An adventure of trial and error... The Puppy Chasing Saga.

During our stay in that village, Rebkong, we had many little adventures; some of which included playing guitar to the village people, cleaning up the trash littered all around, listening to the wise teachings of Dr. Nida, and adventuring the large hills, getting to know my new friends more and more.

Once, we got trapped inside our family house…. By the wild, insane dog! I swear, this dog is maybe the size of a… fluffy, black, vicious groundhog? But oh man is he fierce. Every time you would come as close as a five feet radius away from him, he’d start barking off his silly head and wildly running at you, only to be stopped violently by the small leash holding him back. A very thin leash precariously looped over a stick in the mud. And let me tell you. Dogs in Tibet are meant for guarding, whether they’re big or small. Most of the other houses owned crazy, ferocious mastiffs that would eat you alive if ever given the chance. So naturally Ethan, Soan and I were the only ones in the house when its starts raining profusely and we start hearing… what’s that? What’s that? God no, it couldn’t be barking… Yeah… It’s barking…

We started hearing BARKING coming from literally all around.

That must mean he’s off his leash. Oh god. Yeah. He’s off his leash.

The absolute horror I felt when we peeked past the large wooden door, the comforting shield from us and the barbarous outside, and saw the leash laying limp in the wet mud, and echoing barks roaming freely from the hills, was immaculate.

“Shit!” we were a bit panicked. I start laughing like a maniac and then I stop, pulling myself together. “Uh, we should find him?”

What if the family comes back and with our non-communicative skills, we have to sign language talk ourselves an excuse why their small little dog is off destroying houses and instilling blood-curdling fear? (Okay, he really wasn’t that scary, but I’d hate to encounter him in his newfound independence.)

So we go on a mission, a search for the savage (but oddly cute) little dog. We crept out, and immediately we ran inside like our asses were on fire because, of course, the little yapper was there barking his little jaws off, spittle flying right in front of the door, almost daring us to walk out again.  Our search didn’t have to take us very far. The little guy was practically waiting for us. So the boys have a brilliant idea. Get him into the dung house! What’s that, you ask? Well, I guess we had to figure out the hard way. Across the courtyard from the house is this large sort of garage, but made instead out of mud, and sticks for better insulation.

Once, a couple nights before that incident, we had decided to explore. So we went in, and we were pleasantly surprised with the fact that the material we wrongly calculated as mud, was actually dried patties of cow poop. Now for me, this is fairly normal. Being in India so much made me immune to the frequent appearing of cow dung in daily life (i.e. to make fire, to build houses, paper…) but for other people, I’m not so sure it would be so comfortable to sit in a house made purely from the grassy excrement of beautiful creatures. Anyway, the two of them grab this long, smooth pole from inside. All the while, I’m muttering how incredibly stupid this plan is to, of course, two pairs of deaf ears. What was their plan? Ambushing the puppy of course. They gingerly stepped out of the shelter of our house, with the long wooden pole held firm in front of them, and the growling, teeth baring dog at the end of it. They jabbed at the puppy, in attempts at scaring it, which did work for a little while. Suddenly, the dog took a wild jump and tried to literally attack the wooden stick! Ethan and Soan shuffled back, laughing… and then they had a go at it again. This time however, they successfully corralled the sassy dog into the dung house. It was a victory!

Our shoulders were relaxed in relief, and we laughed at what had happened as we went back inside, incredibly satisfied that we wouldn’t have to explain with charades to a family who comes home to a missing dog.

            A little time passed, and all of the sudden we hear it…. again. Bark! Bark! Bark!

-panicked laughter-

“No way!”

“He can’t be out again,”

“Shit!”

But it was more like not shit, because unfortunately, the little dog was no longer safely contained in the dung house. And not anywhere in the courtyard either. Not in the garden. Not in the little outside bathroom. I had scrambled, crouched and hollered, trying desperately to find the small blur of bark and paw. Finally, I saw him in the valley, a black blob of yapping freedom, running in the green fields, taking sharp snaps at unimpressed, rumbling yaks. “Jeez…” I moaned in hopelessness… How would we be able to get him again? And how on earth did he manage to escape the dung house? We found out moments later, after inspecting the house, that we intelligently drove the dog into a house with no back. Literally at the back of the house, there was no wall, thus creating a passage between the garden and the dung house. In other words, creating a perfect escape for a small little puppy.

            Unfortunately, we had no plan B, so when the little dog came running up from the valley, through the garden, to stand barking at us in front of the door again, we had no choice but to flee back into the house. Later on, our house family came and graciously restrung him to the stick in the mud, creating another temporary bond to hold him and his yapping little mouth in his own little puppy home. At the time, of course, it was horrifying and slightly exhilarating and exciting. Now however, I remember that time and laugh… It was purely and ridiculously humorous in the most stupid way. We found out later that he is often let out to roam in the vast valleys of his home, free to explore the forests, the garden, and yes, even the dung house, the place of his short imprisonment, if he felt the need to.

            There was also a time when we got locked out of our house, and we had to scale the walls, jump onto the roof, and either jump 10 feet into the inner courtyard of the house, or take the stairs. Another time!

            That’s just one of the crazy little foreign doggy adventures that we’ve all had.

More to come~

Chandra xoxox

The first week in the most beautiful place on earth.... Tibet.

25^th of June ----

Wild haired, deep eyed yogis, children with red cheeks like blooming roses, and mountains littered with bright faced wildflowers of every color, making a beautiful home for the people and animals who lived in the mountains shelter. Tibet remains insurmountable on my list of the most of the most stunning places I’ve ever been lucky enough to visit.

Fresh out of the airport and driving toward the village, Rebkong, or the Copper Colored Mountain, where we’d witness and participate in a rare and sacred puja (ceremony), we we’re greeted with wild heights hidden in the clouds and confetti of bright prayer flag bunches that hung over the winding roads. There was a fresh smell in the air that filled our lungs with moist greenery as my mother and I sat in the back of a crowded bus on our way to meet Eric and the others that we’d be sharing our travels and staying with.

When we arrived, after hours of travel, we went straight up to the temple that it is known for; a beautiful building with tapestries and long tables where rows and rows of Ngakpas and Ngakmas (Tibetan yogis that travel around like gypsies) sat in prayer, reading the sacred Tibetan Book of the Dead. This book was originally written in the Tibetan language (most copies now are translations, but these guys had the real deal) and is a book that people use to guide those who have passed away from the in between stages of death to a new destination. That ceremony was a powerful one, as all the yogis read the book to the listening spirits together, and so many people’s prayers and good wishes for the deceased were involved.

The yogis and village people were dressed in long robes, the men with untamed hair and the women with long braids and colorful jewelry with turquoise, coral and gold. They we’re some of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen or met. It seemed like stress never touched their youthful faces, always joyful, grateful and generously kind. They were so rich in so many different ways, yet never in ego.

That first day, I met some other teens my age… Ethan (homie since 2^nd grade), Fiona [15] and Lilly[18] (outgoing, sweet, fiery ginger haired sisters) and Soan [16] (a French guy who plays guitar). The first adventure we had was hiking up a large, wildflower-ridden hill, through thick brush forests to reach the top where we saw a large group of peacefully grazing goats and sheep. At the top, it felt like a victory. You could look down the valley and feel like a queen, looking down upon a kingdom of mud and wood villages, wandering animals and the misty veil of mysterious far away mountains.

But holy cow. If I thought my calves we’re screaming in pain from THAT hike, I had no idea what great heights awaited me in a mere week.

Out of all the beautiful views, and strenuous hikes that I’ve had YET, my favorite continues to be the two-hour trek up to a holy, sacred cave way high up in the green, lush mountains behind the village. The cave (not even really a cave… a couple huge boulders stacked up to make a little shelter) was home for a great yogi who stayed in that cave until he reached enlightenment.  No showers, no traditional Chinese hot pot dinners. Just him and the cave with the rain and a crazy amazing view.

The hike had me sweating and gasping in the thin, high elevation air in a mere 20 minutes. Thankfully, I had some really… interesting jokes from the two boys (Soan and Ethan) to distract me from my aching, tired muscles and unbearable mugginess. (Thanks guys, I seriously owe you one… for sure…) Up the mountain, we crossed through a refreshing hillside forest of conifers that I had never even known could grow in the Tibetan terrain. The higher we climbed, the more breathtaking the vast expanse of land was, with its running and rolling hills and tall regal mountains. I filled my hands with the small wildflowers that grew cheerfully every step we took, sweetening the air with their various fragrances. There were purple flowers, yellow ones, spikey pink ones, and white and fuchsia ones that smelled like jasmine; those were my favorite. Finally (a bit sick of the adults way up ahead hollering at us to catch up), Ethan, Soan and I took our own detour, cutting straight up the mountain and following a faint trail that followed a gurgling freshwater stream. Later on our way down, we drank out of that stream and let the cold water cool our bodies, slurping the hand numbing liquid right out of our cupped palms.

The air was so thin that we could barely hike 20 minutes without taking multiple breaks just to catch a breath of the fresh clear air. I swear, if the jokes that we’re being told had any actual humor, I’d have been done for and would’ve been suffocating for the lack of air. Thank god they didn’t, though.

When the mountain started getting extremely steep, and victory was only maybe another half hour away, the elevation was so high and overpowering, that when you turned around and faced the huge, overwhelming expanse of never-ending height and land that you had been climbing for hours, you felt your body sway and your head spin fast. I almost had felt like my whole body would tumble like a wild, astray rock, kicked down the green grass and brown dirt, if I even leaned a small bit back.  Every step I took, it felt like I was going to fall miles and miles down, a rush running up my body every time I looked anywhere. Around us, the fog was strong and cooling; the bottom of the valley was almost hidden in its thick, white arms. Moisture was in the air, rain threatening to water the hill, and our sweating skin.

When we reached the top, we cheered with relief, relief that we could finally sit down on the mountains highest boulders, and that we were able to look down at the massive hike we’d conquered. Up at the cave, I almost didn’t know where to go to pay respect to the sacred place that the yogi sat many years ago because it was under a tall tree that was supporting the weight of t dozens of prayer flag lines, making almost a huge tent around the cave. In the cave, shrouded by its veil of prayer flags, there rested a picture of the yogi, surrounded by offerings of lamps, money and other small trinkets left by dedicated hikers and village people. It was a place filled with prayer, and filled with the relief to be done with a huge, arduous hike.

We stayed up there, sharing cookies, laughs, and taking pictures with a group of Tibetan medicine medical students (a group that my parents and Alexis, Ethan’s mom, was a part of) and their teacher Dr. Nida. We listened to him telling us stories about the yogi that had stayed there, and about two yogis in the village that stayed there for three years and that were still alive. Turns out, they were the grandpa and grandma of the house that we were staying with!  After about 20 minutes, we started up again on the laborious, dangerous trek down the mountain.

I was grateful to be able to experience such great heights, breathe in the bright, fresh air, and be enveloped by the cool, white sky. In the past, I always had fantasized about living far, far up in the tall mountains, on top of a really huge one where you could see everything, craving the feeling of being on top of every small detail, seeing things in a larger perspective. Craving to be where life slows down for you, to create a slow river of thought in place of small town worries and minute problems that swarm like bees in your head, only visible when you tumble all the way down the mountain again. I finally was able to get a glimpse of that fantasy. I had been a queen of altitudes (god knows I’m already the queen of attitudes..) and I had my queendom of the gaping valley and looming trees and mountains.

I still craved more, but I knew there would be other mountains to climb in the future. The sore legs were worth it. So were the bad jokes.

            However before that hike happened, on the first night we had spent in that village, we had gotten to meet our house families who had made dinner for us. Our house was fairly large, with beautiful rooms made out of golden wood, the doorways decorated with carved designs. The house family was beautiful, not knowing a lick of English, but being able to communicate with us by using laughter and wide, bright smiles. They made us traditional Tibetan food and sat us in their warm, wide dining room, our butts planted on pillows on the floor, legs folded with our elbows resting on the table. Being vegetarian and not being able to communicate that I was of course had its difficulties, but for the most part the food that was made was delicious. We ate a traditional dish called Tsampa, which is made from roasted barley flower, yak butter, sugar and hot water. It’s a sort of porridge that you make, mixing in the ingredients one at a time. You mix it with your fingers, stirring and prodding it like dough until it’s the texture you want. Then, you enjoy! It’s a very acquired taste, unfortunately. I doooont think I stayed quite long enough to acquire it. They also made fresh, warm and fluffy steamed bread. They would serve these platters of bread in big piles, and people would eat them one after another. They all had such big appetites compared to most of us, and they always looked at us in surprise when we were full after only one bowl.  The first night, I went to sleep snuggled in a sleeping bag with extra layers of socks and a hat on, trying to keep warm in my portion on the floor with all my friends sleeping on the floor next to me. I remember when I woke up the next morning, nothing could have replaced the happiness I felt to be in that humble village so far into another reality of life.

            There are so many stories to tell from that small village nestled snugly in the cradling mountains of Tibet, so many adventures, lessons learned and traditions that demanded open eyes, yet out of all of them I can only pick my favorites… This unfortunately is extremely hard: to pick out the most brilliant, strong stone out of a pile of diamonds.
            But I’ll try!

Much love,

Chandra xoxoxo

Not across seas.... Yet!

Waiting..... Waiting..... WAITING!
A pre-warning for anybody who is planning a trip to India: getting your visa will be insane and it's advisable to get it taken care of months in advance. For the past week I've been waiting for my visa and passport to turn up... But ALAS! It's lost in the overflowing seas of other lost passports and irresponsibility of the Indian Consulate. My mom got hers only in a day, and she's been amazing: paying for parking, being a tigress to the unyielding visa people, and a true best friend in our hurricane of stress, hunger, and sleep deprivation. We've both been around in this little green-painted waiting room enough that we're on first name basis with all of the workers and security guards, which, though I've made lovely new friends, is NOT necessarily a good thing.
But (I'm trying to work on this) let me try to send more POSITIVE vibes into the great universe, maybe they'll echo around a bit and come back in the shape of my passport and visa... ya never know. So, while waiting, I've polished up my Salsa dancing skills, read a good book, and fallen in love with some beautiful people in various different San Francisco cafes. (Its so fun people-watching in cities. You never know who you might see or strike up a conversation with. So far I've met an Italian man, two Egyptian men, a Russian woman and a guy that works at Peets and likes honey in his tea almost as much as I do.) That is most definitely one of the positive aspects of living in large cities: so many people to meet! Though I miss the trees and woods every time I'm stuck in all these tall towering buildings and dingy dark parking garages, an interesting conversation with a bright eyed person who speaks with a musical accent is a good exchange.
I want to take a second to thank whomever might be reading this for coming to my blog, though you might have been in search for writings about what glorious sights I've seen in the Beijing airport, or where I am in the Tibetan hills. I'll be there SOON. I just have to get this darn visa (that sneaky little thing has been slipping through everyones fingers!)
Hopefully, me and the Mothership will be leaving on a plane tonight at 10:35, and though that seems a bit unrealistic, I just know the universe will get sick of my nagging and meditating and praying... Now, I can almost blend in to every other San Francisco street person just because I keep whispering under my breath, "IwillgetmyvisaIwillgetmyvisaIwillgetmyvisa".... But I'm sure it'll all pay off soon. 

Hopefully next time I write, I'll be giddy with happiness and on my way to foreign lands! 

Xoxoxo

Lots of love, 

Chandra Lunah Moore