Jodi in China

November 24, 2008

When Jamon left in Shangri-la in the beginning of October, I was on my own. That turned out to be a good thing, because I had to learn how to get things done by myself. Thankfully, I've managed to do that, and I have been busy, productive, and happy. In addition, I’ve been fortunate to make a lot of great friends, mostly expats from all over the world who have found themselves living in Shangri-la. Swiss, Australians, Americans, and British; researchers, artists, and people just trying to get by how they can, by setting up a business or teaching english in the local schools. They are mostly all older than me, and quite experienced in China. They have great stories, tons of insight on the way things work here. And they all seem to have a healthy cynicism about China and the world in general, with a good sense of humor to go along with it, which is a perspective I greatly enjoy and appreciate.

So, throughout October and November, I have been based in Shangri-la, but making overnight and day trips all over NW Yunnan.  Sometime around the beginning of November, I started to get kind of tired, and things started to get a bit blurry. But I was able to do a few more productive but relatively easy fieldtrips in November to help me through it, and I ended up having lot of fun. Now I have just gotten back to Kunming, to do some meetings and take care of some business before returning to the U.S. at the end of this week. I've been going through my pictures to post in my final blog entry and I am amazed at how many stunningly beautiful places I’ve visited these last couple of months. And what good company I’ve had. All of the Chinese and the westerners I’ve spent time with all along the way have been wonderfully kind and most always easy-going. But I’m not going to get mushy about it -- I’ll just show some of my favorite photos from the last couple of months and be done with it. See you all soon!!

10/24/2008

Parental Advisory: The content of this blog entry may not be appropriate for young children.

So…..going back in time, to our return from the Tibetan herder hut. We rolled into Shangri-la on the public bus in late afternoon, and found a nice hostel. After a week-plus of no showers, no bathrooms, and a hut full of men, smoke, and dirt, we were ready for some R&R. I had the best shower ever, and was looking forward to a meal that didn’t include yak dairy products or fried pork fat. After that, we planned to have a good sleep in a clean room with real beds. So, squeaky clean and in fresh clothes, we wandered to a local restaurant for a Yak hotpot.

Hotpot is a specialty here, and how it works is that a big pot of boiling broth is set on a propane burner in the middle of your table. You are given all kinds of yummy ingredients to dump in, like yak meat, mushrooms, onions, cabbage, spinach, tofu, and who knows what else. The hot pot boils it all, while we fish out pieces of yummy goodness with our chopsticks, dip the morsels in a little dish of spicy sauce, and eat it all up. Accompanied by a cold beer, there is nothing like a good hotpot.

About halfway through the hotpot, Michelle’s phone rings. She chatters away in Mandarin while I continue shoveling the food in. She gets off the phone and I can tell she is excited.

Michelle: That was Dr. Yang from the botanical garden. It turns out that Mr. Wong, from **name your favorite international conservation organization here** is in town! Dr. Yang is hosting him, they are at karaoke, and he invited us to come meet him!

As I’ve explained a little bit before, there is a certain way of doing business in China. To get anywhere here, you have to form relationships with the folks you want to do business with. To form relationships, you have to interact socially, in a very specific way. This way, as I have explained before, involves big banquets, formal toasting, and obligatory drinking. And if you are really serious about getting work done, you throw in some karaoke. A sinking feeling set into my happy hotpot mood as I saw the excitement in Michelle’s eyes. I sensed that my dream of a quiet evening of peace and quiet was in peril.

But I was determined to hold on to my dream. For the first time this whole trip, I heard myself whine. “Michelle. I don’t wanna go.”

Michelle responded to my whining with a motherly attitude. “Jodi, this is a really good opportunity for you. Mr. Wong is the director of the **international conservation organization** for all of Yunnan Province! They have money, and connections, and access to nature reserves.”

Yes, these are all things that I currently do not have, but that I certainly will need if I want to do PhD research in China. But I was going to hold strong. I whined, “Michelle, please don’t make me go.”

She looked at me, and said, “They also have lots and lots of maps!”

Boy, does she know my weak spot. I give in, “Ok, ok, I’ll go.” But I don’t want to be such a pushover, so I say, “But we don’t have to stay too long, do we?”. She ignores this question and instead pays the bill for our half-eaten dinner. She says, “Let’s go! The car is already on its way to pick us up!”

Sure enough, A car is already waiting outside of the restaurant for us. We climb in and Michelle chats with the driver, who is a friend of hers from her time of volunteering at the botanical garden. We drive across town and get out in front of a big building with flashing neon lights – KTV! KTV! KTV! – which is what karaoke places in China are called. There are people milling around outside, and it is packed inside. Michelle’s driver friend leads us into the KTV! place, up some stairs, through a maze of people and lights and noise, and finally into a doorway of a private room. As we enter the room, there seems to be a crowd of women that we are pushing through. We are led to the far end of the long, narrow, dark room, and sit on cushioned benches along one side of the room. There is a big TV with karaoke lyrics on the other side of the room, and a karaoke song selection screen at the end of the room. There are tables with snacks and drinks in front of us, but before I have time to soak anything else in, Dr. Yang from the botanical gardens is introducing me to the honored guest, Mr. Wong from the **international conservation organization**.

Mr. Wong is super friendly, and speaks very good English. He tells me how he has heard that I study forests and birds, and offers up the suggestion that we collaborate. He says, “we have access to all of the nature reserves. If we collaborate, you could have access to the nature reserves too! And it would be great for us, because it would help us develop ecotourism in these areas!” Wow, I thought, Michelle was right, this was awesome! I started to relax a little bit, and chat with Mr. Wong about some of my research ideas.

Our chatting doesn’t last too long, because all of the sudden the karaoke rises from mid-level loud to extremely loud. I look over at Michelle next to me, and she, microphone in hand, is belting out a classic Chinese love song. Her voice is beautiful, her Chinese flawless, and she is really putting some soul into it. I am amazed – it’s like “Celine Dion goes to China!”. Everyone in the room is transfixed – they love her! And you can tell that Michelle is loving it too. That girl has spent some years in the church choir, I just know it. As she finishes her song, everyone gives her the standing O. Then the microphone is thrust into my lap, with expectant eyes upon me. Despite a feeling of deep dread in the pit of my stomach, I know it’s no use to argue. It would just prolong the agony.

I go over to the song selection TV screen, hoping fervently that there will be some song on there that I won’t completely do injustice to. Like a classic Janis Joplin, for example, is that too much to ask? But as I scroll through I become less hopeful. Justin Timberlake….Britney Spears….Backstreet Boys…..I pause briefly at “Like a Virgin” by Madonna, but then move on. I kind of know the words, but…..probably not a good first impression.

Finally I arrive at “Country Roads” by John Denver. It’s probably the best I’m gonna get, so I press the button, go back to my seat, and wait for the words to appear on the big TV screen. I’ve never done karaoke before, I am an awful singer, I don’t know all the words --and plus I am kind of shy. So the whole 4 minutes it takes me to sing the song is about the longest 4 minutes of my life. And awful -- not just for me. Needless to say, I am not asked to sing another song the rest of the night.

Mr. Wong takes over the mike, and I sit back and let the humiliation drain from my face. As it drains, I give myself a pep-talk. This isn’t so bad. As anyone who knows me will agree, this isn’t the first time I’ve made a fool of myself. As I perk up, and start to regain my Shangri-la feeling, the introductions start, accompanied of course with toasts (thankfully just shot-glasses of weak beer and not vodka). Besides me and Michelle, in our little party is just Mr. Wong, Dr. Yang, a Mr. Yi, who is a very important and powerful government official, and Mr. Wu, a specialist on alpine plants who works for the forest bureau.

As I receive and return the toasts, I become more aware of my surroundings, I notice three women who I haven’t been introduced to, and who seem to be paired up with Mr. Wong, Dr. Yan, and My Yi.. “It must be their wives”, I think, “although it is odd that I wasn’t introduced to them.” Then I notice that these ladies are quite young-looking. And they are wearing mini-skirts and fishnet stockings. “How strange”, I think, “that is not typical clothing for important men’s wives”.

I lean over to Michelle and say in a low voice, “why aren’t they introducing us to their wives?”

Michelle: “Oh. Ummmm, those aren’t their wives.”

Me: “Oh. Who are they?”

Michelle: “ummm, those are entertainers”

Me: “Entertainers? Oh, okay.”

Well, I guess I am a little bit slow, folks, because Michelle feels the need to elaborate.

Michelle: “Do you remember when we first came into the room? And there were all of those women here?

Me: “Yeah, yes, I do remember that now that you mention it.”

Michelle: “Well, that was the lineup.”

Me: Silence

Michelle: “They were choosing their girls.”

Me: “Ohhhhh” I am kind of shocked. No, wait. I am really shocked. “You mean they’re prostitutes?”

I guess I didn’t say that in a low voice, because Michelle whispers harshly “Shhhhhhhh! No! They are not prostitutes, they are entertainers.”

Me: “Well….” (I’m catching on now, and trying to get to the bottom of things) “…what kind of entertainment do they provide?”

Michelle: “Well……that depends on how much you pay.”

Me: “Oh......So they are prostitutes.”

Michelle: Silence.

So, as this all sinks in, I have to admit I start to lose my Shangri-la feeling. I’m all about adapting to the culture and all, but this is a little bit much. In all of my travels, I’ve never experienced being at a business meeting with prostitutes. I’m no prude or anything. I know that men sometimes behave badly. But they don’t usually do it around me, especially while treating me as an honored guest at a business meeting. And I am new to China, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that it is by and large an impoverished country, and that many women are forced to make difficult choices.

The toasts continue, as does the karaoke, with everybody (except me) taking their turns with their favorite songs. All in all, it’s not such a bad time, what with the beer and the music and nobody asking me to sing. But I just can’t shake off my extreme discomfort with the situation. I am at a business affair, with four important men who are honoring me with toasts and promises of doing business together. And then there are these hired women, who sit there in their fishnet stockings and look pretty and rub up against the men.

I try to adapt to the circumstances, but find my eyes wandering to the ladies, and I find my conscience feeling guilty, like I am a knowing accomplice in a slimy crime. And also I feel a very strong personal acknowledgement, that me and those girls at the other end of the room? Well, underneath it all, we are the same girls. But for circumstances beyond our control, such as our place of birth and the opportunities we’ve been given, we are interchangeable. I could just as well have been forced into those fishnet stockings, and they could just as well have been the honored guests. No matter how much it seemed completely right and normal to everyone else in the room, it just didn’t feel right to me.

I tried to explain all of this to Michelle, between toasts, in a low voice over the booming karaoke party surrounding us. And then I tried to just let it go and enjoy myself, for the sake of cultural sensitivity, and for the sake of Michelle trying to help me out as much as she does. But I was unsuccessful at letting it go, and finally I had to admit I was just….. Done.

Me: “Michelle, I think I’m ready to go now. I don’t really feel comfortable here.”

Michelle: “We can’t go yet, it would be very rude.”

Me: “I don’t really care about being rude. I don’t really think that my PhD is really that important to me.”

She thinks about this a few seconds, and then she says, thoughtfully, “You know, I’ve only heard about the entertainers. I know it’s very common, but I’ve never actually been in this situation before either. But Dr. Yang has been a very good friend to me over the years. He is only trying to help us by inviting us here, and it would be very rude to leave so early.”

I understand her confusion, but that doesn’t necessarily salve my conscience.

Me: “Can we go as soon as it wouldn’t be too rude?”

Michelle is no dummy, and she can tell I’m serious. “A few more songs and then we go.”

True to her word, we make a graceful, non-offensive exit after a few more songs. Our chivalrous driver friend follows us out of the KTV!, insisting that he give us a ride back to our hotel. But I think both Michelle and I needed some fresh air, and we insisted even more strongly that we would just walk back. I felt a little bit bad, because I think my blackened mood was contagious. Each of lost in our own thoughts, the walk back to the hotel was a somber and silent one.

10/26/09

Within two days after our night of KTV, Michelle had returned to Kunming, and Jamon had arrived in Shangri-la for a few days of fieldwork. Jamon is a Geography student interested in the interaction between culture and forest dynamics in the region. His working hypothesis is that the different minority cultures, namely Lisu, Naxi, and Tibetans, have responded differently to the recent policy and economic changes, and that these differences have in turn influenced patterns of deforestation and reforestation. So, our goal was to poke around in several different forests in the region to get familiar with the lay of the land.

In any kind of travel or fieldwork, I have found that in addition to the landscape itself, the company who you are with contributes greatly to the enjoyment of the experience. So far, I had lucked out with Michelle as a traveling partner. And Jamon turned out also to be an excellent companion. He is easy-going, thoughtful, quirky, and besides culture and forests, he is interested in a bazillion different things. Greek mythology, UFO’s, global politics – you name it, he knows a lot about it. So any dead time in our travels were filled with lively discussions about religion, romantic relationships, his astronaut application, the presidential campaign….we had a fun and productive few days together.

The first couple of days we explored some forests in the Shangri-la region. One day we concentrated on the region around Shika Snow Mountain, whose forests are particularly special. Shika Snow Mountain is a rocky, treeless peak that rises above the surrounding Shangri-la valley, is covered in snow six months out of the year, and is a sacred mountain to the local Tibetans. Therefore, much of the forest around Shika has never been cut. The prominent trees are fir, evergreen oak, and larix, but there is a huge diversity of trees, including rhododendron, birch, pine, spruce, poplar, etc.

Exploring forests here is mostly fun, but sometimes exasperating and painful. The exasperation comes from the maze of yak trails that are endlessly widening, then narrowing, then disappearing, then reappearing, to the point where you wonder if you are just going around in circles and becoming hopelessly lost. The pain comes from the thick, spiny, evergreen oak shrubs that you have to crawl through when the trail disappears. A few evenings we spent nursing bruises on our shins and digging thorns out of our hands and knees.

The highlight of our time together was a two day trek of the Tiger Leaping Gorge, the Chinese equivalent of our Grand Canyon. The trek of Tiger Leaping Gorge passes on a high trail through a beautiful canyon created by the mighty Yangtze River. Downstream of Tiger Leaping Gorge is the famous Three Gorges Dam, and this dam, along with proposed construction of additional dams upstream of Tiger Leaping Gorge, means that it is likely that in the upcoming years this national treasure will be changed forever. We decided to take this opportunity to hike the gorge because it is unknown how soon these irreversible changes will occur.

Beautiful forests around Shika Snow Mountain

So, another day of bus travel and we made it back to Shangri-la. That was a month ago already now, so I am way behind in my story-telling. I have had a busy month since returning from the alpine, with a few overnight and daytrip fieldwork near Shangri-la. I hope to tell about these adventures eventually, but thought I would give an update on my life while I am in Shangri-la. On October 1, we started renting a Tibetan house in Old Town of Shangri-la. It is a big old house, a little bit dumpy because it hasn’t been kept up for a few months, but with lots of space, some furniture, and best of all, a wood stove. The house itself is kind of like a barn that has been fixed up for people to live in, so no insulation and a little drafty. Since it is getting pretty cold (high of 60 in the day, heavy frosts at night) I get a special pleasure out of the stove. When the sun starts to go down, the temperature, outside and insidel, drops rapidly. I love the evening ritual of bringing in the wood, starting, feeding and stoking the fire, and feeling the big old house slowly warm up.

I have become very interested to study songbirds here, there is a great diversity of them, and it seems that no one else has studied them. But the first step to studying them is to figure out how I would go about identifying them. So I have been devoting some time at the Shangri-la Botanical gardens, which is a safe place to walk around by myself, and has several different habitats in a relatively small area. It is a lot of fun, stalking the secretive ones and adding to my list every day. My favorites so far are the laughingthrushes. They are big, clumsy, and giggle a lot. But I have to admit it is a little tough going sometimes, and I have a really long way to go before I could consider doing any serious bird research. I am a birding novice, I haven’t found a great field guide for the region, nor have a found a local expert that could teach me about the birds specific to this area. But I have made a little headway, and I continue to search for a local expert to help me out. So far, I have identified around 40 species, and there are ~ 20 others I have seen but haven’t been able to identify. Just for you AWOL’ers, here is my list so far (I suspect your lists would be at least twice as long):

The next morning, while drinking our yak butter tea, we discussed our plans for the day. Michelle explained to our guide that we wanted to return to the sites we had seen the day before, for data collection. Upon hearing this, our guide smoked his cigarette thoughtfully for a couple of minutes, and then politely suggested that there were better sites close to our hut. Michelle explained that we didn’t see any appropriate sites close to the hut, but that those other sites were just right for us. He again smoked his cigarette and pondered things for a couple of minutes, and then politely suggested that we it would be better to collect data at his friend’s pastures, which we had passed through on our first day hiking to the hut. Michelle explained that those sites just weren’t right for what we wanted to do. Again, he lit up another smoke, and thought a couple of minutes more, chattered in Tibetan with the other herders, and then in Mandarin politely explained that the sites we were interested in just wouldn’t be right for our data collection.

For sure, there was something going on about our guide’s relationship with the herders at the the sites where we wanted to collect data. What it was, we had no way of knowing. And we really didn’t want to press the issue, because in fact the research we are conducting is kind of a delicate matter. We are interested in sites that have been recently burned, and burning has been illegal for the past 15 years. Michelle and I, before arriving in Adong, had already discussed the possibility that researching burn sites may give bad attention to those that are illegally burning. Although the motives of the research are pure - to provide evidence that the burning ban is negative both for herders’ livelihoods and biodiversity - we recognized that there is a risk that researching such a sensitive issue could potentially have bad consequences for those who are breaking the law. When we discussed it before the trip, we had decided that the risk was small, and that the Adong village alpine territories are so far off the beaten path that that Chinese officials are unlikely to investigate this area.

Our guide and the other herders we met are proud and independent, and continue to manage their lands in the way they think is best.  They are certainly no dummies, and they surely recognize there is a risk to guiding outsiders to areas where they are breaking the law, and helping us take pictures and collect data about these areas. It is their land, and we are entirely dependent on them to access it. They had given us their trust so far, and we did not want to jeapordize that trust.

In the end, by the time we had drained our bowls of yak butter tea, Michelle and I decided not to press the issue. We thought that by insisting against our guide’s wishes (whatever the political or personal issues may be), we might raise too many red flags with him and the other villagers. By insisting on certain sites, we could see that we may cause the doors to close for any research at all in the Adong alpine territories. So, we abandoned our hopes to sample our ideal sites, and worked on a Plan B.

Our Plan B was to make a day trip to our guide’s summer pastures. Michelle had already visited their pastures, and thought there may be some good potential sites, although not as good as what we had seen the day before. Although our guide’s son and his yaks had already left for the season, we could make a day trip there, collect some data, and make it back to our hut by nightfall. So, right after breakfast, we started out for another marathon day.

It was about a 4 hour hike to get to our guide’s pastures, back down into the forest and then up into another alpine valley. It is a beautiful valley, but alas had no great sites. Since we were scheduled to return back down to the Adong village the next day, we were running out of time. We chose the best sites available to do some data collection, at the very least it will be useful to try out our methodology and get some preliminary data. At 5pm, we had finished 3 transects, and had two hours left of daylight to cover the same distance – 4 hours steady hiking of steep and rocky up and down, not to mention a few slippery log crossings over rushing mountain rivers. To do the return trip, we had to practically sprint the damn thing. Thankfully, nobody got hurt, and we arrived at the hut in the dark, just as the stars started twinkling in the sky. (I wish I could take pictures of the stars here – pretty amazing). This hike was so intense, all three of us non-Tibetans -- me, Michelle and Li Hong -- were completely spent. Even our guide admitted he was a little bit tired. We ate, laid out our beds, and the three of us were asleep by 9pm. I didn’t even remember to brush my teeth.

The next morning we got up extra early and collected a transect at a site above the hut just for good measure, and then started the 8-hour hike down to Adong village. After four days of sweaty hiking and no water for bathing, all of our feet were shot. Poor Li Hong took off his cotton socks in the middle of the day, and hiked the rest of the way just in his $4 canvas military shoes. Back down at the village he revealed his bare feet, rubbed raw and bloody.  Mine were a bit blistered and lot achy, but I guess thanks to $10 Smartwool socks and $100 Goretex hiking boots, they were not nearly in as bad of shape as Li Hong’s.

That morning we had to once again transform our our side of the hut, this time from our sleeping area into our breakfast area. At breakfast, in my soggy boots (stashed in a corner of the hut all night) and my pants more soaked than when I had hung them outside the night before (morning dew? or yak saliva?), I sat next to the fire drinking my yak butter tea. We were discussing where we would go to on our first day in the alpine. Our guide had told Michelle that about a 6 hour hike away were the best, most productive summer pastures in the Adong village territory. Michelle was intrigued by what kinds of vegetation we might find there. So we decided to trek over to those meadows, looking for our study sites along the way.

What kind of study sites were we searching for? Michelle has developed the hypothesis that Tibetan yak husbandry practices contributes to the high biodiversity of the alpine ecosystems in this region. The alpine areas are not usable for grazing or farming for 6 months out of the winter because they are covered with snow or senesced vegetation. At the end of spring when the snow has melted, the herders will come up to investigate their summer pastures, and burn small patches of shrubland to create more grass for their yaks. Then, in June when the meadows are green and productive, they will bring their yaks up for the summer months. The grazing pressure on these pastures is historically relatively low, because the yak density per acre is not very high. Michelle hypothesizes that this combination of low-density grazing and rotational burning has created a more biodiverse alpine ecosystem that would otherwise exist.

About 15 years ago, the Chinese government ordered a ban against herder’s burning, with the goal being to promote forest growth and watershed protection. In alpine areas where the burning ban has been followed, there should be shrub and forest encroachment into the alpine meadows. Shrub encroachment is evident in many areas, especially those close to roads where burning can be monitored. Part of our collaborative research is to try to quantify the shrub encroachment since the burn ban at the regional scale.

Because Adong village and their alpine pastures are very remote, burning practices still continue. At the same time, Adong’s alpine meadows are some of the diverse found in the region. We decided to go to Adong because another goal of ours is to address Michelle’s hypothesis that burning promotes meadow biodiversity. So throughout our treks, we were searching for areas with different burn histories, where we could measure the plant types and cover, in our first attempts to address her hypothesis about the positive relationship between periodic burning and meadow biodiversity.

So we set off bright and early. We did a lot of up and down, but mostly stayed around 4200m, in the tree-less alpine, taking tons of pictures and asking lots of questions along the way. We saw lots of burn sites, but none were quite appropriate – some were too small, or on the wrong slopes or at the wrong elevation, some were isolated without any good comparison sites nearby. But about ¾ of the way to the “best pastures”, we saw a hillside with burn patches that Michelle and I agreed met all of our criteria as perfect sites to collect our vegetation transect data, and that we would return the following day for data collection.

Shortly after we saw these sites, our guide pointed to a very very very high mountain pass in front of us, and informed us that our destination was just on the other side of the pass. I had weathered the altitude surprisingly well so far, but this was going to be the “moment of truth”. We started up, me in the rear of the pack. As we climbed we passed through the shrubs, and then the meadows, and then the sparser meadows, and then to the rocky alpine scree, a stretch of loose rocks that would give and slide with each step. There was more and more distance between me and the other three as we climbed, because my breathing became more labored and my footing very insecure in such unfamiliar terrain. Then we came to a stretch of large boulders that we had to scramble up and over on our hands and knees. These boulders also would slide and teeter scarily with each step, and I became increasingly wary. Finally, I was kind of overcome by a (somewhat irrational) fear that to continue any further would result an inconvenient adjustment in the boulders. I envisioned that the next step would result in a terrible landslide, with me ending up far below, bloodied and broken, under a pile of boulders. I found myself paralyzed, unable to continue.

I stood there a minute or two, catching my breath, and, well, not moving. I heard Michelle shout from way above:

Michelle: “Are you coming?”

Me: “ummmm, I think if I take another step I will cause a landslide. And all the rocks will fall. And I will end up dead under a pile of boulders."

Silence. Then I heard Michelle translate this to our guide, and him responding something back.

Michelle: “He thinks that, probably, that’s not going to happen.”

Probably? I look up at the 200m or so of the same terrain above, and then look down at 100m of the same terrain I had already passed through. I was screwed – what should I do? I stood there paralyzed a couple of more minutes.

Michelle: “Are you coming?”

Me: “Hai Pa!” (“I’m Scared!” At this altitude, no use Michelle wasting precious oxygen for translation of such a simple concept).

No answer from above. I wait a couple of more minutes, unable to act. Then all of the sudden, my worst fears! There are some rocks and boulders shifting and tumbling above me! I look up, expecting to see a wave of boulders tumbling towards me. But instead here comes our guide, practically running down the scree, sure-footed as a mountain goat. He kind of skids to a stop right above me, and with a big grin and a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, gallantly offers his hand. “Well”, I say to myself, “I guess I’m going up.” I take his hand, and slowly but surely, hand in hand, we climb together up to the pass. Michelle got a big kick out of this one, so documented it all in play-by-play photographs. So we can remember it always.

At the pass we ate lunch, and then made our way down to the “best pasture”, a beautiful alpine valley with fresh, clean, abundant water and countless beautiful meadow plants. By the time we had investigated this valley, it was already past mid-day, and we had to high-tail it back to home. Our guide chose a different route back to our hut, to avoid the scary alpine scree. We made it back to the hut, exhausted but happy with all that we had seen that day, and a plan for where to collect data tomorrow, just as the daylight was ending. The rest of the evening was a replay of the night before: yak butter tea, fried pork fat, steamed bread, and my entertaining bedtime routine.

Night was falling when we arrived to the herder hut. We were greeted by about 40 yaks, jingling along because of big bells strapped around their necks, and our guide’s two Tibetan yak herder friends, the occupants of the hut. They had no way to know that a group of 4 was coming to invade their hut for the next several days, but they didn’t seem peeved. In fact, it became clear as the days and nights wore on that we were a welcome break from their usual monotony. Not only because their buddy, our guide, was visiting, but also because having a Chinese guy come visit was pretty novel – and then you throw in two foreign girls too? It was certainly an unprecedented visit to their hut, and a source of constant entertainment, I’m sure.

Arriving at the hut, I already had a plan. Change out of my clothes – sopping wet from sweat and rain – into some warm longjohns and outer layers, dry my boots by the fire, eat some food, and sleep. Things did not go exactly as planned. The hut was about 2 yaks wide, 3 yaks long, and about 1 yak high. Strewn about all over was empty cigarette packs, empty liquor bottles, little mounds of yak poo, and other sundry garbage items of bachelor yak herder life. The walls and roof were made of rough timber, and the floor of plain old packed dirt. About ¼ of the space, the whole center of the hut, was taken up by the fire, cooking utensils, and a makeshift altar to the Buddha. About ½ of the space was taken up by rows of yak cheese, yak butter, and herding and milking gear. That left the final ¼ of space (maybe about 1 yak?) for 6 people to eat, sleep, and, well, co-exist. Maybe I am exaggerating a little on the space, but not much.

Everybody else sat down by the fire to rest, but I was already shivering. The temperature had plummeted (we were at 4200m, above tree line), I was soaked, and so I dug some dry clothes out of my backpack and went outside with the yaks to change. Amazingly enough, no one else in our little group changed a bit of clothing the whole four days we were together. And our two yak herder hosts had definitely not changed clothes for the whole time they had been up there (2 months without a break!). Usually I am a sucker for peer pressure, but I just couldn’t resist having a change between day and night clothes every day. I learned a lot a lot during this trip, but probably the thing I learned that will stick with me the longest is what a wimp I am compared to this hardy group I was traveling with!

I came back into the hut with my wet clothes and damp boots in hand. I set my boots by the fire.  Ooops! Fire is sacred, and not for setting dirty boots around. I managed to find a couple of pegs to hang my clothes on. Oops! Shirts are ok, but pants must be hung up outside. As Michelle explained these rules to me, I held in my laughter out of respect for my hosts, but I know I didn’t hide my look of disbelief as I looked around at the littered and jumbed hut. It was quite surreal that in such a chaotic and dirty place that rules would exist. But who am I to say? I put my things where they told me was ok, and plopped down by the fire.

Our hosts had just got done milking the yaks, and they came in and sat down and started preparing food. For the next four days our guide and our two hosts gaily prepared all of our food, laughing and joking in Tibetan the whole time. Yak butter tea, fresh yak cheese cut off in hunks from the piles on the edges of the hut, steamed bread, and thick slices of pork fat were the staples of our diets over the next four days, with a few potatoes and veggies mixed in. 

After dinner, the Tibetans, on "their side" of the hut, cleared the supper dishes next to the fire, threw down a couple of yak hides, and each covered up with a thick wool blanket. It was clear they were set put for the night. On "our side" of the hut, uss three foreigners  – me, Michelle and Li Hong our Chinese botanist-- followed suit and transformed our dining area into our sleeping area (in total about the size of a queen-size bed). As I pulled out my bright green thermarest and started inflating it, my Tibetan hosts stared at me with wide eyes and half-concealed smiles. Then I pulled out my inflatable pillow/neck rest and blew it up -- my hosts let out some stifled giggles. I unpacked my bright-orange, reflective space-suit material sleeping bag. My hosts couldn't take it any more - they laughed out loud in jolly amusement - they'd never seen such silliness! All set for bed I realized, darnit!, I forgot to brush my teeth. I crawl out of my sleeping bag, dig in my backpack a few minutes, haul out my toiletry kit, get out my toothbrush and Crest, brush my teeth, put on my boots to go outside and spit, etc. etc, all under the watchful gaze and constant chatter of the Tibetans. I can't understand anything of what they are saying, but it's not too hard to imagine- they are thinking this is the best entertainment ever, and at the same time sincerely confused at why I am making life so difficult? But finally....snug as can be wedged between Li Hong and Michelle, I fell asleep listening to the laughs and patter of our 3 Tibetan friends, who continued smoking and drinking swigs of cheap, strong rice liquor into the night.

I slept pretty good, and woke up the following morning to the laughs and patter of our 3 Tibetan friends, who had beat us out of the sack and were already busy making a new fire and making the breakfast yak butter tea. I opened my eyes, but couldn’t see to well, and I realized it was because my eyes were kind of swollen shut. Whether it was due to the cigarette and wood smoke in that poorly ventilated hut, or the altitude, or some other thing, I am not sure. But every morning I would wake up with swollen, itchy, inflamed eyes, and it would take a few minutes of fresh air before I could see very well.

On my first morning foray out into the meadow to find “the ladies room” (not so easy in an alpine grassland occupied by 40 yaks and 4 men) , I also found our water source. It was a sad dribbling spout of water channelized from a tiny meadow stream, and all above yaks tramping all over. I realized instantly why our boiled water from the night before was so brown and full of floaties. Any thoughts I had had of washing off occasionally in cold, clear mountain stream were done for. Even though we passed many such beautiful rivers during our hikes, there wasn’t such a thing close to our hut.