Songjè and a Sacred Lake – Part l of ll
Bells chime through the wet air and the odd manic high-pitched wail of urging in Tibetan rips over the grassland. Plodding through the pine and spruce are the sagging, deflated bodies of mules lugging packs that dwarf them. Their day thus far has been a crushingly long one. Light beige coloured hats appear too, and the bodies beneath them lithely take in steps, stalking along in between the ten mules. They are the muleteers and what a sight they and the mules make. Someone ev