Come Knocking Tibet II

For: Daniel Landa (Text and Photos)
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We had portrayed Buddhist stupas, we felt the cold wind from the mountains and even had chased a herd of cows we thought yaks. But we needed to tell the story of the men and the road took us to a place called Foggy Village, I was casually clear.

Whitewashed houses were spacious. The doors were decorated with colorful drawings. An old woman was spinning a huge cylinder, wrought for prayer in Tibetan Buddhist culture. he walked slowly, with parsimony with the world spinning in the village hidden in the valleys that are not China nor Tibet. A slender young woman, slanted eyes we made clear his vocation as a nun, for Yeray disappointment that tried to discourage, unsuccessfully. They opened the door of a house where a woman had just provide firewood. She smiled at us, without being weighed wrinkles of a life of cold wind. She and her husband offered a yak milk sour soup and conversation got surprised by our interest. The man of the house was a Buddhist monk, but there, marriage is compatible with faith. Children ran us hanging, playing as if novelty were to awaken a town where nothing happens. Where elderly rotate the cylinder young beautiful prayer and aspire to meditate the rest of his days, where stoves heat the interior of houses, as the crackle of the fire is here the only murmur that its inhabitants are allowed at nightfall.

A slender young woman, slanted eyes we made clear his vocation as a nun, for Yeray disappointment that tried to discourage, unsuccessfully

If there is a veritable Shangri La, it seems much more at Foggy Village to the tourist town which usurped the name. We left the village with a little homesick definable, because the three knew that this village had finally found that piece of reality that does not appear in travel guides. Yeray future nun greeted as we pulled away and she returned to her chores as if we had never been there.

We should quicken the edge of the cliff path to follow. They amounted roads in a violent way, makes little sense. We move with the wall of mountains in the background. Hours later we arrived at Hong Po If. It is a sacred village, an enclosure for Buddhists, houses with roofs painted colors, several temples and a landscape of crags where losing gaze to pursue nirvana. Young people learn to read the writings of Buddha securing the monks who once visited this place.

If there is a veritable Shangri La, it seems much more at Foggy Village to the tourist town which usurped the name

I interviewed a very nice young, with his orange robe, passionate basketball, I was unable to show a minimum of seriousness in the interview. He laughed out loud and that in that place there was no need to maintain composure, because nobody was there to judge them. Ding Yi called Jion and only abandoned his smile to tell the day, as a child, He saw one of the most respected lamas levitating for several seconds to a meter above the ground. Never again see a levitation. Then I started talking about the Cleveland Cavaliers.

We had dinner with them while with laughter telling the fights that take place between the monks. Somewhat puzzled by that last stamp, We said goodbye before backtrack.

we still had a place we wanted to get, a point on the road without which we would never feel that China had finished. To get there we had to go for a while the path of Mekong River, that below ruffling, fast forming reddish water. We cross dirt roads, valleys where the walls often collapse after rains. A car crushed by several rocks still showed bloodied seats of the unfortunate drivers. Landslides were a serious problem. So were the precipices and mud that threatened to slide the drive into the abyss.

A car crushed by several rocks still showed bloodied seats of the unfortunate drivers

But Chou was with us and never showed a disgruntled gesture. We had been for many kilometers from the city of Kunming to that hidden place in the mountains.

-No will has pasar-, He said with an almost fatherly smile.

And do not spend. The barrier was guarded by soldiers. Behind that barrier, el Tibet. Tibetan special regime has caused the Chinese require a special visa to enter the territory. And we were there three, Yeray, Pablo and me, as Moses saw the Promised Land, the threshold of the Himalayas, waving the plain where all the prayers of the lamas. It was presented as a fascinating destination, but we could not get. At the end of the day, We were telling a story called "Pacific" and the sea was too far. I think by drawing maps, we overdid. It came time to turn around.

 

 

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