Lhamo Tse Gompa from the path above. Breakfast: unwrapping the banana leaves like a Birthday gift offers a sweet holiday rice cake, a special treat for the Dragon Boat Festival holiday ! Not knowing what was to occur the day ahead, I wish I had eaten more! The hike begins after a short trek above town to the Gompa (monastery) to visit our monk friend and "pay respects", according to Nu Wi, my friend who owns the guesthouse where I always stay! Khamding (Kangding) is the historical border town that once separated China from Tibet. Part of the Tea Horse Road, where you still discover a mix of ancient and modern, Han Chinese and Khampas. Kangding and the west beyond are historically and culturally Tibetan lands, filled with Tibetans and other ethnic groups -- mainly Khampas. Although this area has been colonized by China, I refer to Western Sichuan as Kham, Tibet, for cultural clarity and out of respect for the colonized peoples. We left the monastery before the official prayers began , to visit a monk in another ornate room, defined by gold and red artwork at which it was my turn to stare. People were giving the monk money—lots of money!!— and writing short verse on strips of paper. Prayers, I presume. The room was filled with food: elegant towers of fruit and bowls of candies, nuts, and seeds. The monk spoke a few words of perfectly-enunciated English, but I mainly listened to their conversation and gazed at the beauty of the room, firmly deciding that I want to fill my home with this beautiful Tibetan furniture and decor. If I could create a temple within my home, I would do so. Would it make my awareness of compassion greater and more frequent? Being in a temple that is the site of over 1000 years of prayers and worship certainly make me aware of my spiritual desires and the aspect of life that I miss so much because I lack discipline and get distracted by the small things that seem so big. In my pensiveness, I know that if I return to my daily practice of pranayama, asana, and meditation, that a focus on what is truly important will pervade my life—and improve my life and attitude and outlook. Over the past few years, discipline in my spiritual practice (and actually, many positive habits) has waned in tandem with my exercise habits; decreasing inversely to my energy and get-up-and-go. Sigh. But back to the great things in life, like hiking up a hill and getting out of breath and getting lost in underbrush and getting scraped and scratched and bruised and blackened by mud! Yay! We stayed on the path for some time, going up and up, switchback after switchback. I am either really out of shape (probably) or affected by the the altitude (probably) or both (definitely). Luckily, my hiking partner moves slowly, and we agreed beforehand to go slow and stop for many photos. The town below us gets smaller and smaller, and the Paomashan ("Paoma" = name, "shan"=mountain) temple, which was so high above us, comes into a parallel view. We move up and around the temple, and then past it, to the point where I stopped last time-- on my first trip to Kangding. Here clings a garden plot impossibly slanted downward, protected by a rough-hewn fence. A few hours later and even the mountaintop-clinging clouds seem not too far off. The path narrows and is muddied from the previous night’s rain. Flowers are everywhere and spring is still springing on this mountain. A multitude of choices are before us, as numerous paths lead off the main one; in fact, the main path no longer seems like it, but rather, just one of numerous horse and wildlife side paths. Just after noon, we are at 2800m (8400 ft.); I don’t recall that I have ever hiked at this altitude. And I’m sure we have come up a thousand feet, because we are just going up and up and up—there is no flat ground that offers reprieve to my calves and glutes! I notice the pressure here is low, just over 700mb, perhaps I can blame the altitude for my huff-puff-huff-puff-racing heart. The town below is now a speck in miniature and only rarely viewed as we move deeper into the forest. From Lhamo Tse, we head up and up ... and up! Midway up Juliianshan (Juilian Mountain) we come across ruins! We come across ruins at 2919m (9577 ft.) just prior to 1:00pm -- just shy of 10,000 feet! -- and pause for some fun picture opportunities. Several paths divert from the roofless walls that now encircle a carpet of grass, and NuWen picks one which turns our arduously uphill hike into an arduous but true adventure! For the next half hour, we scramble; bentover and nearly on hands and knees along an animal trail—and I think sometimes no trail! Branches grab at my backpack and hold me back and discourage forward movement, as I push and strain to move uphill, now against immense friction of thorny scrubs and pines. We slip and slide upward on muddy rain-created- trails and I wonder if I will fall. But then I prevent my mind from following that path and I speak determinedly to myself: “Just don’t fall!”. I decide against falling, and do not, luckily, for I would end up scraped beyond belief in the thorny underbrush, and would not stop rolling downhill for a long, long time. Or until I hit a tree! When we finally escape upward to another animal trail—this time for taller mammals like us—I am whipped, muddy, and bleeding. While not enjoyable, this part of our trek has left me feeling accomplished. Speaking of bushwhacking: I wish I had my Caribbean machete; however, I could have used it! Even Pooh Bear, who has accompanied me across oceans and continents is muddied and wet. It’s rather amusing, considering I had to do all the hard work while he just hung there on his hook, getting thrashed by thorns and banged by branches. I am grateful he is still attached! Finally, we find a small slanted clearing to rest and drink and snack at the highest point of our hike, 2975m. I can’t believe we’ve only moved upward about 1500ft, because it feels like it should be several thousand. But I am not used to the measurement in meters so my tired mind converts this 400m climb into feet without tripling, and I am disappointed and surprised that we have only climbed 400 ft.!!! Later, when I am hydrated, I am able to recall simple mathematics, and realized we have had a much greater—and more impressive elevation gain of 1500 ft.! No wonder I am exhausted and my hip flexors are screaming! We finally discover a dirt road around 2:45pm (nearly 5 hours after our start), which becomes the obviously oft-used track to get to the grasslands on the other side of Juiliansan. If we had followed this boring two-track earlier in the morning, we would have easily reached our goal destination. But after hiking for 4 hours... and now with the fearful knowledge that we also have to descend the same amount, I decline the option to travel further and find the higher, larger grasslands that we had originally sought. Despite hardships, I am happy that we took the more difficult and steep switchbacks, and then created our own path, for the walk down is easy on this two-track, but also very BLAH, with only the view to distract from the mud lane. On our path up, we encountered flowers and fauna and were surrounded by pine-fresh breezes, heart-stopping views, and the feel-good that results from overcoming. If we had taken that two-track mud road, yes, we would have arrived at the grasslands with ease, and in a shorter amount of time, but the effort, impetuousness, and adventure of unknown trails are always more enticing than an over-traveled, crowded, direct route. In fact, we had not seen one other human our entire hike, until we began descending said mud road. We discovered another house in ruins; stone walls, coming down, roofless, but this one surrounded by prayer flags. The doorway was blocked with thorny scrubs and branches—the Tibetan version of a “Do Not Enter!” sign? A small shrine with figurines was set against the far wall. Perhaps an important or revered monk had resided here at one time... I wonder how long this dwelling has existed... I wonder what it looked like originally... I wonder if I could simply squat somewhere like this in hidden mountain passes and create my own solitary dwelling. Click "Read More " to the right, for additional photos... Ascending, Minyak Gongkar peeks between the clouds once again. You can see her peaks daily between passing clouds from Kangding. Outside the Himalayas, Minyak Gongkar (Chinese: Gonga Shan) is the highest peak. As we got closer to Nam Wu Shi (Chinese language version of Lhamo Tse Gompa, where "shi" means temple; this is similar to Hangul; aka, Korean), I heard the strange sounds of Tibetan prayers and horns, with their deep resonant bass tones—almost a growl. We trudged down The Buddhist Yellow Brick Road (my term) to the temple once again. For rest? For prayer? A new building had been poured from concrete, and workers were lifting up materials the way it was done in the Industrial Era: a wheelbarrow tied by rope to a pulley, and manually levered upward three stories high, to be received by the worker above. I was happy to see parts fo the temple complex I had missed on my previous visits. There was a prayer hall (again, I do not know the correct terminology in Tibetan Buddhism, so I use descriptive with which I am acquainted) devoted to the founding Llama, beautifully shiny and seemingly unused, but clean. Across the concrete pavilion, I walk to a grass-covered garden roof overlooking Guo Da San (san=mountain, once again, same as in Hangul), then down marble and granite stairs to a set of 10 towering stupas, embossed in gold paint and precious stones and beads, multi-hued bright figures painted along the base, glorious and immense. I do not know the meaning of these stupas, so I will have to do some research. In fact, I don’t even know what is a “stupa”! After a few moments of wonder, we head down more stairs to the main square to that deep bass beckoning of Tibetan prayer, bells, and a horn. There is a puja/homa (Sanskrit terms, not Tibetan) service being held; except I don’t know the proper term, I only know that in Indian yoga rites, fire offerings occur during homa ceremonies and puja is offering to deities or the Sri Swami (high priest?). Spices and seeds and wood and prayers are offered to burn. One monk growls those curious incantations into a headset that sends the prayers beyond the temple walls, while the leading monk sits on the raised dais, making offerings to the fire, burning away the impurities of our souls, our thoughts, our speech, our action. An elderly woman, with unruly grey hair blown by the wind, moves constantly through surya namaskar (Indian term for a repeated prostration/bowing), but I do not, again, know the Fójiào term. In Mandarin, “Buddhist” is “Fójiào tú“ (foe-jow-too). We watch from the stairs and then move closer; again the stares come from both the monks in their L-shaped seated formation, and the crowd that surrounds. I wish I had not worn shorts, even though long pants would not have decreased the eyeballs that fix on my figure. [In the months to come, I learn that it is not culturally acceptable in this culture to show leg, so I now where pants and skirts to be respectful.] I sit for a moment in silent meditation and gratitude and then we move on, back to the room where we met the first monk. He offers us tea and apples and we chat more. He seems gently surprised when Nu Wen tells him I am Buddhist and practice meditation; I try to explain my meditation retreats and residence at the Indian version of the Tibetan Monastery: an ashram. I think I will visit him again. He humbly explains his English is not good, and self-taught, but I disagree, assuring him that he speaks perfect English! We depart the monastery about 4:30pm, which sits at -- the now seemingly low -- altitude 2630m (7890ft). Our short, but wearily slow, 20-minute walk back to Guozhang Nanwu Kangding Wu Hao Inn felt barely more enlivened from our rest while conversing with our monk friend. My lodgings are at 2583m, much higher than the town center. I am glad it occurred to me to use my compass for elevation! I wish I had turned on a mileage app to be absolutely sure we trekked 6 miles and over 14,000 steps, but my quads have no doubt of these numbers, nor do my sore feet! Back at the guesthouse, I practically beg for food, having only had 2 plums, one boazhe, half a steamed bun, and one boiled egg during the past 7 hours! Many lessons learned on this hike! I scarf a bowl of spicy yak meat and noodle soup, slurping to the end, and finish with a cool bowl of yak yogurt sprinkled with sugar. This offers me just enough energy to shower my scraped and exhausted body, write one paragraph, and plummet into a dreamless sleep on my traditional-style Tibetan bed! Sichuan peppercorns--fresh off the tree! These little tongue-numbing berries taste delish fresh and yes, are fiery hot, but I love them! Unfortunately, they are usually floating in an inch of oil in Sichuan fare, so I avoid it. But I picked some to take home and use sans grease. 383m (1256 ft.) of elevation gain that afternoon! Climbing to nearly 10,000 ft., beyond the tower pictured -- my highest so far! A few steps beyond the guesthouse gate, a right turn past this building, leads to the first "ascent": is a steep set of stairs through gardens and houses, leading up to the road toward the monastery.
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iGallivantGina The Great in the country of The Great Wall!
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