Chhokang Paro to Nile: So now that we were in the upper valley, did the atmosphere provide subtle emanations linked to the remote, untouched nature of the place, and to the constant vibrations transmitted from the places of inner devotion, the gompas with their adherents always in solitary, meditative retreat from the maya and illusion of this impermanent world?
Yes. Maybe. Maybe it did.
We saw in the distance, amid a thick pine forest, one of the gompas of this upper valley, that reminded you of one of the fairy tale castles to be found in Bavaria. Remote, almost invisible, still in the shade, mysterious.
It was, mercifully, a more gentle day. The valley was wide and spread with fertile fields, many of them already planted with winter wheat. Mules, unladen, came down at a strong pace. We stopped for an early lunch in a small, sunny courtyard. The sun was warm, but the wind still cold. Looking up you could see continuous chutes of powder snow falling down, down the crags. The lodge owner told us that even now some yaks are are on high pastures. The people keep an eye on the weather, and will go up to bring them down if it threatens a storm. Then we saw the characteristic fluted snowfields of the Ganesh Himal, beneath a faint new moon.
We went up from the trail towards Milarepa’s cave. It cost an effort. Horses and mules grazed. The guardian came running, explaining that he had been at a cremation, and had seen us moving up. The site was well-maintained, with a new staircase leading up, and small retreat houses beneath the cliff. One room had a shrine with a footprint of the saint. Another was a prayer-room with a shrine to Buddhist gurus; it had a gigantic prayer wheel. The shrine of Milarepa himself had an image of the saint, looking a little wild.
The dining room at the tea house in Nile was warm. It’s a phenomenon in winter when the sun streams in. Enjoy it while you can! The night will be cold.
Nile to Mu Gompa: At 3700m the monastery catches the morning sun early due to the opening out of the valley, compensation for the colder, thinner air. On the way we crossed a wide river bed, not a landslide, but tribute to a mighty flood, an impressive sea of stone. Yaks grazed. We could not stay at Mu Gompa, but the resident monks gave us a cup of tea. Many further yak kharkas (summer pastures) are indicated on the map, all closer to the Tibetan border. In that direction, the southern facing slopes are free of snow.
The monks won’t return the hand gesture in prayer mode that is universal while saying ‘Namaste’ in Nepal. Probably they don’t want to participate in a specifically Hindu phase, ‘I recognise the sacred within you,’ as it can be rendered. One monk mentioned that he was going to take water to an injured yak, as an act of service. At last we are clearly out of all remaining remnants of the north Indian plain smog, reminding us that windy.com often has the impure air going almost up to the border. Now the thought of the Ganesh Himal base camp has arisen. Will the Gompa up there be open? Will there be too much snow? Will I have enough energy? The idea of going there is surprisingly resilient, though.