Returns insist upon some reflection and this return is no different. Half a month upon that  route of high along the eastern flank of Mustang, followed up by a half month of Solukhumbu and the wide spaces of Mustang seem simple to conjure. The reassuring view of our mule caravan (and all that it carries) Mustang’s fate seems to shift all over the orbit but whatever shall be, there is much change in the dust of this formerly independent kingdom. Money comes in to construct (an

Tibetan styled air drying. Slabs of yak meat hang in a nomad’s tent letting 4500-metre air and wind dry one of the vital protein sources for families in the Himalayas. Yak have long been one of the essentials for the very highest of high-residents, providing sustenance, cloth, mobile transport and tools. In the words of Omu (pictured), “We wouldn’t be able to be nomads without our yak”. The nomad ways are a combination of ultimate pragmatism with a touch of the otherworldly,

Qinghai or for the Tibetans, Amdo – Michael and I have entered from the eastern Gansu border by that ‘everywhere’ mode of transportation in this part of the world, the bus. The struggle is as usual present; coming out of rugged, silent hinterlands and into a world of chaos and hordes where the mind has to cope with what is and isn’t essential…and much is very ‘unessential’. Michael waits one of our many waits for transportation Our collective intention is clear and we make ha

A sight and activity repeated twice daily – milking. Tibetan tents and compounds are usually erected facing east…and the rising sun Informality amongst nomads, and that feeling of immediate and informal acceptance comes from their own necessary and inevitable informality amongst themselves. Sickness, births, joy and efforts are shared in real time every day of every season. Bonds are strong and all is shared, and though disputes arise, the lines of communication are entirely

The calm force that is Songjem The man we pick up in Nyimalung has the calm eyes and weathered face that the mountains create and sculpt almost at will. Songjem is in his early sixties and his face and countenance have a lived in quality that seem universally recognized; appreciated for what it shows. We head south towards Gansu’s border with Sichuan. Somjem is one of those absolute necessities in any travels in this part of the world – a one-man source of tales, geography an

Early morning wind upon an Amne Machin ridge Looking at the sky we see fierce white monotones and wind’s power, below in front of us on the earth lies a different story. A last time for securing our gear on the yak. Our morning of departure An avalanche’s disintegrating power has rearranged the land in front of us. A brutal black surge of turned earth, stones and newly formed shaped forms that stretch kilometres across the valley. The results of an avalanche rearranging the l

We awake with a shudder to mountain cold and the realization that something has changed overnight regarding our ‘team’. Clear air with a hint of blue in the sky as dawn gives way to day waits…. while by the fire a strange figure coaxes more heat from the coals. Our canine friend is stretching out his little limbs to rid them of cold. The larger mastiffs have all disappeared – home I guess. It is the figure near the fire that holds me as I emerge from our tent. Where is our gu

Our two yak stand still in the blowing white snow; around them there is nothing to suggest a specific time-period and looking at their ice-encrusted wool I imagine a time long ago when gas-spewing, noise machines on wheels hadn’t yet taken over – where movement on land required the foot or hoof. Here, now, in this blowing snow beneath a mountain it is remarkably easy to imagine this time. Amne Machin is just over on our right behind veils of snow and wind. The yak stand befor

Jeff coddles some white gold At first it is a glimmer, nothing more than a reflection that I think might be there. Shimmering heat already ripples in the morning air blurring my sightlines.  Michael’s eyes are creased studying the same spectre that I see…he is making a humming sound as if to speak and my veins are chocked with blood. Tsa (salt) and its ancient home are close and that sense is within both of us. Tsam Tso - Salt Lake, at last We are about 40 kilometres west of