Langmusi

In the morning I’m getting awoken by stamping feet and yelling drill instructors and I can’t believe it. I get up and want to know what's going on. It's outside, and I suddenly see a big square that my backyard is filled with soldiers - apparently it's an army barracks and I close the curtains, also knowing that they might immediately turn this man to the police and take me out of here because I'm not here as a tourist may be.

On an almost empty street I walk still in the early morning to the same hostel where I had dinner yesterday to get my promised freshly ground coffee. There, too, everything is still tight and after a knock on the door it is opened and all wooden shutters are removed from the windows. The stove is made with coal, coffee is put and the young black dog who is "stuck" outside barks the rest of the neighborhood awake.

The owner says I have to watch out with this young dog because it is a dog that is used to protect herds of sheep against wolves - in other words, it is not an ordinary dog that you can pick up easily - he is extremely strong and he will bite although he’s still young and it seems he wants to play. 

After my coffee I walk out of the street, up the hill, on the way to the monastery that was built against the mountain (Sertri Gompa). It is quiet, but when I walk past a wooden house, someone wakes up and makes it clear that I have to pay an entrance fee.

I have seen Tibetan monasteries before and my main goal is to meet monks if possible and enjoy the beautiful view. The monastery consists of several houses and buildings and I feel like a spy so calm it is here. On the roof of the mountain is a plateau that consists of a large lawn and I suspect that air funerals are held here, also because there is a very large fence around it.

On the other side you have another view of the scattered "gers", a herd of goats and "yaks" and a deep valley with in the background snow covered mountains and green slopes and a cloud cover that changes every time.

Air-funeral: 

I walk back to the valley and meet a group of cowboys at the riverbank, including leather boots and cowboy hats. It feels like a western movie is taped and I am the only one around! Further down the river, some women sit on their knees doing their laundry in the water and do not even look up to see who admires them.

A granny comes running up and gives a touch to every golden prayer wheel that hangs under a small roof. They are building a lot in the village, when I walk to the other side to climb a steep slope. On this hill there are some Tibetan prayer flags with thousands of Tibetan lucky letters on the ropes. On the top I am sitting down in the grass enjoying the view when I suddenly hear hands clapping and loud talking. When I look down, at the square of the second monastery, I know what’s happening there but only because I experienced this before at a Buddhist monastery.

I hurry down and end up in groups of Tibetan who make clear ideas and thoughts through their hands – it’s a typical discussion. Against the wall of the monastery "Kerti Gompa" the elderly with yellow hats are watching the whole situation. I am the only visitor and I let it happen – this is so unique. In the corner there is a whole pile of clothes, shoes and hats that the monks have removed now that it is getting pretty hot under the sun.

On the way back I encounter a "small" local wooden restaurant and take a seat inside. I order yak tea and a meal for lunch while a boy sits opposite me. Very strange for a waiter; while I show him my Tibetan necklace (I bought it in 2004 when I was in Tibet) he suddenly gets up and comes back with an old notebook.

I understand that when a Western tourists shows up he asks them to write down ONE English word. He tries to pick up the language like that. The boy goes to study while I enjoy the sun, waiting for my food. An hour later there is still nothing, and I know that yak meat is tough, but ask anyway. It turns out they never understood that I wanted to eat to. I pay the tea and still walk out hungry. I then decide to go to restaurant legend "Lesha's" that sells yakburgers. Impressed by the mega-burger I thank the owner, who looks more like a gangster with his black hat. I pick up my big bag at the hostel and walk to the place where the bus should stop.

There is no bus station, but on the corner of the street, opposite my hostel, I see someone who is probably waiting for the bus. A few minutes before the bus would arrive, a police car stops beside me and gestures me to take a seat in the back. I still say that my bus is coming, but an agent who speaks a little English makes it clear that I have to fill in a registration form and come along with them. 

In the back of the car I fill in the papers, and if I want to get out the agent says that there is no bus today. For me it is questionable whether the bus does not come for me or does not come at all. It becomes clear when they take me to the intersection outside the village where they try to keep cars for a lift. I am unhappy because the cars are full or they go in a different direction. An old motorcycle will stop, but then I would rather stay a day here in Langmusi. The agents bring me back and I decide to sit on the veranda outside and play with the "yak-dog". He is stuck to a thick chain because he seems to cost a lot of money with his pitch-black fur against the cold.

Out of nowhere a wind sets up that brings mountains of dust and before we know it, the rain comes from the sky. Immediately it gets cold and we close the shutters and light the stove. Tea is prepared in the traditional way, but a hostel worker prefers Chinese rice wine that tastes like "eau de cologne". Since the power is already a few hours off, one starts to eat while we sit around the stove.

Suddenly it’s dry again but a lot of noise comes from outside and there is again a group of cowboys on horses through the street to drift and I wonder how I will explain this at home, because nobody will believe me. The chicken goes on the stove as suddenly the Chinese couple I met yesterday on the bus stand on the sidewalk and want to eat.

We are now with a group of 10 people and the nearby restaurant is also asked to make some dishes because they never make it by themselves. I now hear that the French President has probably said something about a free Tibet and that China is now taking measures against people from the West. That’s probably the reason this area is blocked again for tourist.  

When all the food is prepared, two wooden tables are put together and candles are lit. Beer is served, while I ask when and if the bus goes tomorrow. The answer is fague when it is said that it is never clear; what time and where. There often seems to be a bus around six, but it is also not clear where this bus will go. I’ve got no idea if I will leave this town tomorrow. By ten o'clock I go upstairs where I sleep in a dormitory, alone. I set the alarm at five o'clock and crawl under the many blankets that are lying on my bed.