Chicken soup for the crew

V-shaped canyon. S-shaped river. The dirt path that cuts into the canyon wall is narrow and rocky.

When the canyon opens up, we enter a lush valley.

This is an area unlike anywhere else in Tibet. By the roadside, there are rows of deciduous and patches of green vegetables. We lost quite a lot of altitute, from 5000m at the highest mountain pass to around 3000 here at this river valley.

On the way here there were many checkpoints. SN has to fill up the form at each one. They are there mostly to check for speeding, but I've no doubt they are capable of inspecting anything they want. Nobody asks for my passport though.

We drive across the river. J wakes up from his nap. Upstream, a snowy mountain guards the deeper part of the forest.

It is a small town, one that normal tourists will sleep through on their tour bus, or at most, a pee stop.

The paved road cuts the town in half. One side is the river bank, the other side are rows of brick houses, boxy and unattractive.

A few locals lounge in front of the brick houses. A mother is washing the hair of her daughter. Children run around a chain-less bicycle. Once we enter the scene, people gather around us.

Words by words, we start to get the story here. These houses are old trucking station for the military post nearby. All the occupants here are renters, some of them Tibetan, some of them from the mainland. Most of the Tibetans are here because they lost their home to a big flood several years back.

This is one couple's story:

One day before giving birth to her daughter, the young mother and her family were forced to run higher up the mountain because the river backed up the lake by which their village is located. When their newborn was just two weeks old, the husband came down here to look for a job. Weeks later he went back up to bring his family down. Without land, they could only rely on occasional labor jobs, working on highway construction, for a living. They built a temporate house; she tried to start a teahouse business. One winter night, that temp house caught on fire, probably caused by their neighbor's faulty wire. They were left with nothing. Here, the trucking station is the only place they can stay while trying to make enough money to go back to their village, to rebuilt a house, to get their land back in shape. It is winter time, no construction, no work.

I don't want to feel mean by letting her tell the story more than once, but her voice is so low I have to. When she brings out more details in her third take, her eyes are filled with tears.

Am I looking for despair? How do I make it sensible? I used to be a weekend worrier, work hard, play hard, and enjoy my life to the fullest by challenging myself physically. Now, is the emotional challenge too much to take? What draws me here? What exactly is my quest? Am I in my own inner cave, looking for ordeals, and where is my sword? The world is a mess, the world has always been a mess. Can we, can I still strive to live with joy in this endless chaos?

Roosters run around in the courtyard. The couple have them for sale. Everybody, even the young daughter help out. These native roosters are feisty. Instinct tells them to fight for their life. I hope they have had a good life.

In the end, the young father catches one. We give him a good price. What else can I do?

The young mother guides us to the restaurant. Our chicken soup is delicious.