Traveling through big wide open valleys filled with fields of mustard plants.
A lot of the jeep course on our trip were muddy, sandy riverbeds that doubled as roads. Most of the repairs were done by manpower and I couldn't remember seeing one bulldozer on the entire route. Most of the dump trucks were old beat up 50's models.
Onto another adventure. Migmar took a off-road detour off our route and took us WAY out in the countryside. We were 4X4ing it and along the way we ran into a small herd of rare wild Tibetan asses that took off like a shot as we drove down the valley.
Our destination was a small monastery that was on a hill overlooking this lush meadowed valley where we camped on the Indian border.
It was quite barren and windy out there and you could really hear the wind rustle through the curtains of prayer flags and over the stacks of sacred stones.
Up on the bluff was this small monastery that is slowly being rebuilt after the Chinese used it for artillery practice in the 1960's. Magmar (seems he knew everyone in Tibet) got the local priest to walk us through the temple and its history.
Our campsite on the edge of the vast meadow. the small line of prayer flags mark a small sacred bubbling spring, the source of the Ganges River, the holiest river in India.
Early morning looking to the west with snow-tipped pointy Mt Kailash to the left in the background
Two little ink and watercolor sketches of the valley with yak herds and the Ganges spring with stone rings and grazing young yaks.
Migmar washing in the waters of the Ganges spring with Pema rinsing him off away from the water source to keep the waters pure.
Monks hut built into the side of a rocky slope
A monks group apartment with a pile of sticks (God only knows where they got them in this desolate valley) out front with worn white washed walls. Watercolor in the early morning
Its been a couple of weeks since taking a shower so my hair is full of grit and dust and has taken on a life of its own.
Early morning treks took us up to a series of small unnamed villages with monasteries placed on thin ridges.
Very far in the western portion (Ngari Region) of Tibet. Very stark countryside with crisp air and baking heat...though it was cold if hit the shade.
Our campsite (left) in this flowery meadowed valley. I could imagine how anything survives out here at this elevation. Grass just hugs the stoney fields and trees are almost non-existent.
A couple of the local children came down to see what we up to and the girl posed for my pencil sketch with her favorite sweater and purse. She liked the sketch and wanted to keep the drawing but I told her it was in a sketchbook. She wasn't happy about that and hit me with the purse.
Watercolor of yaks grazing up on the short summer grasses with a rocky hillside carved by wind and snow runoff.
Up in the Dungkar valley our morning training hike took us into this wild bluff where there were literally hundreds of hand of caves hand carved into the sandstone walls. Named "10,000 Monk Mountain", this was a center of ancient western Tibetan Buddhism. Years ago the farmers tilled the fields, the monks and families lived at in the cliffs and priests and royalty lived on the upper rides
Home entrances at the base of the cliffs
Hiking up through the maze of monks caves and homes destroyed during the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the 60's.
Upper Dungkar Valley
Wrecked large temples on the upper ridge of the mountain. You can see the remains of the explosives and dynamite boxes littered around the fallen buildings
Pemba, Migmar and the "mayor" of the village and cliff dwellings
Migmar spent some time wandering the field and finally finding the "mayor" of the town who had the keys to the doors of a hidden cave that had the last remnants of the pillaged art and ancient body armor smuggled out before everything was destroyed. Inside the cave was an amazing collection of tattered art and 800 year old military wear. Migmar asked to have one "scale" off a chain-mail jacket and got very emotional when the old man took it off the suit of armor and handed him that gift.
A couple of kids that trailed us all over the village. Fascinated by our weird western ways.
Father and son farmers in the village. The older gent only had one tooth left in his mouth I could see when he flashed a smile.
My weak watercolor efforts to capture the huge Tibetan rainstorms that would line up through the entire valley and just freight-train up the length flatlands dumping summer showers.
No comments:
Post a Comment