the peacemill: my weekend away, day I

having been unsuccessful in our endeavors in town we set off to catch the bus out of town to a small tibetan village. we sat, and sat, and i finished a bag of less than stellar cookies. they tasted better the night before when i started eating them. half and hour, then an hour, and no bus. my friend had become quiet antsy during this hour. but i sat there kind of enjoying the moment. a little one street town, tibetans, chinese, and hui milling about, selling vegetables, buzzing by on motorcycles, and conducting business in the streets. it was like a painting or photo in motion. they moved, but the scene was always the same. finally we walk over and talk to a motorcycle repair man. he tells us that there is no bus today. so, we had a decision to make, motorcycle taxi or three wheeled minicab sort of thing. he wanted a motorcycle and i wanted the other. i am not sure why, i think i just liked the oddity of it. it was more like a child's toy that a vehicle. we negotiated a while and arrived at 15 kuai for the 30 minute ride...in the three wheeled thing.

we arrived in the village in early evening, just as magic hour was waking and thinking of rolling down into the valley. we motored slowly up a rock strewn dirt road and into a glad of aspens. there beneath the canopy was an array of mud walled homes, each standing at least 4 meters high. road and home blended together.

as we passed through the gate to the outer yard my friends aunt appeared, startled that she came upon us unexpectedly. quickly a smile broadened across her face and she welcomed us in. like so many times before, we all sat, everyone but me conversing, while i served as the topic for discussion. after a half an hour i was offered a tour of the village by the uncle, also the village head. he proudly said he had the keys to the water house, whatever that was. so up we went. between houses we ambled, all of us seemingly content in the company we were keeping. we were in no hurry, and this turned out to be good. the village was very small, maybe 30 homes. my tour would have been over before it began had we walked at city speed.

rounding a corner, a flock of goats mowed their way forward, chewing, stepping and swallowing in one motion. again and again. the sound of the cud being chewed was audible. as was the peaceful sound of dying leaves crunching beneath feet. we passed through the goats like the parting waters, as the filled in behind us, leaving no trail in sight. this same scene was reseated again just as we reached the village pond.

pointing across the pond the uncle began to tell the story of the water house, and the village. it seems that a very short man, with the voice of a dragon, founded the village after coming from a village to the north. the water house, however, was built just earlier this year. jumping a fence and scampering down a small path we stood before the water house. it looked more like a monastery, and this baffled me. i couldn't understand why a well house would be so elaborately decorated. then he unlocked the doors and revealed what was inside. that's why they call it a water house. flowing out of the mountains above them is a tiny little trickle of water, the only water for the whole village. it winds it way through concrete banks down to the water house, where it turns eight prayer wheels. 24 hours a day, 365 days a year everyone in the village can rest soundly knowing their prayers spin into the heavens. i had heard of this, and even seen wind power ones in other areas, but i was shocked by the creation. these beautifully painted wheel danced around, water gurgling beneath, revealing the standard tibetan prayers upon them.

leaving the water house behind we strode over a golden yellow lane of foliage. trees above creaked in the breeze, but the only other sound was our voices. then breaking the tree line the village temple stood before me.

words and pictures cannot describe it, but it stood like a lonely fort, lost and forgotten. as we neared a small voice yelled out 'lao wai lai le,' announcing my arrival. this little village was proving to offer much more than expected from my expectations and the unassuming approach.

pouring out of the temple gate was a troop of holy men. their movement was betrayed by flowing robes of saffron and burgundy, reaching far below their feet. seeing me they stopped and seemed to float like colorful ghosts. some wandered off to take care of business--it seems i happened upon them during a bathroom break--while others lingered to see what i was.

the men who greeted me seemed more like the wandering yogi's and swami's i'd seen in india. tibetan monks have tightly shaved heads, but these lay holy men sported varying styles of long hair. some braided and some dreaded, the each sported crowns upon their head. most, i would come to find out, had not cut their hair since they took the vows to be a holy man. the oldest ones looked remarkable, with dreads that would drag the ground when let down. my friend turned to me, seeing my fascination with their hair, and asked me it they looked like bob marley.

bathroom breaking being over, we all made our way into the temple. i had to duck down to avoid knocking my head on the beautifully weathered wooden doors. the years told their tales upon the veins and grains of the wood. some of the men's faces looked much the same. in such a harsh environment remaining aloof to the climate is an impossible task; it takes it's toll, shaping and reforming all things.

inside the temple the holy men were preparing for the following days conclusion of the prayer festival, which entailed a great amount of dancing. tonight, however, their focus was on completing the requisite prayers by a 2am deadline. they would have to push to make, leaving them little time to bother with me. we lingered for a while, snapping shots and listening to the droning of their voices. in a bass monotone they beat out the words, each one hanging heavily in the air like a fog, or texas humidity.

taking our queue from the setting sun we made our way toward home. no further than 100 yards from the temple i turned to take it in one more time in the fading light. the moon, just cracking the horizon, shone bright, like a gigantic disc in the sky. the prayer festival was marking the end of the month, meaning the moon was full. and large. i am not sure if i've ever seen it bigger. it loomed over the valley like a sentinel. we stood watching it rise, as i tried in vain to focus my camera in the already absent light. i wish i could have clearly captured the moment. it was beyond stunning. the starkness of the landscape being covered by the light of the moon, tucked in for the long night ahead. we turned and made our way to dinner, passing goats and donkeys on the same trajectory. one last time i turned to look, catching a woman loaded with a pole and two bucks going to fetch water just as she crossed into the glow of the moon.

a few more pictures from the day: