Jodi in China

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.