Braids and Belt

 

Circumambulation of a small town temple

 

Merry Christmas!!!

Wow, what a wonderful day! What a wonderful life! I can't begin to express how blessed I am. Every day I'm humbled by the incredible riches with which I've been blessed- a wonderful family that loves me, tons of friends, a comfortable home, no lack of food to eat and warm clothes to wear. Sometimes I just sit, too small to move- why should I be so blessed when there are so many people who have nothing at all? What thing did I do that made me worthy to receive life when others eat nothing but bitterness and suffering until their short days on earth come to an end? Nothing, I have done nothing at all to deserve all of this grace. I only hope somehow, in some small way to be able to share goodness and life and warmth and love with those from whom such things have fled. 
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Tonight our home was filled with friends and family from all over the world. We celebrated our hope of eternal life with food and songs and prayers. But if we fail to extend the love that we've received- what good are we? If we spend all these gifts on our own comforts- what have we gained? Life is so short and suffering in the world is so great, how could we live in our own skins if we didn't attempt to share the riches that we've received? And yet, what is harder than to convince our own selfish flesh to give up comfort, even though it be for the worthiest of ends? As Thoreau said when commenting on men's possessions possessing men, "the bad neighborhood to be avoided is our own scurvy selves." 
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On Saturday we will be hanging out at the home for orphans and castaways and the mentally ill. Adjacent is a home for the elderly. Some of them can't even talk, can't cry out for the most basic human needs. No one cares about them. In fact- most are there because they aren't wanted by their own families. I hope that during a few moments with these precious people we'll somehow be able to communicate love and kindness. I also hope that this one day will not be the exception in our lives, but something as common as breathing in and breathing out. Our gifts, our blessings, were not meant to be held on to, but to be exhaled, passed on freely and readily as we received them.

For Birute

I promised a friend that I'd send some pics of Tibetan Mastiffs. Here are two from last year. I was in the field working on a grassland study and talking to folks about possible solutions to the problem of brown bears breaking in and pillaging nomads' winter homes. It was a good time- clipping grasses, sedges, and forbs with scissors while being swept over by four consecutive thundering hail storms, being watched by wolves, and stumbling across wild ass bones and abandoned nomad homes. That night we helped herd the yak home and were rewarded with an astounding sunset and a homemade yak-meat and noodle dinner. Sometime in the night the dogs went crazy and we all went outside to observe a large black silhouette lumbering away in the dim moonlight. Probably an Ursus arctos. 

The close-up of the puppy is from summer 2004. I was out in the field doing some participatory-rural appraisals.  The puppy belonged to a doctor who made about $500 a year. I think he either lived in a livestock shelter or ran a medical dispensary out of it. He made ends meet by working as a motorcycle repairman. Anyway, that's his puppy. Can't remember if Marc or I took that shot.

 

Friday Around the House

In anticipation of an upcoming Christmas party, I'm tidying, doing laundry, and washing dishes. It's almost noon and the ice inside the kitchen window is slowly thinning. This week marks the beginning of the descent into winter, and with it the first trickles of the expatriate exodus to warmer climes. In the project area- even the government shuts down for winter and moves to lower altitudes- so our compound will soon be filling with officials and their families even as the foreigners are departing. Others on the team are now up on the plateau finishing up the clinic monitoring, looking for land to lease for a research station, and tying up loose ends before the new year. January will find only the hardiest folk on the grassland- and that's when we hope to be getting into some substantial wildlife monitoring and equipment setup- though I won't be around to make the trip.

Back to the dishes.

Gazing South

Haven't taken many pictures lately. The three images below are views from our south windows. There's been demolition and construction going on for weeks and it will continue for the next couple of years. We're on the western edge of town and the surrounding buildings have been razed in the first stages of a new development drive that will construct many high-rise apartment and office buildings. Right now, however, the land to the south and west holds only a few trees full of crows, the shells of a couple of buildings awaiting demolition, and three army-green tents where some of the road-building crew live.

Southwest

South

Southeast

Dear Uncle Jochi,

it was pitch black dark outside when my wristwatch alarm went off thursday morning. i stood in the shower until my second alarm went off about a quarter hour later. i pulled my lunch out of the fridge and stuck it in my bag along with some gloves and clothes, tied my boots, and pulled on my down jacket. it was somewhere south of freezing and not any lighter when i stepped outside to find the rest of the guys.

by the time we hit the good roads it was plenty light and i remembered to text message the teachers to let them know i'd be out of town. we flew along smooth new highways above hayfields and rivers and small villages, past the growing bones of dams, factories and prisons.

somewhere beyond huju the highway gave way quickly to dirt roads, which in turn gave way to snowy lanes lined with white-barked trees. long straight single lines of trees along long straight stretches of snowy road along long straight runs of streams coming down off the mountains were broken infrequently by little bridges cutting to the opposite bank and by small villages of mud and stone and people.

curls of smoke rose from the chimneys in the windless morning. men and women turned hay in farmyards and walked along the road with their pitchforks on their shoulders. one man led his black hog off the road into a stand of trees at a gentle bend of the stream.

eventually the ridges and peaks and streams and fields and herds and haystacks and stone walls converged as they must when one drives up-valley. there we parked, got out, and walked up.

Sunny Afternoon

Lows in the upper 20s this week. Highs in the low 50s. Our sun-room where we hang laundry to dry gets quite warm in the afternoon sun- and from its windows we can see snow on the eastern hills. Today we are cleaning house and listening to Congo to Cuba (thanks Krejci!). Shinay has added flavor to the day's chores by brewing eight treasures tea and fixing a delicious tofu-cabbage stew. I married a great cook! If you're in DC and want to try eight treasures tea- we recommend Ching Ching Cha in Georgetown.

Chilly Wednesday

I woke up this morning to the sight of what appeared to be snow on South Mountain. Our apartment backs right against the base of the hill, and about two hundred yards up there was quite a bit of white between the tufts of grass and trees. Not sure if was a heavy frost or a dusting of snow. I wanted to go inspect- but it's not that easy to get to the slopes that are so tantalizingly close, as I discovered on my walk there last weekend.

About 50 yards up the steep hill, a mud road runs parallel to the base. All along the road are the old style courtyard houses built without gaps in between save for a tiny drain here and there. It's maddening trying to go for a nice walk on the hill and having to walk for over a mile to get to a break in the houses. If one travels westward along the hill, the only avenue upwards is to a gated entry to a park. If one travels eastward, there is just house after house after house. All are mud or brick or concrete block. The mud and brick yards are swept clean, potted flowers grace the doorways and the windows are hung with colorful curtains. Huge laying hens cluck about and a few roosters crow throughout the day. Children run about happily flying little kites made of plastic bags and string. This is affordable housing and seems to be a healthy neighborhood of taxi drivers, laborers, and shop-workers. A mosque anchors the east end and to the south east is a broad field before the city resumes. Men, women, and children alike all seemed noticeably happy as they walked through the fields and mud streets chatting or playing. Every home bears a black, spray-painted designation on its outer wall: "for demolition".

I eventually gave up looking for a break in the houses and followed a young boy as he picked his way through some buildings to an ash and rubbish pile that doubled as a ladder up 20 feet to the next terrace. I tried not to think about what I was climbing and scrambled up after him. In a few garbled words I enquired about how to get up the hill. He just pointed and said to keep going the same westward route I'd been following. To my dismay, the brick path eventually led right back down to the previous terrace, but I did enjoy the expanded view and the sight of two different flocks of chickens waiting patiently at their owners' doorways for lunch! 

Abandoning the search for a legitimate route to the hillside, I ventured into an un-gated courtyard and looked about for someone to ask for permission to cross their property- but couldn't find anybody. The small rooms to the back of the courtyard used the hillside as their rear wall, but there was a little nook in the corner where one could pass. It was an outdoor room for a tethered calf, two walls being the earth itself and one wall being that of another building. I was happy to face a guard calf rather than a guard dog and carefully climbed the homemade wooden ladder eight feet up to the mud steps cut into the soil. 

Finally! Above the endless ribbon of mud and brick homes, above the noisy streets, I was almost eye level with the towering high-rises and facing a terraced hill of grasses, trees, and shrubs. I grew up in the countryside on a sprawling property just east of the Blue Ridge. Even the small town of Blacksburg was unnerving in its urban-ness and crush of people everywhere. Grass and trees and cows and bugs and bushes and streams and hills are what I need to breathe. Over the years in Blacksburg and then in DC I learned where to find little pockets of air and how to hold my breath longer and longer. At Tech it was the cow pastures and hikes along the Appalachian Trail and any stream Gabe and I could find. In DC it was wooded neighborhoods like Capitol Hill and long runs on the W&OD trail and walks at Great Falls and kayaking the Potomac. It became such habit that I didn't even realize how tense I was until I'd hit 29 South and the rolling fields lined with cedar trees approaching Charlottesville and all my being would relax like tight muscles in a hot bath. 

South Mountain is a little breath of life in this city of millions. As I picked my way through thornbushes and tall grass upward into bigger and bigger trees and then beyond them to high fields- I felt alive again. Fall is the time that I need the outdoors most and the time that I daily live with one foot in the here and now and one foot on the ethereal ground of memory. My body walks concrete paths between concrete towers, but my soul is with Gabe and Grandad cutting wood and walking in the pastures. At dusk I want to go somewhere- but I don't know where, I'm looking for something, but don't know what. I feel lost until I realize that my being is searching for the gathering in of family and friends around the Brickhouse kitchen table at dusk- but that is far off in distance and further off in time. 

Dusk instead found me sitting in a park with another old friend whose pages hold these worlds together- and also promise another better than the beginning. Sitting beside an earthen wall of a city thousands of years old, I read the words that accompanied me to the farm ponds of Appomattox and the banks of the James River, that fed me through hungry times and lit my way through dark ones, and I remember that there is no going back and there is no standing still- there is only pressing on.  

I have sucked in a breath of nature and have drunken a draught from the springs of life. I have looked into the ghosts of memory and it is time now to return. Homeward bound, I climb the dark hill to the apartment- knowing that the home I long for is both past and future, and that the home that I must build is now.

Signs of fall, smell of snow

The leaves on the mountainside are turning golden and the air is often crisp and cool. Outside of the gate trucks loaded down with apples sell to passersby. Besides the usual fall crops- huge mounds of red chili peppers are being carted all over the city on little motorized three wheelers that supply the small vegetable shops. In people's windows one can see strands of them as long as a man hanging to dry.

A couple of days I've walked outside to the distinct smell of snow on the wind. How odd, I thought- as there was no sign of snow clouds. As I hiked up South Mountain a few days ago- the source of the smell became visible. All of the high peaks beyond the dirt mountains surrounding the city were showing white at the peaks.

Walk on South Mountain

A man returning from the yellow pastures at the top of South Mountain. I crested the shoulder of the hill to find him packing and lighting his pipe. He lingered for a little while in the warm afternoon sun- probably curious to see what I was doing- then shouldered his load of fodder and gathered his grazing cattle with whooping calls and the cracks of a whip. 

Although not very visible in this picture, the ridge in the far distance is snow-capped.

More from the Archives

These are portraits that I shot in 2004 at a Children's Day celebration in western Yushu Prefecture. It was incredibly sunny and a lot of my shots from that day were washed out- but there was no hiding the beauty of the nomad families that camped on the grassland around the boarding school. It was late June - I think- and the afternoons were fiercely hot and the nights brutally cold. I had brought a soccer ball to the kids at the school and we played a lot during their days off- until it popped. Another local group from the community did some environmental workshops for the kids and I showed them some of the insects that lived in and around the streams. At night on the plateau above 15,000 feet the stars were infinite above, and the white summer-time tents were lit like lanterns on the grassland below. During one of those black nights, I snuck out between the glowing tents to the stream to bathe for the first time in many days. Even though it was June- there was still a good two or three feet of ice along the edge of the stream to jump over to get to the moving water. I scrubbed off days of grime in the icy brook while taking in the stellar majesty above and tiny dots of life spread out before me as the sounds of laughter and barking dogs floated across the open plain in harmony with the gurgling water. It was a truly delicious taste of life.

Reading Material and Local Fare

For those interested in reading more about the broader region, BBC correspondent James Reynolds keeps a blog here. Another interesting BBC article about the nearby areas can be found here. Foreign Affairs also regularly has articles regarding China, the latest written by Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson.
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As for us, it's been a slow week- mostly studying and helping some friends get their coffee shop ready to open next week. We'll have no classes from the 29th until the 6th, and so are hoping to help with some water/chemical testing, getting the office filing system in order, and re-formatting some of the computers. Since it's been raining most of the week, most of the highlights have been eating. Shinay already covered the ladies making dumplings, so I'll leave you with these pictures of a lady slicing up pigs' feet and a man roasting meat. When I was growing up, the Hammonds had a hog farm at the end of Booth Road. On one of my previous trips I tried some of the local pigs' feet at the night market- and they tasted exactly like the smell of that hog farm. I can eat just about anything, but I'm not planning on ordering pigs' feet again over here any time soon. The fellow roasting meat was one of the few folks still selling dinner as I walked back home in the rain after painting tonight at the coffee shop. He grilled me up five sticks and a flat bread brushed with oil and encrusted with spices, then stuffed the meat into the bread and poured me a cup of salt tea. It was the perfect late-night dinner.

A Day Not At School

I spent most of the day today with a friend from Holland. After a fine lunch of falafel, couscous, tomato salad, and fresh baked flat bread at his home, we ran some errands together. It was another damp, grey day as we crisscrossed town paying bills, picking up one of his sons from school, doing some carpentry at a friend's coffee shop, eating noodles, and buying fruit. It was really fun to be doing some construction work again- something I've missed a lot since over the past two years. We had a couple of doors to hang, a couple of shelves to put up, and some decorative woodwork to install. We got about half way through and will go back Friday afternoon to finish up.

The guys at the noodle shop were friendly enough to let me photograph them at work in the kitchen. They were a quick team pulling dough into noodles, boiling them, ladling out broth into the bowls and spooning vegetables and meat over each dish. The whole process took only a couple of minutes.



















After the noodles, we stopped by a fruit shop before heading home.

A Day At School

This is the inside of our school building. It's a pretty neat building- four floors arranged around a central open space with skylights overhead. When it rains there's quite a bit of dripping and there hasn't been any electricity this week- but overall a good place to learn. During breaks we come out to the common area to chat, stretch, and people watch.



Our classes get out just after noon, the same time that every school in the city sends kids home for their two hour lunch break. It's a complete mob on every street and quite a challenge to squeeze onto the packed buses. Today wasn't too bad and we managed a spot on a not so crowded bus.

After a long, cold morning (it was drizzling again and there's no heat in our concrete classroom), we warmed up at a Korean restaurant with some friends. The bibimbap, tofu soup, and spicy yak stew hit the spot!

The Rest of the Story

My wife also keeps a blog. You may want to read it to get the rest of the story. soyskim.blogspot.com

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Below is a picture from the trip over. It seemed like we were flying above a giant sea of cotton for hours upon hours. The plane was very new, the food good, and the flight staff very nice. All of this was an added bonus, however, as our single selection criterion was price. If you're planning a trip to East Asia, look into Hainan Airlines.

Laundry

I was hanging up the laundry today when I heard someone talking outside my window. I peered out and saw this woman and perhaps her grandson also doing their wash.

Sweets and Snacks

Shinay and I went shopping yesterday. These are some of the sweets and snacks we saw.

Local News!

Today's Post had an article about this area. Please read it when you have time.

From the Archives

I realize that I've not posted many pictures this year. Here's a shot from my first trip to the area in 2004. Between the river and the road leading out of Yushu, there was a little concrete pad with three walls and no roof. I was working with a friend on translating audio from a participatory video project we'd done with Insight Share and each afternoon after work, we'd head over to this little pad of concrete to play 3 on 3 soccer. There were two men of the cloth who often joined us. One traded in his robes for maroon soccer shorts and a saffron jersey, but the fellow shown below always came out in his full garb. Despite the disadvantages- he did have a certain trick of gathering the ball up into the robes where we couldn't get at it and he would then waddle towards the goal.