Friday, September 26, 2008

Reflections on Month One

Jullay.
When I look back on the past month, I am washed over with more than words to say. My journal is filled with ideas and thoughts and predispositions that were either validated or completely obliterated. There is a long bulleted list that conjures laughs from our various encounters in villages and exhausted, delirious humour after a long day of walking. What stands out is an almost completely irrelevant tale. After the rush of arriving in Delhi and the rhythm of our trek, waking and sleeping practically with the sun, putting one foot in front of the other whether it be on foggy, fresh snow or blazing sand, there was one night that stood out so vividly to me. It was the first of many driving days when we piled in our own bus and drove 9 hours from Padum almost to Kargil. The front of the bus had a small Dalai Lama shrine with constant flashing red and green lights and a tape-deck that allowed Howie to make an amazing playlist on my ipod for us to rock out to. We drove precariously over a pass, staring out the window in silence and awe at landscapes that are beyond my comprehension. I often find myself wondering if this could actually be real and when I see pictures I still cannot wrap my mind around the fact that I was there, tangibly, wholly, that I saw those jagged proud peaks with my own eyes. We stopped at a monastery and Chewan, our cook, made fried rice and milk tea. After several more hours of winding along while Tashi, our nimble guide, danced in the aisle of the bus, we arrived at our remote campsite, a grassy bed with a random spattering of boulders along a bustling river. Looming around the line of blue tents and awkward large bus, stood tense, naked peaks with Nuun and Kuun in the distance, the highest pride and joy of Ladakh. We sat for the last time in the blue dinner tent that tinted everyone's clothes slightly purple with the flickering two small candles while James asked us each rapid fire questions that we had to answer with the first word that popped into our heads. They ranged from "If you could paint anything what would you paint?" to "What do people like most about you?" We sat in the soft light with the sounds of the river and the wind and the whir from the nearby cooking tent, but nothing else, a deafening, desolate silence. The place was peaceful, isolated, foreign, invincible. We heartily welcomed the dinner of rice, dahl, and cabbage, followed by a surprise chocolate cake, which was really just a loaf of bread with hot chocolate mix, but delicious and appreciated just the same. Afterwards, instead of going to our respective tents and hitting the pillow well before 9pm, we put a techno playlist on the buss's speakers, flashed our headlamps, and danced. We flailed in an amoebic circle - the cook, the bus driver, our trekking guide, and group alike. The almost full moon spread a pale glow across the isolated campsite and the headlamps repeatedly lit up ecstatic, free faces as we spun and thrashed. I let the music pulse to my fingertips and barefeet as they hit the cold, grassy ground. I twisted my ankle and danced with the cook and felt everything whirling around me. For a fleeting second I wondered what it would look like from a distance - a lonely, winding dirt road through a jagged canyon of a river with a dabbling of boulders, wise peaks rising boldly above their untouched landscape, a place so peaceful and calm that has vibrated in a tense silence for thousands of years. And yet, there in a small row of blue triangular tents, a warm green cook tent and empty dinner tent, a large, seemingly deserted bus with a flashing Dalai Lama shrine in the front window, apparently peaceful and tame. Upon closer examination one could see flashing lights, pounding music, laughter, kicking feet, snippets of white teeth through wide smiles - a sight so out of place that created such belonging and happiness and cohesion, something so simple and yet so filling. I've been searching for a reason as to why this night has been so branded on my mind, so joyous and rich and happy. I think it goes along with most of the eye-opening experiences I've had here, almost fleeting moments that are so simple and beautiful and rhythmic but strike an unknown chord. This night symbolizes so many things - the inconceivable aspect and indescribably foreign feeling of being on the other side of the world, the undisturbed serenity that I see in the landscape, the almost childish happiness I have observed and partook in in various encounters with people in the villages we pass through or stay in, the simplicity and belonging that I have noticed in their daily lives, the rhythmic patterns of day and night that have long shed the constraints of time. Here I have found meaning in places that I would never have thought to look for it. I have accredited truth to experiences so simple and soft and made strong memories and understanding from quiet interactions. I have seen something as simple as saying "Jullay" not only light up a wrinkled face, but leave me with a rich fulfillment or a sweet generosity extend so far beyond a plate of cookies or a remote techno dance party provide belonging and togetherness.

Kayla Gatos

3 comments:

Unknown said...

What beautiful writing from all of you, it makes me cry, so wonderful. these experiences will be with you forever, part of your blood and bones. thanks you so much. ask Sooner about the Green Tortoise, I felt reading about the moonlight dance as though I was there. keep it coming...Sooner's mom, Clemma

Jeanne Ross said...

Thank you for continuing to share your experiences. I'm thinking of you all. Tashi Delek!
Jeanne

David Koelle said...

Hello! I'm that American guy who you ran into in the internet cafe in Padum. Glad you are having a good trip. David