And so we drove back to where we came from, and making our way around the plain, the old man suddenly instructed for us to make a sharp left. It puzzled me as we were in the middle of no where. I distinctively remember picking him up from a one-storey building.
Driving downslope, I can make out a dirt track - not very evident in the dimming skylight- leading steadily downhill and curving to the right. Ten minutes later, a flat structure rises from the ground. Then it made sense. His house is situated on a lower level than the main dirt track we were on.
We drive slowly along the bumpy mushy ground and passing pens full of yaks and sheep, we arrive at the front of his house, welcomed by his family. We got out of the vehicle and took our things and followed them in through a narrow door.
Once indoors, I could feel the heat coming from the stove-table in the middle of the long room. It was dark except for a white bulb hanging from the low ceiling. I put my backpack on a seat against the wall facing the stove. I was like a moth attracted to light. It's the most amazing feeling to get out of the cold, windy air and to be seated on a cushioned seat, sheltered from the icy winds, and kept warm by the burning stove just inches from my knees.
One of the family members, a man in his thirties, got about and using a spade, dug into a steel bucket by the door, and shovelling its contents into the stove table, then slide the lid back to cover the lapping flames. I thought they were coal and wondered how much it would cost them to buy so much coal. Not to mention where they would buy them from. The nearest town has got to be Dzato, which is easily 200km away. It was not till the next morning that I found out from Pema that the fuel that kept the fire burning the whole evening was dried dung from the Yaks. But I don't remember any smell, not even when burning. How miraculous! And to think people in the town use coal - and how I was choking in my bed from its fumes! We really need to take a leaf out of the nomads where it comes to recycling and going green!
Just as I was warming up, a lady in her fourties reached across the stove to refill my drink. It was a diluted version of the Yak tea and in the cold, it was comforting. She was to continuously refill my paper-cup with the tea, putting more water to boil, and making more tea for the rest of the evening that we sat there chatting (or rather Pema was chatting with them, or interpreting for me). We helped ourselves a large crucible of bread - handmade by the lady of the house, while drinking the tea. Mr Shi took out the left over "man tou" which we placed onto the metal stove to be baked. It worked wonderously as the bread become crispy on the outside while chewy-soft on the inside. Then, Pema asked if I would like to help myself to some Yak meat. I said yes, and Mr Shi helped to carve small slices out from what looked like a part of the leg. The meat was tough, but didn't have a heavy taste or smell. I chewed at it. It was tasty (or I was hungry) but it certainly tasted natural and without any hint of MSG, which was a relief. Some of the meat got stuck to my teeth so I spent a considerable amount of time chewing and picking my teeth in the dark. Pema said that the family consume a total of three yaks in a year - so I must be really lucky to walk in on them while they were having it!
Throughout dinner, I felt the stare of the children who were aged 7, 10 and 13. They were silent throughout the night, eating what they were fed by two adults who must be their parents. When I asked Pema who they were, it was then that we found out that the old man who took us to the source was the village chief (there were 8 families living in close proximity of about 20 km from each other) and that this was the house of his youngest son of six children. The kids were his grandchildren. His other children are living elsewhere.
His name is Do Ku Jiam Chu.
Well, what do you know? First, we came to dead end of a dirt track allegedly bringing us to the source, then we met a nice old man who volunteered to take us there, then we escaped a night out camping in the cold in exchange for warm tibetan hospitality. Then, we discovered the nice old man is the village chief. It keeps getting better, I tell you!
After chatting and finding out more about him, and the source (which was blessed by a holy lama called Za Na Wan Tul), and his family, and sharing more about me and where I came from, it was time for bed. Pema explained that Chief had invited us to stay with his family - inside the bedroom. I was moved by their hospitality and so gladly accepted.
Taking my belongings, I followed the lady into the adjacent room separated by a heavy piece of cloth that was as thick as a blanket. Inside, though there was no heated stove, I could feel the cold being kept out by the sheer amount of blankets and heavy textile covering every inch within the space. Pema and I were assigned the space along the wall to the right, so we slept with our feet pointed at each other. I dug out my sleeping bag and settling myself down, tried to get some sleep. I could hear the rest of the family settling into bed at the other places. Mr Shi decided earlier on that he would sleep in the car as he was used to it.
It was 10.30pm and as we were above 4,000m elevation this time, the headache hit like a jackhammer pounding at my temples. No matter which way I turned, I couldn't find a position that the headache would go away, or feel better. The unfamiliar smell of yak milk was also beginning to get to me and at some stage, I began to feel a sense of panic. It didn't help that I was also coughing badly due to the cold and the entire night was spent coaxing myself to sleep. I needed to rest, but rest was a luxury that eluded me. The last time I checked my watch, it was 6am. It must have been shortly after that I fell asleep.
Opening my eyes again, light was coming through the bedroom window. It was 7.30am. And miraculously, the headache was gone. I got out of bed and noticed that everyone else had gotten up. People of the nomadic culture sleep early and get up earlier still. Mr Shi told me they had been up to release the animals from their pens to set them into the plains to graze. He knew because he was rudely awoken by moving animals about him in the car!
8.00am - we sat around the stove-table again for breakfast: toasted "man-tou" with strawberry jam, Oreo biscuits and 3-in-1 coffee mix (diluted). We chatted somemore and I asked about the various names of the mountains surrounding us. Pema interpretted that where we are is called Yar Ba Sha Na, at about 4,400m elevation. The house that we picked the chief up from the day before is named Say Kay. The plains that we circumvented yesterday to get across to the source on the opposite side is named Ra Ya Gong Nong, which sits at the foot of the Za Na Ri Gen mountain range. I made a quick drawing and took down the tibetan writing (which was mostly guess-work anyway as the chief didn't read nor write Tibetan - so mostly based on phonetics and Pema's grasp of the Tibetan language)
By 8.30am, we began to take our leave from the Chief's residence. We set off earlier because he had requested us to drop him off at Say Kay as he had a meeting at 9am. Before we left, I took the opportunity to take shots of him and his family. We even managed a group photo. I asked Pema to get from him a mailing address so I can send the pictures to them and although I it written down in writing, we really wondered if they will receive the mail. Anyhow, I shall send it and keep my fingers crossed they will receive them. I'm certain they would be delighted to see their photos. It's the least I can do to return the warmth I received at the roof of the world.
Village Chief Do Ku Jiam Chu and family outside their residence at Yar Ba Sha Na
Pens by the side of the house for keeping the Yaks and sheeps at night
Looking west beyond the mud wall lies Tashi Chil across the Ra Ya Gong Nong plains
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