the peacemill: my weekend away, day II

rising well after my alarm sounded i turned over, realizing the extent of my stiffness. sleeping on a kang--an elevated bed platform with a fire underneath--is wonderful for keeping warm, but it does a number on the back and legs. this kang was uneven too. i did stay nice and toasty, though. i should know since i woke up at least every hour. but i cannot complain, my friends aunt and uncle gave me this kang to sleep on so that i would not get cold.

breakfast consisted of tortilla-like flat breads and piping hot salt tea. it's better than is sounds. it was quite good, particularly for warming up. after a slow breakfast we set off for a full days activities. first, down to the bottom of the village to see the families old home, now turned into a walled orchard/garden. then we slowly made our way back up the hill to the temple. we had been told the festivities began around 10am. so, being fashionably late we arrived at 10:30 to a nearly empty temple yard.

in the temple's kitchen women busied themselves preparing for the afternoon's feast, while men ran to and fro about the kitchen's business. on the dying grass of the temple yard a small group of children played a game of tag. around and around they went, tiring, then reinvigorated they darted off again. i stood on the temple platform watching over the movements of the people below, letting the droning of the chants seep out over the scene. they rose and fell like a soundtrack to the liveliness below, but one that did not quite seem to capture the pace i saw, but that nonetheless fit and elevated my experience.

as i gazed, probably wide-eyed and slack-jawed, my friend saw old mates, picked up nieces and nephews, and was questioned by inquisitive relatives. he also interpreted for the 'curious george's,' explaining who i was and what i was doing there.

right about noon one of the holy men emerged from the temple and yelled out for the women to bring the food. it was time. the stream of people had arrived just in time for a free lunch. there were more that 100 people. just think of all those sunday night potluck dinners. it was much the same. my friend and i were ushered into the temple keepers home to eat. as we rounded the corner into the inner room i saw a table surrounded by aged men, all at least 60, one pushing 80. all but one was a holy man, likely retired since they were not in the temple with the others. the other was completely bald.

they scooted around and made room for the two of us. it was easy to tell that we were interrupting their old man talk, but they politely chatted with me a few minutes and then returned to the subjects that old men around the world continually ponder: the lack of rain for crops, the degeneration of the young generation, what to do about the village economy, and how to repair the dying culture of the village. they did not mind us listening in, every once in a while turning

and smiling at me, and encouraging me to eat more. really i could have seen this exact same thing in florence, or beijing, or paris, tx. they laid hands on each others thighs, leaned in close to tell their stories, grabbed shoulders to pull attention back to their point, and ran fingers through (or over) their hair when unsure about a point. i sat there somewhat in awe of their accumulated experiences and knowledge. they were the elders of their communities.

after lunch the awaited festival began. benches were pulled outside for the musicians. people lined up and found good seats, pulling entire tree trunks if necessary. and inside the dancers donned their elaborate costumes, those same ones their fathers and grandfathers wore and danced in.

it began with a procession of all the holy men, and the three boys in training, marching down into the temple yard while playing instruments and chanting. they wound around in a circle towards the middle then back out again and back into the temple. then the dancing began. they emerged from the temple doorway, a raven and a bird of prey that looked more like a tiger. bouncing. undulating. spinning. down the steps, and out among the people. around and around they went, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing. one representing a bad omen and the other a good omen. to be honest, after a minute or two it all looked the same to me. but the dances tell stories, they tell of the past and how to navigate the future. i just was just illiterate to that aspect. for the villagers it's a time of renewal and indoctrination of the youth. this is where they learn their morals.

for the next 5 hours these holy men danced. some dances included skeletons, others dragons and fabled deer, others lords of the underworld and demons. the mythology of tibet spilled out into that temple yard for all the villagers to learn and take in. it was remarkable to see. it was also boring. to my untrained, and non-buddhist eyes, each dance looked more like the previous as the day wore on. the high altitude sun beat down on me and left me wearied. after my friend's uncle's final dance we departed from the scene.

at home we lay down and took a short rest. after all, there was still a round of visits for later that evening. another aunt and uncle, and more milk tea, then his brother's. thankfully, these visits were short, as they were really to busy to bother with us anyway. sitting back to another cup of milk tea the day wound to a close with a family dinner of carrot dumplings. delicious! i ate till i was stuffed. then we lay back on the warmth of the kang, ready to doze off.

a few more shots from the day: