Last Station on the Line (2015)
For my beloved students who taught me more than anything...And my readers! Thanks for sharing this journey together....And finally to my Tsenkharla community especially Karlos and Sonam give Pema a kiss for me....XOXO
The road is
long like a snake trying to bite its tail looping and no more than a thin dusty
track. Bare russet earth revolves until we gain the forests. This is the other
side of my world a mirror reflection and oh so pretty. Norbu the driver a stout
mustached man is at the wheel and Lynn is in shotgun as were on our way to
Yellang, Tragom, and hopefully Dozom. It
was my first time across the Gongri Chu and up this side of the valley so
obviously I was feeling fine and good as Pema Lhamo would say. To get here is
an effort shelling out $30 each for a hired ride and then finding Piet’s
elusive Stonebridge in a region unfamiliar to us. We both enjoy distinct views
of Yellang from our respective homes. I also enjoy a nice view of Kiney a few
thousand feet below and she looks up at Zangtopelri and Shakshing alight at
night. We both love our placements! The zigzag road is crumbling and dusty,
clinging precariously to the mountainside and one cannot fathom eastern
steepness until they feel the vertigo baby! An hour or so out of dusty Doksom
we passed Yellang and twenty minutes later reached Tragom (At one point the
road splits the other branch leading to the sizable Ramjar and over around the
mountain to Bartsham, Bidung, and Rangjoong) All I knew of Tragom was what I
descry from Shakshing an amulet cirque perched on a mountain face beneath a
heavy forested ridge. I wasn’t disappointed with this side of the valley and
its regal and twisted oaks that make Kamdang feel naked with farmhouses and
rice terraces also carved into the rough terrain. Bamboo and banana seemed
odder and all the while my own mountain was revealed to me in new and wonderful
ways. It’s like love you see, when you ponder the one you love you admire
qualities that that loved one doesn’t even notice in themselves, you dig. Same
like that (as the kid’s here say) I admired my mountain as a pyramid with
denuded Kamdang rising to the round top Tsenkharla and perky flattop ridge
between Zangtopelri and Shakshing. Eventually Brong La too rose under a plump
day moon. Clouds frilled the peaks but a coned behemoth briefly appeared
through a lead revealing a new feature right in the heart of my world, a gnarly
shark fin dusted with snow. The mountains always shape shift and often obscure
one another in mystical precision. To see Tsenkharla from those vantage points
was an unforgettable experience to be savored for eternity, perhaps feeling
buzzed as in the astronaut looking back from the moon. An earth colored pyramid
with a green forest beneath Zangtopelri. All sandy earthy tones browns, reds,
and ochre all blend into this melting cone. We parked the vehicle near some
groovy farmhouses with potted plants, orange trees, cows, and black and white
Bhutanese paneling. Our driver conversed with a happy woman with a happy
sounding cadence coming from her lips. Norbu couldn’t quite grock the
directions so in classic Bhutanese fashion a Youngman in gumboots volunteered
to schlep us up into the deep forest. Tragom is an amazingly serene village, a
little bowl perched atop a four thousand foot slope. Then again, the mountain
rises into airy forests of towering oaks with November creepers and decaying
orchids raining falling leaves. It was utterly primal and moist in there and
the trail was maintained although the soil is much looser than our side and the
trees were bigger and it seemed a healthy forest covered in ferns and smelling
of duff and dead leaves. Some parts of the trail remained boggy with a huge
ravine resplendent with boulders, ferns and fallen trunks covered in dank
mosses sprouting crusty mushrooms. Some of you might be friendly with such a
forest and this oriental gem was an amulet indeed. It was cool and eventually
we traversed the ridgeline and arrived at the giant pine tree. It towers
hundreds of feet into the sunshine boughs outstretched with prickling light
green needles. The trunk of the tree was huge in diameter so the four of us
couldn’t link our hands around it, and at the base of the tree was a thick
carpet of duff, a pillow of decaying needles matted together. One other large
pine accompanied the queen in a forest of now dwarfed deciduous tinted in
autumn hues. How did this mighty pine take root and flourish in this deciduous
forest? How old was it? But first let’s move on to the main attraction in this
dark grove, the arboreal looking stone bridge. It’s not easy to get to because
the ravine is treacherous and below the Queen is a seven story boulder,
slippery cliffs leading down to the anomaly which is an arc of stone hovering
across a gap. A thin ribbon waterfall bounds over a rock face and funnels below
the bridge. Everything is old growth with mossy fallen logs and bark that falls
apart when you grab hold. I scampered down below into the ravine to view the
amazing archway with ferns sprouting from it and even an oak shooting from the
bridge its roots gripping the surreal stone plank. It wasn’t smooth sailing
though and I nearly skidded off a precipice. It was an enchanted spot,
containing ample energy a lush grove sitting at approx 8,500 feet, old and
united undisturbed stoically receiving the weather from above. I picked up a
few pieces of trash around a cute gazebo with prayer flags strung and while at
the bridge I got a long distance call from Bra who has a habit of catching me
in the highlights of action not in the fetal position on my bunk on a Monday. I
lost the call but he rung me a few minutes down the trail and was hanging with
Beth, Johnny G and Pete in Corte Madera. It was great to talk a bit to everyone
and we all laughed about the different worlds. We emerged from the dappled
forests deposited in Tragom where the trail from Melongkhar and Duktey near the
Indian border opposing Jangphu. We got back in the car and headed down the
bumpy track to Yellang and Bokar Lhakhang (Pema told me the proper name just
now) I’ve been gazing at this temple bathed in afternoon light across the
valley for four years and now I was knocking at the dragon’s door. A beautiful
and well maintained Lhakhang with a fancy Chorten placed nearby the courtyard,
it’s a sizable edifice raised off the ground with a series of wooden steps
leading to the awning covered doorway. Inside is simple and elegant with a
primary original Buddha commanding the altar and some lovely torma’s with ice
petal flower designs with the most intricate and painstaking details. A framed
picture of a matriarchal nun who resembled Becky hung in the gallery which
struck me peculiar. Some little monk took a shine to Lynn and was explaining
the iconographical displays in a darling manner so I excused myself letting the
two continue their discourse. Outside Norbu scanned the horizon with the
binoculars and we talked about the landmarks all revealed like a string of
pearls. My entire roaming career from Zangtopelri to Brongla, Nankhar, Omba,
and Shampula, all stretched out in rugged glory. With the binoculars I could
even see my hut three hours by vehicle. FANTASTIC! On the way home we got stuck
at a roadblock on the narrow dusty road which they were trying to shore up with
a cement embankment. We peered over the side, a steep drop to the riverbed and rippled
fields a thousand feet below. Soon enough we were on our way towards Doksom (Lynn
aptly described it as the set of an old western) and then winding towards
Kamdang. He dropped me first and I hugged Lynn who I’ve come to enjoy a lot as
a neighbor and friend. She had a wonderful year at Kiney and is sad to depart.
I admire her pluckiness and work ethic and am amazed at the companions who
share this adventuresome life. For example Kiwi Alex just published a teenage
fiction story this year which I am eager to check out. A group of BCF Teachers
are even volunteering at the Kidu Girls Camp over winter break including Lynn. Each
of us does good work in our own way and most of us love living here evident by
the eight teachers extending their contracts. When I got home two tractors
growled finishing tearing up the field below my house thus destroying my energy
rock that I’ve sat on many days in solitude and revelry. Oh well or what to do
as they say in these parts, all I know is I’m damn lucky to be here.
It should be
noted in a weekend of discovery that I also walked from the Trashigang Dzong
down the dry slope to Chazam visiting an amazing Chorten en route. An amazing
spot and the completion of the heartbreak trail where I sulked after hearing
Morgan’s news this spring, yet my heart still beats…That very hillside was the
scene of bloody battles with the Tibetans getting whooped in the searing heat
of East Bhutan arrows raining down upon them.
The cobalt
cratered moon ebbs in the western sky illuminating the Gongri Chu which has
waned to steel waters with cream braided rapids but near Chazam where the river
widens the water appears smooth and olive embanked by white sandy beaches
strewn with huge boulders. The students are preparing to return to villages as
the school year concludes leaving only my administrative duties to attend, the
spreadsheets and report cards which are taxing on my shaky eyes. Pema and Nima
are serving dinner and I’m helping Nima study for tomorrow’s exam.
December in
Bhutan, a lugubrious day as my cold lingers and when I walk my teeth hurt. I
briefly went up to Zangtopelri where the temple was packed with class 8 and 9
girls draped in ceremonial rachu’s embroidered with auspicious designs humming
mantras along with some elderly villagers keeping count on rosary beads. The
boys were outside under a canopy doing the same thing and Pema Chedup racked up
11,000 mantras. As I sat there sipping tea I had to wonder if the prayers were
invisible or if they were heard and did some good. Maybe it doesn’t matter
since chanting centers the restless mind which is the name of the game to end
all suffering and dissatisfactions. The three tiered temple looked immaculate
imposed against a crystal blue sky with cottony clouds billowing from Brongla.
Still it’s a restive time with the din of dueling tractors below my house and a
water stoppage reminding me of the first year in residence; nothing to eat but
crackers, coke, and emadatsi. The students are departing save class ten who are
locked into exams. Pema and Nima are here for the last night cooking the
remainder of my veggies and I sent them to fetch water in the village just so
we could eat. I met Phubgyem on the trail with her group friends and she wished
me a happy vacation then told me she might be off to Punakha next year. I took
in her face for perhaps the last time then went on my way under a serene
mountain sunset.
Meeting the Gang in T-Gang, Visiting
Broomsha, Dancing Leaves, Final Daze
In Bhutan
sometimes you need to get away from your duties, village, kids, and hut. Many
of my colleagues have completed their work and are roaming the countryside. For
some it’s their last licks since they are set to depart soon. When I was hiking
above Shakshing Adam from Pema Gatshel called and told me that he and his
girlfriend were coming to Yangtse. I wanted to meet them the following day so I
asked my Principal for two days leave and while at first he balked he finally
relented. I told him the truth that I wanted to see my best friend Becky and
was missing the company of Phelincpa’s. I’ve been under the weather this whole
autumn with a sinus infection that has been giving me irritating headaches, cream
corn mucus, and dizziness from clogged ears. Nevertheless I threw together some
sundry items into my knapsack and hit the road finally catching a ride to
Doksom via the maze of farm roads in a desolate dustbowl above the Gongri Chu.
This is the new planned site of Doksom town which someday will shift. We
stopped to take tea at his pal the Principal of Doksom Primary School at his
ranch style home beneath rock outcroppings hardly an oasis with the scraggliest
banana trees swaying in the swirling eddies of grainy particles. I was finally
deposited in Doksom where I eagerly rushed to the Post Office to claim two
parcels but alas the postmaster thoughtfully had sent them up with a person
going to Tsenkharla. I was short with the postman even though he did me a favor
since I wanted to seize my packages which I still haven’t claimed. By this time
I had a headache but I ambled the mile to Gom Kora stopping at my favorite
riverbank. Again grateful to be worshipping at the stone altars along the
rushing river walled in by barren canyon walls topped with a few squat pines. I
took a quick lap around Gom Kora noting my favorite little palm tree and slate
carvings of Buddha’s along the promenade where a rooster pecked. Night was
falling when I got my next ride to Chazam where it was already pitch.
Eventually I made it to Trashigang checking into the good old K.C where I fell
asleep having Jurassic dreams. Obviously I never met Adam but recommended they
go to Dechen Phodrang sending along my apologies. I was tired the next day but
managed to print photos for kids and knock about town awaiting the arrival of
my three friends Becky, Sebastian, and Kirsten who were bussing in from
Bumthang. They checked into the hilltop hotel and we all gathered in my room
and caught up. These are three solid characters with a thirst for adventure and
travel. Sebastian is a thirty something Scandinavian looking Dane with a long
physique and trim blonde hair parted to one side. His voice has a lilting
timbre reminding me of Hunter S Thompson and we have a lot in common although
we come from different worlds. Kirsten, a Canadian, is a vivacious young woman
with dyed black hair, glasses, and an infectious laugh. Becky you already know
so the four friends set out to the renovated bakery for some libations and
chatter. Adam and his girlfriend Shannon joined us midway through the course
and the bakery shafted us on portions which wasn’t to our liking. Adam and
girlfriend went back to the hotel and the four of us moved on to Tenzin’s Bar
to refresh are sagging spirits. Tenzin is the foxy lady with the delicious
booty that I went to Gongsa with last year and she is very kind. She has given
me free meals and sponsored two bottles of port for my mom and aunt. We got a
little silly able to tell jokes and relate to our own kind felt really good and
we attracted the attention of the other customers who began to take video of
Kirsten and Sebastian dancing on their I phone. Finally we let ourselves out as
the whole town shuts down by 9:30 and we adjourned to the K.C for more
silliness before we all retired to our own quarters to sleep. The next day we
were all tired puppies so we found a new restaurant in the upper bazaar which
took a very long while to serve us our buffet style lunch. I fear I dominated
too many conversations acting the fool and being socially awkward. Yet each of
the quartet is a misfit in their own way. We all enjoy our work but also share
many of the same challenges and frustrations of teaching. Becky and I decided
to go for a walk and she led us to the tiptop of town with a commanding view of
the partially dismantled Dzong and bare hillsides beyond the river. She snooped
out a trail that led us on an epic excursion into the wilderness beyond town.
We traversed a dry rocky ridge shaded by thin and tall pines a variety
prevalent between Trashigang and Yadi with a wispy figure. Suddenly we lost our
minds when we saw Meme and Tshongtshongma in the same breath. We nearly could
see Tsenkharla and Phongmey with both opposing valleys sprawled out before us. (Live
right now while listening to Ratdog a rat ran into my house from my washroom
drain under my cabinet. I flushed him out with broom and he leapt into a Trader
Joe’s style sack before hopping out and dashing under my bed. I finally chased
him and he slid under the crack in my front door and out into the starry night.
He was a big one and looked familiar. I wonder what he or she was doing in here
when I was out of station and I still find bite marks in garments. I have a
tummy ache and am soon to bed) It was a magical place and power spot joining
Becky’s valley with mine the Bartsham Mountain hulking between. Her valley or
Rangjoong Valley fringed by the highlands of Sakteng and Merak. And mine, less
visible out towards Tawang with Tshongtshongma the nexus point an antenna of
rock worshipped and revered by people of both valleys and countries. MONPA
MOUNTAIN Her side has gentler mountains and is lush and bowl shaped. My side is
rougher but both are equally appealing and go together divided by a ribbon
escarpment. From a rock we could see it all right before the trail vanished
into a thick deciduous forest canvassing impossible steep slopes. Off in the
distance a white Chorten gleamed in afternoon sunlight. A wintry haze blurred
the most distant peaks and clouds enveloped Tshongtshongma and the partial
spine of the Dragons tail. It was a comely sight that I will never ever forget
especially sharing it with my best friend who I see about once every six
months. I finally got out of Trashigang Sunday Morning about eight opting to
walk to Chazam via the heartbreak trail past the Chorten and down to the
imposing bridge. It’s amazing to see strings of prayer flags strewn the wide
river and one can’t figure out how they shot them across the gap. Some
mysteries are best left unexplained so I went on getting a plate of Momo’s from
a roadside stand nearby one of the three remaining snow lion statues (the fourth
was taken out by a ambulance in deadly accident a while back) I lucked out and
got a ride in a Ta Ta all the way to Tsenkharla. It felt like riding in a
rumbling tank and I arrived with no time to lose.
About this
time last year Tashi Wangmo who I call Broomsha (pumpkin) in Sharchop invited
me for lunch at her house in Chakademi. She was my student for two years before
entering grade 9 this year. So about two months ago I vowed to come on Sunday
December 7. Well I didn’t intend I’d wake up in Trashigang and I did intent to
go to Tashi Wangmo’s house with Doksola my adopted son (Pema Chedup) Before
splitting for Trashigang (which some like Nancy, Jon, and Kirsten call
Tashigang which is the old pronunciation) I tacked a note to my door telling
Pema that I’d be late for our rendezvous. So when I got home there was no sign
of Doksola so I lit out for Chakademi. I saw Nima while leaving and he
suggested I go to Pema’s house in Shali first so I took the downward trail off
the channel towards the settlement of Shali. Oh did I mention that Broomsha is
Doksola’s admire girl. I don’t dismiss these feelings as puppy love because I
remember my own heart burning for many girls before the icky world of sex and
deception. A youthful heart has its own passions and yearnings that adults
might do well to rekindle. I bounded through a dappled scented oak forest
emerging past a towering bamboo stand with thick shoots and shimmery leaves. On
the trail little brown and orange butterflies patted the earth then fluttered
on. A group of farmers misdirected me and I found myself crawling through
barbed wire into a village compound with banana trees and a prayer wheel. I
spotted Kezang Choden called Big Kezang by classmates although she isn’t fat or
ugly. She’s just built solidly like an ox and as usual today she scampered away
with hobbit feet disappearing behind a building. She’s shy as a child but is at
least 16. Finally a nice Shali student pointed out Doksola’s cottage on a bushy
hillside so I hiked up there but his Aunty who didn’t speak a word of English
just motioned that he wasn’t there and said, “Tsenkharla.” In the yard a cow
was chilling and on a tarp were stalks of maize (corn that doesn’t taste as
good and is used for making Ara) there were also some green pumpkins staked in
a corner of the small yard. I retreated to the road and resolutely set a course
for Chakademi. Both these settlements are in the western valley and one can see
Trashigang and the Yangtse road along with patches of the Kulong Chu and every
hour or so a blast of dynamite shakes the whole valley setting off some crows
to cawing. Damn hydro project that is just starting its effects evident on the
scaring and landslides from Doksom to Chazam, but Bhutan bears it’s scars well
and feels pristine. It’s a little paradise with real world environmental
problems. Yet tigers still prowl the forests and that makes me happy and
thankful for wildness. It was a hot hour long walk up the curvy farm road and
along the way I saw karma Wangdi who Aunt Bubba thought was the cutest playing
soccer on the dusty track with some mates. Later I saw Tashi Dema in a dirty
shirt with two elders and they were watching their cows. Cows are super
important in these parts and prized by family’s who are fortunate enough o own
one. TD says, “Where are you going sir?” I reply that I’m going to Chakademi
and she points it out across a gulch. Brongla looms overhead with crags and
impregnable forests. It’s utterly steep almost un-climbable from here but there
is supposedly a route. A roadside water driven prayer wheel marks the boundary
of Chakademi Village. Many residents speak Kurtep a language similar to Tibetan
spoken around Lhuntse and parts of Yangtse Dzongkhag. Others in the village
speak Sharchop and everyone knows Sharchop since it’s the uniting language of
the eastern frontier, linguistics zealots hang on to your hats! Chakademi is a
sprawling village with homes spread apart on plots of terraced fields and I hadn’t
the faintest idea where Broomsha dwelled. Shali is a fine village but Chakademi
is gorgeous enfolded in the bosom of Brongla not far from magical Buyoung falls
and a thick jungle gnarled vegetation inhabited by birds and languor’s who
swoop down from the treetops to steal maize from the fields to the
consternation of the farmers. It’s an age old battle and even Broomsha said she
doesn’t like the monkeys on what she called her land. I dropped off the road to
the cute little primary school with about 70 pupils where the principal came to
greet me. I asked if he knew where Tashi Wangmo lived and several other
students including Namchag Wangdi, and Tendy Zangmo. Luckily Tashi lived below
the school on a steep footpath dropping several hundred feet. He led me almost
to her door before we bid farewell and I walked around the frame of her simple
farmhouse where a little zamine’s face popped out of the window. I inquired to
no one in particular does Tashi Wangmo live here and from inside I heard her
mellifluous reply, “I’m here sir.” Her house was sparse and clean with only a
bed shoved into a corner and plenty of warm blankets on a shelf. The altar was
no more than two thick wood blocked Scripture wrapped in loose cloth. I asked
her if she could read them and she laughed and said, “Oh no sir.” I think there
in Sanskrit or another language uncommon for lay folk. She said she had been
awaiting my appearance and had risen at 4 A.M to clean and I observed little
puddles of water still drying on the modest floorboards. She lay down a thin
mat and bade me to sit. Along with Tashi Wangmo were two younger sisters (also
with second Wangmo names, only is it uncommon in Bhutan for family’s to share a
name) scurrying at her side. Everything was shipshape but very simple even for
Eastern Bhutan. She had a boil festering on her rosy cheek but it didn’t mar
her. Broomsha has the visage of a blooming rose and wears many expressions.
Truthfully in my earlier years I had more trouble learning names and might not
of even known her the first year I taught her since she hid in the back row and
never volunteered unless called on. The following year we formed a more
personal relationship and I encouraged her to practice speaking to me. She
would nervously ask me simple questions like where I was going or did I eat
lunch and so forth and I encouraged her to keep talking. I’d never describe her
as one of my best speakers and is an average student all around but intelligent
and wholesome. She is also a good singer and a great dancer but I learned much
more about Tashi Wangmo on this day. I already knew she lost her mom who died
last year at 41. She left behind Tashi and two younger sisters to basically
fend for themselves. It was disheartening to learn that her father has
essentially abandoned the family and rarely sleeps at the house (the very house
that Tashi Wangmo was born in and lived her entire life) Her Grandma lives in a
shack above the main house on a knoll leaving three young girls living alone in
the main house sometimes with an aunt. Therefore it seems Broomsha is
practically a mother to her siblings during winter. The aunt takes care of her
sisters one of whom goes to Chakademi School during session. She called her
grandma down to help prepare lunch for me while her little sister Pema Wangmo
served me sweet tea and zow. The sun was sinking and its rays warmed my back
through the carved window frame but the day was already losing its heat and a
brisk wind kicked up. As customary the chief guest sits and eats alone. I
popped my head in the kitchen to see Broomsha and her elder squatting around
the hearth cutting vegetables over a bucket. Smoke filtered through the
sunbeams and they were all laughing and chattering away happily. Lunch was a
heap of red rice with a nice vegetable curry with everything in the bowl homegrown
and I was even given a spoon. I was at Broomsha’s for about two hours and then
we skirted through her fields and an oak stand. She wore a kira with white
blouse and rubber Live Strong bracelet her shoulder length hair stirring in the
breeze. We arrived at Nidup Zangmo’s house who I also taught. Nidup was from a
sturdy nuclear family and lives in a better quality house elevated on stilts
with nice wooden floors. She was blasting music and was weaving when we
entered. The girls giggled talking in Sharchop and I was again offered tea and
snacks. Soon Broomsha walked me to the shortcut near the water driven prayer
wheel and I shoved 1000 NU into her hand and she didn’t try very hard to refuse
and told me she’d never forget. Upon parting I told her I loved her and I
wished I had a daughter like her and she said in the next generation which
means next life in Bhutanese parlance. I pressed her hand and she walked away
leading her youngest sister whose five, ten years younger. I paused on the
first rise watching them shamble down the road past farmhouses with red
chillies drying on tin roofs eventually rounding a bend. On the channel I ran
into more students including boys camouflaged and singing in the forest. Later
in the gloaming I saw a few languor’s with sweeping tails playing in the oaks
halfway between Chakademi and home. They were talking to each other in dolphin
wheezes and clicks and shaking the trees producing a shower of yellow and
orange leaves.
Monday
evening Hors d’oeuvres including pepper crusted salami, and gummy bears thanks
to dual parcels from home. Thanks mom and Bubba and I particularly like Bubba’s
collages. Saw Broomsha walking with some Chakademi clan on the channel. She
seemed reticent dressed in her hip jacket looking rural sheik retaining that
Mandarava essence. I wished her a happy winter break and thanked her again for
lunch and she called back, “Thank you sir.” I also went up to Shakshing then
down to the second castle ruin with incredible oak tree growing out of the
upper story stones. There’s a flat rock to sit on with a view of a farmhouse
and stone fence beneath towering Brongla. A fresh wind gusted for nearly a
minute sending leaves cascading from the branches making a crackling sound when
they hit the ground. It made me think of death simply that it was time for each
of those leaves to help regenerate.
It’s Tuesday
morning and I’m trying to complete my workload. Construction has made it
difficult to walk around campus so I had to pass behind the main academic block
and staff toilets where I stepped in a puddle of seepage splashing feces on my
pants and shoe. This is the kind of morning it is in East Bhutan. There are
some things I won’t miss about living here including the health conditions. Of course
I had to use water from a bucket to wash the jeans and shoe best I could since
no water is coming from the tap. Oh Bhutan! The tractor roars outside and a
makeshift shanty for the Indian laborers is now in dirt below my house where
once an idyllic pasture rested. I still have a few days of office work
including an exam blueprint that no one made but we have to complete after the
fact in a complete bullshit manner just to submit the paperwork to the
Dzongkhag. Needless to say I’m ready to get away from my beloved mountain for
awhile.
Wednesday
and end of the line for the academic year. Class ten students pace along the
walls burbling and cramming information into their head before adjourning to
the refectory cum examination hall. The construction below my house will be an
18 month ordeal and huge holes are burrowed into the earth….My last walk up to
Shakshing with scarlet clouds at sunset over Kunglung, everything reveling in
autumn with wonderful fragrance of falling leaves whirling in evening zephyrs. My mountain never looked better!
I’m getting
closer to departure now, less than 48 hours, and still plenty to do including
that blueprint, submitting life skills report, lesson plan book, attendance
report, winterizing the hut and so on. Birdsong is interspersed with hammering
and dump trucks depositing their loads of rock. Prabu is helping me with the
final spreadsheet and hopefully I’ll get my ass on that westbound bus on
December 12.
