"Write your sad times in sand, write your good times in stone"

Greetings from Spiti Valley, one of the most remote places on Earth!

I've been in Spiti for the past week or so. On Tuesday, I took a bus to Kaza, the biggest town in the valley, from Manali, on a road that can only be described as insane – hairpin turns all over these Himalayas! Not to mention the road is usually no wider than the bus itself, which makes looking out of the window on the side of the drop quite terrifying. But I made it in the end, safe and sound, and it was worth it. Spiti Valley is beautiful. It looks a little like Ladakh – barren and sparsely populated – but it's even more spectacular because the mountains and cliffs are literally ripped apart (“d馗hiquet” was the word used by my guide book, which I find quite appropriate). It looks a little bit like the Grand Canyon or Monument Valley at times, and the villages are like oases on small patches of fertile land. From Kaza, I shared a taxi with a few older German guys to some of the sites in the surrounding areas. First stop was Kibber, a small Tibetan village that is one of the highest in India, and claims to be the highest in the world with a road and electricity. It was a beautiful place – greenery among the surrounding barren mountains. We walked into the village accompanied by a little girl who could not have been more than 4 years old, struggling to carry a rice cooker in one hand and the peas she had just collected in the other. She gave us some peas to munch on during our journey. Why is it that in the West we always say, 'kids are cruel'? But in places like Ladakh, Spiti, or even Gulu, kids are the kindest, gentlest, most caring of them all. It's like the West forces this idea of competition into our young brains, and forces us to put others down in order to get ahead. By turning everything into a commodity, something to be fought over, capitalism (or Westernization? Or modernization? Or “development”?) makes kids into monsters. Luckily there are still parts of the world where kids can still be generous without it being unusual, be caring without it being embarrassing, and be kind without it somehow being detrimental to themselves.

Next stop was Tabo, the only other town in Spiti Valley, which is really more of a village – a dozen or so houses surrounding the main attraction, the 1014-year-old monastery. Perched on the surrounding hills are caves carved into the mountain and surrounded by prayer flags, where the monks go to meditate. I can't imagine a more peaceful place to go and contemplate life or try to reach Nirvana. The monastery was incredible. I don't know much about Buddhism or gompas or art, but even to my untrained eye this one was special. It is made of clay and wood and almost looks like an adobe structure that could easily be found in the American Southwest. Inside are several rooms, all covered in centuries old paintings and sculptures of different divinities and Buddhas. It is completely dark inside, so the only way to see anything is with a flashlight, which makes the whole experience even more intimate.

This morning I took a bus back to Kaza, and tomorrow morning will be heading back to Manali, before going to Parvati Valley for a trek. I will most likely spend my birthday in whatever village I find around there. Maybe I'll get myself a jar of Nutella as a substitute for cake.

I also quickly wanted to describe my paragliding experience from last weekend. Yes, paragliding. No, I will not do it again.
After a 45 minute walk up a 45 degree “trail” that was not a trail, we got to the patch of mud from which we were to take off. I was the last one to go, and had to wait a while until the winds picked up again. After a few minutes of flying and me wanting to die because all that was suspending me in the air and keeping me alive was wind, which I could neither see nor control, we tried to land. Fail. Updraft. So we keep flying and tried again. Partial fail. Because of another updraft/downdraft/whatever-you-call-it we landed too quickly and skidded/crash-landed-gracefully into cow poop, almost hitting a group of Indian tourists who ran for their lives. Anyway it's all on video for to admire when I next see you. All that really matters is that I'm alive, have all my limbs, am $30 poorer, realized I am a little afraid of heights, and got it out of my system so will never do it again. :)

To end, here is a quote that was scribbled on the bathroom wall of the monastery where I stayed in Tabo:
"Write your sad times in sand, write your good times in stone."