Barley wine and outhouse

The mighty Yarlung Tsangpo River flows quietly in the golden sunset. This highest major river in the world looks peaceful before entering the Yarlung Tsangpo canyon, the deepest, and possibly longest canyon in the world. There, it turns into a roaring giant.

All the status mean nothing to the river when we stop to catpure a moment of its journey. Smooth sand banks in triangular and oval shapes decorate the turquoise-colored water. Even the lifeless grass at the river shores glint.

Watching nature at play in its unspoiled way. I can do that forever.

The going is slow coming down the narrow mountain path. SN is a good driver, a slow one at least. He doesn't talk much, but once in a while, he opens up. He told us Dalai Lama still has a strong influence among Tibetans, even after so many years of physical absence. Soon after Dalai asked his nation to help protecting tigers, they stopped wearing tiger-skin skirts. SN says he wants to eat less meat as Dalai taught him to, but he admits he has a hard time fighting the craving.

When the night falls, we comes to a tiny village of a few families. The biggest house is also a small store. The store owner agrees to set us up for a night in her spare rooms. There is no heat.

The main living area is kept warm by the stove. A deaf woman makes us milk-tea and bread. All the furnitures are hand-painted in bright colors, mostly orange. On a shelf by some fake flowers, a tiny battery powered radio gave out humming prayers' chant. The store owner seems to make a decent living through her own and her son's transportation business. Obviously, the family take advantage of government policies. Because of their ethnicity, they can cut down timber much freely. If they have the means to sell it outside, it is good business.

Three young men walk inside. They are given some barley wine in a thermo pot. We realize we are in an informal bar. The barley wine is home-made, fresh everyday.

They drink quietly but happily. We order a small cup as well. It is not as strong as I thought it would be.

A clear night. Stars congregate the sky above the canyon slot. I take a walk with J down the road. The village at night reveals a sense of remoteness one can't experience during the day. At this particular moment, I am not anywhere else, but here. What is the chance of that? Richard Feynman was amazed at the license plate he saw in the parking lot that one night. I am amazed at me being in a tiny Tibetan village at the moment. Right here, no other places; right now.

The store owner indicates me there is no restroom in the village, not even an outhouse. With stars above and black velvet like mountain in the front, I find myself a perfect outhouse. But only for a moment, until a village kid comes up with the same idea.

The village morning comes early, as soon as the roasters start to croon and dogs starts barking. I was warm enough in my sleeping bag, and J was under two pieces blankets.

In contrast to the store owner, other families in the village don't do nearly as well, one widow with two children especially. Other than colorful furnitures, her house contains nothing more than a firepit, a bed, and a few pots and baskets. What if I was born into this family? Who is going to be the me standing here today? What goes through her mind when she looks at me? The woman has few words to say. I have to respect that.