plight of small impoverished farmers, though I didn’t experience them first hand.  I felt like I learned more about the power of cooperatives in farming: that they can help individual farms by pooling resources and using collective bargaining power to achieve many of their goals.  I found myself startled by the apparent lack of education in the farming population (e.g. about pesticide safety).  Obviously, I’ve always known that slash and burn agriculture exists, but seeing the burning and charred fields firsthand made it much more real.  Moreover, it definitely seems like farmers here are receiving conflicting information: e.g. that chemical inputs are an absolute necessity, that tilling is paramount, or that high quality seeds are the be all, end all.  I come away with the understanding that we still need to take great measures to reduce food waste – I hadn’t really considered post-harvest processing technologies when I first conceived of my project, but it’s actually come up so often in Tanzania that it seems foolish that it didn’t make it on my radar initially.  I was also surprised by how little official support agriculture seems to receive when it makes up such an enormous portion of the GDP and employment.  Despite Kilimo Kwanza (Tanzania’s national agriculture policy of “farming first”), it seems like the government is all talk (i.e. outdated research stations and poor farmers with unfair subsidy systems).  I also wonder and ask who should be “teaching” or “helping” who (e.g. Australian permaculture training and Dutch-owned dairy cooperative versus Tanzanian-led NGOs).  It seems like in some cases, foreigners can come in and train Africans, who then train each other but the issue of long term financial stability of donor dependent NGOs is crucial.  Though fortunately, through value added products, groups can generate additional income for themselves.  It seemed like the most damaging and least positively contributing operation was a foreign owned one that doesn’t disseminate knowledge or technology to farmers but rather uses local labor to mass produce crops for export. 

A number of questions, largely related to “development,” continue to swirl through my head including: is food self-sufficiency and localization the answer or will commercialization and export lift farmers out of poverty?  Which models are truly sustainable?  How to we define growth, efficiency, and progress? And are cutting edge technologies appropriate?  They aren’t locally produced, are usually expensive, require technical knowhow, and may be large-scale. The idea of appropriate technology versus modern is hugely important and was first mentioned to me by a post-harvest specialist who noted that more often than not, the newest and most advanced technologies are not made available or accessible to farmers, so what we might conventionally conceive of as “technology” is actually irrelevant.  The issue of climate change further exacerbates the problem and may render traditional farming techniques obsolete and new technologies the only way forward (though I’m not convinced).  My gut tells me it’s probably a marrying of the two.  Gender also complicates my research – how many and women are participating in farming activities (usually women are subsistence and men are commercial).

My meeting with Mick Dennis, Australian farmer who moved his business to Tanzania 10+ years ago, perhaps more than any other thus far, has made me ponder the tension inherent in my project.  This Emissions Systems Technology seems to genuinely embody the “modern technology” concept I proposed to research.  As it is a bit abstract and chemically complex, I am having difficulties wrapping my head around the concept.  Mick emphasized evolution/survival of the fittest in agriculture and the importance of a creative entrepreneurial spirit in the younger generation of farmers, those people who are going to come in and replace their parents and grandparents, bringing with them a revolutionary wave of technological acceptance.  These notions are hopeful but also seemed to directly challenge that which I have been encouraged to believe throughout my time as an undergrad at Hamilton.  I.e. Slow Food values of looking to older generations and the importance of safeguarding the wisdom of elders, that traditional knowledge which has been so successful and paramount for centuries.  But has it been successful?  How do we measure success and sustainability?  The farmers I’ve met in Tanzania can barely afford a hand pump to irrigate their two acre fields.  Some want chemical inputs but can’t afford those either.  If this is how their parents “taught” them to farm, can we count their struggles as a success?  Or have we entered a new age where climate change, depleted soil, land and water shortages, and chemicals rule?  Is this new context making old knowledge obsolete?  I don’t know.  I don’t think there is a clear or easy answer.  I don’t think recent trends could possibly negate indigenous wisdom entirely, as there seem to be basic farming practices that are reliable, age-old truisms such as crop rotation and applying animal manure.  But only few farmers I’ve talked to have been trained in intercropping, mulching, the use of homemade biopesticides, etc.  Did their parents know about these “best practices” and simply neglected to share with their children?  Or have open land and the freedom to slash/burn/and move on become so acceptable that actively and consciously restoring the nutrient content of existing soil is seemed unnecessary?  I don’t know.  Similar to the way I’ve been conceiving of a lot of issues recently (e.g. taking both a top down and bottom up approach are necessary), it seems that this may be a similar example, except involving old/new: that in the future, soil, climate, and water conditions are going to undoubtedly change, and new methods of mitigation and adaptation will have to take place, at least to some degree.  These may exhibit the combination of “modern” technology and traditional wisdom – that precarious balance that seems like a contradictory and inaccessible space. 

In sum, I don’t know if I had any burning questions answered while I was in Tanzania, but rather, my brain has become further saturated and muddled with uncertainty.  If anything, I think I saw (or tried to see) a good variety of worldviews and each person I meet challenges me to think more. I saw both the dire reality and also what is possible given a location and resources.  I also hope to skim the surface less and delve more deeply in the future.  Tanzania felt like a whirlwind, though a good introduction to farming issues as a whole (seeds, irrigation, synthetic inputs versus organic, subsistence versus commercial etc.), with one of the main messages being that climate change and water availability are going to continue to be extremely influential in shaping the future of farming, as well as the importance of place-based solutions (i.e. what works in one place may be irrelevant or ineffective in another).

On August 21^st, I arrived in India, which left me overwhelmed with a mix of emotions.  For all intents and purposes, I felt that I should hate it here.  New Delhi is crowded, pungent with a mix of aromas (trash, spices, urine, wet dog, and perfume to name a few), hot and humid, and the honking of vehicles is pervasive.  But for some reason, I am happy, and I can’t explain my premature draw to this country, the strange internal pull I feel for it, deep in the fibers of my body and corners of my heart.  Maybe my proclivity for India is explained by the fact that it is not my first country on the Watson.  I have much to thank Tanzania for.  I think the beautiful East African country sensitized me to a lot of things: both vacant and vaguely threatening stares, modestly dressed women, litter and trash scattered everywhere, long drop toilets/latrines, language barriers, and poverty.  And after spending only two days in Delhi, I boarded a plane to Ladakh, also known as “Little Tibet” and translating into “the Land of Mountain Passes,” a trans-Himalayan region of high altitude desert in northern-most India, bordering China.  I have been dreaming about coming to Ladakh since I first saw it in a documentary film almost two years ago, which made it seem close to ideal for carrying out my research.  Because of its remote location and hostile environment, it remained closed off from the West until fairly recently (1974 is when tourism arrived) and the culture really sits at the nexus of tradition and innovation.  Most Ladakhis are Tibetan Buddhist, which also influences their agricultural practices (e.g. no use of pesticides because it kills living things).  Ladakh is the most beautiful 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 spent my first two weeks here living in the tiny village of Likir helping a family on their farm.  We harvested peas and barley using a sickle and stacked the harvested/dried barley into neat teepee shaped piles called chuks, which was actually really hard work.  It felt good to get my hands dirty and we took frequent tea breaks.  And after reflecting a bit more, I don’t know if I could ever be a farmer or at least one that grows grain.  I was only helping to harvest for a few hours and the intense monotony combined with the physically demanding labor was a lot to take in.  I think that the altitude definitely makes is harder because I am out of breath a lot and relatively little physical exertion leaves my heart pounding.  I also think that it would be a lot more tolerable if I could communicate with the family and friends in the field.  Thus, I can see how being here for an extended period of time and not having a grasp on the local language would be extremely isolating and lonely.  I want to be able to communicate with these people and I’m lucky that a few speak limited English, but I’ve felt a bit alone, even when surrounded by people.  Fortunately, with the fieldwork, once they showed me how to do it, we could all just go about our business and language didn’t really matter, even though it would have been nice to partake in their banter.  Quickly, I began to lose track of the days.  I think it has to do with living in the village where the routine of going into the fields is so constant.  I found myself looking up at the sun while in the field to gauge the time and having no Internet or cell phone, I was truly immersed.  Although the monotony is killer, there is something about seeing a tangible result that is so utterly rewarding:  going from a field filled with barley laid out nearly then piles of chuks.  We can see what our hard work has resulted in and then enjoy the feeling of lying down at the end of a long day.  Overall, it was extremely useful spending nearly two weeks living with a Ladakhi family and accompanying them to the fields to work.  I haven’t had much farming experience and the manual labor felt good, albeit exhausting.  It gave me a minute and brief taste of the hardships and rewards of agriculture.  My fingernails seem to be permanently crusted with dirt, my shoulders bruised from carrying barley on my back in their makeshift packs, and my arms scorched from the strong Ladakhi sun.  And perhaps more importantly, I think I will come away feeling like I have a family and friends here. 

Now, with a somewhat more thorough understanding of agriculture in Ladakh, I feel more prepared to speak with NGOs, government officials, businesses etc. during the remainder of my time in Leh.  Since then, I’ve been able to meet the retired civil engineer who invented artificial glaciers, interview an 87-year-old famous Ladakhi horticulturalist, visit the Leh Nutrition Project and Ladakh Ecological Development Group, and become exposed to new technologies such as passive solar greenhouses, micro-hydro power units, and food processing schemes.  I also learned that it may be the parents and older generations, perhaps more than anyone else, who are inhibiting the future of farming in Ladakh.  As a director of a school, one man commented, “development agencies and experts did their jobs so well that previous generations were made to hate farming, soil, and dirt.”  So “brainwashed” parents are now impeding the future of farming – who’d have thought?   

And lastly, I would like to share with you my experiences of hiking through the Himalayas.  The trek felt to me like a mini Watson lesson: it was difficult to look up while walking, so I had to focus on one step at a time for fear of becoming overwhelmed or exhausted (we reached altitudes of 5200 m and walked 15+ miles in one day), and the hike was simultaneously about the incredible views once reaching vantage points but also about the journey itself.  For the Watson, I am likewise trying to take things a day at a time and relish the expedition more than the destination because in reality, there is no “destination” in the conventional sense, except for the ultimate culmination of knowledge and experience.  I so loved the three days trekking because it was physically demanding, definitely one of the toughest things I’ve ever done, which made it all the more rewarding in the end.  And even though there were many other people walking along the same path, plenty of moments occurred during which you felt like the only person in the world at that place at that time.  It was incredible.  I’ve never felt so much in the moment, wanting desperately for the views and feelings to last forever.

These last three months have brought intense successes and challenges to say the least.  I’ve had my longstanding views both challenged and corroborated.  I’m slow learning to let go and go with the flow more, which is so against my control freak and perfectionist tendencies.  I’ve struggled to balance living in the moment with both staying in touch back home (and assuring my mom that I’m alive and well) and obsessively documenting my experiences.  I’ve found myself sick on several occasions, battling nausea and diarrhea that I thought would never end, and have dealt with extreme bouts of loneliness and homesickness.  But I have also met some unbelievably incredible, hospitable, and inspirational people who remind me why I am passionate about these issues.  As I write this, I am currently based in Leh, Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir, India and the next few months will bring me South to other parts India, after which I hope to spend about a month in Bhutan, working with the National Organic Program of the Ministry of Agriculture.  Then I anticipate heading to South America, where I will learn from indigenous agriculture projects in the Andean mountains of Peru and Bolivia.  Again, I cannot thank you enough for your continued support as make my way through the next 9 months, navigating and negotiating my travels and project.

Sincerely,

Lauren

Artificial Glaciers and Leh Nutrition Project

September 12, 2013 – Meeting with Artificial Glacier Man

I finally tracked down the man of the hour, Mr. Norphel, and he invited me to his home.  Over several cups of tea, apricots, and biscuits and after a perusal of some literature, I learned a lot about him and his work on artificial glaciers in Ladakh (“a unique high altitude water harvesting and conservation technique for improved agricultural irrigation” – essentially the construction of contour dams at the source to store winter run off).  Having been born in 1936 (which makes him 77), grown up in a Ladakhi farming family, trained as a Civil Engineer, and with experience as a rural development officer, he’s been doing work on artificial glaciers since 1987, primarily under the local NGO Leh Nutrition Project (LNP).  He provided me with some background including that over the last 2-3 decades, glaciers have been receding due to warming.  Today, there is less snowfall and since 1962, when the main road opened, many more vehicles and much more pollution.  Two villages in Ladakh have even required relocation due to water shortages, aptly labeled “climate refugees.”  And according to Mr. Norphel, 80% of Ladakh’s population depends on agriculture in this high altitude desert (though I’ve also read 98%).  Agriculture, however, is completely dependent on gravity irrigation from glacial meltwater (not rainfall).  To make matters more critical, during the winter when cultivation ceases, a lot of water goes to waste as some main streams do not freeze over.  In the context of the cold winter, he was motivated to save this water by storing it in the form of ice, which can later be used in the summer.  To contextualize his artificial glaciers, they occur at about 4-5,000 ft below natural glaciers.  Natural glaciers are usually 40-60 km away from the village and the water has to travel a very far distance to reach the fields, arriving later than when is optimal for sowing (they begin melting in mid-June, whereas agriculture should begin around April and May).  In contrast, artificial glaciers are constructed at the tops of villages and melt earlier, supplementing water needs and even allowing for multiple harvests in a season.  The differing altitudes also ensure disparate melting times.  Again, the major crops in Ladakh include barley, wheat, peas, and potatoes, with each crop having a different maturation period.  This renders sowing a matter of critical timing for farmers and the artificial glaciers help optimize it.  They are “low cost, simple, and of high benefit to the farmer.”  He confirmed that they are an appropriate technology (using mainly local materials with the exception of some concrete, steel, and unskilled/imported labor) and the cost depends on size.  An appropriate site location would have adequate stream volume and after a field visit to take measurements, then a diversion would be constructed followed by rock-walled terraces.  The water gets diverted and dammed into these terraces and then eventually freezes in the north-facing shady side of a mountain.  The glaciers also serve as a good source of ground water recharge.  So far, Mr. Norphel and LNP have implemented nine artificial glaciers in six villages in four years.  Some of the environmental, economic, and social benefits include an overall increase in agricultural productivity and income because of improved timing, aquifer recharge, reduced water disputes, reduced soil erosion and increased soil moisture conservation.  The main challenge, however, is the availability of funds.  Before, the project was under the government Watershed Development Program, military funded under the science and technology sector, Royal Bank of Scotland, and some foreign NGOs.  Apparently the glaciers are in high demand and villages want to replicate them, which is facilitated by LNP and Mr. Norphel who does trainings and seminars.  I asked about quantifying the success of the project and he said, “measured success with good scientific data is important, but it’s a long process to record the data, 2-3 years, so at this point, we are just basing it off of villagers’ observations.”  This seemed a little insufficient and sketchy to me seeing as he said they’ve been doing this project since the late 1980s and they still don’t have data on it?  Another challenge, of course, is maintenance and upkeep, which involves repairing walls and canals, cleaning debris, and diverting water.  The massive floods of 2010 also devastated many of the glaciers, which still haven’t been repaired due to lack of funds.  I was also told that before project implementation, the community needs to write a resolution that includes maintenance responsibilities, which end up being a large problem because artificial glaciers are situated at the top of villages and people don’t bother to go there.  Fortunately, the artificial glacier technology is replicable in other parts of the world with similar geo-climatic environments (e.g. Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tibet, Nepal, and Mr. Norphel even noted how he’s had inquires from Patagonia and Chile in South America).  Basically, the winter temperature needs to be low (at least -15 degrees C) with long winters (at least 4-5 months).  However, because of global warming, he acknowledged that these are only a temporary solution and “people need to take more care with irrigation and water use.”  I was also interested in the role of the government and was told that the government hasn’t adopted the artificial glacier technology up to this point and although the government funds it under the watershed development project, NGOs are still the implementation agencies.  “In the future, the government may adopt it because Ladakh is so ecologically sensitive, especially with water.”  At the end of September, I hope to accompany LNP to the village of Egu, where a new artificial glacier is being constructed to benefit 265 people.  He’s a smart man, no doubt about it.  He received “The Best Rural Engineer” award from the president of India, the “Rural Engineer Award” from the Center for Science and Development in New Delhi, the “Asian Innovative Award of Hong Kong” by the Far Eastern Economic Review magazine, and the “CNN-IBN ‘Real Hero’” award in 2008.  He is also just a really adorable old man who calls his wife “the misses” and is eager to show off his beautiful garden, greenhouse, and underground cold storage room for vegetables.

On a totally unrelated note, I have been practicing making Chapati and this one turned out distinctly like Africa.  I guess an unintentional tribute to Tanzania.  I think I will get better with time...

Passive solar greenhouse at Mr. Norphel's house

With the man who conceived of the artificial glacier (retired Civil Engineer)

Artificial Glacier concept

September 13, 2013 – Leh Nutrition Project

Today I was able to have a follow up visit with the Leh Nutrition Project where I interviewed a project coordinator (named Tundup) and the executive director.  Coincidentally, I actually met Tundup when I went trekking, as he leads a double life as a guide (which he’s been doing for 30 years).  LNP was the first local NGO in Ladakh founded in 1978 as a supplementary nutrition program.  Today they facilitate child-focused activities on rights, education, and participation in development, farm livelihood initiatives, watershed development projects, and HIV/AIDs awareness.  One of their recent large projects was titled, “Income generation activities for the rural populations in the cold desert of the western Indian Himalayas,” with the goals of empowering rural women, improving health, and increasing capacity for rural NGOs.  Their projects include passive solar architecture, especially for semi-nomadic people near Tibet.  These solar structures include greenhouses, compost pits, lambing and poultry sheds, and trench cultivation.  When I asked about solar compost pits, Tundup noted that “Ladakh people were looking to modernize and in the 1990s, the government initiated the use of chemical fertilizers.  People got rid of their animals and made a habit of the chemical fertilizers.  After the government has said that these are actually harmful, but without animals, compost pits are an alternative.”  And because Ladakhi winters are too cold for composting, they have to dig a hole and cover it with a plastic sheet to maximize the solar energy.  Apparently now the government is advocating “Low external input sustainable agriculture” (LEISA), which may involve digging trenches, which are then filled with fertile soil and manure, vegetables are planted and then it’s cover with plastic (polythene) for winter vegetable production (trench cultivation).  For the improved, passive solar greenhouses, it has been a collaborative effort between several NGOs including LEHO, LNP, LEDEG and GERES that has benefited 500 families (165 villages) with 300 tons of vegetables grown annually (all year round, even in -25 degrees C).  Although the greenhouses require some maintenance (e.g. water vapor may lead to collapsed roofs and the replacement of the polythene sheet and upkeep varies by region and climatic conditions), but overall, they seem like an incredibly worthwhile investment (they can last between 3-9 years depending on climate and care).  These greenhouses have shown to be responsible for a 20-50% increase in income generation, with a less than three-year payback period and the highest replication rate.  A five year project that recently ended last year, now the NGOs will stop constructing after having adequately demonstrated and now it is in the hands of the villagers who are trained.  These greenhouses are simple and based on passive solar concepts: solar gain, heat storage, heat release, insulation, and ventilation, with no added energy inputs for warming or cooling.  The project also has an emphasis on community capacity building for long term sustainability: 221 local masons have been trained and 47 agro running resource persons trained in weekly visits and giving advice.  In terms of government support, they have subsidized the polythene sheets in the past but are not actively endorsing the program.  The project coordinator seemed to think the project was so successful that “there may not be any family/house in Ladakh that doesn’t have a greenhouse.”  This is largely because of the wide range of benefits: income generation, women empowerment, and food security/improved nutrition, as the greenhouses can extend the growing season and facilitate seedling production. 

In addition to the passive solar greenhouses, they do work on solar lambing sheds, which can help decrease mortality in winter, can be used as a greenhouse because of fertilizer from lamb dung, and is multi-purpose for families too.  Interestingly enough, when LNP presented to the Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council at the end of the project in 2008, the government did not receive it as well as they expected, saying that it is negative because it “spoils indigenous coping mechanisms.”  The original NGO thought, however, was that during the pregnancy and birth period, it is the most crucial and vulnerable time for babies and mothers and they should do what they can to reduce mortality and improve nomadic livelihoods.  This raises a number of interesting points and the LNP project coordinator aptly stated, “but then it’s not only lambing sheds but everything that ‘spoils indigenous coping mechanisms.’”  He used the example of how all Ladakhis used to ride and transport using horses and now that everyone has cars, if someone showed up to the market on a horse, they would say, “the crazy man is coming.”  He further said, “Combining indigenous coping mechanisms with modern development is possible” with the example of a large scale irrigation project using canals made of local materials and technology (e.g. mud instead of cement mud).  For instance, the solar lambing sheds use 80% local materials and with relatively little maintenance, they are in high demand in remote nomadic villages.  Some challenges, however, include a lack of capital ad materials to complete the construction in a timely fashion and also the naturally harsh climate, which slows and impedes construction.  Other partner projects include solar poultry farms, improved wool transformation (e.g. small spinning and carding machines), pashmina (cashmere) goat development project, local marketing of handicrafts and food processing units, ecotourism, and micro-hydro power units for energy generation, most of which focus on short marketing chains to increase village self-sufficiency and maximize income.

With Tundup, my trekking guide and project coordinator at LNP, during our field visit to Egu village for the artificial glacier site construction

Trekking in the Himalayas

September 9, 2013 - Trekking in the Himalayas

Wow.  This has been the most exhilarating weekend of my life.  I spent the last three days trekking in the Himalayas from Zingchen to Chilling.  At first, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do a trek at all, but realizing that this is the reason many tourists come to Ladakh in the first place, I figured that it would probably be a good idea because who knows when I’ll be here again.  I spent an afternoon walking around town, popping into different tour operators looking for a group and a good deal.  I almost joined a 6 day trek through the Markhar Valley, but decided for something shorter, which ended up being an excellent choice.  I set off on Saturday morning with an Israeli couple and our guide Chos, a twenty-year-old Ladakhi who spends most of the year studying mechanical engineering in Delhi.  After we had hiked in about 3 hours or so, the girl was feeling awful due to the altitude and they both decided to turn around.  At one point, they were stranded without a phone and no way to get back to Leh, so they asked if I would mind going back with them and starting the trek another day.  I told them I would, but obviously, it wouldn’t be ideal.  Fortunately, everything worked out.  They found a ride back to town and my guide and I continued on to the homestay location.  Although I really enjoyed Chos’ company, I was a bit disappointed that my group had disintegrated.  Fortunately, the homestays along the trekking routes are filled with people and I made quite good friends with a couple of Dutch guys who had the exact same itinerary, including the white water rafting on the third day.  We spent the remainder of the time walking together, and I really appreciated their words of encouragement and offers to carry my bag as I thought I was going to pass out going up to the pass.  There was only one large pass we had to cross at about 4900 meters (16,000 + feet), but boy was it a killer.  They were alternating feeling sick from the altitude, having barely had a day to acclimatize and myself, well frankly, I am just out of shape.  But the altitude definitely makes it harder to breathe and the sun is so strong, beating down on you and sapping you of energy.  However, when we arrived at the pass and could finally take in a truly panoramic view, the boys decided they wanted to climb to the next vantage point: 5100 m.  This was even more incredible, and well worth it because the snow covered peaks in the distance weren’t obscured.  I could have laid on top of the peak forever – it was just unbelievably beautiful.  Our guides bonded, which was also fun to observe, and I got to ask a lot of questions of their guide, who has a background in agriculture, in addition to leading trips for almost 30 years.  The trek, although on the shorter side, feels to me like a mini Watson lesson: it was difficult to look up while walking, so I had to focus on one step at a time for fear of becoming overwhelmed or exhausted, and the hike was simultaneously about the incredible viewpoints once reaching high points but also about the walk/journey itself.  For this fellowship, I am likewise trying to take things a day at a time and relish the journey more than the destination because in reality, there is no “destination” in the conventional sense, except for the ultimate culmination of knowledge and experience.  I so loved the three days trekking because it was physically demanding, definitely one of the toughest things I’ve ever done, which made it all the more rewarding in the end.  The second day, we walked nearly 9 hours over 24 km (almost 15 miles), and it was so beautiful – the landscape was incredible and it felt so raw and remote.  Even though there were many other people walking along the same path, plenty of moments occurred during which you felt like the only person in the world at that place at that time.  It was incredible.  I’ve never felt so much in the moment, wanting desperately for the views and feelings to last forever.  Especially on the walk down from the pass into the valley – I could let my muscles relax a bit and just enjoy the scenery.  I was feeling like a million bucks at this point, fortunately spared of altitude-related symptoms and was just relishing the sheering beauty of my surroundings.  We finished the third day with a short 2-3 hour walk and then joined a larger group for white water rafting down the Zanskar River.  But not before the hilariously traumatizing experience of having to cross the river in a tiny crate because the bridge had collapsed.  The whole set up seemed questionable at best, but we hardly had another choice.  So I climbed into the crate with Feodor and Tundup, their guide, and he pulled us across the river.  We must have been suspended more than 50 feet in the air, connected to an overhead cable, something similar to ziplining, except that the Zanskar River was roaring in white rapids beneath us.  I was terrified to say the least.  Tundup said, “it’s one of those life experiences,” with his classic smile.  And that it was.  Once we safely touched ground on the other side, it was a quick walk to the rafting launch point.  We donned wetsuits and helmets and took off down the river.  There were several “rapids,” which varied in intensity, but I found it to be just the right amount of challenging and relaxing.  The only thing I would have changed was the weather.  The sun wasn’t out the whole time, so it was freezing when the raft would flood or we would hit a rough patch.  By the end, I was so cold my body was uncontrollably shaking and my hands were tingling with numbness.  It was a much-welcomed hot lunch of spicy mixed veg, dal, rice and papadam/papad/papar (a type of super thin cracker) before we took a bus back to Leh.  Needless to say, the weekend was jam packed with physical activity and I can’t think of a more beautiful place to have hiked and rafted.

It’s amazing how things work out sometimes.  To think that I went from having virtually no group or hiking companions to amazing friends.  Walking with people, while seemingly monotonous is an excellent chance to bond, especially if you are taking in the same breathtaking surroundings, sharing humbling moments engulfed in nature.  I think that the second day hiking with them was one of the happiest days of my life and I can’t pinpoint exactly why.  I was just so unbelievably content in that exact moment, not thinking about anything but making it to the top of the pass and taking in the natural beauty.  And after spending nearly two weeks in a remote village farming with a family that could barely speak English, this little jaunt reminded me of how important it is to spend time with westerners, for one’s sanity and self-preservation (although the Watson Foundation would probably say otherwise).  The boys reminded me of what it’s like to let loose, have fun, and live in the moment.  In retrospect, I found Tanzania to be anything but fun because I really didn’t make any friends there, but in India already, I feel myself grasping for expats and backpackers, something I don’t want to make a habit of.  

Amazing view from my tent

First glacier sighting!

MARMOT!

Trekking guide

View from above Ganda La Pass (5200 m = 17,000 feet)

At the top of the world

Tibetan Buddhist prayer flags

Coming down from the pass

Ibex horns

Trekking guides

With my guide, Chos

A bridge collapsing into the Zanskar River..

Miniature pack donkeys!

So we had to cross the bridge via a "cable car" (aka a wooden framed box)

Zanskar River, which we white water rafted

Women's Alliance, Random Encounters, and Shanti Stupa

September 6, 2013  - Women’s Alliance of Ladakh

Today Richard (ISEC volunteer coordinator) and I visited the Women’s Alliance of Ladakh, one of the NGOs founded by Helena Norberg-Hodge.  A French anthropologist who is studying Ladakh and comparing the indigenous culture to that of the Mayan people of Mexico’s Yucatan was going to do an interview with the president and vice president, so I listened in and also chimed in with my own questions.  I learned that the organization was founded in 1991 (by Helena) and is concerned with cultural preservation, women’s empowerment and income generation, and promoting organic and cooperative agriculture.  It also has been focusing recently on HIV/AIDs awareness, especially since last year had 25 new cases, mainly due to young people going off to school in other parts of India.  In the winter, they also do trainings with local women on handicrafts and tailoring cloth.  Another amazing feat is that in 1998, plastic bags were legally banned in all of Ladakh and the Women’s Alliance is often responsible for checking in with shops (there is a 5,000 Rs fine for violating ~$80 USD).  In collaboration with Vandana Shiva and Navdanya, they have an organic seed saving project for which they then distribute seeds to farmers at a subsidized rate.  In addition to seed saving, each year, the Women’s Alliance goes into different villages to hold meetings and trainings with farmers (e.g. anti-chemical campaigns), as well as working with children to promote farming activities and cultural pride. 

During this little visit, the French anthropologist also interviewed/filmed Richard who raised a number of important points including: how can localization work in urban areas?  Unless there is some kind of Cultural Revolution with a “back to the land” objective (which clearly failed in China with the Cultural Revolution), then we need new and improved food and agricultural systems to feed urban areas.  Moreover, we (as in everyone) should stop surrounding themselves with “yes men,” but instead, we should work with those who disagree with our views to learn to better defend and support what you believe in.  Lastly, I appreciated his point about how the film The Economics of Happiness is a vision and now the important question is how to make it a reality.  For this, we need good governance and an actual institutionalization of localization (e.g. through policy measures).  Some food for thought.

September 11, 2013

Well today was quite random.  I was on a bit of a wild goose chase looking for the man named Mr. Norphel who invented artificial glaciers in Ladakh.  Long story short: I went to college with a girl from Nepal who went to high school in India with this other girl who used to summer in Ladakh.  This friend of a friend has an aunt who owns a hotel here who has a cousin whose father is the artificial glacier man.  I think I got some of the familial relations confused, but either way, I’ve tapped this chain to try to find him.  After a visit (and tea and biscuits and toast) at the hotel, I found myself walking to the local public school to find the cousin, who is a teacher.  The sun was blazing hot and the walk was long – I must have looked exhausted, so someone pulled over to the side of the road and offered me a ride.  I mistook the vehicle for a taxi and climbed inside, asking how much.  It turns out that it was just a man with some free time and a generous disposition.  He is 37, owns a contracting/construction business, and plays ice hockey for the national team.  He insisted on waiting while I ran into the school to deliver a note and set up an appointment with Mr. Norphel.  After this, we ended up going to a little restaurant in town called the Tibetan Kitchen – it was quite delicious (I got paneer butter masala and we split a Kingfisher beer).  I thought for sure he was married with children, which would have made the whole thing more comfortable, but alas, he is unmarried and I think looking for a wife (but more importantly, he stressed that he has no western friends and wants to practice his English).  He insisted that I come to his home for a traditional Ladakhi meal and to meet his family.  Remembering that I am practicing saying “yes,” I accepted the invitation.  In between lunch and dinner, however, I had another quite serendipitous encounter as I was searching for a French NGO called GERES that does work in renewable energy.  I ended up at a travel agency trying to get the contact information for the GERES director when it came out that the owner is a lovely Ladakhi who married an American and now owns a seed stock farm and lives in Princeton, Massachusetts.  Princeton is a small town next to Holden, which is where my boyfriend is from, only about an hour or so away from me.  Unbelievable, it really was.  Being a farmer himself, he gave me a bunch of new ideas for my research in Ladakh and we just chatted cordially.  Fast forward to being picked up by my new Ladakhi friend for dinner: he lives outside town, past the airport, in a random looking white house that is totally out of place amongst the surrounding shanty-town-esque shops.  He built the house recently and I could tell because of the strange mix of old and new: the whole family (parents, grown children, spouses etc.) lives here, the mother wears traditional Ladakhi clothes, the living room has many area carpets with low tables in lieu of chairs, and pressure cookers and thermoses fill the kitchen (all very Ladakhi).  However, they have a western-style toilet (only the second one I’ve seen in a month here), a modern looking kitchen with cabinets, a sink, a multi-burner stove, and no brass pots and pans lining the walls like usual.  I’ve decided that I much prefer traditional Ladakhi-style composting toilets, which use no water, and are just a hole in a ground.  Someone aptly referred to them not as toilets, but as fertilizer units – I couldn’t have said it better myself!  And it hadn’t even been 15 minutes since my arrival and I was offered and served four beverages: cha ngarmo (sweet tea), cha kan te (salt tea), fruit juice, and chang (barley beer), no complete without little biscuits.  Eager to help, I chopped vegetables for dinner as the repeatedly played the same commercials for skin lightening cream, soap, bleach, and hair remover.  It is really depressing and strange because it’s the exact opposite of how it is in the States where girls want to be tan: here, Indians want to strip their skin of its beautiful natural color and a popular brand of soap and cream is “Fair and Lovely.”  Dinner was good (dal, mixed vegetables, rice, and yogurt) but the company was kind of strange.  The man kept offering to take me places (“oh you want to go to Pangong Lake? I’ll drive you!” – it’s several hours away) and even offered to give me an old mobile phone and sim card (presumably so he could stay in contact with me).  His English was mediocre, so our conversations were quite limited and to be honest, I was really happy to get home after this.

And here are some more photos of my time around Leh town:

Ladakh Ecological Development Group - one of the NGOs I visited

Stairs up to the Shanti Stupa...I think there must be close to 1,000 but I lost count (distracted by the burn in my thighs)

The Dalai Lama has the most inspiring quotations

This has to be the most beautiful view from any bathroom in the room :P

"Highest Motorable Road in the World"

Shanti Stupa

Overlooking Leh town

My camera's self-timer mode caught this amazing moment of a young girl kneeling in prayer

A group of doctors from New Delhi

And what goes up, must come down