Yubon - The Roadless Tibetan Village

The clanging of cowbells echoes across the high mountain walls surrounding our small guesthouse. While their song fills these parts from sunrise to sunset, this hour marks the symphony’s grand finale. Yaks, horses, donkeys and other large farm mammals saunter down from the hills where they grazed away the day’s hours. Each bell chimes a slightly different pitch, making the overall sound quite harmonious rather than painfully obnoxious. The sun has dropped behind the snowy peak in the foreground, looming over this small mountain village. The crisp air creeps out of the shadows where it took refuge during the sun’s daily reign and I must immediately don more layers to my poorly adapted form. Two horses veer off the path to drink from the stream, both moving on as if a silent consensus took place as to whether they were satiated. A fat pig ambles by, nipples hanging low, with five little piglets scrambling to keep up at her feet. No fences line the fields here, holding the animals inside. They seem to instinctively know where to go for food and where to return for rest at the end of the day. Perhaps they learned it from their ancestors, being passed on for centuries.

Our arrival yesterday afternoon culminated a journey that brought new highs with each bend of the trail. Once I found a steady pace, my legs carried me up the steep, dusty path, through forests and over rocks and ice. As we rounded the apex of the mountain standing between the small, road less village Yubeng and the town Xidong, evidence of the land’s sacredness emerged. Strings of prayer flags linked branches overhead and alongside the path. Flapping loudly with the wind, or silently waving in the breeze their colors danced as massive snowy peaks emerged in the distance. The small village emerged nestled in the valley floor below as we descended slightly on the backside of the mountain.

The following 2 days were the closest WCKA gets to having a vacation. No one brought school materials and no workouts were scheduled for the next full day. Students were able to sleep in, rest, read and explore the village and surrounding mountains to thier heart's content.

A large group of us hiked further up to the base of the glaciers, seemingly in reach of the summit. We passed trees covered in trinkets offered to the spirits by travelers, webs of prayer flags shading the path, and a creek bed covered in cairns built to direct one's soul toward heaven as it leaves the earth. It was as if the closer we got to the peaks, the stronger the connection to the earth was felt. An unexplainable sensation.

We reached the melting glaciers where members of the group refilled thier bottles and we basked in the sunlight. Melting ice chunks broke free and tumbled to the ground with echoing explosions. Ivan and I helped Kristi hang several strings of prayer flags, each for a dear friend. We then sat in this intricate web of colors, imagining all the billions prayers flying over the mountains and land into every part of this massive country and beyond. Its amazing how simple pieces of cloth on a string can evoke such a vast feeling of peace in one's mind and body. Far different from the flags hanging on the porches of dilapidated college homes. Yet now even those flags will remind me of their true meaning.
We discussed deep philosophical matters and simple moments of joy. Everything with an undertone of gratitude.
Once the sun set and another Chinese meal had satiated our bellies I joined some of the students in capturing the full moon's light upon the snowy peak. We experimented further with the use of our headlamps to create messages in the photos. Another teacher, LJ, was able to produce this photo for the school's blog. Pretty impressive.
We rested well that night and prepared for our hike out the next morning.











This experience will surely be one of my most memorable from our entire stay in China.