Trade routes (still) offer up hints and teasers about how lands evolved and functioned. Everything from DNA to luxuries and tid-bits from the past travelled and each shipment and caravan needed the guardians, the traders and the willful to ensure that the world buzzed. Buddhism itself entered onto the Tibetan Plateau from one of these understated pathways. Nepal’s ancient kingdom of ‘Lo’, known today simply as Mustang, is a place where trade, migration, and pilgrimage routes

An endearing and parting shot of the Doctor With the doctor behind me, but very much still in the mind, I head north towards this “little temple on a mountain”. His words about the ills of the mind resonate but my philosophy has always been, ‘as long as there is enough tea with me, my mind – and whatever values and passions are at play – will sort themselves out.‘ The doctor of the mountains has the kind of rare but universal familiarity and charm that stays in the thoughts l

Mornings can ease in or they bump in. I wake in Gebo and have somehow managed to roll not only off of my matt but make it a good three metres from where I first lay my head the night before. The night was not one of the better in terms of rest and I wake in one of those very human but deadly conditions known as the ‘don’t-even-speak-to-me’moods. The night’s unfortunate events included hours of scurrying bodies throwing themselves every which way above, beside and under our sl

Mountains and the worship of them are everywhere along the route Jana is one of those towns that looks to be embarrassed with itself, somehow inward looking with its newly built homes falling into disrepair and a winding dusty road that is littered with refuse. We one depart it one happy morning marching up once again and I for one am happy to be rid of its dusty and confused presence. The Kawa Karpo pilgrimage can be described as a cultural odyssey of relentless ups and down

Another of the faces that stay with me. A nomadic pilgrim, having just dunked her head in a stream wipes the remnants off. Toughness in the mountains is a minimum requirement and it is never something flaunted...it simply is The kora, for Buddhists and Hindus, circumambulating in a clockwise direction follows the apparent movement of the sun. The sun in question is now hidden as we wake in the camp of Chube’ka. Tucked into the valley there is only cold air seeping out of the

The first night of sleep is under an enormous rock which overhangs our informal outdoor space. A huge sacred rock covered in money, inscriptions, prayer flags and offerings.  Pilgrims study it and raise up their eyes to it in wonder. This is our camp and at first it seems ostentatious and a little presumptuous, but as Kandro points out, “it is covered”. Our little camp beneath a sacred rock with Tseba, Drolma and a yet to be prepared dinner Our camp selected by Kandro, sits b

Snow, pilgrims with tireless feet, endless spirit and mountains that one bows to every day…and the odd cup of tea. Posts of the journey upcoming #Yunnantrekking #kawagebo #Snowmountains #bonreligion #Deqin #sacredmountains #KawaKarpo #circumambulation #Tibet #Himalayas #JeffFuchs #trekking #buddhism #animism #yunnan #kora

So often it is the elders who remember tales through their time spent recounting orally the comings and goings of the past. Here Amne Machin is a backdrop of life. Breakfast often brings realizations – some stimulated by the first thoughts of the day and others brought to life from without. Tucking into bowl after bowl of milk tea this morning comes with a nugget of information imparted almost casually, which reminds me very clearly of what is key to this journey. It has to d

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

Amye Maqen (Amne Machin, Anye Machin) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amne_Machin), the stout, the muscular, and for much of time, the utterly hidden from the outside world…our first glimpse of it is of a snow capped wonder that appears far closer than it is. There seem to be as many ways of spelling it as their are potential descriptives. Neither wind blown sand nor a haze can obscure its brilliant bulk. It seems to hang from the sky as we come in from the northwest towards th