It’s now been over a month since I’ve returned from my sojourn through the Nepali hills and mountains. But there are some stories that are really too good to let go of. So many moments of joy, elation and wonder kept me bounding along just waiting to see what new adventure would be in store for me.
I left a day late, Nepal held a national strike the day I tried to leave in protest of parliaments inability to charter a new constitution. This has been years in the making, since 2006 when Nepal reclaimed democracy they’ve been waiting for a new constitution. I’ve just finished a book on Nepal’s history, and wow, it’s convoluted and crazy. All I’d ever heard of Nepal before I arrived in the subcontinent was about how beautiful this country was, how wonderful the people were and that the trekking is great. No one ever mentioned “A people’s war” that ravaged Nepal for years, killing thousands and putting Nepal in the number one position for human rights violations in the world. This all happened since 2001, we must have been too preoccupied with our own war to pay this small country any attention.
To get to the start of my trek I rode on top of a bus. Through a rainstorm, while the bus trundled along across a landslide that erased any sign of the previous road. We, on top of the bus played tug-of-war with the poor old tarp, trying to cover ourselves with the bits of it that actually offered protection, rather than just coalescing the drops and plopping them upon our already wet clothes and luggage. Needless to say it was one of the best bus rides ever.
I arrived in Syaphru Besi around 4:00 PM after a 10 hour bus ride, while everyone else checked themselves into a hotel. I hit the trail determined to get out in nature, I spent my first night underneath my tarp, cooking instant noodles and listening to the raging river tell stories to the world in a boulder moving grumble. Setting up my little blue tarp I thought of the Charter School and longed to have an army of blue tarps along with me. It was my only night of camping and it set a wonderful tune for me to bounce along to for the rest of my adventure.
I got to the town of Langtang two days later and 1,500 meters higher than just two nights before. Just as I reached the first guest house a woman told me that there would be a festival at the Gumpa, the Buddhist place of prayer, in two days. I was in no hurry, I had no time constraints, just 8,000 Nepali Rupees in my pocket ( about $113) I told the woman what my budget was and that I just need to eat what they eat, Dal Bhaat Tarkari twice a day, and I’d stay for the festival. She agreed, so I spent one lazy day washing my clothes and taking in the beautiful scenery.
In Tibetan Buddhism the soul of the deceased remains for 7 weeks, 49 days, after death. To move on to the next life and to receive a good body for the next life, the dead persons’ family holds this ceremony. To the untrained eye this seems to be in all respects a big party.
During the day I wandered up to the Gumpa to see what was happening. All throughout the day there was singing, chanting and praying being done for the deceased. The sound of the drum punctuated the high notes of the women with a force that was meant to shake the spirits. Standing outside and pearing into the dim Gumpa I could make out the weathered faces of the elderly Tibetan women. They sat crosslegged, singing and spinning their prayer wheels, pausing only to sip their tea that was constantly being passed out by their attendants.
At around 4 or 5 PM I went to the Gumpa to stay. I was told that the party goes all night, I was interested and intrigued about what was to be done. I had been told that everyone eats, drinks and dances the whole night. I was asked by multiple people whether I was going to stay up all night, I was unsure, they seemed to think that I wouldn’t be able to. They told me that they’re used to staying up all night at these ceremonies, but that dancing through the night is hard work.
Just when I arrived the first “meal” was being served, I had rice with curried vegtabes and meat, topped off with Yak curd and milk. I was served on a plate, and they gave me both the curd and milk, on the plate, it was a balancing act as I squatted with the other men outside the Gumpa eating my meal. I wandered around, talking with people and trying to get an idea of what the meaning of the ceremony really was. Men were mostly outside, chatting, playing cards and beginning to drink Chang, rice beer. The women were generally inside of the Gumpa, still chanting. I wandered my way up to the second floor of the Gumpa, there Lama’s were reading off of old scriptures, chanting and drumming. I sat down and took in the scene, the gumpa wall was old and cracking but someone had done an exquisite painting of the Tibetan deities all along one wall. The back was shelves full of scriptures wrapped in cloth, I learned later that they were brought from Tibet. It's amazing to see how they've transplanted their culture in new land, luckily fertile with the development of a trekking route.
In the 1950’s the Nepali government opened the Terai, southern plains, to development by spraying the forests with DDT eradicating malaria. Many mountain and hill people , hungry for more fertile land, picked up their families and moved south. At about the same time Tibetans began to flee Tibet after the Chinese invasion. This is purely conjecture, but before a trekking route was established the Langtang Valley wouldn’t be the best place to live. When I spoke with the Tibetans in the Langtang Valley they told me that the government gave their fathers or grandfathers the land. So, what I assume is that the Langtang Valley’s previous inhabitants, Tamang people, left for the Terai's better land and that the government gave the recently vacated land to the refugees.
Sitting upstairs, listening to the chanting, readings, drum beats and the occasional horn being blown I was awed. The intricacies of the process were unknown to me, I was an uninformed observer stuck in the moments pull. I sat there for a while taking it all in, committing the beauty, force and energy that the men performed there duties to memory. It wasn’t long after that everything started to get foggy, the foot-stomping dancing and drinking was about to begin. The downstairs had become quiet, the chanting had stopped and I was informed that after a few minute break the fun would begin.
The rest of the night turned into a blur. I danced, ate mountains of food and drank chang along with everyone else. The night became a party. Everyone was just having a good time, people were pinching, punching and tackling each other all in good fun. There was never a short supply of food, tea or alcohol. In fact it was almost forced upon everyone. The dancing was done in a ring around the bottom floor, people were sitting in the middle and the dancing went on all around. The women were in one group and the men in another. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder with their arms around each other. The steps themselves were easy but the Tibetan singing eluded me throughout the night. It was impressive, everything was call and response, the women would sing, stomping their feet in rhythm with the singing, and then the men would respond, it went on all night. There was the “refuel station” as I thought of it, one woman had picked a spot where she was offering Chang to all the dancers as they circled by her. People took turns dancing and resting throughout, but the dancing and singing ever stopped. It was explained to me that the deceased’s soul was present, an elderly woman in this case, watching if not participating in the fun. She wanted to see that we were happy, enjoying ourselves and then she too would be happy and ready to move on.
I managed to stay up through the whole thing. I found myself washing dishes at one point late in the night. In that moment, hands under snowmelt piped to in front of the Gumpa, crouching on the rocks and vigorously scrubbing the many cups, plates and spoons that were being brought as fast as I could, I thought of Country Fair. I was thinking my favorite thought, how did I get here? When I realized that I’m always trying to be a part of what’s going on. I’m not content to just be an observer, thanks to my mothers teachings of always helping out, and her genes which make me always want to. As well as my own experience, like Country Fair Teen Crew, it’s just better to tap in. So here I was, hands going white, with Tibetan women yelling at me to do a good job and to wash quicker. I laughed out loud, a huge grin on my face, this is why I’m here, to freeze my hands and to warm them around the fire laughing along with them.
The night was amazing, I learned how to dance Tibetan style, how to laugh the belly laughs that erupted from everyone, and just have a good time. People just wanted to make sure that I was having as much fun as them. It was hard to see what this had anything to do with a spirit moving on sometimes, but in hindsight I realize that it is intimately connected. These gatherings draw friends and family from all up and down the valley. People come from all over, they have fun, socialize, laugh, eat, drink and dance. It brings the community together with entirely good energy. It sounds much better than a funeral to me.
At the end of the night, when light was beginning to show in the sky and people were beginning to fade, the doors were closed by two men who refused to let people out. The dancers were dwindling when the last rite was preformed. Butter candles were lit by everyone in the gumpa and we placed them around the walls and upon the alter upstairs then the doors were open and people began to leave. Many not sleeping and walking back to there homes hours away.
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